Through Finger Tips

…a journey towards homesteading


A New Beginning to an Old Town (dailyprompt)

Tell us about your first day at something — your first day of school, first day of work, first day living on your own, first day blogging, first day as a parent, whatever.

Photographers, artists, poets: show us BEGINNING.

May 6th was a Monday. Moving day for us, our family. After living in Kansas City for 2 years I had my own family all of a sudden, and this year we chose to move back to my hometown.
There’s a reason I moved away, in 2011. Actually, many’a’reasons. To summarize: Baggage and a New Experience.
I’ve lived my whole life and had thousands of different relationships, all of different dynamics all within the 45 square miles of my hometown.  I considered myself a bit of mentally unstable for even considering to move back.
In Kansas City, my family lived directly in front of a very well kept city park, with miles of walking trails, multiple fountains and play equipment. We were blocks away from the quirky bar and boutique district of town and one small mile from a shopping Plaza and urbanized creek.  We had an amazing view of the city from our top floor apartment and lived far enough from the traffic, yet plenty close. A Puppet-House is still currently being built in front of the apartment complex. I’m sure you’re wondering why I would even consider the move.
To summarize: convenience. LittleChicken was 7 months old and requires resources on top of expensive resources. We were also looking for more room at a similar rent and a bit less of a commute.
The the new beginning in my old hometown has been somewhat fruitful. When house-hunting I reached out and stumbled upon a home for sale, soon up for rent, along a parkway with miles of walking trail and a playground just 2 blocks south on the trail.  The house also has the luxury of being residential only on one side. Portions of the city park are directly across from our home, which leaves us a nice green field across the street  that happens to be sloped at the perfect angle to sled safely down after snowfall, with a one-year-old. As I type, I spot five yellowing maple trees and another turning crimson along the parkway.
When moving in, we chose the largest U-Haul, which proved to be a feat to maneuver. While parking the truck in the grey drizzle, our new neighbor appears on his front porch with urgency in his eyes. He takes a quick trip to introduce himself and convinces Matt he does indeed have the ability to back the 26ft U-Hall to the front steps. Little did we know, this grey haired man in the flannel jacket would become an amazing friend, along with his wife.  And surely enough, with our neighbors guidance Matt did back the 26 foot truck right onto our front stairs.
In all, the move is still a toss-up. The neighborhood is lovely, but living here doesn’t come without it’s old haunts. I miss the anonymity of going into a grocery store and not knowing a single soul. But I love the ability to walk into any bar and greet old friends. Soon I’m beginning a new journey in my old home town. A friend of mine and I are now Local Chapter Leaders of a women’s group: I Am That GIrl. I’ll be meeting new women from all around the area in the weeks to come.
Maybe a new beginning to an old town is what I needed, if just for a little bit.



away from home | Inkbell
Daily Prompt: First! | Under the Monkey Tree
our bodies are made | y
Bottles | Tess Arts
Ordering a drink in the buff… | thoughtsofrkh
Dawning of My Blog | tuckedintoacorner
how i found my visual handwriting | Between the lines







I’ll wait for your answer in the morning. (dailyprompt)

6:00AM: the best hour of the day, or too close to your 3:00AM bedtime?

Photographers, artists, poets: show us DAWN.

the flopspot

Dawn is something I’m unable to cope with. Be it dreams or a restless babe, something keeps me in bed.
Something. Something that is necessary to be changed and molded into a quiet productive time.

But…how exactly? Do I make coffee first? Yoga? Make coffee and do yoga while it’s brewing?
Should I wait to put on any make-up I feel necessary at work? Because it will make me less likely to wear any?
What about the baby? She seems to be quite restless at dawn, when the sun peers through her blinds. Seclude myself to the living area and kitchen?
I suppose you can see why I am unable to cope with dawn. We’re at a battle of wits, Dawn and I.

How is your dawn, your morning? Do you have a routine, because in my moment, I can only dream of one, which seems to be while I’m resting in bed…every dawn.
Do you stretch or drink warm drinks? Do you make yourself a protein shake or stuff yourself with eggs? Do you run out the door pulling up your hair or wrestling your neck tie?

A new dawn is just hours away from now. Just a quick stretch in the bed and a vivid dream or two. I’m plotting as I type, and nothing feels right. A loose routine, a change, productivity must happen. I have the ability to be a morning person
don’t I?

I’m not allowing myself the choice.
Dawn, I call a truce.
I even call for a friendship. Can we be friends?
Best friends?

I’ll wait for your answer in the morning.

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Who…Whaa? An Award? For ME? Oh Shucks.

Ms. Nicole VW, on over at A Woven Life has nominated me for a Leibster Award! This, my readers, is exciting and oh so humbling! You know why? Because that means my tiny little footprint on the intarwebs means at least a snippet to a lovely lady. I also seem to fit the criteria of >200 followers. And you all get a small introduction to what flows though my noggin’ on the daily.

To accept this fancy schmancy little award, a nominee must:
• Link back and recognize the blogger who nominated them
• Answer ten questions given to you by the nominator
• Nominate ten other bloggers (with less than 200-ish followers) for the award
• Create ten questions for nominees to answer
• Notify your nominees
• Get a fancy schmancy award button!

Here are questions posed by Nicole VW, and my answers as followed:

  • One. What was the last thing you ate?
    After having a dinner of deliciously fluffy catfish with my two loves and laid the babe to rest, Matteau and I indulged. A Blondie cookie bar (from my absolutely perfect neighbors) topped with ripe strawberries and a scoop of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream. Indulgence perfected.
  • Two. What do you love about your blog?
    I love that my blog is simply, me. I’ve given myself the option to open up my life to the world, at large and it isn’t the least bit of painful. Allowing myself to shamelessly share every bit I feel worthy is what I love about my blog. Because, that really is me.
  • Three. What do you not love about your blog?
    It could be fancier, and better put together. It could have more structure and Photoshop skills (I do not have). It could be a lot of things, it’s not. But it’s getting there.
    It could be updated more…ha.
  • Four. When do you feel most inspired to blog? 
    After I live though a moment I love. The instant gratification of sharing my experience with someone with ears and a mind, gets me. Luckily, Matteau takes most of the brunt of that, because there may be multiple entries per day.
  • Five. Which shoe do you put on first, left or right?
    Whichever shoe I find first. I’d prefer to keep my shoes paired together, but that’s just not the case in my household. Eviebug is a notorious shoe scatter’er, and that’s alright. I just must allow myself a couple extra minutes before an event to gather my lost sole (<–see what I did there, knee slapper, I know), and smile through it all.
  • Six. What every-day object is out to get you? 
    A thrifted, antique leather office chair.  Recently, I purchased a new, vibrant leaf patterned rug that accents the living room so subtly, and the office chair often attempts at coaxing me to tear it to shreds. I flop into it, kick up my leg and pull up Reddit, only for it it’s metal wheel to catch the edge of my new rug, leaving me in a position to carefully move and adjust the chair, while shaming it about keeping the new rug laid flat. We have a complicated relationship.
  • Seven. Coffee or tea?
    Today I’m greedy, and say both. Coffee is there for me in the mornings saying, “Hey Lexi, wake the hell up. It’s 7:30 and if you were 60, you’d have been up for 2 hours by now. Eat a good breakfast, think about doing yoga more often.”
    And tea…oh tea. You’re there when I’m sick and sniffling, or when I need a warm pick-me-up with a spoon of local, rich honey. I need some tea now.
  • Eight. What single blogging moment has been most satisfying to you?
    Realizing I made it more complicated for myself in my head before I began my blog. Blogging is about whatever you want it to be about. And to be quite honest, it doesn’t mean much if it’s awful, because it’s completely disposable, and I’m allowed a million of these things if I’ve got the content. So I need to just write, and write my heart out, exactly the way my heart feels it, because damn, that’s satisfying.
  • Nine. What is your guilty pleasure?
    Sitting in a hot-tub until I feel like my skin is about to slip off of me. With wine. A jug of wine.
  • Ten. What does five-year-old you think of grown-up you? 
    I’m not sure, because I do not consider myself “grown-up” yet. However, I believe five-year-old me thinks I’m holding current-me together pretty well, and is pretty proud I’ve kept this baby alive for over a year, without dropping her once. Five-year-old me is very impressed with that one.

To keep this little chain ‘a goin’ I nominate …Well I’ll just have to nominate later, because everyone I follow has over 200 followers! It’s alright, they’ll enjoy it when they get it.


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The Hunter’s Moon is on it’s way, October 18th’s the date. This moon is also often recognized as the Blood Moon or the Late Harvest Moon. September and early October, the fields have been harvested and Game will come munch the fallen grains. The deer will be fattened, and my Native American ancestors would have been looking forward to storing meat for the long winter ahead. The bright moon makes it an ideal night for hunting.

The cold lunar months are rolling in. This means crockpot season. Speaking of, this coming year will mark my 5th year of vegetarianism. What a nice mark. Yesterday was grocery day, and Matteau craves warm, steaming bowls of hearty goodness. He’s lovingly slipped into a more herbivorous lifestyle, benefiting from a cleaner way of eating. I suppose you could consider my house a “lacto-ovo-pescitarian” home. This means, we eat everything BUT meat. And we actually DO eat fish meat/shellfish and things of the sort.

Eviebug follows suit and enjoys our household diet as well. I’ve never understood the reasoning behind feeding your child different food than you feed yourself, simply because of their age (excluding nuts/unmanageable foods).  She eats curry, smoked salmon, falafel, couscous, you name it. And she simply loves it. The different textures and smells make the bug bounce like crazy in her chair. Today she managed a tuna sandwich all by herself today. Both hands on the prize.

Before Matt could have a fit of hunger I ran to Pinterest for the most delicious vegetarian dishes, and find a cheesey veggie stew. I consider recipes really nice guidelines for things that might taste good, but could always taste better. It simply seems impossible to follow a recipe step-by-step, because, what if you’re pretty sure celery salt should exist where it simply doesn’t in your recipe? To the sweet, sweet sounds of the The Shins, in goes the vegetable stock in place of the chicken stock. And why only a cup of carrots? Definitely 4 whole carrots, shredded, not measured. Why measure when you can eye-ball? And only cheddar? I’ll go ahead and add Monterrey Jack and Romano simply for my sanity. After 3 hours it was perfect. A light tawny brown, but hue from yellow, with flecks of dark green broccoli florets and a few strands of orange carrots at the top. Completely perfect, and settled, for taste. It became hard for us both to leave leftovers for the next day, when stew’s at it’s best.

Along with vegetarianism, recently, I’ve transitioned onto the greener side of life. I lay no claim to being super-eco-friendly, however, small steps matter. It’s been about 4 months since shampoo has touched my scalp. Really. Four whole months. I’ve not a thing to complain about though. No oily hair, no dandruff, no buildup.  The less I shampoo, when I ask my hair to do something, it generally complies. I’ve joined, what some may consider a movement for “No-Poo”. I came across this method of scalp/hair care a few years ago. It seemed quite interesting, that you could not use shampoo or conditioner on your hair yet still have very clean and manageable hair. It seems our good friends in advertising and marketing have convinced us for years that we MUST buy shampoo and conditioner to keep from being gross mats of hair. Truly, they’ve got us ridding our scalp of the necessary oils it needs to be healthy, replacing them with man-made chemicals, then taunting our scalps to overproduce the oil it actually needs to be healthy. Wash, rinse, repeat. They’re doing a great job of it. Every time I’ve mentioned my methods outside of the home, the strange looks fall upon my head.

To clean my hair I use a simple solution: 2 tbsp baking soda: 1 cup warm water. Pour slowly on the scalp and let it dripdrip to the ends. Massage the scalp slowly for about a minute, and let those head-oils soak up. Rinse that shiz out. 2 Tbsp of Apple Cider Vinegar: 1 cup warm water. Dip ends of hair into the cup, and soak 30 seconds, then pour the rest over your head. Rinse thouroughly, immediately.
This has worked wonderfully, and has restored my natural curls that I’ve lost due to the evil hair straightener.

With all this hair talk, we’re forgetting it’s hat season. October has brought it’s lows, and they’re hovering around 40°F. This makes for the coziest mornings, but dyingly cold nights for my table-top garden. These last 2 years, I’ve collected an array of succulent plants that eat up the summer sunshine. This week, I heard them shivering in their little clay pots. ‘Tis time to move them in. They’re now nestled against a window ledge in the family room. FishieFace doesn’t seem to mind the new plant-stand/jungle gym. She’s barely touched it. It must blend in with the wall.

October’s calling me to organize my home, for a long cold winter ahead. No one wants to rot in a cluttered home when the weather is a drag. The windows cannot even be thrown open to bring in the smell of the warm jet-stream. Organize seems a Four Letter Word around the Moore-Geckley house. LittleBug must empty the bookshelf at least twice a day, and no less. But regardless, this house will be more settled towards the end of the week. I’ll even let you into my home, for proof.

obligatory baby and kitty photo

obligatory bugbaby and kitty photo

Remember, the dinner we eat tonight                               was but that of the sun just months ago.

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Shivering in bed and looking towards the ceiling I notice the window above the bed slightly cracked. It’s raining. The dripdripdrip is music to my ears. Instead of lifting my body up to close it, I rationalize a bit, move closer to Matt and not-so-sneakily steal blankets.  He’s a snoring mass of boy and seems to not mind. It is now October and this will become a regular occurrence until it’s chilly enough to turn the furnace on.

Merry Fall.

The birthday happened. Little Bug is now one year and five days old. I wish we would have forgone the vanilla cake for carrot cake, but there is always next year. So much family came to congratulate her on the first year of her life. She is so very loved. Never have I seen so many smiles out of such a small person. Though I do not invest much into birthdays, this one may be an exception.
The two days following up to her big day, I found my mind floating into the past. “What was I doing, this very moment, one whole year ago?” Memories of labor, bullets of sweat and endorphins rush my brain. It’s surely an experience I’m not to have again (especially swearing off any more children), but I must be thankful  for the experience as a whole. My birth plan was trashed immediately, but gosh, can’t a lady improvise! After 34 hours of discomfort, the threat of a C-Section, then an additional 2 hours of hysterical crying in fear of a C-Section, she came into this world with ease. Right into Matt’s arms. Right onto my chest.
A year later and the hormones haven’t left me.


On the eve of LadyBug’s shindig, Matteau had plotted a date. A real life, leave-the-house-and-do-things-ALONE date. The noise of those words about knocked me off of my feet. But who would watch LittleBug? No doubt, I’d forgotten, but we’ve some lovely neighbors who adore a baby’s presence. These neighbors of ours, they’re just lovely. He: A twisty-mustachioed gent’ with an eye for knickknacks. She: a lady of the earth, hospice nurse, who can put down some moonshine. At a time, they’d actually pleaded for us to exit the house and leave EvieBug in their care. After a couple full nights of lighting our street with explosives (fireworks) and trading goodies, I can say I trusted them to keep her a’smiling. EvieBug adores both him and her, and demands their attention if we step food outdoors and she spies them in their rocking chairs. And sure enough, a couple of Sunday’s ago, Matteau was outside chatting them up, and unbeknownst to me, he’d put forth a plan to take me out for a night of joy.

After my waking LittleBug from her veryvery late nap at 8pm, she was dressed for success in her favorite jammies. The bags were ready, and across the yard we went. The neighbors were left with the essentials and a house key for possible forgottens. And onto downtown we went. Matteau reserved a table at Piatto 614 and we made it 20 minutes early. Standing at the front door to the restaurant, I heard some sweet tunes around the corner. BLUEGRASS. It was suggested that we jaunt around the corner for some banjos and swaying. Oh yes, the banjos, the mandolin. These sounds are like honey.

Nearing reservation time, we trotted back around the corner, and right into our seats. Starters: Calamari. Main Courses: Black Linguine with shrimp and lobster sauce + White Pizza which was split between the two of us. Desert? Pumpkin Ale and a Dry White Wine for him. At the back of the house, there is a lounge with tall ceilings. We took a seat at the bar and had a couple more cold ones. I ran into some old friends and acquaintances whom I introduced to Matt. It was so lovely seeing their faces and hearing their lovely talents played out though the speakers. We took a quick trip to Foster’s Martini Bar for a Moscow Mule (mine) and a Kansas City Ice Water (him), then right back to Piatto for some bluegrass jams. My face was warm, and my feet couldn’t stop moving. It was definitely time for some groovin’. Not sure how long we danced, I requested some water to cool down, and took a load off until we decided to trek back home.  The night was long past due, and pheromones were in the air.
DoodleBug was fast asleep, and had a marvelous time watching IceAge, eating cheese, and dancing around to tunes of her own. I couldn’t have been happier with the outcome, or more thankful of the neighbors. For thanks we brought them BlueBerry Bread Pie, and the next day, Spinach Artichoke Bites as well as a chicken dish Matt prepared. EvieBug slept until 830am the next morning, exhausted and happy.

As autumn sets in, crafty blood fills my veins. The holidays are nearing and I hail from a long line of gift givers. This week I’m purchasing supplies to fashion (more) handmade gifts.  I’d really love to put together some Pressed Flower books, as I am a very floral lady, but it’s definitely a lost art. Can we call it that? Can we consider the act of pressing flowers an art? If it’s not an “art”, I motion it should be.
Christmas seems so far away, but I know it’s basically just next week. October leaves me 2.5 months to jump up to par with my brain. I am alwaysalwaysalways behind on holiday shopping, even WITH the Amazon Prime account. Procrastinator Extraordinaire.

I’m off to delve my hands into some acrylic paints. Don’t worry about “that dead thing”. Ishamel is just a beast. He goes for full sized squirrels now.
May the God of Dance                                       Smile upon your feet.