Poetry & Words – Page 21 – The Oaxacaborn Blog

It’s AUGUST. I don’t know how something like that could have happened. Funny, the chatter today about Fall being just around the corner. It sure doesn’t feel that way here. The crickets’ dusk song hasn’t slowed; one chirp blends into the next with scarcely any time at all elapsed in between. The humid air is thick and unforgiving, holding up so much water it’s a wonder the clouds don’t come crashing down around our feet. My toenails are brightly painted orange – neon, not autumnal; more like sherbet than like maple leaves. The inside of the car is scorching, and the seats burn our summer legs as we climb in.

This is not the crunchy and dry California summer. This is not the verdant green, sweatshirt-clad Midwest summer. But this is our summer. Our summer, and we are peaceful. God led us to this oasis, this palm-tree laden land where our table is filled with food, where the pool is clean and refreshing and ours to enjoy, where the row of windows in the living room look out over roads and into the sky, and not into other windows.

Sometimes, it’s hard to see that this is an oasis. Our families are thousands of miles away. I do not have friends here to laugh with, friends to share a summer afternoon with. I get lost trying to find simple places like the post office. The street signs are all unfamiliar. It is hard, sometimes. Hard to be so far away from what used to be home.

But mostly, somehow, I am peaceful.

God saw what was going on with Israel. God understood. (Exodus 2:25 MSG)

Image: Day One (Self Portrait) of the August Photo Challenge.

Poetry & Words

Together in the Morning Light: My Waking Thoughts on Life with my Two Loves

July 26, 2011March 22, 2014 Gina @ Oaxacaborn

blue Moroccan lantern with green and black canvas in background

purple yarn with wood grain table in background

vintage corticelli silk thread / belding richardson button hole twist

wooden kitchen chair with white IKEA RITVA cushion and IKEA RENS sheepskin

We wake up too early, to the uneven rhythm of traffic slowing and starting again as a multicolored ribbon of cars passes in waves through the toll booth. Aveline stirs and fusses, increasing in volume until the sputtering grunts grow into a jarring cry. She presses her teary face against the slats of the crib, gripping tightly with dimpled hands as she wobbles her way into a kneeling position.

I sit up, glancing upward at the cacophonous din of pigeons who’ve taken up unwanted residence in an opening in the eaves. The water pipes groan and heave, and I hear the splash of hot water making its way through the shower head in the adjoining room as Josiah prepares for the day. I rub my eyes, reach out my arms and smile through a tired fog as Aveline’s fingers quickly grab onto me. I pick her up and pull her close. She buries her warm face in my shoulder and breathes a sigh, kicking her legs in happiness.

I carry her into the living room, letting my eyes truly see all the colors and light and beauty the new day holds. The white light enveloping the chair in the corner. The bright hues of the yarn and thread on the table. The hint of red in Aveline’s hair. Give me strength for the day, Lord, I quietly pray. Thank you for life. I change Aveline’s diaper, tossing her green pajamas into the laundry basket, smiling to myself at the sight of the heap of tiny, rumpled clothes. I pull a bright yellow mod dress off a hanger, and slip it over her strawberry blond head. The sixties-esque daisies on the dress make me smile.

Josiah walks into the kitchen, his wet hair hanging in curls. He reaches for Aveline, holding her in one arm while he measures out coffee grounds. My heart nearly overflows. My two loves, sleepy-headed and happy, together in the kitchen in the morning light. She’s learning how to make coffee, he says, and she turns around to look at me, grinning from ear to ear.

Later, she sits on his lap while he works on the iPhone game he is creating. I sit across the room, letting the bold flavors of my coffee curl around my tongue. I stare into the steaming liquid. Coffee and chocolate, I think to myself. Exactly the color of his eyes.

I read Genesis, and Jacob’s blessing speaks to me.

The God before whom walked
my fathers Abraham and Isaac,
The God who has been my shepherd
all my life long to this very day,
The Angel who delivered me from every evil,
Bless the boys.
May my name be echoed in their lives,
and the names of Abraham and Isaac, my fathers,
And may they grow…

Guest Blog, Poetry & Words

Welcome, ‘From Dates to Diapers’ readers!

July 17, 2011October 12, 2011 Gina @ Oaxacaborn

Baby Aveline on living room floor with pink and green

If you’re stopping by via my musings about joy over at From Dates to Diapers, welcome! Pull up a chair and stay awhile — I’ll make us some iced coffee. I hope you’ll stick around and join me on this journey as I capture (or try to!) the adventures of my artist-husband Josiah and our little girl Aveline. Read more about us here.

Don’t forget, even if you’re not a new reader — you can add Oaxacaborn to your blog reader or sign up to receive an email each time I post. I’m on Twitter and Facebook as well — say hello! I look forward to chatting with you.

Poetry & Words

Letters to Aveline: Thoughts While You’re Asleep (30 Day June Photo Challenge – Day 23 – Black and White)

June 23, 2011March 22, 2014 Gina @ Oaxacaborn

[Click photo to view a larger version.]

Dear Aveline,

You’re quite a character. You’ve discovered grunting, and while it may not be very ladylike, it makes me laugh. You look so seriously at your toys, swat your little hands at them, and grunt as if to warn them that they’re about to be devoured by your nomming little mouth.

You have a beautiful voice. You love to talk, and daddy and I love to listen to you. You look at us, gently reach out your hands to touch our face, and speak delicate words in a language which only you understand. What will we hear, when we can finally understand you? What of the world around you will you reinterpret to us through your words? Will you tell us of the way the light dances across your quilt in the afternoon, leaving those diamonds of sunshine you’re always trying to pick up? What names will you give to your favorite stuffed toys?

Black and white photo of plush baby toy and rattle on sheepskin in the sunlight

You enjoy your mealtimes so very much. I tell you God gives food to the little birdies outside, and God paints the pretty colors onto all the flowers. I tell you God gives us the food we have, and we thank him for everything He’s given us. You kick your legs excitedly when I lift you into the highchair — unless you’re feeling impatient, in which case you stiffen your legs, arch your back and let out a squawk or two or ten. Avocado is your favorite, without a doubt. Yesterday you branched out and happily ate some sweet potato, but made horrible faces at the green beans. Today was a different story. Today, you launched an all-out war against the sweet potato. As if yelling and smacking your palms against the highchair tray wasn’t dramatic enough, you pursed your lips and sprayed me with sweet potato puree. I had to laugh. You looked so indignant.

You’re always moving, always reaching for something. You’ve just discovered you can lift yourself up on your hands and knees and rock. This doesn’t satisfy you for long; you want to go places. Usually you default to your favorite method of locomotion, continuous rolling. Nothing is safe from your curiosity, really. You can roll across the living room floor at an alarming rate. Much to daddy’s chagrin, you unplug the xbox controllers on what seems to be a daily basis. The curtains have all been shortened as you can’t resist the tempting, billowing fabric. Figuring out ways to pull your books off the lowest shelf seems to be a favorite.

Lately, you and I have been going to the pool in the afternoon. I stand in the water and hold you, and you grin from ear to ear and splash the water with your feet. Sometimes you stop, your feet still and your fingers gripping me. You peek out from under your lacey sunhat hesitantly, trying to understand what the other pool-goers are doing. If someone accidentally splashes you, you scrunch your face into a wrinkly grimace and hold on to me more tightly. Today, you fell asleep on my shoulder on the walk back to the house.

You’re a treasure, beautiful girl, a gift from God. Daddy and I love you so very much.

Love,

Your Mama

Poetry & Words

I love you, Daddy.

June 19, 2011October 12, 2011 Gina @ Oaxacaborn

Dad Portrait in Plaid - Happy Fathers Day

Daddy, thank you for putting up with my door slamming and back-talking.

Thank you for marching me through those terrifying bottom-less puddles when I was little.

Thank you for putting up with my stubbornness, my just plain bullheadedness, and all my space-cadet moments.

Thank you for putting worms on my fishing hook for me so I didn’t have to.

Thank you for not getting mad when I ran over (lots of) your tree(s) with the riding lawn mower.

Thank you for talking to me when I didn’t always want to listen.

Thank you for loving me unconditionally.

And most of all? Thank you for showing me who Jesus is.

I love you, Pops.

Poetry & Words, Travel/Moving

A Little Girl with One Foot in Europe and One Foot in America

June 10, 2011October 12, 2011 Gina @ Oaxacaborn

Walking with my mom and brother in Eastern Europe in the 1980s
(Image taken by my dad of my mom, brother, and me in Europe in the ’80s)

Lately, the stories woven into the pages of The Late Homecomer and China Homecoming have been pulling at my heart. Pulling, reminding me what it was like to be a little girl with one foot in Europe and one foot in America. I think about that girl, sometimes. I think about how the familiar European landscape was the home she knew with her heart, and how the American home was only constructed in her mind, pieced together through the handwritten notes from aunts and grandmas.

Sometimes I think it’s even odder now, to look back at that girl. As far away as she was, sometimes I feel even further away. The girl then knew something of both cultures, at least. The girl now feels like America is too much, sometimes, taking what had been her voice and drowning it in English. Then, her small voice could speak Slovene. Now, English has swallowed what that girl once knew.

She prattled on in that tongue as she squatted down on the edge of the concrete stoop, her chubby hands scraping words with a twig into the dusty gravel. She walked home down Taborska Cesta in the dusk, feet aching from climbing trails and standing up on busses, fingers of one hand safely in daddy’s hand and fingers of the other hand wrapped tightly around wilted wild chamomile flowers.

And now, the Slovene tongue has faded. All that remains is little snippets. “Kajti tako je Bog ljubil svet.” “Dober dan.” And the constant call of parents to their children, “Pet sem!”

But there is nothing more.

I live in America now.

In my heart, I feel what it is to be European, to turn on the radio and hear the perfectly enunciated English of the BBC. I can taste what it is to have horseradish spread on my thick slices of bread and cold boiled potatoes mixed in with my salad. I know the way fresh-pressed apple juice chills me as it slides down my throat, and if I lick my lips I can still taste the zest of mustard sauce over warm wilted dandelion greens. I close my eyes and I hear the magpies, the calming coo coo coo of the dove.

I know what it is to cough the dust of coal and what it is to see yellow rain. I know the scent of wisteria, and can see the ants marching up the twisted vine. I see the long loaves of bread sticking up out of the grocery bags as people walk home from the market in the early morning dew. I hear the creaking groans of wooden racks, piled high with drying straw. I know what it is to see hoar frost dancing on barren branches. I can no longer sing the lyrics of the language, but I will always hear the accordian’s echo off Šmarna Gora.

And when I close my eyes, I am that little girl. I am there.

And someday, I will be again.

Life in Photos, Poetry & Words

30 Day June Photo Challenge – Day 8 – Sunset

June 8, 2011March 22, 2014 Gina @ Oaxacaborn

I missed yesterday’s photo (high angle shot). I lovingly blame a growth-spurting Aveline, who went on a sleep strike and ate hourly for fifteen hours. So you can imagine I’m quite glad to see tonight’s photo, a setting sun. It means bedtime is right around the corner. For how napless my bebe is, she lays her little head down obediently every single night and falls right asleep.

And every single night, I marvel at how incredibly blessed I am and how rich our life is. Like right now, for instance. Aveline is sitting on my lap, holding on to a wash cloth in one hand and beating on the desk with her other hand. She says, “Ahhh. Hahhh. Ahhh. Gahh. Eeeehaa.” while looking over at Josiah, who is sitting next to me clicking away at his computer. I think she’s singing along with Cary Brothers, who is softly crooning, “There is something about you baby so right / I wouldn’t be here without you baby tonight / If ever our love was concealed / No one can say that we didn’t feel a million things / And a perfect dream of life.”

Josiah gets up, walks into the kitchen and switches the light on. I hear the clink of dishes as he unloads the dishwasher. Aveline drops the washcloth to the floor and sticks her tiny foot up on the desk between my hands, still babbling away in her precious little voice.

“You’re the secret I keep, I just wanna be the one, I just wanna sing this song with you.”

[Click photo to view a larger version.]

Poetry & Words

letters to aveline: your beautiful voice

May 25, 2011March 22, 2014 Gina @ Oaxacaborn

my beautiful baby girl wearing a pink calico dress and lavender bloomers, laying on periwinkle fabric

Dear Aveline,

I love how happy you are. You bring me so much joy. You’ve recently added many new sounds to your vocabulary in the past couple weeks, and your babbling voice is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. You sound like you must have come straight from heaven. In a way, you did. You’re the answer to our prayers.

Yesterday, you discovered your feet. You spent an unbelievable amount of time bent over, intently grabbing at your feet. You grunted in the most hilarious way. And I am sorry, but I couldn’t help but laugh when you got squawking mad because you were unable to pull off your toes.

I love you, my little sweets.

Always and forever,
Your mama