It really is indescribably beautiful out here.

I’m sitting on my parents’ front step, taking in this gorgeous July sunset and the fluttering bits of golden green all around, typing out a blog post using my Dad’s iPad on the ground and a little Bluetooth keyboard on my lap. (What is Bluetooth, anyway? It might as well be magic. Like radios. And gravity.) I have to say this is my favorite way to write anything on a computer. Typewriting is good, handwriting is better, but if I’m going to be typing first-draft thoughts into a computer, I’d rather feel as little as possible like I’m doing so. (Oops, there’s an ant on the iPad. Technology, meet nature.)

For my Mom’s birthday, my brother sent her a book called Lit. She finished it already, and I’m halfway through it. (So far, although a harrowing story, it is very worth the read.) On one of those days when I was having a cow about life, Mom suggested a tactic which (apparently—I haven’t read that far yet) comes up in the book: shifting your focus from the negative by listing out the things you’re grateful for in this life. (Yes, like that.)

I strongly resisted this suggestion at the time (probably because I knew it would eliminate any cause for me to continue dragging myself around like a whiny baby). But last night after another draggy, sludgy day (which I ironically spent most of lying around reading Lit) I turned to Gil (who had also not been having a great day) and said, “We should say things that we’re thankful for.” As it turned out, we were both thankful that we were married to each other, and we were both thankful for our friends and family, and we were both thankful for our little home and for the good weather we’ve been having. But then Gil added, “I’m thankful that we don’t have to get everything right on the first try.”

And that struck me as just about the perfect thing to be thankful for.

Because usually, the reason I drag myself into a sludgy day in the first place is that I feel guilty about something (or many somethings) I haven’t “gotten right” yet—sometimes serious things, like friends I fear I have slighted or hurt, or my inability to stop judging people, but usually silly things like washing the dishes, or entering our receipts, or writing blog posts, or, lately, writing Thank You notes for our wedding (which irony, when coupled with the theme of this post, is not lost on me). When enough of these things pile up on top of each other I become overwhelmed and, as has always been my way, shut down.

But Gil’s item of thankfulness reminded me: this life is not a story about getting everything right (on the first try or ever); it’s a story about getting everything wrong, and being forgiven anyway. And along the way, it is a story of striving: of picking yourself up and trying again, because you are struggling toward something worthwhile. I was also reminded that those “silly” things really are silly, but that there is grace (and the chance to try again) even for things as insignificant as a dirty kitchen or unwritten Thank You notes.

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Speaking of gratitude, I want to give a big Thank You to everyone who commented on my de-lurking post. I suspect I didn’t really “out” all the lurkers (feel free to post a comment still if you have a change of heart!), but I greatly appreciated all of the comments and stories you shared. It’s encouraging and humbling to know I have the ear of more than a few real, live human beings. I hope I can provide, at least now and again, something worth listening to.

Last night and this morning I read through all of the public posts I have made to date on Lylium.org.

“What an incredibly egotistical thing to do,” you’re saying—and you are probably right. But I have been doing a lot of thinking about the past lately, and the fact is we can learn a lot about ourselves and how far we have (or have not) come by reading things we have written. Also, since I spend the majority of my days wandering through life with blinders on, being bitter and uptight about inconsequential things as if I have no idea what is really important, it is helpful to remember that at a few points in my life, for however many nano-seconds, I apparently had a grasp on reality. And that, Lord willing, I might accomplish this again at some points in the future.

This post does have another point, and I will get to it, but for those of you who have nothing better to do, here are a few of my favorite posts that I unearthed:

More Serious:

• What I Could Have Said
• Midnight Michelangelo
• Watching the Hourglass
• Please Take Note
• Fuelling Up
• Sorted
• Twenty-something

More Funny:

• Someday I Hope To Be That Skilled
• Another Episode in the Chronicles of Erin’s Continuing Humiliation
• Gas Station Anxiety Claims Another Victim
• Returning to Our Roots
• They Should Pay Me For Ideas Like This

Anyway, besides the soul-searching and all that, reading through my archives also reminded me of a humbling truth: through the years I have been writing this blog (five now, if you’re counting), I have been gifted with a number of extraordinary readers who took their time and attention and gave some of it to ME. And reading back through the comments I received, I was honestly floored by how encouraging, uplifting, and helpful many of them were. Those readers, many of whom I didn’t “know,” gave me gifts by writing those comments.

Now, I know, I’ve been a little “La, la, I’m just writing for me, and it doesn’t matter if anyone listens or understands it, so I’ll just post cryptic photos and titles” over the last few years. And I still think there is a certain amount of wisdom in that approach—I can’t be all things to all people, and if I start taking readers into account in the wrong way while I am writing, I start feeling crippled or anxious about what they’ll think. (I believe I mentioned this phenomenon before.) However. The fact is that I have decided to post these things on the internet, and the only point in doing so is that someone else might read them. That is my goal, and so the knowledge that people are reading should, and does, bring me joy.

So now that I’ve gotten that off my chest—you all know, probably, what this post is about. I don’t know how many of you are out there, but I would love to know who you are. No, really, YOU, you person who just randomly surfed on to this website for the first time and may never return. Or you, who have been with me from the beginning, and I already know you’re reading (Hi, Mom!)—you should leave a comment too. And you, everyone in between: I want to hear from you!

If I don’t know you, tell me a bit about yourself. Where are you from? What’s on your mind? How did you find this site and when?

If I do know you, tell me how you’re doing. What did you do today? If we haven’t talked for a while, what have you been up to?

And, if you’re planning on sticking around, I’d love to hear: What kinds of posts are you most interested in seeing on Lylium.org in the future? Any burning questions you’d like me to answer? I may or may not follow your suggestions, but I will definitely listen.

Thanks for your time and attention, whoever you are… I look forward to finding out.

The day after I took this photo, I awoke to a crash from the kitchen and a sad-faced husband who nodded when I asked, “Did you just break something I love?”

Sometimes my focus becomes incredibly narrow and negative, and the morning of the shattered bird mug preceded a number of days in which that was the case. And ugly days they were, too: overlooking blessings, and balking and moaning about insignificant problems, and staring at my laundry for hours before actually doing it kind of days.

I’m sure you don’t ever have days like that.

(Please tell me you sometimes have days like that.)

I always wonder what precipitates these ugly moods. I’ve been doing a lot of learning and thinking about nutrition lately (expect more on that topic in the future), and I can’t help but think that my rule-breaking dips into refined sugars over the past weeks have had something to do with it—but whatever the cause, no-good rotten mood days are a forceful reminder that I am Very Human.

On the day I took that photo of the bird mugs, we had a special little visitor.

His name is Ronan, and Gil and I had great fun watching him for a few hours while his mama took a much deserved break.

Ronan was such a champ; he never fussed a bit, even though he didn’t know us very well, and he was so curious about everything in our house. (Which is apparently not very “child-proof”; who knew our spice jars were at perfect baby-grabbing height?) And not to put too much weight on nutrition (if that is possible), but Ronan’s mom Sara is on a very similar nutritional wavelength to ours, and I couldn’t help wondering if that had something to do with Ronan’s great behavior. OR he could just be a good-natured little dude. Or maybe a little of both.

(Ronan and Gil were buds. I’m starting to amass quite a collection of photos of my husband with other people’s babies.)

In any case, whether because I was over-sugared or just because I’m a broken human being, our delightful visit with Ronan did not keep me from throwing myself headlong into a hissy fit for the next few days. And that’s life. It is never as idyllic as photos of coffee mugs with steam coiling out of them make it look like it should be. And the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, even things as small and silly as one of your favorite bird mugs. And good days will usually follow bad ones. And so they have.

(On a related note: I can’t help but feel slightly convicted by this video. I’m a product of my times, apparently, but I do love designs with birds on them.)

(Press play: just some lovely music to go with photos of a lovely musician.)

Once upon a time, I used to take pictures of people. It’s a practice I’d like to get back into. I’d also like to begin sharing some favorites I’ve re-discovered (and in some cases, re-processed) from past sessions that have never yet seen the light of day on this blog.

These portraits are of my dear friend Mckenzie, who asked me to take photos for her junior cello recital. We drove out to a nearby ranch/orchard one sunny spring afternoon two years ago.

I always regretted not posting any of these photos, because the light and the greenery and the colors were all playing together perfectly that day. And Mckenzie (and her music) shone beautifully, too.

Much has happened in each of our lives since we took these photos; in many ways, they do feel like they belong to a past life. But it was a chapter worth remembering, I think, and I am grateful for people like Mckenzie, who gave me the opportunity to capture a tiny bit of what made it special.

So, I’m not usually one to feel malice toward animals. I actually tend to fancy them, to sympathize with them, to wish them well. (It’s a habit born of watching too many Disney movies.) I’m also not usually one to swear on my blog, because mostly I feel it’s kind of vulgar and unnecessary.

But today I’m breaking both these rules, because:

The f***ing deer ate all my potted plants last night.

(Some of my plant babies, gifted to me by a dear friend, seen here in better days.)

Well, not strictly all, but they tried at least a bit of everything in the salad bar—even my columbine, which had a promising “no deer” symbol on its tag. (I took this to mean “deer don’t like it” but am now wondering if it meant “don’t mix with deer.” NOW they tell me.)

And some things they did a bit more than try. Like my strawberries. Oh, friends, my strawberries. My strawberries that were just finally turning red, of which I had not yet had a single taste, were bitten down to little green nubs. No leaves, flowers, or berries left—completely decimated.

Our landlady, bless her heart, warned me about this weeks ago, and in lieu of setting up nets I took the anemic measure of putting hair from my hairbrush around the plants. (Gil had suggested either that or urine, and I opted for the less repulsive option.) But for weeks, every time we have pulled up the long driveway to our cottage, I have said, “I’m sure they ate my strawberries today,” as a way of girding myself for the possible shock—but then have secretly congratulated myself for apparently having deer-proof plants every time they stood, untouched, waving their little arms in the porch light.

Ah, yes, the porch light… that was my first clue that something was awry. As we pulled into the driveway last night, I realized that in my rush out the door earlier I had forgotten to leave the porch light on. And in the split second that our headlights hit the porch before Gil turned them off, I knew something was wrong.

“They ate my strawberries,” I said, not actually sure if this was true.

“Did they?” Gil turned the lights back on. “Oh. They sure did.”

I would like to say that I remained stoic about it, that I reminded myself that they’re Just Plants, Life Goes On, etc. But the truth is that I bawled my eyes out for about twenty minutes, and Gil basically had to pry me out of the car before I was willing to walk past those sad little pots and into the house. (Where I continued bawling my eyes out.)

I know it sounds pathetic—it is pathetic. I feel pathetic even thinking about how pathetic it was. But have you ever had days, or weeks, where you feel like very little you are applying yourself to is going very well, or that you are applying yourself to very few of the things that you wish you were applying yourself to? And then overgrown rodents come along and eat one of the things you actually are applying yourself to that actually is going fairly well? Well, then you know exactly how I felt last night.

But today, I’m better. To say I’m “over it” would be a slight exaggeration—I mean, come on, my strawberries—but it’s miraculous what a long cry and a good night’s sleep can do for you. And, after all, they are Just Plants, Life Goes On, etc. But I’m left, in the wake of Deerpocalypse 2011, with some nagging questions:

1. Could I have done anything to prevent this? Was it the porch light? Not enough hair in the pots? Should I have used urine? Are nets the only answer?
2. What should I do with the… bits… of my plants that are left? The strawberries are clearly finito (:-() but some of the other plants could quite possibly be resurrected. I’m just not sure how to go about doing that while simultaneously protecting them from further grazing.
3. Last but not least, how will our landlady react when I shoot one of the deer with a crossbow and string its carcass up in front of our house as a warning to the others?

Just kidding on that last one. (Maybe.) But no, really, any advice you have on the other two would be greatly appreciated. Here’s what I’m working with, if it helps (all pictured above except the strawberries):

• Strawberries and Columbine: all leaves and flowers gone. Only stalks remaining. (:-()
• Sedum and “Hen and Chicks”: severely nibbled on but still at least half there. The “Hen and Chicks” was actually uprooted out of its pot, but we put it back in. No idea how that will do.
• Hebe: A bit nibbled on but still mostly there. Maybe they don’t like it?
• Herbs and “Golden Baby Tears” groundcover: untouched. Who knew deer didn’t like cilantro?

That’s all. I’m really not sure there’s much that can be done. I will just have to chalk it up to experience, I guess, and join the ranks of gardeners who have been woefully plagued by pests.

Rest In Peace, baby plants. I hope those f***ing deer got stomachaches.