You must understand a few things:
415 stands for my in-laws home of twenty plus years and it stands right across the street from my home. My address is 418.
The Martens’ are an inclusive bunch, mostly as a result of Mother LoAnn’s gathering expertise and wide wing span. Often, “orphans” [those with no parents or really bad family systems] would be warmly invited in for holidays, Monday night family dinners and even the grand ol’ Berkness annual family reunion (LoAnn’s side of the family).
The family experience one had when coming into 415 was rich and genuine and lingering. The home experience one had as they walked up the path lit with lanterns and into the big front door was warm and overwhelming welcome. The house itself was a home base even though it was a trek up to Waukegan for many Evanstonians and Chicagoans. But people would come by the masses. It became such a notorious experience, to have dinner with the Martens’, that one time LoAnn intentionally planned a whip cream fight for the end of the meal to impress some of Joel’s friends.
415 was a home where an amazing family lived who welcomed in many who were in need of a home and a family.

So to hear my home be called the new 415 was a powerful declaration of God’s ability to redeem something that went really wrong and ended in a heap of ashes. What a legacy to inherit the responsibility of creating “a home where one’s story begins” and the orphans, the lonely and lost can come in and find a place. A place where people are highly valued, made to feel important and loved, and given space to share their story and be heard. I have come to know that our home is a place of peace, rest and respite. Many have spent time in our home, in our little guest rooms and have felt refreshed, cared for, loved on and well fed. And I love that!

How fun of God to use my hospitality gifts and my power-packed dynamite combination found in my marriage to Ivan in this way.
I gladly open my door, and throw up my arms in a jovial greeting and make room for more!

418 is the new 415.
I receive that inheritance and call it good.

I recently discovered a new musician that I enjoy and groove with in a kindred spirit sort of way: Chris Pureka. Her voice streams through the house this evening like little rivulets and streams that form after a quick, hard rain in the height of summer in the Midwest.

Some news that prefaces this next part: Ivan recently acquired a new job which has allowed me to leave my week day job at the cancer clinic I have worked at for seven years. There will be a post about this goodbye for it was super bittersweet in my little heart. Now that I am not working during the week (and just doing a weekend job which has a lot of flexibility) I can enjoy “keeping house” like the old days. I know I sound corny and quite old fashioned, but I really do love caring for my home, creating niches, sorting laundry, watering the flowers, having an afternoon to make a delicious meal at a slow and leisurely pace. It has returned to me like old and worn leather reigns in my hands and I love the feel of them. I am finding that I am very good at filling empty time in my schedule but am doing my best to guard time and space to just be, to enjoy my children, and to keep house.

So this evening was one of those lovely nights where I seemed to have a plethora of time on my hands to hang curtains, play with my children, water my vegetable garden and all those dry baskets I have neglected, put together a delicious salad and use stuff in the fridge to put together a nutritious and tasty dinner, and then linger with Aunt Wanda and LoAnn at the kitchen nook. After a bit, I took Audrey Anne upstairs and did all our bedtime “processes” and read her a story, with a-kiss-and-a -hug included.

I came downstairs and started sprucing. My family is coming into town for a few days for the musical festival in Chicago: Lollapalooza. Made up the beds with fresh cotton sheets spritzed with rose linen spray, picked up all the toys strewn like a mini tornado debris, straightened up the back mud porch that is essentially our entry way to the house (we are a backdoor sort of people) and then I started lighting candles.

Why do I not light candles more often? They lend such a whimsical and fairy like air to the ol’ house. LoAnn had some old lantern encasing’s for tealights that I put on the upstairs balcony that has cascading impatiens and chartruse vines with a little water fountain. I lit the candles on the radiator in front of the bay window with all the orchids in their glory. I lit a candle on the back stoop to light the way. I lit some fat dusty green taper candles in staggered heights on the piano.

I am in heaven.
And I am writing to you.

Those sounds have infiltrated and weaved their way through the fabric of this home.
And I must say, I feel all aflutter with this sensation of not only joy, but deep satisfaction.

In the first week of his Mr. Mom-hood, he baked bread a few times testing out a few different recipes that caught his attention (or should I say tantalized his taste buds) and he even did some sewing repairs for me. The laundry is consistently washed and folded and he has even embarked on a daunting project: organizing our basement.

My domestic god of a husband went to Sam’s Club today. Upon my return home from church and some time with some girlfriends, I discovered he had purchased a large sack of flour which we were out of (mostly because he has been baking so much bread). I didn’t really look that closely at the sack thinking it was the normal size bag I would purchase when I did all the shopping. I decided to make some yummy icebox cookies this eve and went to refill our flour container and I took a little closer look at this sack.

As I tried to heave it up on the chair to scoop some out into my smaller container I leave on the counter, I realized something was oddly different. And all of a sudden the scene from Anne of Green Gables came rushing over me as my eyes bulged with the realization that he has purchased 50 pounds of flour!!

Remember the scene where Matthew goes to the town general store with every intention of buying his Anne-girl a new dress with puffed sleeves. He is so shy and bashful, he can’t come right out and ask to see the dresses from the clerk. So the clerk asks him what he needs and he asks for a rake, and then some seed (which they are out of because it is Winter, silly boy) and then he says “sugar, brown sugar”. The clerk scoops up a 5lb sack of brown sugar. And finally, Matthew whispers under his breath, “I need a dress for Anne…with puffed sleeves.” And the clerk replies in her bubbly, almost too cheerful voice, “Why, Mr. Cuthbert, why didn’t you just say so?”

He comes home with the lovely powder blue dress with puffed sleeves and lays it in her room. The next scene is Marilla (his sister) working in the kitchen putting the brown sugar away and down the stairs comes Anne glowing with delight at her puffed sleeves. The scene ends with Marilla saying in a somewhat exasperated but tickled voice, “5 pounds of brown sugar, indeed!”

50 pounds of white flour, indeed!

Am I an “S” on the Myers-Briggs or what?

One year my thrift store looting mother found me the most amazing old black wicker porch furniture that needed some love and tender care. LoAnn helped me put foam down for cushions and I found colorful sheets/pillow cases at the local Salvation Army thrift store to cover the cushions. It created such a nice sitting area in the summer with the breeze running through the windows and afternoon light casting a nice glow in the lovely space.

And last summer, I moved my dining room table out to the front porch and set up a lovely dining area to have guests over for dinner in the evening or simply enjoy the quietness of morning and watch the sun rise from the porch. I remember sitting out there with little Audrey Anne who was just an infant, nursing and trying to write in my journal the most basic of thoughts and reflections; for that was all time and attention would allow.

So this year, I have been searching my creative vaults for some new way to set up the front porch space. One day this last week, I was at work, knitting with my manager, Kim, and we were talking about quilting and it came to me! I bought a quilting frame a few years ago from a patient of mine who is an avid hand quilter. I could set up the quilting frame on the front porch.

The only problem is I don’t know how to put the darn thing together. Oh well; it did motivate me to clean the porch from top to bottom and create a nice little reading area in one corner too. So I felt like Dana-doo, decorating and using materials and supplies on hand to create a lovely space that is welcoming and peaceful.

Here are the pics:

This is the lovely sitting area I created where I am going to set up my quilting frame on the right there. We have already put the space to great use so far…a nap on a Sunday afternoon, reading a Churchill biography in the evening as the rain fell, playing with Audrey and Elliott. Quite relaxing.

The black wicker furniture. Such a wonderful place come 4 o’clock when the buttery afternoon sunshine is coming through the mismatched curtains I found lying around the house.

And some lovely details…

and we can’t forget this one important and lovely detail, Audrey Anne.

So this post got me thinking; if this is “a Dana sort of day”–with rearranging, decorating and using stuff around the house to create lovely spaces…what would a Kathleen sort of day be? Or an Alina sort of day? Or an Ivan sort of day? What sort of day would you be?