Last night I had a dream about my grandmother, not a regular dream but a visiting dream.  You know those kind?

We used to take rides together in the car when I was growing up.  She would tell me about important life stuff that required having a teenager strapped down for awhile, unable to find a distraction outside of the mountain range ahead or twinkling Christmas lights around town.  She reserved these rides for advice like, “Don’t even think about getting married until you’re 25,” and “You’re a butterfly girl.  Pursuing any career that isn’t creative will suffocate you.”

She was a smart lady.

Sometimes I wonder what she would be like now, walking toward her last steps in life if Crohn’s hadn’t ended her journey so prematurely.  I was tickled when she showed up in a mini van, complete with handicapped tag in the window, and translucent white hair.  She pays closer attention than I think.  We went for a drive.

Up the hills.  Overlooking valleys.  To places that I hadn’t seen in a long, long time.  Places that transform with time, shifting in size and magnitude.

“Wow, that valley used to look so much deeper.  It’s really not that big of a drop, is it?”

“I remember when I couldn’t even get all the way up that hill.”

She drove, mostly quiet but giving thousands of words in wisdom through the familiar skylines that we looked at together time and time again.  We sat at the base of a mountain, one I hadn’t seen before, and we were silent.  There was a large playing field at the peak, a professional football stadium.  In the gate stood a man.  She started up the road, quickly.

“Gram, you’re going really fast.  You might hit that guy.”

“Jewel, you gotta keep your momentum high because the hardest part is just before the top.  Don’t stop, don’t slow down.  Or you’ll have to go all the way back to the bottom and start over. He’ll just have to move.”

*blink*blink*

Last week, I experienced a pretty good setback.  And by pretty good, I mean both substantial and positive.  Though I had checked, double checked, and triple checked with lots of official and important sounding people, I was given the incorrect direction in terms of health department requirements and tiny empires of tea.  It seems tea is a gray area and there are particular packaging/repackaging rules that require a hefty amount of paperwork and licensing.  These requirements are now taking up plenty of space on my to-do list.

And that means no more tea until I get it sorted out.

While I’m happy that I finally have a definitive answer and I will eventually be able to offer and produce my tea blends on a grander scale, it kind of sucks that I didn’t have this information three months ago.  You know, before the peak of tourist season.

Sigh.

Thankfully, I’ve been on a little knitting bender.…

And I like to flitter from flower to flower.

It’s kind of my thing.

St. Patrick’s Day always makes me think of you.

Last night, I was breathing in the sweet smell of my little baby girl, happily thinking of how pleased I’m sure you are that she has red hair.  No denying it now–there are streaks of fire on that girl.

I smelled you.  Not the bottled up version of you that I have tucked away for when I miss you, but the real thing.  The orange and red shag carpet, the red stove, the morning sun shining in through the kitchen window while you sat at the island reading the paper and drinking your coffee.

I miss your songs and when you would have strawberry soap.

You gave a kiss to Annabelle and told me some good secrets about her.  She is like me…happy and free and reckless and she already doesn’t give a shit about anyone else’s agenda.  Another butterfly.  I will be patient.

I love you.  I miss you.

~ j

I got the dreams you sent–I can’t tell you enough how good it was to hear from you again.  Sorry it took me awhile to get back to you but I don’t think I quite understood it at first.  I have so many things under my finger at the moment that it takes awhile for things to soak in sometimes.

You’ve probably seen the two little ones by now ~ your presence at their births was powerful and clear.  Thank you so much for all of the loving protection, especially during Nico’s surgery a couple of months ago.

He’s back to his old self again..which can be somewhat aggravating since he’s two now.

Miss Annabelle is growing at lightening speed.  Her first tooth has erupted and she has a fine time chewing on ol’ mama while the rest pop up.  We love to make her smile so we can see the solitary pearly white standing proudly in her little pink gums.  We haven’t tried the whiskey on her yet but a nip here and there sure helps me get through the teething.  So far she seems to like turkey jerky well enough to help them cut through.

She’s quite a character.  I’m starting to think the mystery nose might belong to you. (Like the sweater? S’s mother was kind enough to make one for each of the kids when they were born.)

The days are intense with our sweet Irish twins (18 months apart…what were we thinking?  hahaha) and I wish you were here to tell me stories about your life as a mother.  I always loved the story about the time that the boys got into the flour and threw it all over the kitchen–I can envision it perfectly now that I have two little ones with that same devilish sparkle in their eyes.  I’m sure you had a million more just like it that would help me smile through the rocky moments around here.  It’s good to know that dreamspeak is a language that we share now too.

I better get back to the kiddos ~ Nico is tiring of his cars and is starting to throw things at the tree again.  Please let the ladies know how much I love the ideas for the dresses!  It might take a little while for me to get them underway but I’m seeing the ideas emerge with great clarity, bit by bit.

I miss you. I miss you every day. Still.

much love ~ julie