News Trend Silver Linings|Actual

You wouldn't know it from this shot, but my neighborhood sidewalks have been hopping lately.

Even though Gracie and I have been delaying our daily outings until five thirty or six p.M. In order to avoid the heaviest human traffic, we are still coming face to six feet away face with dozens of people (and dogs) as we tour around. Biking, scootering, pushing strollers, jogging, walking dogs, holding hands - you name it. As a long-time walker, I can say with confidence that the volume of people out and about is many times more than what used to pass for normal. Even on sunny spring days, by early evening these streets used to be close to empty, and I marvel at the energy and enthusiasm, not to mention downright family fun, that I'm seeing every single darn day.

* * * * *

Earlier today, I was doing some reading on notable conservationists from the nineteenth century. (I know, that's a jolting segue, but I'll explain more in a day or two.) Here, if you'll indulge me because I promise to connect these dots, I learned that John Muir, famed naturalist, writer, and passionate protector of lands destined to become some of our proudest national parks, started out as a inventor of machines. But then an accident involving projectile bits of something sharp and dangerous nearly put out his eye, and he decided to look for another line of work.

In this funky time of not knowing what would happen next, Muir took to hiking and walked alone from the Midwest to the Gulf of Mexico, thereby fueling the sense of adventure and love of nature that propelled him into his new career as the father of terkini environmentalism and proud papa of Yosemite National Park and Sequoia National Park, among others. Muir founded the Sierra Club to further his ideals and goals, thereby securing a legacy of environmentalism for generations to come.

Hmm. Interesting. I read on.

Next noted personality on my research list was Frederick Law Olmsted, a Scottish-born Connecticuter with big plans to go to Yale. But just before he shipped off to school, he suffered a bout ofsumac poisoning that weakened his eyes and derailed his plans for Yale. Poor Olmsted spent years drifting through a series of apprenticeships, and even tried his hand at farming before settling into journalism. His career took off and, while rubbing shoulders with intellectual giants, Olmsted struck up a friendship with a charismatic landscape architect named Andrew Downing.

Despite Downing's intent to enter in the design competition for the new proposed park in New York City, he died in a steamboat accident before he could submit his plan. With absolutely zero pelatihan or experience in landscape architecture, Olmsted stepped in to further Downing's ideas and ended up winning the hearts of America and the world for not just the majesty of Central Park but a string of other urban parks that graced the United States like a necklace of emerald stones. Olmsted believed that green space should be available to all people at all times, a concept that stands at the heart of a public park, and an idea that may sound obvious to us but was at that time, a revelation.

* * * * *

As Gracie and I walked along today, dodging kids on bikes, wagging hellos to other pups, smiling and greeting neighbors that we saw along the way, Muir and Olmsted popped back up in my mind.

Covid-19 is no one's idea of a good plan. This determined virus is our piece of flying metal, our case of poison sumac, and it has - at least for now - thrown us off the path we planned to follow. And we are allowed to grieve that fact.

But after some time for the licking of our collective psychic wounds, after this disease finishes its rampant run through the world, after we come to terms with the loss of loved ones who have not survived, we may be able to see Covid-19 as something else.

Maybe, just maybe, this pandemic will be the turning point in our postmodern lives. Though in these early days, it's been looking like nothing short of a tragedy, maybe, just maybe, the coronavirus is leading us in the direction of a better life, a life that at this moment in time of pain and confusion and loss, like John Muir and Frederick Law Olmsted, we can't even begin to imagine.

And so it may be that heading out for with the family for a socially distant walk around the block on a sunny spring afternoon might just be the sliver lining of this storm and the start of something really good.

* * * * *

Read more stories about life with Covid-19 here in suburban Seattle:

Sitting Pretty

Scenes Of An Ordinary Easter

Our First Church

Silver Linings

Hopes And Dreams In The Silverware Drawer

Life Of A (Socially Distant) Math Teacher: Midterms

Keep Life Simple

What I'm Doing Lately

Do Dinner

Covid Cleaning

Gracie's And My Daily (Socially Distant) Walks

Life Of A (Socially Distant) Math Teacher

Miracle Of Light

Social Distancing In My Dining Room

Social Distancing In My Kitchen

We're On The Road To Shambala

Sunshine And Disco Balls

Feel Better

Covid-19 Is For Real

A COVID-19 Update

Checking In From Coronavirus Central

News Trend Our First Church|Actual

"Father and Mother are apostles, bishops, and priests to their children, for it is they who make them acquainted with the gospel." -Martin Luther

It's easy and fun to celebrate worship at home. To prepare, we bake communion bread according to the classic recipe from Luther Seminary, and use whatever wine -red or white - we have on hand. After dinner, we set out the sacraments, and add a few treasures: a candle because Jesus is the light of the world and a few pebbles because, you know, he rocks.

You won't be shocked to hear that on this Good Friday evening, when we would traditionally head off to join in the special Holy Week service at our church, my family honored the day with a worship at home.

Covid-19 strikes again.

But what may be a bit more surprising is that this is nothing new for us. Almost exactly one year ago, I stopped going to Sunday worship at church. The 9:30 a.M. Start time was throwing my delicately calibrated delayed sleep phase schedule out of wack and taking a toll on my health. So while my husband still heads off to church, I've been staying home.

This is not a decision that makes me happy.

I miss seeing my friends' smiling faces.

I miss the songs we sing together.

I miss sharing that weekly slice of life with people I care about.

I haven't found a workaround for those sacrifices, and that makes me sad.

But what I can do is gather my family around the table after Sunday dinner and worship at home. We read together the bible verses of the day, talk a bit about however we feel moved, and then celebrate communion together.

Though it started out as a second-group substitute, this family worship time has become a meaningful practice in its own right.

We search Google for the day's bible verses  -  "ELCA lessons today" - and pass the phone around the table so everyone gets a turn to read. If my husband heard the message at church, he may share a few points from the preaching, but mostly we discuss our own responses to the texts.

My guy, Martin Luther, held some strong opinions about the sacred dimensions of family life.

An ex-monk who married an ex-nun, Luther and his wife gave birth to six children and adopted four more. Their home was a happy one, overflowing with music, beer, and love of life, and he held no place to be more full of God's glory that his own dining room table during the evening meal.

Parents, Luther believed, carry the joy and responsibility of opening their sons' and daughters' hearts to the love of God. And while he allowed that this might happen in places that we call churches and Sunday School today, Martin Luther saw the family home as the First Church and the center of the beating heart of faith.

Finally, we share the Lord's Supper and pray the Lord's Prayer. While this procession isn't fancy or finely tuned, it is ours. And that seems the most important thing.

So Good Friday will come and go, and eventually Covid-19 will loosen its grip on our activities and we'll be free to resume our normal lives again.

But my family and I will keep worshiping on here at home, in our First Church.

* * * * *

Read more stories about my life with Covid-19 here in suburban Seattle:

Sitting Pretty

Scenes Of An Ordinary Easter

Our First Church

Silver Linings

Hopes And Dreams In The Silverware Drawer

Life Of A (Socially Distant) Math Teacher: Midterms

Keep Life Simple

What I'm Doing Lately

Do Dinner

Covid Cleaning

Gracie's And My Daily (Socially Distant) Walks

Life Of A (Socially Distant) Math Teacher

Miracle Of Light

Social Distancing In My Dining Room

Social Distancing In My Kitchen

We're On The Road To Shambala

Sunshine And Disco Balls

Feel Better

Covid-19 Is For Real

A COVID-19 Update

Checking In From Coronavirus Central

News Trend Spring Simile|Actual

Gracie amidst the candytuft in my backyard.

Sun warms sleeping earth.

Roots stir, saps run, plants wake up.

Green things spring to life.

Leaves bud from bare trees.

Buds explode to brilliant bloom.

Grass grows thick and lush.

What was dead now lives

God's Easter plan in action

Right before our eyes.

News Trend Scenes Of An Ordinary Easter |Actual

This year's Easter was anything but ordinary.

Covid-19 got us all in lock down, of course, and for better or worse, at my house, we are taking that stay-at-home order in its strictest sense.

I've noticed that plenty of friends and neighbors are relaxing the draconian standards just a bit, especially this weekend, allowing for visits back and forth with close family and friends.

Maybe it's because my husband works for a medical research institute that has taken a rapid and deep dive into studying Covid-19 that we take the warnings from not just government but also scientists to heart. An exponentially growing airborne contaminant is nothing we want to fool with. We're willing to just stay home.

But for Easter, that means that not only did my Ohio-living second-born cancel her plans to come home for the holiday, but my first-born, who lives just ten miles away, also decided to pass.

So my plans took a bit of a left turn.

Sigh.

My second-born's selection, to be delivered later this spring.

She's kind of obsessed with Easter candy.

First off, there's the candy issue. The Easter Bunny still makes the rounds around here, and coronavirus or not, my daughters are still gonna want their baskets filled. In a nod toward keeping traditions alive, I spent the better part of last weekend surveying my offspring to find out everyone's latest candy preferences, and piecing together a multiple-store pick-up plan to source my goods from Target. It was touch and go for awhile, but in the end, I tracked down all the different kinds of candy I was looking for, while sitting on my computer in the wee hours of the night.

So satisfying.

On the day before Easter, I delivered a small stash to the local daughter, as she stood by my car, petting Gracie through the open back window and keeping her distance from me.

But my Midwest daughter has been having a problem with reliable deliveries lately so - candy lover that she is - she asked me to hold on to her order until logistics are fine tuned with UPS.

A blue basket with a bunny for Daughter Number One, and a minty green version with a yellow chicky for Number Two.

When it comes to the actual Easter baskets, we are purists. When my eldest daughter approached her second Easter, with #2 due to make her appearance soon, I came across a specimen that spoke to me of everything an Easter basket should be. Happily, said basket was offered in four colors so, investing in my plan to grow my nest to include four babies, I bought them all We've used them every year since them, and added an Easter-appropriate tiny stuffed animal to watch over the jelly beans and pastel-wrapped Reese's.

And when one of the daughters is not home to put her basket to use, I've taken to sending her a photo of her treasure to document that it is still alive and well and partaking in the family ritual.

Several of our holiday dishes seemed to go a bit sideways. The deviled eggs and asparagus were spot on, but the salmon refused to brown and the scalloped potatoes were just weird. Sometimes strange things happen in the kitchen. I ate it all anyway.

And then there was dinner. When we set up our first FaceTime call, the Eastern Time Zone daughter was working on her meal prep, so we rescheduled for an hour later. That meant that our call extended through the cook times for both West Coast chefs, and on into our meal times. With my phone propped up against the platter of ham on the dining room table, both far-flung daughters saw our spread, asked questions about our recipes, and got multiple opportunities to observe Gracie lying obediently on the floor near my chair.

As dinner was wrapping up, we said goodbye. Sniffle.

The four of us hunkered down at home topped our meal with a fresh-baked Shaker Lemon Pie, and as I devoured my slice, along with a lovely scoop of vanilla ice cream, my mind drifted back through the strange ceremony of the day.

But wait, I reconsidered. So maybe some of our rituals were a bit off, and we settled for a distance celebration rather than the face-to-face reunion we were planning before Covid upended normal life.

Still, despite all the crazy obstacles stacked against us, we found ways to keep our traditions alive. Together, we shared in the hope of the resurrection story, which is what matters most. So maybe this year's Easter was delightfully ordinary after all.

* * * * *

Read more stories about my life with Covid-19 here in suburban Seattle:

Sitting Pretty

Scenes Of An Ordinary Easter

Our First Church

Silver Linings

Hopes And Dreams In The Silverware Drawer

Life Of A (Socially Distant) Math Teacher: Midterms

Keep Life Simple

What I'm Doing Lately

Do Dinner

Covid Cleaning

Gracie's And My Daily (Socially Distant) Walks

Life Of A (Socially Distant) Math Teacher

Miracle Of Light

Social Distancing In My Dining Room

Social Distancing In My Kitchen

We're On The Road To Shambala

Sunshine And Disco Balls

Feel Better

Covid-19 Is For Real

A COVID-19 Update

Checking In From Coronavirus Central

News Trend Reading About Walking|Actual

Every day for the past ten years plus, I've walked past this scene. There's something about the (almost) symmetrical placement of the bushes and trees against the strict geometry of the building, the tension of feather fir trees against the rigid steel siding, the pop of yellow in the springtime blossoms and the patch of sky reflected in the square window that always, always captures my attention and brings me back to myself. With each season, small details change but this moment in my walk delights my heart, mind and soul.

* * * * *

The Art of Flaneuring by Erika Owen

Flaneuring, it turns out, is a fancy name for strolling around a city. Though our author extends the term to include hiking, picnicking, and a pedestrian commute, the purist defines flaneuring as the art of aimless wandering. When done with mindfulness and intention, flaneuring can help us cultivate a more mindful and fulfilling everyday life.

Peace Is Every Step by Thich Nhat Hanh

Written by a world-renowned Zen master and spiritual leader, the premise of this book is profoundly simple and simply profound. The only moment of life that matters is now. All of the distractions and aggravations of daily life can be used to pull us back into the now, to act as reminders to breath deeply, to restore our mindfulness in the moment.

I've always been interested in walking. As a little girl, my family rarely had money for outings to zoos or amusement parks; instead, my mom treated us to walks. We might head back on the dirt roads of some nearby state land to hike Poplar Pond; other days we left the car in the garage and walked partway around our lake, crossing through yards when one set of neighborhood gravel roads dead ended to reach the new unpaved network beyond - to a little playground hidden among the homes. As teenagers, my friends and I walked endlessly, jumping off sandy bluffs that we found along the way, wandering through the woods, or leaving the neighborhood behind to explore life on the asphalt roads beyond.

In my grown-up suburban life, my dog (and the dogs before her) have always given me good reason to get out of the house most every day. The chatter of little companions and the constant cautionary eye of motherhood kept me from truly relaxing into my walks during the intense years of growing up but since then, without even knowing it, I've settled into the rhythm of walking with mindfulness or, if you will, proper flaneuring.

Often when I'm starting out on my walk, I can be peevish and annoyed. This walk eats up a solid 45 minutes of my time every day, and some days I just don't feel like I have that time to spare. But I've learned to catch myself at that point, and say, "Stop." With a simple reminder to chill and enjoy the journey, my mindset shifts to one of curiosity and openness. Some days, my inner landscape takes center stage, and I think about whatever is on my mind. Not to worry or stress, but to simply let my mind wander. I wonder about whatever interests me and let my imagination run wild. I get some of my best ideas this way.

Other days, my mind quiets and my eyes take over. Cars, bikes, and other walkers provide a fairly unending parade of stimuli but more often I'm drawn to nature and specifically, the passing of the seasons. I take note of the order in which the local shrubs bloom, I watch for the daisies that pop up in the fields twice a year. I can recall the exact scent of the leaves that begin to dry out and drop by mid-August, and I know the places where the snow lingers longest, in the shady patches along the edge of the forest.

These walking moments bring me back to myself, make me whole again, settle my soul and bring me peace. Though I'm neither a Zen master nor a Millennial with a flair for words, I know what's good for me. And that's why I love to take walks.

* * * * *

Read more about what I've been reading:

Reading Afternoons

Reading Mornings

Reading Children's Books

Reading Memories

Reading Recommendations

Reading Inspiration

Reading Insights

Reading At The Pool

Reading About The Desert

Reading On Repeat

Reading Natalie Babbit

Reading The Truth

Reading Books That Are Blue

Reading Mysteries

Reading About Walking

News Trend Reunited |Actual

For the past couple evenings - well, what I consider the evening is more like the middle of the night for most people - I've been rummaging around in the depths of my kitchen cabinets, trying to track down a certain pair of plates and matching mugs.

A picnic set.

These tried and true 80s gems came to me as wedding gifts, and my husband and I put them to immediate use on our cross-country honeymoon to California.

We lived in Chicago at the time - Evanston, Illinois, to be exact - so we really did cross a goodly portion of the USA.

And in the fashion to which we later became very accustomed, we practiced the fine art of rest stop picnicking along the way. Though breakfast and dinner were eaten in proper sit-down restaurants, lunch was always a picnic table in the sunshine, with our new red dishes front and center.

See? Here's proof.

As the years and then decades flew by and our family grew from two to six, the red picnic dishes began to drift toward the back of the kitchen cupboards. I realized lately that I hadn't seen them in a while.

I also realized that they are old enough now to be considered vintage. The Heller brand has enjoyed a bit of resurgence in the new millennium, and I've seen these very same pieces on Etsy and Ebay for a price well in excess of the originals.

Night before last, I finally turned up some good news. I found the plates! Just as I'd suspected, they were buried underneath a stash of plastic Mariners soda cups but none the worse for wear.

I was, in a word, overjoyed.

But my quest was not yet ended because the matching mugs were not in the same location, as I had crossed my fingers and hoped that they would be.

Last night, as I triple-checked the weird cupboard over the fridge that houses orphans, and took a quick tour through my overflow dish storage in the garage, I remembered with a sinking feeling a prior cleaning binge from several years back.

Some part of my brain recalled that I'd been considered getting rid of my red plastic picnic gear - I mean, we now have a full set of camp dishes for a family of six, so why did I need these old codgers too? And while I obviously hadn't parted with the plates, I seemed to recall making a weird deal with myself that if I let go of the mugs, it would be okay to keep the plates.

Ugh. I'd given away my 1984 red Heller mugs and I was consumed with regret.

So I did what any red-blooded declutterer does when she realizes she has gone too far.

I jumped online and scoured up some replacements.

Now these replacement mugs looked exactly like the ones I'd had before. But they were not cheap.

I thought about what else that money could buy.

I remembered my shopping ban.

I reasoned that I had made the decision to let the originals go.

I reminded myself that don't need two thirty-year-old chunks of plastic to feel good about myself.

These thoughts didn't even slow me down.

I plowed through to my shopping cart and began ticking through the screens as I placed my order.

And just as I was about to enter my CVC number - which means I pushed back my chair to go get my wallet because I can memorize the 16 digits of my debit card number but I never remember that three-digit code - I suddenly had a vision.

The red plastic mugs were in the picnic basket.

Yes, we also received a cute little Yogi Bear-style pic-a-nic type basket with our red dishes and that, I knew for sure, was safe and sound out in the garage. My mind suddenly seemed to recall putting the mugs in the empty basket as a clever way to store them, I couldn't be 100% sure but I could definitely:

sprint through the house,

haul the basket off its high shelf,

flip open the lid,

and look inside.

Which is exactly what I did.

And this is what I found.

Hallelujah!

My heart surged with happiness as I re-introduced plates to mugs and happily admired their timeless beauty.

I promptly cancelled out of my pending order, and wished the replacement dishes well. I hope they go to someone who really did get rid of their 1980s wedding gift and regretted it as much as I temporarily did.

This morning, my friends and I held a quick photo shoot to celebrate their reunion.

I even invited the napkins that came along with the picnic dishes to join in. After all these years and countless al fresco meals, they are still in mint condition. Sadly, the coordinating tablecloth has long since bit the dust. We loved it well.

And then, to round out the reunion, I added my picnic basket to the scene. Now the whole picnic gang is reunited and I could not be happier.

P.S. In case I ever forget, please remind me that the plates, mugs and napkins are now all being stored inside the picnic basket. I won't get fooled again.

P.P.S. Bonus footage of me on my honeymoon amidst the blooming flowers of Napa Valley.

P.P.S. Bonus footage of me on my honeymoon amidst the blooming flowers of Napa Valley.

News Trend Finishing Strong: My Stash|Actual

I've had one for many years.

I call it my stash. It's a collection of odds and ends of childhood life, too precious to be thrown away but defying categorization with any other storage solution under my roof:

Oddball photographs,

treasured drawings,

significant certificates

meaningful ticket stubs,

precious cards,

and other precious historical documents from family life that need, nay - deserve! - a proper home.

Now to be sure, these are not the top tier artifacts from my children's childhoods. Of course I have albums and journals and storage boxes devoted to a carefully curated collection of the best of the best.

The items in my stash missed that first cut; at some later date, I probably came across these gems hiding under someone's bed, two layers deep on the side of the fridge, or languishing at the back of a desk drawer. Too late - and out of chronology! - to join their betters, I set them aside to "do something with them later."

Mhmmm. You can guess how that's ended up.

After years - okay, decades! - of stuffing it into gallon size Ziploc bags, hiding it in the back of the bookcases, or shoving it into a banker's box destined for the garage, I finally gave these souvenirs of days gone by a permanent place to live.

My solution is shockingly simple. I took a blank scrapbook - mine measures 8.5 x 11 inches and I made it on the nifty little binding machine we kept in constant use during our homeschooling days - and a glue stick, and had at it. Though I used a bit of paper engineering to cope with some odd shapes and sizes, this was not a technologically sophisticated project.

And while I'm sharing these photos now, I'll freely divulge that this project is not quite done. In the next few days, I'll add some labels and explanatory notes, and zhuzh up the design a bit.

But after all these years of waiting, I'm beyond excited to have made even this much progress, and can't wait to share a sampling of my now-organized stash.

On the left - a sunny handmade birthday card for my first-born's fifth birthday from her one-year-older cousin. Certainly, this was a gem from the first moment it landed in our mailbox, but as this cousin passed away when he was twenty years old, our sentiment for the card had deepened. We will cherish it forever.

On the right - In 2002, on a family vacation, we stopped by one of my childhood friend's home in southern California. Little did we know that my kids and her kids would hit it off like wildfire, and we soon made a second trip to visit them on the following spring break. After returning home, we sent our friends this photo collage representing all the fun times we had together.

^ Sometime in the early 2000s, my kids' art teacher challenged them to create an illustration using colored pencil, and then write an accompanying story. We Streichers took that one step further by setting the parents to the same task, then publishing spiral-bound books of our illustrated stories and giving them out as Christmas gifts. The original artworks, two of which are shown here, have been living in my stash ever since.

^ And here's more of that artwork - a piece done by my youngest on the left, as well as a second drawing she did in a similar style, on the right. The photo above captures her around the same age with a friend whose mom snapped the photo during a play date and sent me a copy. Oh, the simple days before we posted and tagged.

^ At the top, here's me, my four daughters, and a few friends who wandered into the frame of a photo commemorating our first snowboarding trip to Stevens Pass, circa 2002. I spent the morning falling down and switched out to skis after lunch.

Below, two photos - snowy tree tops and a mini snowman - on repeat in a tiled image. Super artsy.

^ On the left: during my daughters' earliest years, I kept a set of four frames devoted to their artwork on the wall near my kitchen. I mounted whichever recent masterpieces tickled my fancy onto colored paper cut to fit the frames, and after displaying them for a while, saved every single one. Except this piece, done by my youngest at the ripe old age of two, somehow missed that boat. So now it lives here instead.

On the right: my years as a Girl Scout leader gave birth to a steady stream of projects and props, most of which no longer exist. But this set of paper dolls I made to feature the uniforms worn by Girl Scouts at different levels struck me as too cute to pitch. So now these girls and their GSUSA togs live in a snazzy white paper pocket.

^ Once upon a time at our school for homeschoolers, there was a magical place called the IPC Lab. I can't recall exactly what those letters stood for, but I am still imprinted with the fun that went down in those four walls. Robotic building sets, bins of journaling supplies, and computers for playing LEGO Island 2 were all the rage, but my second-born absolutely lived for the newfangled digital cameras. Pretty sure she must have convinced one of the teachers to shoot this series of photos of her with my eldest; later, my youngest joined the party for some of the cutest darn photos ever.

^ In August of 2002, our family blasted off on a spontaneous cross-country road trip to fetch a new puppy who would become our beloved Ranger. What was meant to be a long weekend's journey ended up taking the better part of a month, and later I created an entire journal chronicling that trip. But there were a few photos that turned up after I completed that book, and I could never live with myself if I got rid of photos of this little red angel.

^Oh, the joys of the web cam. Here's a sweet tween photo of my second born, probably 2001, and below that, a nifty collage she made around the same time.

^ Gems, from left to right:

A photograph of sunset at Stevens Pass (top of Hogsback if I'm not mistaken) printed on particularly lovely photo paper.

A b/w photo of baby Ranger trucking around in the dirt and sunshine at his original home on the day we came to pick him up.

A small square torn from a 1970s Thomas Guide (a cleverly designed book of maps that helped us navigate the world before GPS was a thing) that shows my neighborhood before there were any streets built here.

Casey caught in the act at the kitchen counter.

^ Above: For many years, at the end of the school year, I'd make certificates for my math students. First, I'd pick a theme - Star Wars, Harry Potter, and Lord of the Rings were particular favorites - and then choose the character that best represented each student in the class. In an elaborate cermeony, I presented each student with a handmade collage explaining who they 'were' and why, and this particular year, I went so far as to make one for myself. Gandalf, naturally.

Below: Another collage - this one having nothing to do with math - I made from tiny bits of colored scraps, torn from pages of old National Geographic magazines.

^ Three secara acak photos of my third-born, printed on paper but worth their weight in pure gold, and the crown she made for herself that settled her nickname for years: Princess Jane.

^ Teenagers like to keep their own journals and photo albums - at least mine did - so by the mid 2000s, my collections fell on lean times. But among the gems that I did find (from left to right) are a photo of my second-born at a scholarship presentation, a few small photos of another Calilfornia trip and some shots around Seattle, and my second-born with four friends, one of whom had just earned his Eagle Scout.

* * * * *

Want to see the other journals I've finished? Check them out here:

The Presidents' Pocket Biographies

My Princess Book

My Stash

Chicago