I am thankful for the cool air this morning. It’s filled with moisture and weighs lightly on my skin until a Nebraska breeze glides past and stirs it once more.

I am thankful for strong legs and feet that carry us to school in the morning, and for the way they walk, jump and run at our command.

I am thankful for aggressive Yorkies on the bike path and how they make me laugh as they remind me of my old dog Chloe and her crazy neurotic ways.

I am thankful that God goes with me, throughout my day and Livia’s. I am thankful he hears when I talk to him and I am thankful Livia is getting to know more of him as she grows. (This note of gratitude is written to him.)

I am thankful for Livia’s teacher and how insanely awesome she is. I am thankful our school administration believed Livia would learn well under her teaching, and how each detail I continue to learn about this educator builds my confidence in the leadership of our school. Thankful, thankful, thankful.

I am thankful for my husband in so many ways. I’m thankful for the ways he comforts and protects me as well as the ways he pushes me out of my comfort zone and encourages me—in his straightforward Jeremy way—to prove I can do new things. Yes, I did not want to license and register our new vehicle the other day and I certainly did not want to wait in line at the DMV, but I did it. And I can do it again.

I am thankful, once a challenging experience has passed, to learn of humility, grace, forgiveness and mercy. This life is not an easy one and it’s filled with people who have good moments and bad. May I continue to take deep breaths, believe the best about the folks around me (including myself and my family members) and dole out grace in enormous portions.

I am thankful today is Wednesday. And school has started. And that I have more time to work at last.

With that I’ll sign off. Happy Wednesday to you all!

PS: What are you thankful for?

This started off as a post about beauty and fashion, but I can feel it turning into something else as I’ve considered my perspective. At the end of the day, the Lord looks on the heart and it would be wrong for me to encourage anyone to pay more attention to the clothes they are wearing than the state of their souls. I also don’t want to pressure *anyone* by my perspective, as petty as it may be. So bear with me here. I am going to talk about fashion a teensy bit (I’ve got no credibility so if you stop reading I’ll totally understand), but it’ll be in the context of change and having a spirit that stays young and fresh.

Ladies, I think we have a problem when it comes to the way we dress and present ourselves to the world. I think we give up on ourselves way too easily. I’ve long wondered who it is that walks in to the mall department store and ends up with the purple muumuu from the back corner. Seriously, some stores still sell muumuus, which means that some women are still buying them. The thing is, no one looks cute in that. Granny, you don’t even look cute in it—we love you, but you don’t need to wear a tent. I promised myself years ago that as I aged I would continue to look around me. This means that I want to observe the women walking by on the streets in the Haymarket, the way my coworkers dress, how people on tv are fashioning themselves, what folks are wearing in magazines. I want to see what kind of shoes are a bit trendy and which ones are true classics. I want to try out a new hairstyle or a new color and not get stuck in a rut.

Now, I turned 35 a few months ago so these thoughts are feeling more important to me. Someone recently asked us to think of where we’d be in 10 years and I realized I’ll be 45 (uh, what?!) with an 18 year old child. All this aging is weirding me out a bit! I don’t want to get comfortable with all the 30-somethings out there; I don’t want to start to settle into a fashion routine and forget there’s a fun world that still exists outside my door. I went on a date with my husband the other night after a particularly grouchy kind of afternoon and I didn’t try hard to look nice. Jeans, top, boots, cute scarf, done. I looked around the restaurant and all the 30-something women nearby looked *exactly the same.* Grrroooooan. What? Is that the new uniform for 35 year olds? Is that all we can manage anymore? By contrast, I picked up my awesome and beautiful 17 year old babysitter and she looked more ready to go out on the town than I did. Bright tights, cute retro dress, real makeup. Hm.

There are yoga-pants days, friends. And that is fine. I’ve experienced a whole stretch of them after having surgery last month. There are t-shirt and sweatshirts days. Flip flop days. Ponytail, unwashed hair days. That is to be expected.

But what about the unexpected?

Have I come to a place in my life where I can’t put forth effort on myself anymore? Have I decided that this particular hairstyle is the one I’m going to rock for the next 20 years because it looked good when I was 25? Have I become content with all the non-trying, not-changing complacency? Do I think I’m not worth a new haircut or a new pair of shoes every so often?

I think the real issue is that we get tired. We age out of culture. We felt pressure in earlier days to look cute and we’re kind of over that.

But let’s not get tired and old and sad, girls. Let’s keep things fresh and new and interesting. I’m not talking about a shopping spree, I’m talking about trying something new. I’m talking about getting out of a rut. I’m thinking about buying a green scarf when all I tend to wear are neutrals. Or chopping off my hair when I’ve had the same haircut for the last 9 years. Or picking up a summer skirt when all you are used to wearing are shorts.

All I’m saying is let’s keep it interesting. Don’t be afraid to try something new. You are worth the effort.

**This post is offered as something of a counterpoint to Maralee’s latest blog post. Though, as you can see, we mostly agree with each other.

• Within the scope of one window I can choose to celebrate Christmas or Valetine’s Day! Nice, huh? Definitely classy.
• When it’s warmish outside I like walking Livia to school. Getting the blood pumping before academic learning is a good thing I hear.
• I do not like the return walk home when Nebraska continually and deliberately blows cold wind at my ears. My poor ears are the reason I sometimes do an awkward loping run between the corner and home. Also quite classy.
• In 2nd grade I remember having a crush on a classmate. What I did not have what the gumption to say so. Oh my poor daughter! She has plenty of gumption, God help us all.
• My husband organized and cleaned the kitchen nook last night, that conspicuous corner where crafts, random small toys and paperwork go to die. I love him all the more for his organizational skills and the way he applies them on my behalf. (You are awesome, Jeremy Tredway.)
• It’s February. Know what that means? Spring is just around the corner. Hang in there, fellow Nebraskans—we’ve got this.

Artistic inspiration is an interesting thing. Sometimes I’m on a roll and then other times, say after surgery in the middle of a Nebraska winter, I’m a little less than inspired. There are days where the internal urge to create is so squelched that I wonder if a little spark will ever return. And then I’m reminded, just do it. Emotions can follow actions. Pick up that pen, or start typing, or grab the camera and get to work.

There are still realities to deal with. My left arm is still sore and tender. My energy levels aren’t up to par. It’s still winter. Still winter. Still winter. But if I ignore all that for a few minutes, I can find light coming through the west kitchen window, casting odd shadows upon the walls and reflecting against the pilsner glasses I gave Jeremy for Christmas. I question if I like the image enough to put it on my site, question its composition and coloring. But at the end of the day, I like it.

And today, liking something is reason enough to share it.

The past three months I’ve collaborated with gifted writer, speaker and all-around awesome friend Maralee Bradley on articles over at Her View From Home.

This month’s post—Church of the Plastic Bags—is particularly poignant for me as I’ve literally received plastic bags (and paper ones and boxes and furniture deliveries) from friends as we’ve welcomed a foster child into our household. Our church community longs to help. They love to help. They give and give of themselves and never ask anything in return. It’s remarkable, this evidence of Christ-like love for one another, this giving and not expecting anything back. And you know what else? It’s incredibly humbling to be on the receiving end. It’s humbling and something in me desperately wants to give something back so I feel like we’re even. But that’s not the point! Give, give and give some more. Without expectation. With a lot of grace. With joy. Thank God for these women in my life. They are the hands and feet of Jesus to me and my family.

November collaboration: A Musing Maralee
December collaboration: Our Christmas Miracle

You can find Maralee blogging multiple times a week over at A Musing Maralee and, from what I gather, her voice also graces the radio waves of My Bridge Radio.

My friend Melissa recently wrote a post entitled Is Blogging Dying? I’ve wondered the very same thing and yet I have no plans to let go of my space on the world wide web. I don’t care whether the phenomenon of blogging is on it’s way out or if blogging is seen as social suicide (pop culture loves to make fun of bloggers!). I write and publish blog posts because I want to. It’s a wonderful medium for a writer/photographer and I’ll continue to share my work here as long as it’s fulfilling for me creatively.

That being said, running a blog is an investment. It goes through ups and downs and morphs into something new every so often. I used to say that I didn’t write for comments, meaning that I didn’t write in order to get feedback from anyone who reads my blog. That still holds true, and yet the honest truth is that I really enjoy comments. But y’all—bear with me here, I’m going to publicly complain—Facebook has changed things. While it has definitely expanded the numbers of readers, it also sucks the comments away from here and places them in a space that is not mine at all. Yeah, it kind of grates on me. And yeah, it’s not a big deal in the grand scheme of things.

So anyhow, back to my main point. Blogging may be dying. Or it may stick around after all. As for me and my blog, we’re here for the long haul. I’ve been writing online since 2001 and I don’t plan on that changing any time soon.

Comments? Leave them here or on Facebook. ‘Cuz you know how I feel about that. ;)

When the sun starts to dip towards the western horizon its rays filter through the trees in the park across the street. It is the most beautiful and magical moment of the day for me. Long trunk shadows reach across the grass, little dandelion puffs become nature’s own disco balls. All of creation worships the One who made it.

I’ve been blessed by this view for ten and a half years now. A new view awaits me next month, one that involves cottonwoods that rustle gently in the evening breezes.

For those who are interested in such things, my own little creative space on the world wide web will remain the View from the Prairie Box. The title has become as much a part of me as my own name, and really, fields of corn and prairie grasses are never too far away when you live in this city. The Box itself will change in order to accommodate a growing family with growing needs. Oh goodness, changes are afoot. I’m a girl who enjoys routine and the safety of a known life, but God is calling us to something new and different. Here we go.

Selling a house.
Buying another three days later.
Signing lots of paperwork and
Scheduling two home inspections.
Holding my breath ’til those are complete.
Asking for boxes and
Receiving many from kind friends.
Praying while my dad has back surgery, then
Cringing as my husband suffers from the same problem.
Hanging out in waiting rooms during doctor’s appointments and
Thinking of how to arrange furniture in our next home.
Attempting to have faith that God, the very God who has provided so much, will take care of the details, including Jeremy’s back.
Wondering how everything’s going to work out and
Reminding myself, over and over, that God will take care of us.
Drinking hot coffee and
Taking bites of cake and
Feeling glad to put a little something down on the blog this morning.

I began hunting through my files tonight for a new header for Needs More Butter. Dressing up that space brings me a little bit of pleasure, so I indulge from time to time. Hunting for food pics made me realize that it’s been awhile since I’ve taken shots of the foods I make. Okay, kind of interesting tidbit. However I found a photo of Jeremy’s lunch at the Cliff House when we were in San Francisco a few weeks ago. Oh my goodness, that meal was delicious and the company was awesome (my Aunt Carol and Uncle John) and the view was spectacular.

And then I realized that I’ve posted two—just two!—shots of our time in San Francisco. Ridiculous. Obscene really. Here we visited this amazing city, which gave me a much-needed break from life at home, and I haven’t blogged about it hardly at all. Tragedy of all tragedies.

And then I realized, as I set thoughts of San Francisco out of my mind and continued to hunt for food pics, that I haven’t blogged more images and thoughts about Maralee’s birth. San Francisco no longer seems to be the only glaring tragedy, rather there’s a string of blog failings.

And then I realized there was more. I scrolled backwards through my files, noticed many extra gems from the December Photo Project, and then recalled a shoot from last fall that I still haven’t posted about in depth: my brother Adam and his family. What in the world? Who am I? Who have I become? Weeping and gnashing of teeth! Woe is me!

Or not.

But I have a lot of catching up to do.

Now, can someone pay me to blog? And while they’re at it, pay me to post links on Facebook as well? Because today, I would’ve made some money doing that. I am good at doing that.

**The image above was captured last Sunday, the day after a snowstorm dropped about a foot of wet, heavy white goodness on our lawns. The trees have never been prettier. Somehow we managed to escape any downed limbs in our yards, thank goodness.

I’m editing several photo shoots this morning, pausing only to refill my coffee mug and, oh yes, to eat a quick bite of spiced pumpkin doughnuts over at Renae’s house. To the right of me Shiloh stretches out his furzy self on his dog bed. He is monitoring the activities of the house painters next door; like a pint-sized beastly king he gives his approval in silent tilts of the head and disapproval in slow-burning rumbly growls. I meander back and forth between iTunes and YouTube, ear buds versus the tinny speakers of my small-yet-powerful MacBrook Pro. Jeremy’s chair squeaks as he creates works of web genius from his upstairs office. I wait for his classic rock to roll down the stairs before I put my ear buds back in and disappear into Photoshop once more.

Here, on this Monday morning, is a shot of my friends Marc Koenig and Kaylee Colton. They are in love, engaged to be married before 2011 is out, and they posed wonderfully for my camera almost two weeks ago. More photos to follow soon.