The lost art of being...

A neighbor!  A neighbor.  Who would have thought that being a neighbor could be an art.  But it is.  Imagine.  When was the last time you went to your neighbor's house with cookies, cakes or even a casserole in hand?  Probably, never?  Yeah, it's not that easy to do these days and we have so many excuses NOT to.  What if my neighbor is an axe murderer?  Hahah.  It's funny but, unfortunately, in some cases it's not too far fetched.  However, last night our very sweet Mennonite neighbors came over with a fresh baked angel cake in hand and children in tow.  Resurrect the Jesus in me.  It did.  What is my problem and what ever happened to loving my neighbor??  Now, before I make myself sound like a complete ogre, I do give food to my next door neighbors and when our garden is in bloom I give them fresh veggies.  But, they live five steps and a jump from my front door.  Going around the block seems like too much.  Not any more.  This year we're going to take cookies to the neighbors over the far field.  What a memory for my children.  Baking and making only to give it and smile.  Yes, I think this is what the Christmas spirit is all about.  It's the time of year where being nice isn't odd or freaky.  It's expected.  And you should do it.

Ho, ho, ho and a bottle of rum sparkling apple cider.  Watch out Mennonites, because here the Kelbatyrovs come!

Mental Rumblings

Ok, so I've thought about it.  I'm at a loss.  Where do I start?  Since we moved here from CA, I completely dropped one of my all time favorite hobbies -- photography.  Recently, I had the privilege of shooting a few people and that photobug must have bitten me because, now,  I'm all up in my camera.  Be still my shutter.  But I can't seem to stop.  I will grab my camera and catch my children playing and loving on each other and the whole time I have a running story line in my head.  I'm writing, I'm sketching, I'm creating this amazing adventure.  And then I hook my old faithful up to the computer and flip through all my pics on a 24 in screen.  Love that.

Unfortunately, that's where the problem starts.  Because the story line I just had running through my mind never gets committed to memory and I don't write it down anywhere either.  I'm seriously thinking I should try to get a small book of memoirs going here.
Seriously.  Where does your mind take you when you look at all of these photos?

You know that something magical and creative was happening but you don't know exactly what.

I have you to thank first, dear Lena.

 

And then there is the lovely Enessa.

And my most recent shoot, the precious family of Mr and Mrs. T

And what is it with these balls, of all shapes and sizes, and a globe?  See.  There is a story behind this one.  Have I ever told you all about my son?  His name is Cylas.  There are many wonderful and intriguing things my son does -- and this is one of them.  He lined these guys up and I took them down, in an effort to clean his room a little, and he was heart broken, absolutely torn.  Tears popping out of his eyes he told me to never take down his balls again.  I felt horrible.  Who knew there was a specific place for these things and that it was on top of his dresser!?   He picked each of these little guys out with care and placed them in a special order.   

And here he is again in Spiderman get up.  Right down to the underwear.  But you wouldn't have known that unless I had told you, would you now?  Yes, I know that he has on a Superman shirt but that's because he doesn't have any other Super Hero-ish shirt to wear.  He's fine with it.  But he made sure that everything was VERY Spiderman-y before he put it on.

So many stories to tell...paper, paper, please, don't give me that blank stare.