Repurposing Cozy

One of my favorite things about moving into our new apartment last summer was enjoying the chance to see all our things in a new space. What would fit where? This picture always sat on that table. Should it still sit there in this space?

And now that we've been here a few months, I'm finding it exciting to reinvent again - in a new way. How many new little cozy corners can I make out of the things I already have? Without spending money, what can I concoct? 

I made my first little project last week, and I love it, so I wanted to share it with you. 

As you may or may not remember, for the four years we lived in our Kokomo house, our dining room table was actually our desk in our office. Our kitchen was too small for the table, so we used it as a desk. But in our apartment now, it's once again the dining room table, and I do love it there. 

What I did not have for it was a centerpiece. Of course a table doesn't have to have a centerpiece, but I like them. I wanted to make something that was simple and easy to remove when necessary, yet something that could easily have a piece of each season tucked in it if possible. 

Arranging isn't one of my gifts, so that threw an extra challenge into this mix. 

It was probably five or six years ago that Ryan's mom gave me a little wooden toolbox from her own cabin collection. She wasn't using it in her decor anymore and she wondered if I might like it for our house. Of course I said yes, and for the longest time, it sat next to our fireplace with a couple of pieces of firewood in it. 

We moved here and those pieces of firewood still sat in that little toolbox, and I pushed it under the table at the entry, mostly because I didn't know what else to do with it. One day last week, I stared at it for a while and wondered if I just might be able to do something a little different with it. I dared to believe it might have a life and purpose beyond what it's had for the past few years.

I took out the wood and cleaned up the box. I found a white vase my sister-in-law gave me for my birthday a few years ago, some spare flowers in a storage tub, and a couple of battery operated candles I rescued from the rummage pile at Nita's. 

A few minutes later...

It's the perfect little simple piece for our table. Soft light in the evening, a little bit of color, and a whole step up from the fake firewood holder. 

Nothing in the house is safe now. Everything has the potential to find a repurposed home in the cozy quest. 

If you're needing a winter project, give it a try! Repurpose some cozy corners in your house!

Sunday Sentiments

Someone asked the other day what sort of qualifications we had for this job.

It's an awkward question, for sure. It was awkward when it showed up in our interview.

Why should we hire you for this job?

We had nothing to offer that made for a good answer to that question. Neither of us had a degree in counseling, social work, or anything else that fit with this job. Just a writer and a PTA signing up for a new adventure. Neither of us had children that we had successfully raised to teenage years and beyond. Neither of us ever worked in a field like this one before. Neither of us grew up in an environment that matched what our young adults know firsthand.

What we did have to offer was simply that we felt God nudging us this direction. We brought with us a combined 80ish years of life experience that we hoped would translate into understanding and advice for conversations at hand. We brought a desire to make a difference. We brought organization, creativity, and loyalty. 

So the answer to the question is that we have zero qualifications if you look on paper. It's jarring to say, but it's true.

But we do have the equipping of the Lord. 

Some days we have to remind ourselves of that regularly. Some days we stare at each other, wide-eyed, and say what in the world do we do now? Some days we glance around for the adult in charge and realize we're those adults.

Here's the truth of it, though:

I like it better that way.

Certainly I appreciate (and lean toward) those who have years of education and understanding about deep, difficult issues. I readily welcome their advice. Certainly I pay attention to the wisdom of those who have walked these roads before, whether personally or in raising children. 

But I also appreciate that the all-powerful God of creation makes His power perfect in my weakness. I appreciate that In those moments when I'm at a loss, He's not even slightly confused. When I sit in a conversation and wonder what my next word should be, He places it on my tongue. When I don't know how to react, He nudges with pushes and stops as necessary.

Our job is merely an example, you know. None of us are experts in all things in life. None of us sail through each day utterly confident in every choice we must make. But we do all have access to the Power that is perfect in our weakness. 

And for that, I'm grateful. 

The Saturday Six

 

One.

Ryan and I just got our very first piece of cast iron cookware, so we needed a little tutoring on use, care, etc. I found this article to be pretty helpful, so I thought I'd share it here with you! Do any of you use cast iron? Any tips for us? (Fun side fact: I interviewed someone from Lodge Cast Iron when I worked at WBCL!) 

Two.

Finding simplicity and rest is so important to me - especially in this season of life - so I appreciated the words in this article! I invite you to join me in rest! 

Three.

You know, a couple of nights ago, I had a dream about work. (Current work.) It was SO REAL, and I was convinced when I woke up that it had actually happened. The people in the dream were real and were in their correct jobs. It was so weird. You're probably fully invested in your job when you start to have realistic dreams about it, huh? But you also never REALLY let go of your old job, do you? Such is the case for me and my good old finaid years. This article popped up in my Pinterest feed, so I thought I'd pass it along in case any of you are prepping kids for college these days. And now I shall step away from my former years of financial aid advice! :) 

Four.

A shed turned farmhouse? I think it's adorable. (If you didn't' need the second bedroom and could open up the front, that would be even more amazing!

Five.

I've been doing a little repurposing around the house, and up next is the entry table. I've been looking for some tips and inspiration and think that this little post gave some great advice on a pretty and functional entry table!

Six.

Coffee brownies with mocha frosting? SIGN. ME. UP. 

Binge Watching Bob Ross

I came into the living room from putting away laundry last night and found Ryan settled on the couch, eyes glued to the TV. I swung my gaze around to see what had him so captured, and there stood Bob Ross, painting happy little trees on a canvas. 

I giggled right out loud. First of all, other than football, Ryan doesn't really focus on TV. We often have it on for background noise, but he doesn't normally sit and stare. So the direct gaze and open-mouthed wonder were quite a sight. Secondly, I don't believe Bob Ross has ever been on our screen, so that was a surprise. 

When I sat down, I discovered I'd missed a text from my friend Amber, who said, "How's your week going?" I snapped a picture and sent it to her with the following response. "Ryan is binge watching this. Does that answer your question?"

Ryan looked over at me and said, "I put this on to run in the background, but I just can't look away! I'm hooked!"

I watched Bob casually put a sky, body of water, and clouds on a canvas in the span of two minutes and said to Ryan, "If I tried to do that...it would look nothing like that."

It's a true story. I so admire the talent Bob Ross had, but my happy little tree would be mysterious giant blobs. Onlookers would be forced to say to me, "Tell me about this painting." 

I've always admired those with an artistic flair. My friend Amber (of the texting conversation) is a brilliant artist. I joked with her the other day about something I should get on a t-shirt and in five LITERAL minutes, she'd sent me a picture with a generously perfect sketch of just such a shirt. Something she'd just whipped up for fun. It blows my mind and I have such respect for the talent that just pours out of her fingertips. 

I feel the same way about those with musical talent. I remember one night, early on in my speaking days, when I spoke at a women's dinner at a church in Fort Wayne. There were about 300 women in attendance that night, making it the biggest crowd I'd ever addressed. I was crazy nervous until the musician started playing. She played the harp, which has always fascinated me. I sat, mesmerized, and when she was done, I wanted to lean over and ask if we could just skip my talk and listen to her some more. 

I don't know if I could ever learn the harp or not (and fortunately my budget has made that decision for me) but oh how I love listening to harpists play! 

There are so very many talents out there that fascinate me:

* Perfectly decorated sugar cookies with the Royal Icing detail.

* Flower arrangements that are full and gorgeous.

* Latte art - effortlessly.

* All the braids that twist together and look amazing.

* Anything crocheted.

And the list goes on. It's not that I don't appreciate the talents God gave me, because I do! I love them and am thankful for them. But watching others shine - seemingly effortlessly - with their own talents always draws me in. (Much like Bob Ross painting happy little trees for Ryan.) 

How about you? What talents do you love to appreciate? 

Carrying the Story

One of the first things I learned about Ryan's mom was her love for pictures. I discovered in the days following her death that she had always loved pictures. They brought out boxes filled to the brim with double prints (remember those?) of all sorts of pictures from the the kids' childhood years. They said there were even more somewhere...to be stumbled upon later.

By the time I really got to know her, though, she had taken classes in photography and invested in a big camera. She took such beautiful pictures, and I always loved seeing what she captured through her lenses. 

Photos were common ground for us. Admittedly I was nervous to bring my memory-making self into a family with a memory-making matriarch, but she made room for my camera to capture life right alongside hers. We shared our finds with one another, and a few times, we even worked side by side!

(This was a picture of us from the night we were photographers at WBCL's Daddy Daughter Date Night.)

Nita took our engagement pictures, many photos at our wedding, and our annual photos for a few years after that. She always showed up with her heavy bag, laden with lenses and cameras, to match her mind - laden with ideas for us. 

(I loved that bag, though after carrying it for her a dozen or so blocks through downtown Indianapolis one night, I had a healthy respect for just how heavy it was!)

So when we began to sort through her belongings, I realized all I really wanted - if I could have it - was that bag. She had given me many beautiful gifts throughout the years we shared together, and I still have and treasure those things she chose for me. They were enough, and I didn't need to bring home more boxes of things for the house. But if I could have the camera bag, I would consider it an honor.

That bag was more than just pretty and durable. It was the carrier of the stories. It had accompanied her so many places and protected the stories she collected through the lenses of her cameras. It was dear to her and always with her, no matter what.

We brought it home a few weeks ago, and Ryan cleaned it up so it would be all ready for me. One morning when I had a little free time, I pulled my own camera and accessories out of my starter bag I've carried for the last several years. I carefully found a home for each item down inside the beautiful new-to-me bag and stood back to look. 

There it was.

Her sturdy bag with her scarf tied on the corner, just where she left it. 

Nita was a sentimental soul, and I really think it would have made her so happy to know this bag will still carry stories. It will still protect captured memories. And every time I carry it with me, I'll think of her and hope that somehow, the stories I tell through my own lenses will honor the memory-making she loved so dearly. 

98 Months and Conquering Fears

Yesterday marked 98 months since our wedding day, and though we enjoyed a day filled with blissful blue sky and brilliant sun - much like our wedding day - the temps were a solid fifty degrees colder than our wedding day. 

Work days make it challenging to have much free time for celebrating, but we determined we would carve out a little bit of time for some fun. For two days, Ryan had wanted to visit the sledding hill, but we never had a spare moment of daylight to sneak down there. What better time to go than as a monthiversary celebration, right?

We suited up in extra layers and picked our way through the snow to the bottom of the sledding hill. One side had already been stripped of the snow, partially from overuse, I'm sure, and partially from the sun. But the back of the hill was still covered in solid snow, and Ryan climbed straight to the top. He slid down over and over, trying different angles for the best run.

He asked if I was ready to try, and I'm sure he was ready to hear a "HA! No way." But the truth was...I really did want to try. And because there was not another soul in sight as far as the eye could see, I decided to be brave.

Oh yes, it's true. I've never gone sledding down a hill in my life. My dad pulled me around the yard on a sled when I was little, and there was that one time a few years ago when Ryan and I went sledding down our neighbor's (short) icy driveway. But I've never truly gone sledding.

The whole idea of hurtling down a hill without a brake is beyond my comfort zone. I'm not big on going quickly, and sledding seems a "quickly" sport. Plus I'm always fearful of colliding with others, but that fear didn't exist with an empty hill.

Maybe I could try.

I took the sled and climbed the lowest part of the hill. I mean I climbed partway up the lowest part of the hill. I sat and kept my feet firmly in front of the sled to keep control of the whole hurtling thing. If the adventure could be described in tortoise and hare analogies, I felt like the hare, but video footage confirmed I was indeed the tortoise. Maybe even a tortoise with four broken legs. 

I skidded to a stop, climbed back up, and went a second time. I wasn't ready for the Olympics, but I did improve...slightly. 

And I was so excited. As crazy as it looked, it was a huge moment for the sledding scaredy-cat. 

Ryan has a way of making it possible for me to try things that generally terrify me. You remember the ziplining, right? Every month, when we celebrate our monthiversary, I try to think of something specific and unique that I especially appreciate about him - and there are many things, of course. This month, though, I'm grateful for a husband who doesn't pick on me about the things that scare me and makes it possible for me to dare to try them when I'm ready. 

Thanks for taking me sledding, Ryan! Let's go again...next time the hill is empty! ;) Love you!

First Friends

Yesterday I cleaned out my camera bag to move the contents into a new home, which is a story for another day. The bag I've used for the last seven or so years is wildly whimsical and vibrant in color. It's a sling backpack I purchased from a co-worker in my WBCL days. It's served me well, traveled with me extensively, and protected my cameras faithfully in between the memory making. Soon I'll tell you about the switch and why it's such a sweet moment for me.

But today I want to tell you about a dear friend I found as I cleaned out that trusty bag. 

It was my first digital camera. 

I remember so very well the day I bought it. I'd been keeping the disposable camera industry afloat nearly single-handedly, but one of the student workers in my office brought in her newly purchased digital camera and demonstrated for the front desk staff all the merits it provided. Instant viewing privileges on a tiny screen on the back of the camera. Imagine the life-altering knowledge of immediately knowing if your photo was blurry or your subject's eyes were closed!? 

She scrolled her way through the special features and sold me when she showed me I could actually take a photo in black and white or...are you ready for this?...sepia.

I counted pennies, asked her for input on brands, and finally made the purchase. 

It was a little Samsung point and shoot that is actually smaller than my current phone. And speaking of phones, back then they were just for placing calls and doing this other newfangled thing called texting. It was where you could press the #2 button three times to get the letter C and then the #3 button twice to get the letter E. Twenty minutes later, you could have this century's version of a Morse Code tapped out to ask a quick question without ever speaking to a soul. 

Life-changing.

But I digress.

I tucked that little Samsung camera into my purse and took it everywhere. Hundreds - even thousands - of photos went onto the oddly shaped memory card (What? No film?) that I got lodged securely in the photo kiosk at Wal-Mart the first time I ever tried to develop pictures. True story. The man in the blue vest had to dig it out with a screwdriver and handed it back to me with a glare that I interpreted as a stern warning to not let such a thing ever transpire again. I didn't. I started going to WalGreens instead. 

I did take some sepia pictures, and some in black and white. I learned to take selfies on that camera before selfies were even a thing. (When you're single and want to document your life, you learn to take selfies.) 

I used that little Samsung for many years before upgrading to a fancier point-and-shoot that looked like a DSLR without actually being a DSLR. Even for a while after that, I carried the Samsung in my purse, because it was tiny and convenient. Then I got used to the bells and whistles of the bigger camera and made room for that in my purse instead - even though it gave me neck strain to carry it. 

It doesn't work anymore. I put batteries in it a while back just to see, and it wouldn't turn on. I couldn't bring myself to throw it away then, because it reminded me of the early days when I really allowed myself to fall in love with unabashed memory-making. Digital photos meant I could actually afford to take as many as I wanted, because I didn't have to buy film or pay to develop the pictures. 

That little Samsung was my friend and partner in documentation.

Yesterday I decided we could finally say goodbye. I'm ready to let go of the broken camera, but I'm forever grateful for the years upon years of pictures I will forever have because it traveled with me and helped me keep record of all that happened.

How about you? Do you remember your first camera? Any of you still have it? 

Teamwork

Good morning friends, and happy February!! I know some people in our area are pretty happy to be enjoying a proper snow day; are you doing the same? If so, enjoy!!!

***

It's been close to a decade now since one of my friends had her first baby. She and her husband lived far from family, and she told me when the baby came, they wanted to do the first few weeks completely on their own. They didn't mind if family or friends came for daytime visits, but when it came to doing the whole 24 hour cycle from start to finish, they wanted to learn to do it themselves from the very start.

"We're a team," she told me. "We've always been a team. This is a new adventure for us, and we know it will be hard and we'll be tired, but we want to know that we can do it before we start inviting people to come and stay for long visits. We want to figure out our rhythm." 

It was an unusual perspective, at least compared to most of my other friends who had babies and wanted family members coming to stay on a rotation. But I appreciated the perspective, nonetheless. Though I didn't have a newborn of my own, I was a newlywed, and I was busy learning how to become a team when I'd been on my own for so long. Something about her confidence in the team they were spurred me on to make sure Ryan and I found and kept some version of the same thing.

This past summer, when Ryan and I were in the first few days of work here at WillowBridge, we spent some time talking to Gateway's director and his wife. They started their journey with Gateway many years ago - as houseparents. (We've learned that almost everyone who has ever worked here was a houseparent at some point. We hear this same story over and over!) His wife told us that they realized about six months in, they'd finally found their sweet spot as a team. She encouraged us to push through the learning curve, the hard days, and everything else, and eventually we'd find that same spot. We would have a rhythm down, and we might not even realized when it actually happened. But eventually we would see it.

I wouldn't go so far as to say we have it perfected, but I caught a unique glimpse of it yesterday, and it made my heart smile.

Yes, the predicted snow found us. It started late, but once it began, it didn't stop. We woke up to somewhere around 6-7 inches of snow blanketing the property - drifted in some areas. After church (online) and some meetings, Ryan said he was headed out to shovel. I glanced at the clock and knew he'd never get it all cleared before darkness fell, so I started suiting up to help. He told me not to worry about it, but I insisted. 

Leggings. Jeans. Sweatshirt. Coat. Hat. Extra thick muffler. Sunglasses. Gloves. Hiking boots. I may not have been fit for a photo shoot, but I was fit for warmth!  

We pushed our way out the front door, which wouldn't even open all the way because of the heavy, wet snow. It was the kind of snow perfect for sledding and snowmen. In fact, as we stepped outside, we heard the shouts of glee drifting over the building from the sledding hill down the way. And with that as our background music, we stared at the glistening snow that spanned the wide sidewalks and into the parking lot. We took deep breaths and started shoveling. 

Surprisingly without much effort, our plan started falling into place. (The shoveling took effort, of course, but the plan just showed up.) Ryan led and laid out the path, and I followed, filling it out to the edges and picking up the leftover clumps of snow. 

While we worked, we laughed, talked, told stories, and made jokes. If shoveling could be classified as fun, this was it. And every time we reached a new space, we stopped to map out the next part of the plan: push this way, throw snow that way, work from this side to that. We pointed, gave opinions, weighed options, and then fell into the rhythm of work once again. 

My FitBit buzzed to let me know I'd shoveled ten thousand steps worth of snow, and my arms ached from lifting over and over. But I stayed warm, and my hiking boots kept an impressive grip on the ground. I wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else in that moment than shoveling beside Ryan. In fact, one of our tenants had a visitor while we worked, and he offered to help us, but I waved him on. I didn't want to give up my place beside Ryan, working together, doing this thing we do. This teamwork. This rhythm. 

Sunday Sentiments

As I write this to you the night before you'll read it, we're told we could have our first big snowstorm of the year. No flakes have floated down outside our windows just yet, but it could be that we'll wake up to the kind of snow that keeps us inside for a snowy Sabbath. 

We had a hint of snow earlier this week and it was grand, clinging to bare branches just loosely enough that I could see the delicate detail of each flake. Beneath the snow was the tiniest layer of ice, which felt treacherous beneath my feat but dazzled from the branches. It was just light enough to be beautiful without bringing the branches into a bow low to the earth. 

I'd watched earlier in the day as those same flakes drifted down, and I tried to capture it on camera, but nothing compared to watching them float before me. 

The glory of God indeed. In the snow, the ice, the rays of sunshine, the soft sunrises and brilliant sunsets. In all of them, the glory of God.

The color.

The detail.

The warmth.

The cold. 

The design.

The depth. 

The glory of God. 

Whether or not we wake up to snow, I'm captured by the declaration of glory today. I'm putting my focus there. In all the messy uncertainty around us, God has not stopped declaring His glory or showing the work of His hands.

All we have to do is look up. 

The Saturday Six

 

One.

I've talked to some of you in private messages lately and know you are struggling with discouragement about many things. These things are huge and real and loom without end. My heart aches for you and though our details may be different, I do understand the huge, real, looming discouragement that just hovers. If that's you today, here are some words of understanding and encouragement that might bring some hope to your hearts. They did to mine!

Two.

I can't vouch for any of these recipes from experience, but I appreciate the idea of some new recipes for healthy snacks! A few of these are making me drool significantly!! (Hello, flourless coconut almond bars and no bake fudge oatmeal bars, just to name a couple...)

Three.

I saw this one on another blog and thought I would share it with you, because if you like the idea of a capsule wardrobe but aren't sure how to start, this is a place that offers custom guides for people. I read a blog review from someone who did it and loved it. It looked intriguing to me! (The mixing and matching is always the part I feel like I fall short on...like I don't see all the possibilities.) 

Four.

I loved the winter decor in this entryway. (I also realized last night that I never put winter-ish flowers in my vase on our "porch." That poor little vase is just sitting there all empty. Whoopsie! Guess I still have some winterizing to do! 

Five.

When I was growing up, I wore barrettes ALL THE TIME. I quit wearing them after college when I went through my super short hair phase...and then they sort of disappeared from the style radar, so I never came back to them. I've seen them on more people lately and though I initially decided I wouldn't return to them, I've started to become intrigued. This one, in particular, looks simple enough to draw me back in. Any of you back in barrettes these days? 

Six.

My friend Leslie shared about this one this week and I have to share forward. It's been almost a year since Leslie and her husband said a heartbreaking goodbye to their tiny twin boys. Bridget's Cradles had made a donation to the hospital where Leslie delivered, so they were able to hold their tiny boys in one of these cradles. I love it that she shared, because I'd never heard about these before. Because of our own family's experience with loss, this is something dear to my heart, so I wanted to share! 

Three Words

We all held our breath, I think, as 2020 slid into 2021 almost a month ago now. We wanted to be hopeful. We wanted to grab hold of a thread that would swing us into some freshness and newness. We craved leaving behind the uncertainty and fear that dominated so many corners of the year before.

We wanted to, but most of us were also afraid. After all, we know there's nothing magical about the midnight stroke. Life isn't a Cinderella script. 

So we reached forward hesitantly, wanting to believe the best of a new year, while simultaneously throwing a backward glance, aware of what we'd just lived for so may months.

This weekend we cross off the first month of 2021, and a question I saw this week really struck me: what three words would you use to describe your January?

I had to ponder that one. Just three words?? You know I'm not known for brevity, right? But I welcomed the challenge and came up with these three words for my January:

1. Pause. 

Though the month has been busy, I have carved out time to pause this month. I've paused to read. I've paused to dig deeply into the Bible. I've paused to walk and pray. I've paused to think deeply about hard questions. I've paused to ponder what God wants from me in this moment and in the moments to come. 

Pausing, at least for me, has been a challenge. It's forced me to consider difficult changes. It's opened my eyes to subjects that may not be easy or pleasant. But it's been good for me. I've come to welcome the pause, even when I know it may bring discomfort. 

2. Courage.

My job is growing me. When Ryan and I sat in our interview last summer, Rob asked some tough questions about areas where we might need to grow as people. They weren't questions meant to keep us from being hired, but rather questions that challenged us to recognize that we are never done growing or learning. Courage in the face of conflict is a difficult area for me, and I shared candidly about that in our interview. I'm usually the peacemaker in a room, and conflict isn't my favorite thing.

But this month found me exhibiting some boldness and courage in ways I've never done before. I will probably always lean toward being the peacemaker and calming presence, but it's exciting to me to learn a courage lives in my heart that I didn't even know I had until now. God promised me He would equip me for this job - not ahead of time, but just in time. I've seen that in new ways this month and I'm grateful. 

3. Faith.

Like I said, God doesn't equip me ahead of time, but He does give me what I need just in time for the moments I need them. As life twists and changes - almost daily - I find myself gripping tighter to my faith in God. 

Faith for the right words in the right moments. Faith to believe He has answers to the questions that run deep. Faith that God will care for situations that seem silly to me even when I pray about them. Faith that He has a plan, even when I don't see what it could possibly be. Faith that even the things that didn't turn out the way I'd hoped aren't lost causes.

Yes. Pause, courage, and faith. Those are words that describe my January. (I started to say they described our January, but I didn't figure I should commit Ryan to all three of my words. He might have his own!)  What would you say described yours?

City Snow and Country Snow...

A few days ago, we reminisced about last Valentine's Day, when Ryan surprised me with an overnight getaway in Indianapolis. He'd found the tiniest little Airbnb apartment on the top floor of an apartment building, with a gorgeous view of the city skyline. 

The air was frigid, but the sunset was so brilliant, and I kept asking Ryan for one more minute before we left for dinner so I could watch the hues in the sky change a little bit more before it all slid into darkness. And as they did, I thought how lovely it would be to sit in that very perch every single night and watch the shades shift.

Staying in the city meant the restaurant was actually in the very same building as our apartment. One quick jaunt through the parking garage landed us inside the front door of our dinner destination. And on our way back through to the elevator, we stopped at the full-service coffee shop conveniently located to the side of the apartment lobby. No commuting. No warming up the car. No fighting traffic and circling the block for a parking place. It was all right there. 

And when we arrived back in our little home-for-the-night, we discovered the breathtaking night display of city lights. 

We sat on our little couch that evening, staring out the window, over the porch that was too cold to sit on, and declared that even though we don't think of ourselves as city people, there's a certain charm tied to a snowy night in the city. We loved our top-floor perch and our view of the lights and the canal. We  even loved getting up early the next morning to watch the sunrise scroll up over the city. Even though the brilliance faded by mid-morning, we still loved walking the sidewalks beside the canal. Runners suited up in extra layers glided around us and headed back to homes like we'd just come from, because this was their everyday. 

Snow and winter in the city had a certain charm to it. There was a joy in the quietness of it all for that night we were there. We were just far enough above the hustle and bustle that it seemed distant. We were just close enough to feel part of it.

But this time of year also always makes me think back to the days when we cared for Ryan's mom in her illness. She loved her log cabin in the woods, and she loved the snowy views it gave her. She was too sick that last winter to take her camera to the porch and grab the best shots, but she spent all the winters before capturing the woods, the birds, the lane, the cabin...in all its beauty. 

Warm winter glows under dark, country skies...

Tire tracks in the snow, coming down the lane...

Ice forming over the creek...

And one of my favorites she took...

There were no attached restaurants or coffee shops out at the cabin. There were no views from high perches. But there was so much beauty and quiet out there in the country. I remember when our nights stretched to midnight and one in the morning, and I'd quietly walk the cabin, waiting for Allen to come home. Ryan would tiptoe in to check on his mom and reposition her when she felt restless. And even in all the long hours, there was still something so beautifully calm about the country night under a blanket of snow. 

There were corners of cozy...

Those nights reminded me of my own childhood in the country, where you could see snow for miles, and everything felt quiet and safe, all tucked in by snow.

It's true: I love them both. I love the beauty of the city winters and the country ones. They both draw me, and I know that sounds strange. Most people are decidedly one or the other. I love a mix of them both. How about you? Which would be your winter pick?