Our home growing up had a wall of lilac that bloomed each spring along the edge of our driveway. Each season I looked forward to the perfumed air of those purple flowers, and the magic of pretending that their trunks were a part of some mystical forest. I would weave my body in and out of the branches of the lilac playing make believe, inventing a world filled with creatures who lived in the embrace of that living perfume. Through osmosis I came to associate lilac with my mother, she who tended our gardens and made them bloom each year greater than the next.

While on a run the other day, beaten down by the blinding sun and heat to which my body is not yet accustomed due to months of training in a New England winter, frustrated, tired, mentally undone, I ran by a lilac tree. And in that instant, bathed in the scent of her flower, I felt a sense of relief that I thought could only come from a cool glass of water.

The smell of lilac brings me comfort. Like my mother.

This evening I stepped outside armed with clippers and a basket, intent on filling our home with the scent of lilac, a gift for our friends who will watch our feathered and furry lot while we’re down south.  Ursa lay on the lawn before me, chin tipped slightly skyward, wind creating waves through her silky black coat, nose rippling as it processed all the news carried by that breeze. She’d spent the later afternoon in that very spot, content in absorbing the world around her, peaceful, elegant, soaking it all in as though she had an innate sense of the beauty around her.

An older women on the street stopped me today to inquire about Ursa, her missing leg a constant source of intrigue. When I explained her situation, she replied, “Well, lucky for dogs, they live every single moment to the fullest. No one needs to tell them to do it. They just do. We could all learn something from that kind of spirit.”

And so there was Ursa, doing just that on a gorgeous, late spring afternoon.

As I began clipping blooms of lilac from the tree that now lines the driveway of my own home, I let my mind wander to what life might be like when I am no longer greeted by Ursa lounging in the middle of our front lawn. I reflected that I had only ever known adult life with her by my side. That a certain innocence, a part of myself from a simpler time, would be lost in her passing. I thought about the naive girl who scooped up that wriggly black puppy nearly eight years ago, a girl who never once considered the weight her heart might carry by making that choice, and felt an ache for those years and that simplicity. Just a girl and her puppy and the whole world before them.

As I felt the panic begin to rise in my chest, drowned in the heavy scent of lilac and nostalgia, a heard the hop hop hop of the 3-legged emerging by my side. I must have left our gate ajar when I’d gone to the lilac tree, and so there Ursa stood, tail flapping, nose nuzzling.

I’m right here. Snap out of it. I’m right here.

While she couldn’t possibly have known that I was caught in my own head spiral of grief, she appeared by my side at the exact moment that I needed her, once again a reminder that often all we can do is live in the present and be grateful for what is before us.

The smell of lilac brings me comfort. Like my mother. Like my Ursa.

Stepping into Maja and Lars’ gorgeous Stockholm flat was like living in the pages of a Scandinavian design magazine. Minimalist. Clean. Modern. Monochromatic. They painted the floors white upon purchasing the apartment to maximize light. In a country that essentially lives in dark during the winter months, it’s no surprise that their wall of windows (and that insane view of the city and one of its many waterways) is the envy of all of their friends.

I call this Swedish Sunbathing.

Even their Swedish horse is black and white. Also, Maja freelances for Byredo (the perfume company that makes the candle pictured). While it’s insanely expensive, I splurged and bought myself (and my mama) this perfume and omg, I love smelling myself all day, everyday. Signature scent, what what?! And I was a lucky girl and received this candle from Maja as a birthday gift. It’s burning next to be as as I type. Much like Maja’s apartment, all the packaging is a sleek, simple black and white design. Complete with black wax for the candles. SWOON!

While my home couldn’t be decorated in a more contradictory fashion (Think so much color. So much pattern. So much stuff), I absolutely loved the tranquil calm that this space created. It was such a delight to stay in a place so emblematic of the city and country in which I was visiting. I can’t wait to bring my entire family back to experience it together.

Here’s a snapshot of a knitting project I’ve had in the works for a couple months. I created this one for Baby Brie’s 1st birthday, and just need to put the embellishments on Sunny’s (which Miss Kaki will one day inherit). The hope is to finish theirs before Addison’s birthday on Saturday. But I couldn’t resist sharing a peek at Brie’s version (modeled by Courtland).

I’ll talk more about the process once Sunny’s is finished. It was inspired by a sweater I saw in a local yarn shop. I adapted a cardigan pattern to create the sky/grass/soil effect, and then all the little bits and bobbles are an experiment. A taste of Cartwheel Farm in a sweater.

I must say, I have never been so proud of a knitting project. While it’s a bit arty and experimental, I just love it so. I can’t wait to see how Sunny’s takes shape. I’ll share more soon!

This evening, James and the girls flew south to visit his parents. I had planned to join them, but after Ursa’s diagnosis, we shuffled things around. Assuming Ursa’s spirit stays elevated, I’ll meet up with them on Friday morning, just in time for Sunny’s 4th birthday party in a tree house (FOUR?! WHAAA?!?!) and then we’ll drive to Davidson for James’ babiest brother’s graduation (he’s the oldest of four boys). Amazingly generous and nurturing friends will stay at the farm with Ursa and Hanna and tend to all the high maintenance cancer-care.

We seriously could stock a veterinary pharmacy with the spread we have lined up on our shelves. Ursa is having a Pavlovian response (in a not way) to peanut butter since we’ve been using it to give her the eight babillion pills required daily. She sees the jar and goes running. She’s extremely picky about what she’ll eat, so tonight I was in doggie chef mode, boiling chicken, cooking brown rice, and steaming vegetables (particularly sweet potato) to create a mushy mash of healthy stuff for our girl that will agree with her tummy. After another day of not eating (although plenty of spunk and interest in playing fetch and running around outside), she devoured two bowls full of the “stew” (as our vet calls it). I’d feed her caviar and fois gras if it meant she’d keep thumping that tail and perking up those silky ears whenever I enter the room.

I was feeling particularly anxious all day with James’ impending departure. It’s always a strange thing to be without my family, particularly in my own home, a space that is so typically filled with chaos and noise. While I expected that I’d lie around, inhaling the 80 lbs of Trader Joe’s snack food I picked up while I was in Albany for the airport drop, miserable and lonely, I’ve been consumed with cooking and laundry and picking up the tornado that blew through in our efforts to get those three out of the house. It would seem that I’ll have to save eating my feelings for another evening.

Thank goodness Ursa is doing so much better, as I think that that has been the root of so much of my anxiety. I don’t want to face any devastating decisions without James by my side. Here’s hoping for a smooth couple days until we’re all back safely on the farm.

Immediately upon my return from Sweden, I bid farewell to a dear co-worker and friend who was changing jobs and thus, leaving our office. *sob!*

During the three years that we worked together, she was a constant source of comfort and support, and an ear for gossip and griping. I cannot tell you how much I miss her presence just down the hall.

To celebrate her big life transition, I had this arrangement put together, once again using The Language of Flowers to create a symbolic and meaningful gift. Another unusual combination, and yet I love any excuse to pair pink and yellow. Such an underused yet happy combo!

Here’s to new beginnings and lifelong friendship!

Ursa had a bad weekend. Her tumor split open, so we were dealing with some pretty gnarly wound care and we were visibly witnessing the speed and ugliness of what was happening both inside and out. She refused to eat. We had to  really fight to get her to leave her bed and go outside. The bounce of the tennis ball did not even garner an eye raise. (Unheard of for a tennis ball addict like herself). The evenings she would perk up a bit, especially when visitors descended, but she was not my Ursa girl. She would yelp in pain if touched the wrong way or bumped into by Hanna. We had her gated off from the kids for fear that they might fall or knock into her by accident, despite their wishes to be close to her.

I feared that today we’d be making the heartbreaking decision to say goodbye before James and the girls leave for South Carolina tomorrow. (I was supposed to be joining them, but am staying here with Ursa. Depending on how things play out, I will join them Friday for Sunny’s 4th birthday and James’ brother’s college graduation before we all fly home Sunday. It’s all up in the air given how moment to moment we’re living).

While I was contemplating the end, James stayed eternally optimistic. Even last night, when we had to carry her down the stairs in a towel so she could go to the bathroom at three in the morning and he decided it was too much for her to be carried back up so he slept by her side on the couch, he stayed positive.

Me: Are you coming back up to bed?
Him: No, I’ll stay down here with her.
Me: Do you think she needs you?
Him: No. I just need her.

And my heart split in two to hear those words. My strong, stoic, rational husband laid bare. This dog is as much his first baby as my own.

And no matter the worry and fear in my voice, he kept urging, Give her another day to adapt to the medication. Give her some time to adjust. She’s still got life in her. Her best days are not yet behind her. She’s got a lot coming at her in a short time. Give her some time to regroup.

And I am so very glad I listened to him, because today, our Ursa Bear returned. Complete with appetite, and tail wags, and jaunts around the farm, and yes, tennis ball snuggles. While we know that this isn’t permanent, it means that we still have days of joy and butt rubs (for her, not us. Promise) in our future, however brief that may be. Today was a really good and happy day. And I’ll take it. One day at a time.

Photo: Courtesy of James’ Instagram feed. If you’re not following the man (@jamesalacart), you’re crazy. His photography with a damn phone blows anything I’ve ever done out of the water. 

She’s not herself these days. We have glimpses of our happy girl, but she’s exhausted and uncomfortable. We’re doing our best to minimize pain and enjoy the moments when her tail is thumping and she’s up for a walk around the yard. The kids, as always, help keep all of our spirits buoyed during these challenging days.

“A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2013.”

Sunny: Our first week that demanded access to cool water. Sunny filled the baby pool with dandelions and daffodils from our garden. As they floated in the water, she observed, “They’re constellations, Mama!”
Kaki: Her favorite activity this week was jumping on the bed, leaping with all her might while shouting “Yump!” and landing square on her padded diaper bum.

More details about The 52 Project here. To view all the portraits in the series visit here.

Happy Mother’s Day, particularly to my own mother who made all this possible.