I ducked into Cafe Claudeen today on a whim to pick up a biscotti, part of my 3/50 pledge. Once there, I ended up talking with Claudia and Kareesa for almost an hour. This is not the first time I have done that, and I sincerely hope it is not the last. One of my favorite parts about patronizing the local independent businesses is the lovely people it brings into my life. After talking with Claudia and Kareesa, I am often reminded of this saying:

Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around. ~Leo Buscaglia

There is a calm, kind aura around them, a smile and a willingness to set aside what they are doing to simply talk. It is one of the things that makes me loving going into their cafe so much.

I have a nugget of a dream forming deep inside of me. Oh who am I kidding, I've had the dream for a while, but it has laid dormant deep inside there. A crack of sunshine has hit it and a little water has sprinkled on it until now the shoots contemplate breaking the surface.

Friends compliment my baked goods and breads all the time. Are they good enough? Could I sell them?

Never have I had a place bake commercially. A new kitchen has opened, and the owner will rent time to others.

Do I have the time at this stage of my life to tackle something like this? Do I have the desire? I do not know the answer to these questions yet.

The little dream sits still, beneath the surface. Maybe. Someday. Maybe.

I'm up far too late this evening, listening to the sounds of my family sleeping as the rain gently falls outside.

I have not been writing here lately. I could blame the fact that my work blog takes up much of my writing inspiration or that status updates on facebook steal the fodder for these posts, but neither is true.

I have composed many a post in my head over the weeks of this summer, but not taken the time to type them out. Consequently, when I read back over these months a few years down the road, there will be a gaping hole, like the one that stretches from back before Simon's birth. I will have missed out on the memories of things like the butternut squash plants that are on a mission to over take the garden, and Simon's decision to move to his own bed earlier this summer. Not recorded are things like Abigail's request to start wearing make up as she grows into a simply incredible young woman and Isabella's self-awareness as she requested to take a reading classes in summer school this year. I may not remember feeling crushed under stress of time and obligations this summer or the way that Vincent is very slowly beginning to learning to cope with young friendships.

I have been lazy, and I will regret not recording those thoughts. This blog is not just a shout into cyberspace, but more like a journal that I am okay with others reading. As a child, I wondered why my grandmother wrote in a journal daily, often just a few sentences about the weather, visits or gardening. I understand now. We write to remember. Those few sentences I wrote years ago help me to remember things like Vincent trying to pay me for letting him take laundry off the line or learning the hard way never to use anything other than a pie pumpkin in my baking. I can go back and stun myself with wisdom that had slipped my mind, this this thought I typed out nearly six years ago about Isabella:

Isabella is a little me in so many ways: intense, withdrawn, cautious, tenacious, awkward, insecure, not to mention that she looks just like me. It's like to effectively parent her, I need to parent myself and calm my tendencies to do the same things she does before I can react to her without both of us going into intense mode.

This is still so true, and it is something I need to remember more often.

I should take the time more often to record a few thoughts here.

Have you ever seen the movie One Hundred One Dalmatians? One my favorite characters has always been Rolly. He is little puppy who is perpetually hungry, saying in a charming little English accent things like "I'm hungry, Mother" "I'm not sleepy. I'm hungry", and "But I am. I'm so hungry I could eat a whole elephant."

Ever since Isabella's toddler years, when she opens the snack cupboard shortly after a meal and I question what she is doing because we just ate, she will reply "But I'm hungry mama." It makes me think of Rolly every time.

The other day, she did it again. Then she stopped and giggled. She told me that when she says that, she sound like the little dalmatian who is always hungry.

I love that she figured out all on her own something that has been my private little giggle for years.