For the beauty of Tala Stone jewelry: A Giveaway.

There is a woman in my life, who I love, that makes jewelry I also love. Because I love you too, I am introducing both, via a giveaway.

The woman's name is Pegah. She is the mother of these dark haired darlings, and one of my most cherished friends.

© Skye Blu Shoppe

When I finished school in Boston, poor, and heart-bruised, and uncertain of my future, she welcomed me into her home while I tried to figure out my next steps. It was a healing time for me, largely because she and her children are healing. We went on walks together every evening, played in parks, and occasionally got our nails done. When I was sick she shared her juice with me, and bought me sushi. Many days we just talked. The good kind of talks that you don't want to end, that are about things of consequence.

I treasure every moment I have with her. The lasts were during Spencer's dream graduation week, and were perfect. But how could they not have been, filled as they were with "so many bubbles" in the words of her oldest, and cuddle time with her youngest? That littlest's middle name also happens to be part of the inspiration for Pegah's jewelry, which is just as lovely as she is a person.

The middle name is Tala, which means gold in Farci. The shop is Tala Stone, and the necklace up for grabs is the very delicate and classic "Tiny Gold Circle Necklace." I ordered my own earlier this week, and am already dreaming about wearing it every day. (Especially every day I wear a dress.)

She also has a tiny heart necklace that I love. And a little skull one. And some very pretty raw brass, geometric earrings. And etcetera.

To enter, simply leave a comment with your email and a note about your favorite piece from Tala Stone. To enter twice, simply do the first two things, plus share this link on your social media outlet of choice, then let me know that you did. Also, please be a US resident :) (as the giveaway is open to US residents only). The winner will be selected randomly a week from Sunday. Best of luck!

Update (on an update).

Even in the midst of these hard weeks and days there have been sweet moments, too. One was seeing some of my old Provo and Provo family, both of whom I love. I also feel closer to Spencer's family, which I'm sure he loves.

Zeke and Bing, pre-work.

Nana and Eden, post E getting a tad bit hurt.

My horse whisperer.

Myself.

Pretty. Grumpy.

Just pretty.

The one I love.

And again. (On the very day of loss.)

This field love day-of-days, the Autumnal Equinox was brought up, and someone in my family asked me how I used to celebrate it, when I used to celebrate it a lot. I explained our old rituals of jumping over flames, chanting/dancing, the one-at-a-time circle sharing of our favorite thing about the season, and/or a quote, poem, song, or drawing to go along with it. I also explained some of the more specialized rituals involving eating part of a nut and letting the other one go in the water, representing what we want to keep about our lives and what we want to change, or seeds planted with tiny letters written on them, of what we want to grow (which was actually more Spring), or folded paper boats with our secret wishes to be released into the same water (which was actually more Summer). After my telling, my family humored me in sharing their favorite part of fall. I was a tad bit surprised that they would be willing to do that for me, but they were, and it was quite touching--particularly on that holy, sad day. My favorite thing(s): family dinners with baked apple desserts, strolls through fields, feeding horses in those nearby fields, crisp, cool air, dreaming about more apple things (including fresh cider pressed from fresh fruit), and squash--all kinds of squash. (Plus reds and oranges and yellows if I lived somewhere where leaves could be those colors. And a special emphasis on temperatures below 100, wishing I lived somewhere where I could feel those temperatures.)

What are are a few of your favorite fall things?

The disaster.

One to two days ago my sister's parents-in-law were confronted with a disaster: A fire, roaring across their Colorado Springs-town. They were given 45 minutes to evacuate. Both thought it was merely a safety precaution. Both thought they would be back within two days. These shared thoughts showed in their packing—two changes of clothes and two dirt bikes from the father, and two changes of clothes, a few pictures, and food items from the fridge to take to my sister's from the mother. That was (nearly) all.

Where their home of 24 years stood now stands ash and a scattering of bricks. There is one tree, half green, half scarred, and another tree, standing resilient. The mother-in-law is in mourning. (Very, very understandably in mourning.) What does she mourn for the very most? That she didn't pack anything of her mother's—that every physical remembrance is gone.

I would mourn that too. One hundred times over. One million times. I do mourn now, for this family member of my family member. I cannot even comprehend what their loss would be like, or how their loss must feel. I realized that they too could not comprehend it. It must be why she grabbed small things—temporary things. A French philosopher I read and loved, named Blanchot, wrote a book about how "the disaster" could not be written. This disaster could not even be thought of.

And the thing that happens after natural or other disasters is happening to me now. I am thinking about my sister's family, and my sister, and myself. I am thinking about the things that I value. I am thinking about the losses that may come, and the losses that have come. I am thinking about how to best be prepared. I am thinking about what I would have grabbed.

Spencer was asked this on a little questionare for my bridal shower. "What would you take in a fire?" He had to answer, and then I had to guess his answer. I got it wrong, because he said his piano. Jokingly. Not comprehending the reality that sometimes there are fires, and you have to take things from them if you want to keep them safe. If you want to keep them. I asked him again, this week, these days. We talked about our answers together: Each other. Our computers. Our passports. Our important papers. Pictures we might have (though we try to keep them backed up).

If I could, I would take my white bike, but it is resting in my grandma's garage. If I could, I would take my off-white wedding dress (that belonged to my other granny), but it is resting in my parent's home. (I wonder if I am safer, with my things divided, or if there is more of me to lose.)

I think again of the fragility of life, and how it can change in a moment. How it can be defined (or redefined) in a moment.

I think of my own disaster, that I tried to write about, because I needed to get it out of me. I needed the words down on paper, so I could be grateful, and so I could remember in a way that heals. Almost every day I notice the scars on my legs and wrist that weren't there before. One day when I couldn't keep from looking at them, Spencer reminded me, "Everyone has scars." I pointed to the biggest one. I touched it gently, while whispering something to Spencer about its size relative to the others. He told me that I had a bigger one, one that I hadn't noticed. He was hesitant to tell me, but told me anyway: it was on my back, where I had laid in a pool of glass and blood for hours. Of course it was. How could I have forgotten?

The last few days have found me glancing at my scars in gratitude. They are reminders that I am still alive.


Their house before the ravaging:

Their house after:

Utah is lovely this time of year.

Something about the mountains, and the snow, and a dark green home by the lake, and another with a large front porch, and the public library with its ballroom, and hot chocolate at the hospital, and the people that I care about so deeply. I was filled with awe almost immediately upon landing in Salt Lake. During the drive to Provo I kept thinking, "The mountains are so beautiful. The mountains are so beautiful." Then when I arrived in Provo I was filled with love. So much love. Eden heralded my arrival by running up and down the stairs informing each person individually, "Rachel's here!" before proceeding to request my presence during every meal, every car ride, every dance, every watching of videos, every everything. Her commentary during the wedding may have been my favorite part (as sweet as the wedding was in itself). Mostly she would ask questions like, "Are they going to kiss?" and then add (when they did), "Oh, and they're hugging too." There was also something about how she hoped there would be music. Which there ultimately was. (Plus tea. Plus cake. Plus pastries. Plus yummy little sandwiches. Plus photobooths. Plus my nieces alternately running around as princesses and pirates. Plus toasts. Plus Charity catching the bouquet.) Both my brother and his new wife looked supremely happy. This made me happy, and grateful too. I am also thankful for my other siblings and siblings-in-law, who I do not get to see nearly enough, as well as for the wonderful traveling companions I had in my favorite architect and my favorite 92 year old grandma.

Thank you, Utah, for feeling like home.

NYC

I got into NYC Monday night to see Becca. Last time we were in that city together we were both visitors--I on my spring break from Simmons, and she, interviewing at Columbia for film school. Thankfully she was accepted, and now as of last Wednesday, is an NY resident. I like that permanence and the shortened distance to Boston.

On this visit, we spent the first night traveling to Brooklyn's Ikea with Lee and walking so many steps. Becca had to balance how much she could purchase to furnish her as of yet unfurnished apartment with how much the three of us could carry on the long ride home. We came away with an odd assortment of things: a blanket for a bed that has yet to arrive, three rugs, two lamps, dishes, three pairs of colorful scissors, a scale, and hazlenut chocolate.

Becca had to work on a new draft of a script, so my second day was spent with Bronson, riding bikes from South Street Seaport, up the west coast along Riverside Park to 96th. It made me hot and probably dirty, but happy. We witnessed so many of those small, but beautiful moments that make up a life. Picnics, basketball and baseball games, children playing in water, parents watching nearby, etc., etc. After this we made my second trip to Brooklyn in two days. Bronson wanted to see the botanical garden. It was pretty, and worth wanting to see. Next we had good pita sandwiches at a place called Pita Pan Cafe--which name admittedly made me like it even more. At nighttime we heard Regina Spektor play for free at a Barnes and Noble. There I met back up with Becca and Lee, who were found in the chess section. We ate dinner together, along with Tyson's cousin who just moved to the city the day before, for her own grad school program.

This day Becca and I just slept, and woke, and took turns straightening our hair to take silly matching pictures in response to our friend Jendar's. They are funny--if only to us. Then we ate our daily pizza at Pinnacle with Lee, before boarding separate trains.

Now I am on a bus headed back to Boston, where I will sleep in my own bed precisely one night before flying west. Salt Lake and Provo first, then a road trip to LA the next day with Meg and Abby to celebrate Abby's birthday and also to meet baby Henry and see Pegah and Hyrum. It should be a dream.