State Street Lanterns

The last time I went to Santa Barbara I was struck by the variety and beauty 

of the many lanterns that line State Street.

{the Arlington Theater}

Every corner, eve, entry and arch seems to be adorned by ornate vessels of light.

{gas lanterns outside Palazzio Italian restaurant}

So, on my morning walk I snapped a few pictures

(well, maybe more than a few),

in an attempt to capture the striking wrought iron beauty, 

stark contrasts of shadow and sun, 

and the typical Spanish-style architecture 

that gives this town such a sense of place.

I love the outdoor lantern--indoors--trend I've been seeing a lot of lately.

So I found it fun to imagine just the right interior settings for some of these dramatic lanterns.

I'd love the find the perfect lantern

for the perfect price

to hang perfectly over my dining room table.

Don't worry. 

Having considered the pros and cons,

and after much deliberation,

 {ornate lanterns outside the courthouse}

I've decided not to attempt a lantern-heist on State Street.

Watercolor Eggs

Years ago in the pre-baby days I started 

creating a collection of hand-painted blown eggs.

I made a few more each Easter,

usually watercolor

some colored pencil

a bit of ink.

My inspiration came from many sources--

my garden,

favorite books,

favorite places,

favorite art.

These days I decorate Easter eggs with a few little helpers.

Or, rather, I help a few little ones decorate eggs.

Still varied and beautiful

in their own way.

Pretty, Happy, Funny, Real

Using my camera to capture and appreciate the little things--

because Elizabeth is so pretty, even from behind . . . 

 

and Jack was so happy to spend time with his Papa during Spring Break . . .

and when those two get together they make a whole lotta funny . . .

and my attempt to corral the cherrio child is very real!

Spring Garden

It's been a few months since I went wild with the garden shears 

and cleaned out my bedraggled winter flower beds. 

{the front yard flower beds and boxwood hedge}

You may remember the twiggy minimalism that survived. 

 

 {iceberg rose standard}

It's so helpful to remember (even in perpetually sunny-skied Southern California) 

that plants--trees--gardens--cycle through seasons. 

{pink climbing rose and iceberg rose bush}

This awareness keeps me from frustration in the late summer 

when my roses seem wasted and my hydrangea are limp. 

{hydrangea before the first flowering}

 

 It gives me hope in the winter when I hack away the dead, diseased, 

and leggy leavings of a prolific growing season.

{sweet pea bush, snow-in-summer, compact bush germander, bouganvilla, lantana}

And it reminds me that the dewy newness of the first bloom 

is fleeting and should be appreciated now. 

 

There's something freeing and familiar about regular change. 

 {rose, astilbe, boxwood, snow-in-summer}

It encourages second chances and new variations on old themes. 

Enough reverie . . . back to the spring garden. 

{iceberg rose, blue potato bush, eugenia}

Those poor pinched twigs have unfurled their bright green leaves and sent forth their tiny buds 

 which have matured (always so slowly at first) and bloomed. 

 {ivy topiaries and foxglove}

So fresh and lovely is the spring garden.