Oh, to be Young

I was sitting on the couch, watching a movie and cuddling with little L.

L - 'You remind me of Auntie B.'

Me - 'Oh do I?'

L - 'Yeah. You're fun and have brown hair and visit us and cuddle.'

Me - 'Aw, thanks L.'

L - 'Yeah, but she's skinnier.'



L



L's littler sis, C



Trippin' Through Iowa

When we first pulled up to Cedar Rock, I wasn't all that impressed. It's small. One level. Not a single window on the front. As soon as we walked in I revised my opinion. Frank Lloyd Wright hit it out of the ballpark here.

Twice a year Wright would stay at Cedar Rock in order to make sure that everything was still as it should be. When the owners first moved in, they took their food and their clothes. Wright had complete control over the project and designed everything, including the furniture. He even picked out the china, pots and pans, and appliances. This was a project in which Wright was allowed to be the artist, not just the architect.

Our tour group included a couple who are apparently remodeling their house. The wife was endlessly crooning about how the tables were such a good idea, and the fireplace was so beautiful, and the closets were too small. 'When it's time to do the kitchen in OUR house, we'll have to remember JUST HOW SWEET this teeny bathroom was!' or "Agnes was my type of gal!'. She was of the punch-people-in-the-arm-to-show-how-interesting-your-conversation-is persuasion. While talking at the person next to me, she punched me in the arm. She amazingly placed all the genius of the house at the owners' feet, rather than with Wright. Afterall, Wright had a mistress. Faultless logic, no?

As we were driving off, she crowed 'That Wright was talented scum!'.

Oh dear.

The backside of the house.

Though you can hardly see it here, the fireplace is causing me some major fireplace-envy.

And I thought there were no windows!

The boathouse. It has a full apartment and a double-decker balcony.

Jared schmoozin' at the sheep-roasting sized spit.

Perfect Lunch

The hubs takes good care of me.

The Life

We have turned into true-blue apartment dwellers.

Memories

While we were in the hospital with Ryann, I happened to take one picture. I didn't know it would be the last picture we would ever take of her. At the time I had no idea how serious things were, I was simply taking a picture to document our bizarre trip to the emergency room. I thought it would be funny to show our families to freak them out later on. Because, let me tell you, it's scary seeing your kid hooked up to cords and monitors and IVs and such. Scary because of what can happen. What it could mean. But even then, in the midst of it, it just seems like a spook story. These things don't actually happen, do they? We really believed that we would be out of there in the morning.

Even though it's hard to look at this picture now, I'm so glad that I have it. It reminds me of the last few hours we spent together. She was tired, but silly. Her hair was a mess from sleeping on it damp from her bath. She loved baths. She thought the glowing monitor on her finger was funny, we called it her magic finger.

Now we're left with an empty room. A quiet house. Searing pain. But no matter how much it hurts, if we somehow had the choice, we would do it all again in an instant. Because of the memories. Sweeter than any pain that could possibly come.

If you build it . . .

we will come.

Frankie Dear

Today, Jared and I visited Cedar Rock, one of Frank Lloyd Wright's creations. I've been inspired. Must get square toilets, post-haste!