There's Something About a Beach

Carolina Moon

va·ca·tion

vāˈkāSH(ə)n,vəˈkāSH(ə)n/

noun

1. 1.

   NORTH AMERICAN

   an extended period of recreation, especially one spent away from home or in traveling.

   "he took a vacation in the south of France"

   synonyms:

   break, time off, recess, leave, leave of absence, furlough, sabbatical,spring break
2. 2.

   the action of leaving something one previously occupied.

   "his marriage was the reason for the vacation of his fellowship"

We've just returned from two weeks of vacation. I realize I've used the word vacation for my entire life without really asking its formal definition. I love words, and today I remedied my naivete and my imagination was sparkled by the clinical way in which Google defines va-ca-tion. The first definition above describes my head space for these near 40 years, but the second definition - it gets to the heart of these two weeks. Our "extended period of recreation...away from home...in traveling" worked out, in reality, to be a literal tour of homes - where we "actively left something [we] previously occupied". Upon leaving our Vancouver home, we traveled to the home of my teenage years, the second home of our marriage, Henry's childhood home, Lydia's birthplace, the current home of my parents and sister. We visited with Philip's parents and gave our roots space to stretch and dig deeper into the land of their planting. We traveled from Vancouver, our home in every way right now, and returned to family and all things familiar - greeting them in a new way. For the first time since our move I felt the chapter of our family's life in Clemson is tangibly closed - it's bittersweet. South Carolina is forever our home and there's no question of the firm foundation of our roots in that place, but I realize today that our roots have compelled us to test our wings and see where they may carry us. I'm grateful. I'm also aware of what the term 'has-been' feels like - that's what we are - life has moved on, as it should; while Clemson is part of our story and we'll always be part of its, we're old news. It's not a bad thing - we are living in our present, not confined to but shaped by our past. This notion of living in the moment is hard for me as I'm always planning toward what's next, robbing myself of the treasure of embracing the right now. In Vancouver, we don't know what's next - at all. And so I'm forced to focus on the right now; a cosmic reminder that I'm hard headed. 

Boating with cousins/friends on Lake Hartwell with Clemson's Death Valley in the background

Loving on Nana

We left Clemson and traveled the familiar route to Charleston, South Carolina - the home of Philip's university experience, the home where we met, the first home of our marriage and Henry's birthplace. The roads were familiar, we visited old favorites, we reconnected with friends with whom we've stayed in touch since we lived there 15+ years ago. Our home for the week was the beach - Folly Beach [its very name forcing us to let go of our own seriousness]. There's something about a beach; its constant seabreeze has a way of muting cell phones, busy minds and the frenetic. Rhythmic waves create a conscious hypnosis while heavy salt air makes naps a necessity and makes anxieties disappear. Fine sand serves to exfoliate the soul - gently removing attachments to anything not life-giving and smoothing any edges that have become too sharp. We shared our week with people who mean the most to us - parents, siblings, cousins and longtime friends. Television lost its allure in comparison to the ocean, storytelling and game nights. Emails ceased to have a voice. Stars seemed brighter and the moon was full. Living was the focus. 

 

Folly on Folly Beach

We rode by the house where brought Henry home from the hospital and were happy to see that it still looked like a home. It's clearly loved. We went back to Philip's alma mater and he shared stories of his life before any of us had come into it. We explored downtown Charleston and listened as our stories there intermingled with stories of revolutionaries from eras past. We celebrated the gifts of forgiveness and grace born of recent tragedy as we paid our respects at the Mother Imanuel AME Church - our souls were nourished by voices we never personally heard. We reconnected with people whose voices are interwoven with our own. We woke up each morning in the presence of three generations - generations connecting families who had never previously intermingled until some serendipitous meeting led to marriages, children and a story being written still. Serendipity drove the agenda. Lydia reconnected with friends she'd had since birth - they played in the salty water and the sand, picking up where they'd left off two years ago. We sat under umbrellas eating fried shrimp and hushpuppies; laughing about common experiences and telling tales of times long past while toasting one another and our stories. It was holy communion at its finest.

Visiting The Citadel

Because who doesn't want to chat with a giant frog?

Old friends reconnecting on the beach

Fun times with Daddy

Cooking dinner with Uncle Rich and Trey

Uno after Aunt Em curled her hair - ooh la la

Apples to Apples with Mimi

Poker - Papa taught us :)

Even being in a dungeon doesn't dim the smiles of being together

Signing the Declaration of Independence at The Old Exchange Building and Provost Dungeon

Exploring the USS Yorktown

Last Night at the Beach - dinner at Bowen's Island

Saturday led us back to Clemson by another way - circuitously following two lane, country roads as the interstate transformed into a parking lot. Little southern towns beckoned us to stop in their rural gas stations and enjoy their boiled peanuts, their sweet tea. We obliged. And so began farewells - farewell to the beach where we'd sought refuge to let go so we could get a better hold. We said goodbye to Philip, sending him back to Vancouver. We enjoyed visits, tho they were all too brief, with dear friends from every piece of our lives. We caught up feverishly, feeling the pressure only time can exert. And then we said goodbye again. All too soon the time came for the kids and me to return to Vancouver - vacation coming to an end. On the 4.5 hour leg of the plane ride back I watched The Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel and Maggie Smith's character captured my thoughts precisely, "There is no such thing as an ending; just a place where you leave the story". And it occurred to me we had our intent backwards all along. We had gone to the beach to temporarily let go so we could get a better hold on life, but in reality, we got a lot better hold through the act of letting go - allowing our story to turn the page without keeping our fingers in the pages we've already read/written. Our life as a family is richer in Vancouver because we've left the story in Charleston and Clemson, accepting that we now make guest appearances in those places. Home, as it turns out, is transient for our family - ripe with emotions, ripe with relationships. One day we will vacate the story of Vancouver for yet another home - our story richer for our time here among those whom we hold dear in this place.

This girl LOVES her some boiled peanuts - a southern delicacy

Building with cousins (admitting they were building weapons somehow takes away from the nostalgia, but that's really what they were doing...)

Cousins no matter where we live

South Carolina sunset

Darkness and Light

Confession: I'm a bit of a control freak. I've known it for sometime tho I tend to disguise it as being an 'aware parent' - that sounds less obsessive than 'control freak'. Call it what you will, it's part of me and at no time have I been more keenly aware of it than on Philip's and my latest date night. One of his colleagues told him about a place in Kitsilano called Dark Table - you go to this restaurant and eat in the dark - theory being that since you're depriving yourself of the sense of sight that your other senses are heightened. I wasn't excited about it. At all. But I got all sorts of excited in early December when a Groupon for Dark Table came through my email and I bought it thinking, "This is a perfect Christmas gift for Philip - he'll love it!" As soon as I clicked "Buy" I had immediate buyer's remorse - I dismissed it and got to work making clues for him to open Christmas morning - affirming my brilliant gift shared out of my undying love and affection for my husband - I never would have bought it otherwise. It was a hit Christmas morning and Philip was excited.

Life went on. We'd mention occasionally needing to make a reservation before the Groupon expired but we never nailed anything down. And then, something that makes me crazy happened - the bloody Groupon expired. Not willing to let this 'deal' slip away, I humbly called the restaurant and begged forgiveness and asked if they'd be willing to honor the deal if we agreed to come on a Tuesday night (or whatever night's their slowest). Sami kindly agreed and the reservation was set. There was no turning back. Now - lest you think I'm joking - this Dark Table experience really is a thing. They're all over the world - London, Chicago, Vancouver, etc. (www.darktable.ca) and have very admirable goals. I learned that 70% of the visually impaired population is unemployed so this gives them an opportunity to get a job in addition to being able to guide sighted people in a world that's foreign to us. The concept reportedly originated in Switzerland at the home of a blind man who'd blindfold his dinner guests so they would better experience the tastes of the meal. I was fascinated, but leery.

I studied the website - it assured that we'd have the opportunity to allow our eyes to adjust to the darkness before our meal. It also mentioned that we'd have to check our cell phones at the door as they didn't want any light emanating from them during the 'experience'. My blood pressure began to rise. Alas, I love my husband and we were going out - we had a babysitter and I even put on real clothes. The cab dropped us off, we sat on a lovely veranda and were presented the menu. I chose the prawns and citrus risotto, Philip chose the beef tenderloin. Then our server, Dustin, came to retrieve us. We stepped into the foyer, the door closed behind us and it was dark - really dark - the kind of dark where you get poked in the eye because you don't see the finger coming at your face dark. Dustin instructed me to put my hands on his shoulders and Philip followed by placing his hands on my shoulders and we chug-a-chugged our little train to our table. I've not been in a conga line in a very long time, and rest assured, they are intended for at least dimly lit rooms. We were seated and I about broke into a full-on panic attack and immediately engaged in some very stern self talk to keep my head from exploding. I found solace in the tiny glow-in-the-dark hands on Philip's watch that I could occasionally make out as his wrist moved. The last time I was this completely unnerved was when I taught my children how to use the mother of all curse words as we dangled on a chair lift. Dustin then reminded us that our appetizer course was a 'surprise' dish - sweet Lord, was there no end to the stress???

Philip made him promise that he wasn't going to put squid or something equally exotic in front of us - Dustin was a locked safe. He didn't give us even a hint of a hint. The plate arrived and manners flew out the window. I was poking around the plate with my fingers trying to discern what sat before me, praying there was no hidden night-vision camera recording my barbaric approach to the table. We figured out it was a salad - whew. However, do you have any clue how hard it is to eat a salad in complete darkness? We did our best - and decided we were eating a version of caprese - basil/parmesean crouton atop tomatoes and greens with balsamic vinaigrette. Next came our entrees.

At this point it's important to note that I'm not only a control freak, but I'm a daughter of a home economics teacher. Since I can remember, I've been taught the importance of food's presentation because, after all, we 'eat with our eyes' first. It's why I like white dishes - there's no pattern to compete with the food. It's why, when I helped my mom cater, we spent as much time creating the perfect lemon tree centerpiece as we did plating the food for wedding buffets. This, coupled with my preference to eat one item at a time, threw me into a tailspin. I clumsily felt around my plate - trying not to mess up my hands too much - carefully analyzing the circumference of the plate so I knew the space with which I was working. There was not one. single. bite. that didn't include two types of food. Prawn + risotto, prawn + veg, veg + risotto - you get the picture. The food was good - but instead of my taste buds being awakened to the flavors before me, they felt dulled by my constant analysis of geometry - working around the plate in a methodical manner and concentrating on remembering exactly where my water stood so I didn't end up wearing it. My hearing, however, did seem more astute - tho perhaps it was the subject that a table near-ish us was discussing. Their conversation emphasized how frighteningly average my lifestyle is - or it highlighted how, ahem, adventurous (?) their lifestyles are. Regardless, I'm glad I didn't see their faces because if fate had ever made our paths cross again I wouldn't have been able to look them in the eye.

My lovely prawns & citrus risotto

Philip's tenderloin and roasted potatoes - or is this the chocolate mousse? I don't know!?!

Dessert was another 'surprise' dish - turned out to be a very rich chocolate mousse torte. This was, by far, the trickiest course to chase around the plate in the dark. I gave up after 3 or 4 bites - I was exhausted. I'd eaten my entire dinner with my purse still hanging across my body because I didn't know if I'd be able to find it if I put it down. We finished dinner and called for the bill and boarded our shoulder train again to shuffle to the cash register. FINALLY - an 11X17" window of dim light surrounded by black drapes through which we passed our debit card. Dustin came back to guide us on one last shuffle train ride to the door leading outside where we were assaulted by the sunshine and frozen until our eyes adjusted. I could breathe again. We went for a bit of a walk before hailing a cab back home and I chalked our date up to a 'one and done' experience. I have a new appreciation for light and the gift of sight. Likewise, I have a new appreciation for dark and the hope that comes from seeing even the smallest sliver of light. Seems only fitting that my current reading is Barbara Brown Taylor's Learning to Walk in the Dark - it's clear I've got some learning to do.

Ordinary Miracles & Thanks

Turns out my self-imposed deadline to get to a better perspective by Easter worked out just fine. We still have no idea what's in store for our future or where we'll be, but today that's OK. I suppose we're living the esoteric notion we've been taught since childhood - 'you never know what the future holds' - somehow the reality of living it is far different from the cross-stitched tagline. Alas - today it's OK. And the sun is out and I saw all manner of wildlife playing as I walked the seawall this morning and saw lots of daddies with their children on the beach/in the park and mamas pushing prams so my perspective is in a good place today. It's tempered, however, by real life. Seems death is a rather constant figure these days - we've gotten news of more than a few diagnoses of neighbors, friends and children and some of the diagnoses have been accompanied by rather grim prognoses. And there's been grief in our house - for people we hold dear, for folks who don't know us but whose stories compel our family to tears. Perhaps it's observing folks living fully in the wake of their mortality being defined by a disease that has snapped me from my pity party of not knowing what's next for our little family. Most certainly I've returned my focus to gratitude - that always seems to help when times are bleak.

This week, Lydia was in the Spring Concert at our school - the fact there even was a Spring Concert is a big deal. Our music teacher went on leave and we were gifted with two job-sharing music teachers about 2 weeks before spring break (mid/late March). Watching as a parent, I knew the new teachers were outstanding - Henry was learning music history and can now tell us about Mozart, Bach, Aretha Franklin and The Rolling Stones. Since our regular teacher's leave was supposed to end this month, our new teachers worked feverishly to pull off a concert. Here we are - May 5th - they've had right at 2 months to make this happen. And on that night, our primary and intermediate choirs (which were voluntary and used their lunch hour to practice) shared multiple pieces, two classes played/sang "Don't Worry, Be Happy" on ukeleles and our intermediate band played 4 pieces. Seriously. And it was good! The feat is nothing short of amazing - and it seemed to nail exactly where each and every child could find their strengths. Lydia's group (primary choir) sang "Do a Deer" and "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious" (and no, I have no idea if I spelled that correctly). One thing's for sure - our daughter is a flat-out ham! It was delightful to see her enjoy herself so much and slightly frightening to see her embrace the spotlight with such fervor.

Our performer

It may seem this story has no point, but it's related - promise. The intermediate choir sang Sarah McLachlan's "Ordinary Miracle" and that one song tied all of these realities together. I cried - I tend to do that when music figures out how to define the emotional bumper cars in my head. Our little community in SC has been offering up prayers for an extraordinary miracle for a way-too-young fighter of leukemia named Lachlan Tannery. It's been heartwarming and heartbreaking to see his story play out (https://www.facebook.com/LachlanFightLikeaTiger - visit the Lachlan McIntosh Tannery Foundation to read his story) and to see our community unite to offer support for a family who's facing a nightmare I wouldn't wish on anyone. And what I've learned is this: Good is in the world. Cancer is a beast. And I don't believe everything happens for a reason anymore. What I do believe is this: we're all a part of this tension-filled, makes-no-sense, ordinary miracle filled world and we need each other to make it through. Because, sometimes hard luck hits and we need people who can let us cuss, let us cry, let us be mad, let us be sad, let us love out loud, and remind us that 'ordinary' miracles are the slices of heaven that keep us going - the ones we have to cling to to remind us that we can be thankful for something. Today, I'm thankful for faith and hope, songs that put words to emotions, for folks who fight with everything in them to defeat the cancer beast, for the joy that radiates from my daughter when she sings, and for teachers that come and breathe new life into programs that could have died. After all, it is resurrection season.

As Sarah McLachlan sings:

When you wake up everyday
Please don't throw your dreams away
Hold them close to your heart
'Cause we are all a part
Of the ordinary miracle

Limbo and Chocolates

I tweeted last week a nod to the famed Forrest Gump - "Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you're gonna get." No truer words have ever been spoken. You relish days that play out and ignite the sparkle inside when you bite into the caramel and you quietly anticipate going to sleep at the close of days that are a damp cloth like biting into an orange cream. Lately it's been a roller coaster between caramels and orange cream in our world - and I've found myself feeling a bit mired up in the damp cloth days. The muck often seems to build this time of year and, perhaps not coincidentally, seems to echo the notions associated with a pensive, thoughtful Lenten season. This year has been more odd than some in the past and while I typically set out with a path in mind for these posts, today I have no idea where this is going. There's no end game in mind. It's simply obvious to me that there's some disturbance in my soul that's got to work itself out in words on paper and I'm trying to make space for that. I don't know if it's the fact that we've come to the end of a two week break from school, if it's the rain that has decided to return and bring its clouds or if it's the reminders of late that limbo seems to be our new normal. Regardless, there's a wrinkle that I can't quite flatten in my emotional state and I'm trying to work it out.

It's become clear over the years that I'm more and more introverted as I grow older. I've decided that means that I'm increasingly comfortable with being with me - and that's a good thing. Being with people still gives me great joy, don't get me wrong, but my batteries need recharging more regularly these days. The idea of a two-week spring break might just be one of the most wonderful ideas ever. I really loved it and I really loved having Henry and Lydia at home - we have fun together. Last year we traveled and that was ideal. Philip's full-time presence made that spring break nothing short of holy as we had all four of our little family together for days - away from the 'regular'. This year was fun as well - our time was amplified by visits from family and friends, but it was diminished as Philip has been swamped at work and he had to toggle in the tension of being needed at the office and us needing/wanting him at home. It was tougher on him than us, I'm almost certain. Suffice it to say, my extrovert is used up. She's done. She's looking for some alone time and alone time she got today! A piece of me was counting down to 9:05AM this morning with the anticipation of a child on Christmas morning...because as of that moment my children would be delighted to be in their classrooms with friends and I would be headed out of the school for a long, solitary walk around the city. There's a choir of angels at the ready, I'm confident...if you heard them singing, you know why.

These solo walks have become integral to my mental health and I've been without them for almost 17 days - it's time - especially in these days of limbo. It's occurred to me that, in theory, we're more than halfway through our time here - that's weird. Weirder still, we know little about what's next. Most days that's OK, but in these days of extreme extroversion coupled with rain and small living space it's increasingly not OK. I have anxiety about multiple potential outcomes: 1- staying here would be fantastic but would also have implications in terms moving to get another bedroom and the whole very far from family piece would be amplified; 2 - moving back 'home' would be great but I have a hard time wrapping my head around transplanting my new self into my old world - I worry about how I will translate; 3 - going someplace entirely new is exciting but exhausting - provided the new place is someplace we want to go. Any way you slice it, there will be a season of packing and moving for the Marcums in the next 18 or so months. And I hate packing and boxes and moving. But I love adventure. Somehow I've got to re-frame my perspective toward adventure and away from moving.

In considering this limbo-ness, it occurred to me that we've been living in limbo for over 2 years now. Limbo is taxing. Limbo is flimsy. Limbo doesn't do much for your sense of place. It does, however, work wonders on your sense of self. Our identity as a family is better defined than it has ever been - sometimes to a fault because we've gotten comfortable in our self-centered reality. In terms of blood relatives, we're it for each other in this place. That's been enormously powerful in fostering our sense of belonging to one another and looking out for each other. It's allowed us to define family in new ways - and has broadened our understanding of what family means. Conversely, it's also meant our flexibility has decreased a bit - when you aren't juggling extended family personalities and are far removed, you lose a bit of your ability to adapt to people different from you. It's a funny dichotomy - this whole notion that you know no one in a place that's very different and have an emotional outlay in meeting new folks all the while surrounding yourselves with those whom you resonate easily so you become more yourself yet less able to flow among varying personalities. That may make absolutely no sense except in my head, but it's part of the limbo we're in and part of living in the tension created by a big move. I value connection to other people on a deeper level now and simultaneously value independence in a new way. It's flat out weird.

So, what's next? God only knows - literally. Somehow, some way, and hopefully soon, I've got to find a sense of peace with it all because I'm getting tired. And when I'm tired I get grumpy. Grumpy plays out poorly and I don't like myself so much when I'm in these ruts - my kids probably feel likewise. My goal is that by Easter and all of it's celebration of new life, rebirth and hope that my mental mood will embrace the pastel colors popping up and find the sunny side again. All will be well - in my head I know this, but my brain is having a hard time convincing my heart. This life thing is tricky. It's not all Warner Brothers and tidy literary denouements - it's gritty, emotional and sometimes full of orange cream filled chocolates. Here's hoping for a little caramel sparkle one day really soon.

Cousins and Breaks

Two weeks of Spring Break seems long to some, but we extended ours by an extra two days because the Bartels came to Vancouver! We made welcome signs, we baked breakfast casserole, we made lists of what to see/do and we had fun! Here are the photos to prove it...

Arrival Night - wings night at earl's :)

Visiting with the Laughing Statues after a visit to the cupcake store

Sleepyheads snuggling before bedtime

Southerners hit the ice - outside at Grouse Mountain Resort

Silly faces - the true nature of our family...putting on the real smiles to share with others.

Family Tradition - Tigers from birth - thanks Mimi & Papa for the matching shirts!

Great public art+industry collaboration on Granville Island!

See Saw time at Granville Island

Uncle Philip snuggles

Wolverine & Warrior Princess

Some things never change - welcome to Chez Marcum

Good for me, not so good for the blog, I spent the week with Emily and her boys drinking up family time and not taking photos. There are but a mere sampling of what we did together and don't come anywhere near capturing the living and memories we packed into our seven days that seemed to fly. We tubed at Whistler Mountain and saw skiers and snowboarders jump and flip through a ring of fire. We tunneled through a mountain at the one-time largest copper mine in British Columbia. We ate unidentifiable pork at a restaurant and survived. We rushed to find bathrooms in emergency situations and explored through ancient Chinese relics. We looked for stars of favorite television shows and spotted filming locations we'd seen only on screen. We ate gelato, shopped down Robson Street and took the seabus and the skytrain and a city bus and a gondola within an hour of each other. We bumbled through open air markets and enjoyed street performers. All in all, we were family - it felt normal and we picked up where we had left off. And we celebrate that we will see each other in person again sooner than later and that we will forever be connected by blood, commitment, love and life. It's a humbling thing for family to choose to spend their time and money to come and be with us. For this independent woman I find it very humbling - almost overwhelming. May this post serve as public thanks for people everywhere who show up, who love tangibly and in person; life is better with you in it! May you have people like this in your life - all life through and may we all seek to be the people who show up and love in person.

Lunar New Year - Year of the Sheep!

I'm playing catch up as we end our second week of spring break on this very rainy first day of spring. I've learned that new years begin all throughout the year around here and it's kind of nice to think that despite what the annual calendar says there's a beginning to celebrate on an almost monthly basis. Today, in fact, is the observance of the Persian New Year - based on the solar calendar. I learned of this celebration for the first time this year as Lydia's playdate is leaving early to celebrate with her mom. I'll have to look into more festivities around this date next year as we missed the fire celebrations at Ambleside Park this past week. Alas - we made it out to the Lunar New Year festivities in February - commonly known as Chinese New Year - and they were a sight to behold. We walked down the weekend prior to the parade and took in the Dr. Sun Yat-Sen Chinese Gardens - the gardens are a lovely little oasis in the city and you feel transported to a different time and place when you enter. The kids were given a scavenger hunt of pictures/displays to find as we meandered through the space and we all got into it. We sipped green tea and practiced creating Chinese characters on Buddha boards in the Hall of One Hundred Rivers. We spotted huge koi fish in the pond and found a little sheep in there as well denoting the year into which we would soon be entering. Just outside the paid gardens is a public Chinese garden space with a lovely little gazebo, bamboo garden and a super fun gift shop - to which we've returned no less that 3 times in as many weeks because the kids are enamored with the Chinese zodiac, beautiful textiles, Tibetan jewelry and Chinese paintings on rice paper and silk.

Millennium Gate Entering Chinatown

Dr. Sun Yat-Sen Chinese Gardens - http://vancouverchinesegarden.com/ 

Practicing writing Chinese characters on Buddha Boards

Bamboo Forest Adventures

February 22nd marked the culmination of celebrations with the Lunar New Year parade - we walked back down to Chinatown and we were given countless traditional red envelopes filled with gold chocolate coins. We marveled at the red lanterns decorating businesses and streets and the dragons that seemed to serve as watchdogs for all who came to celebrate. The parade was a sensory experience with new sights, smells, sounds. Our constitutions were tested while walking through open-aired markets selling dried shrimp, fish, mushrooms, etc. The smells were earthy and overwhelming but were somehow an integral part of the whole experience. The firecrackers popping repeatedly off the back of pickup trucks ushered in dancers, cymbals, dragons and, believe it or not, bagpipes. The crowds were dense and sightlines tricky. We watched the Mandarin newscasters narrate the parade as groups walked past their set, we received more red envelopes, we lost count of the various depictions of sheep we saw and the numbers of dancing dragons in their shiny costumes and vast amounts of red dappling the streets. It was a party for the senses! And a beautiful, albeit cold, day for it. Had we stood for the entire parade, we think it would have lasted about 2.5 - 3 hours. We saw the whole parade, but did so while walking the parade route as tummies were getting rumbly and there's a history in our house of hunger producing bears that have striking resemblances to our children.

Year of the Sheep! Parade time...

There were literally hundreds of dragons - all unique and beautiful and ornate.

We grabbed a quick bite to eat and headed for the lawn of the art gallery where Lydia made a mobile celebrating the Year of the Sheep's arrival and we marveled at the numbers of miniature sheep dotting the lawn. They were even available for purchase. The kids got to make their own dumplings - practicing rolling out the dough and sealing them properly. We made tissue paper snowflakes and Lydia practiced origami. It was a lovely day - we learned together, played together and laughed together. And as the pig, rooster, rat and dragon in this family we wish everyone a Happy Year of the Sheep! Gung Hay Fat Choy! [Best wishes and Congratulations. Have a prosperous and good year.]

These decorated sheep were part of a competition - there were about 30+ that all had different themes. These two were Lydia's favorites.

Making dumplings

Sheep on the gallery lawn