Something simple and lovely to look at

Two of my favorite artists, Camilla Engman and Elisabeth Dunker, have formed Studio Violet. This photo is from their website. I love the simplicity of their aesthetics and the magic of what they create together. You can see more of their work at http://www.studioviolet.se/. It is a nice spot to take a visual vacation during these chaotic times.

Autumn reading

I never thought about the challenges of teaching seasons to a preschooler in the San Francisco Bay Area. Even though it is October, the air is still warm. Snow never falls. And in summer, you need a sweater to protect you from the chilly evenings. You have to use your imagination to conjure up the impressive colors of changing leaves or the frosty wonderlands of winter. Now, I am not complaining. I would not exchange the near perfection of my microclimate for real life teaching examples in my own neighborhood. It is okay that we will have to drive up to Tahoe to see snow and travel back East to show her the display of autumn color which I remember. In the meantime, though, we are reading about seasons. According to Audrey, it is fall time and the leaves are fallin'. And even though they are crunchy and brown, we jumped through them on our way to the library to get some books that show us how fall is supposed to look.

• Lois Lenski, Now It's Fall
• Tasha Tudor, Pumpkin Moonshine
• Cynthia Rylant, In November
• Margaret Wise Brown, The Little Scarecrow Boy
• Judith Rawlinson, Fletcher and the Falling Leaves
• Anne Rockwell, Apples and Pumpkins
• Nancy Elizabeth Wallace, Apples, Apples, Apples

And on seasons, in general

• Alice and Martin Provensen, The Year at Maple Hill Farm
• Tasha Tudor, Around the Year
• Brian Wildsmith, Animal Seasons
• Tasha Tudor, Five Senses
• Charlotte Zolotow, Over and Over

And a true sign fall is here in Northern California, it looks like rain. We are waiting anxiously for it.

Hope blows in

In our family, we have a tradition of going to the beach on the third weekend of September. It started rather haphazardly when we scheduled with a photographer to have family photographs taken at the beach when our daughter was nine months old. It turned out to be such a happy day, that we repeated it last year. Everyone was very happy for this year's 'so long, summer' beach day. Suddenly, my husband had to work, and the day was cancelled.

But, you don't promise a beach day lightly to a little girl who is almost three and has a memory like an elephant. So in response to her crestfallen expression when I told her that we weren't going, I packed up our car for the beach anyway. She was 'so excited', but it felt hollow to me.

We sat on the beach surrounded by fog, steep clffs, and ice-cold ocean. We ate our lunch of cheese and apples. We even had chocolate. But, I felt so empty.

Then I remembered a day a long time ago. I was a child on vacation with my parents and brother. We passed through Monterey , California, getting out of our car at this chilly, dark, stony beach. We lived in a blue-collar suburb of Philadelphia. But, I decided that day that when I grew up, I was going find home near this foggy, grey, sea-breezed place. I was going to sip a hot drink, wrap myself in a warm sweater, and read good books there. The cozy melancholy drew me.

Sitting on the beach this late September, watching my little girl play, I realized for the first time: I am here. I can go any day to the grey, sea-breezed ocean cliffs. And just then, the fog started to blow off the water, and the sun warmed us.

I have been sad lately. There is suffering and brokenness about. And things are not right. And I struggle as I did on this day to find deep contentment.

Once in awhile, though, the fog blows off, and sun peeks in. Yes, the heavy grey will roll back in tomorrow, but it blows away enough each day for me to see that the hand of God is present.

The breezes of the ocean seem to be whispering the words of Job: "No plan of yours can be thwarted...Surely, I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know...My ears had heard of you but now my eyes have see you."

I don't think as a child, I knew what I was asking for. But, God has given me a gloomy, rocky place I do not pretend to understand, made beautiful by trust in things too wonderful for me to know. And, in the melacholy, my deepest longings are being satisfied through glimpses of almighty glory that warm me like the sun.