When I was young, my parents would take us to the Morton Arboretum on the weekends in the fall. We lived in a small one bedroom apartment in Lombard, IL, a suburb of Chicago. We had a special place we’d go to to have picnics under a big pine tree in the arboretum. My parents moved our family from the Netherlands to the USA in 1956 when I was 8 years old. Like most families in the Hague where I was born, we lived in an apartment there, too. My mom would take me, my brother, and my sister to either the beach or the woods everyday. She loved to be outside and felt that it was very important for children to have the opportunity to play outside.
I now live surrounded by Gary oaks, three white pine and four Scotch pine trees. Every day I am reminded of my childhood love of pine trees. The smells and the sun glistening on the sap on the needles of the trees brings back my parents sleeping on a blanket while my brother and sister and I played and drank apple juice. In the language of flowers, pine represents hope.
My blog is about hope, motherhood, children and other things that pop into my mind. I’ve been writing for quite a while. I published a book in 1998 that is now in its third edition, Learning At Home: A Mother’s Guide To Homeschooling. I recently published my first children’s book, Autumn Stories. I’ve worked with families for many years with a focus on music and early literacy for the last 10 years. I like to help people find ways to create positive learning environments. And I like to sing and whistle. I hope that my random thoughts about the sweetness of life makes your day a little bit brighter.
