123 Street Avenue, City Town, 99999

(123) 555-6789

email@address.com

 

You can set your address, phone number, email and site description in the settings tab.
Link to read me page with more information.

Blog

five (really) good things . on november 13

liz lamoreux

 

1. apples. just can't get enough of these lately.
2. jonny coming home early the last couple of days, including today. (thank you)
3. blue sky (even though it feels like winter outside).
4. a quiet weekend to come.
5. giving myself permission to let go of the guilt of being so behind on email, on reopening my etsy shop, and on the list goes. just breathing in and out. doing the best i can. 

and you.
what are your five really good things?
i dare you to list them.
right now.

november 12

liz lamoreux

scenes from this afternoon in (great) aunt honey's backyard:

aunt honey's yard 2

aunt honey's yard 4

aunt honey's yard 3

aunt honey's yard 1

 

it's a quiet sort of night. a letting someone else take care of things (of me) sort of night. a snuggled already in pajamas, two blankets covering me on the sofa sort of night. there is tea and my version of comfort food and bits of whispered dreams and everything is just as it should be. these are the nights when i push myself toward gratitude and let go of the shoulds and to dos and just try to breathe in and out.

november 11

liz lamoreux

pier
squam lake pause . september, 2009

a poem, written april 18, 2009

stitch by stitch 
i closed the fracture 
along the southern 
half of my heart 
until the realization 
i cannot
dam
life
today
i let living 
fill the cracks

november 10

liz lamoreux

 

 in jen's kitchen . one year ago

shutter sisters has invited readers to look back to one year ago...

last year, sitting at a dear friend's dining room table, i did a stream of consciousness writing kind of blog post that led me to this:

i am here.
i am here.
i am here.
and it is beauty.
all of it.
it is beauty.
(thank you) 

the post from one year ago reveals some whispers of truth i had wanted to share for a long time. even though i shared them in images and phrases that do not fill in the gaps of the stories, it felt powerful to claim the pieces of my past in this way.

i thought i might do this in reverse today to share pieces of this moment, on this day:

i remember a dream that became an "of course life will unfold this way" belief that turned into an "oh, i don't think i am ready for that" sort of decision. i remember a path that began to appear that enveloped me in light and love yet was filled with confusion and fear. i remember a whispered moment that became an unburying of what i was determined to ignore. i remember the afternoon that swirled into laughter that led to hope being shared and heard. i remember the reflection i met eye to eye that pushed me to accept the truth i have always known. i remember the love that entwined with the dream and held the fear and confusion and then birthed all that was meant to be.

i am here.
i am here.
i am here.
and it is beauty.
all of it.
it is beauty.
(thank you)

november 9

liz lamoreux

 up

olympic peninsula forest . april, 2009 

i wonder about the moment
when the fern
dug in,
insisting it had found
its true home
50 feet from the earth,
rooted in the oak.
did the moss feel surprise
or just sigh,
knowing the quiet
was too good to be true?

november 8

liz lamoreux

 

standing in fall . november, 2009

wanderings that led me to goodness this week:

t.ruffles. go visit this new blog collaboration. right now. oh my goodness.
stephanie's online journaling class really sounds quite lovely.
deeply inspired by kristen's (forever known as acumamakiki in our house) posts lately. especially this one. and this one.
the art of marisol spoon makes me smile (visit her etsy shop).
susannah's my creative life interview with gwen bell has my mind turning (in a very good way).
this post by stephanie at nie nie dialogues invited me to breathe deeply. (thank you for this post)

really wish you were here.
we would have tea + cake and talk and remember and dream...

november 7

liz lamoreux

nov 1
nov 1
nov 1
nov 1

scenes from an autumn evening drive.

tonight is
an almost-finished super soft crocheted scarf
a big glass of milk
millie snoozing against my legs
the sounds of jon grading
a delicious book on the pod
downloading a much-beloved album i have wanted to listen to for weeks
figuring out a few christmas presents
reflecting on the beautiful blue-skied sunday that made for a gorgeous sunset last weekend
rain rain rain
a tinge of missing
flannel pajamas
ginger cookies

(and i think it is time to admit i am attempting NaBloPoMo for the second year in a row...even if all the posts aren't "exciting" or "inspiring," i am going to just share where i am each day...thanks for stopping by.)

november 6

liz lamoreux

 

hello there you
with your incredible pants
and cheeks
and wispy hair
look at you standing tall
although perhaps unsure
between, i am guessing, a buick and a chevy
something tells me this might have been a moment of good-bye
one last photo snapped before they backed out of the driveway
to head over the hills and mountains toward home
saying good-bye was really never your thing
still isn't
waiting to cry until later
when everyone else has left
yes, this is what you do
how i wish i had those pants
i would turn them into patches of a quilt
yes
to be made for someone destined to be your size one day
those searching eyes
one foot then the other
this is what we know