to my daughter
October 6, 2015 § 2 Comments
There is something delightfully deviant in the stubborn swing of your gait and the effervescent honesty that sprinkles your outbursts with comical clarity.
Yesterday your father and I purchased decorative necessities, unexceptionally pretty things to settle the walls of our home. At the time it didn’t occur to us that the largest piece managed to incorporate all of our existing colors in an abstract, nondescript canvas.
I recognized the inadequacy of the piece the minute I settled it against our wall, but it was you, sauntering into our discovery with disappointed amusement that almost caused me to keep the painting.
You called us sad and depressing with such a flourish that I didn’t have time to feel offended. Instead I was intrigued as you gestured first to the painting and then to our pup, exasperatedly you pointed out that the artwork looked like someone had run over our beloved family dog.
It was catastrophically true. As our compliant pup laid peacefully beside the painting it was impossible to ignore the inconvenient truth of your assessment.
“Remember Flat Stanley, Mom? What if we buy one of those art plaques? We could name it ‘Flat Hazel.'” Then you laughed at our poor taste and cuddled our pup.
Heaven help me, I almost bought a plaque. Instead I returned the offensive artwork and kept the memory of your smile.
I’ve laughed all day over the folly of our choice and the honesty of your humor. Promise me that you will always wade into your environment with such attentiveness and good humor.
Love you. Mom
material girl
October 4, 2015 § Leave a comment
Moving created a unique opportunity to sort the entirety of my wardrobe. Unlike seasonal purges, spontaneous evaluations that stemmed from frustration and need in a moment of desperate awareness for the ill-fitting, wash-faded remnants of years past; moving provided an excuse to sort items with a more intentional attentiveness for the functionality and emotions of purposeful dressing.
Not one for clutter or material sentiment, I was very methodical in my sorting. Each item was evaluated by specific requirements; the first was need. Is this an item I wear regularly? If yes, does this item make me feel comfortable/confident/beautiful?
It was important to me, as we moved to a new community, that I begin my days from a place of both functionality for the purpose of everyday tasks, but also a positive mindset. As a stay at home mother I knew that most of my social contact would come from school events, but the balance of my time would be consumed by settling our home and tending to our dog.
Recognizing the responsibilities of my day afforded me a chance to donate those items that had sat long forgotten; remnants of another life. Office and evening wear from volunteer committees and special occasions in smaller sizes were gifted new life. Similarly those items that were torn, stained, or stretched from over-use were generously allowed to rest in peace.
Demanding confidence and beauty were necessities of spirit beyond comfort. An introvert by nature, I wanted to center each new experience with a positive intention. I couldn’t control the circumstantial discomfort or intimidation of overwhelming unfamiliarity within my new community, but I could choose to approach the unknown with a sense of calm crafted from an armor of strength.
Returning to the initial question of use, assuming an item was something I would not wear regularly, I then asked myself if I might ever have use for the object in our new home? If the answer leaned even remotely near maybe, I reserved the parcel for another day. A well-cut blazer and timeless pencil skirt, seasonal dresses and even exercise attire were safely stowed for our adventure.
The last qualifying question was one of sentiment. For those hard to rationalize items that lingered between piles, I asked if there were a photograph that might better honor the emotions I struggled to preserve. The best example of this was my wedding dress. Our wedding day itself was a complicated memory, but the dress was less meaningful than the image of my husband and I in a private embrace preserved by a thoughtful photographer. This dress and others were donated that they might find new stories elsewhere.
What remained after my sorting, was a functionally minimalist collection of clothing that brought me greater comfort than confidence. This has created a new opportunity to expand my wardrobe and to shape a new sense of self as I fill in the missing necessities.
Not a shopper and ever-cost conscious, especially given the expenses of moving, I am struggling a bit to invest in new items. Dwelling over fit and color, need and expense. I began my exploration with an unexpectedly frivolous, uncharacteristically impulsive, addition; earrings.
For over a year I have window shopped a charming pair of earrings, playful and pretty they were easily dismissed as an extravagance. This week they became a new promise to engage in objects that delight; to approach shopping without the dread that normally accompanies my efforts. For less than $30, I rediscovered the wonder of playing at dressing up.
I’m no longer dreading the task of deciding, I want my very limited wardrobe to be joyful; beautiful colors and thoughtful elements to make the simple work of everyday more pleasurable. Like fresh flowers on a windowsill or an inexpensive pair of earrings, I want to breathe greater beauty into my day with purpose.
beauty secrets
October 3, 2015 § 2 Comments
Properly forty, I still struggle with skin care. I love the truth of my wrinkles and have accepted the imperfect blemishes I never outgrew, but I no longer possess the casual ambivalence of my youth. The girl who worshiped the sun is a more guarded woman outdoors and more consistent keeper indoors; I wash my face before bedtime and honor the value of moisturizer.
I am a fairly simple, quite possibly lazy, and admittedly cost conscious consumer. I want a direct, affordable, proven approach to my daily routines that will protect my skin without depleting my savings. Occasionally I’ve succumbed to elaborately expensive regimens, but I wonder if there is a simpler system that eludes glossy ads and consumer reports.
I’ve come to expect that genetics and good habits have more to do with healthy skin than expensive treatments and I like to imagine there is an older woman somewhere who smiles her way through the secret I am struggling to realize in neatly packaged promises and clever magazine columns.
Maybe its as simple as drinking enough water, exercising regularly, resting sufficiently, and consuming a diet of unprocessed foods. Perhaps the solution is more mysterious, a well-tended passion that lends a blush or a quiet integrity that resists worry lines. I’m still working on the secret, but I’m turning my attention inward for outward markers of personal beauty.
writing out loud
October 3, 2015 § Leave a comment
Yesterday I stumbled upon a writer; someone I have read occasionally, but whom my husband follows more closely for her recipes. I’m not certain either of us could tell you her first name, but there was an immediate sense of familiarity. Her meals have enriched our dinner time with recipes that guided my husband through his earliest efforts at meal planning.
In the moment I first recognized this woman I debated any intrusion upon her day, resisting an acknowledgment beyond a polite hello. Shopping with her young son, I hesitated to interrupt her task over a past kindness.
Last April a close friend had requested this woman/writer/cook send my husband a celebratory note for his 40th birthday. She did. It was a happy surprise on a day of many thoughtful personal acknowledgments.
Yesterday it suddenly felt very human and impossibly necessary to say thank you, to offer a face for my gratitude. Except I didn’t know who to thank. I realized seconds before my inevitably clumsy interruption that I didn’t know where to begin in my misguided good intentions without a name.
I debated referencing her by site, but it felt impossible to identify this woman so singularly as she stood tethered to a far greater joy. Hand in hand with her child, I began instead with: Do you write?
My question was intended to help identify my familiarity that I might be permitted my small intrusion. Instead the question followed me home like a stray in want of attention.
Long after I had relayed my thanks for her personal note and expressed my appreciation for the recipes that have become a staple of our family’s meal time, the question Do you write? felt permanently lodged among my thoughts.
No one knows I write. I run little risk of someone interrupting my day with a distracted moment of familiarity. The thing that I most identify as my own is gently buried in anonymity; this provides my children greater privacy while simultaneously guarding my efforts from failure or criticism.
This is not to say that I covet recognition or that I envy another their success. I believe there is enough joy and success in this world for everyone. No, today I am wondering where and when we sound out our truth and dare to walk more confidently among the uncertainty of our dreams. How we answer the difficult personal truths we more easily ask of others.
hello, fall
October 1, 2015 § Leave a comment
Mornings have felt a little forced this week for the stubborn darkness that tempts us to linger among dreams. We move more slowly through school day routines in the hour before light washes sleep from heavy eyes. The air pulls at our collars and teases our skin with a new crispness; reminding us to uncover forgotten scarves.
Fall has begun and October has arrived, the leaves will soon feather the ground with shades of Autumn’s majesty in preparation for a new season of traditions. It is a time to harvest, pockets stuffed with treasured leaves; a time to masquerade beneath street lights, neighbors and strangers tricking the hour into a treat of make-believe; a time to count the bounty of our blessings in the company of those we love.
No matter the haste of storefront displays, Mother Nature grounds us in a gentler sense of time. It is a season of mindfulness for the reprieve from Summer’s heat in anticipation of Winter’s cold; a golden hour of wonder beneath a canopy of change.
coffee confession
September 30, 2015 § 2 Comments
I have a complicated love affair with coffee. We met during the sleepiest days of my second child’s infancy; it was a time of adjustments and worries, early mornings and divided attention. I was muscling through hard parts of beautiful days, tired and a little lost.
It was during a holiday outing, a girls’ night of window shopping, in stores draped with carols and punctuated with evergreens that I first resigned myself to a curious desperation. My order was a confection of sugar, anything to mask the coffee I was unaccustomed to.
That evening I was intoxicated by the energy my indulgence afforded me. In the months to come it would evolve from an occasional treat to a necessary routine. The word coffee became an excuse; a reward for special accomplishments, courage on difficult days, an entitlement and a distraction.
I sustained this level of need for over a decade. My greed accompanied me on family vacations and school meetings, quiet mornings and busy evenings. In the winter I accessorized after school pick-up with a warm beverage and in the summer my habit was accommodatingly cool.
Where once I wouldn’t have been tempted to sample coffee, I was rarely without my clutch. Until this fall. My routines disrupted, I fell out of habit in my excuses. The only coffee I drank was served at a table, in a thick oversized mug that seemed sweeter for the length of time it required to consume it.
In this moment I indulged less for the assumption of energy and more for the gentler experience of pleasure as stillness. I recognized contentment in the unhurried peace and no longer craved the mad rush of frenzied busyness that blurred empty distractions.
My responsibilities and worries have not changed, but I have become calmer and less frivolous in my indulgence; practicing a greater mindfulness and moderation in moments of more intentional habits.
introductions
September 29, 2015 § Leave a comment
Today we met a new therapist, someone to replace the doctor who first outlined the invisible needs of our children’s well-being. It is a unique part of our story, a professional advisor to everyday details. Someone to document the challenges and prescribe care, monitor progress and offer perspective.
I procrastinated change, cautious in my commitment to someone new. Personal recommendations and professional qualifications were balanced by simpler considerations like convenience of hours and the practicality of location. For all my care, the greatest measure of compatibility was the character of a thoughtful listener.
I was a quiet guest to my children’s introductions. I had expected dry, medical questions to flush out diagnoses and personal history, but I was rewarded with a casual conversation sprinkled with humor and reflection.
Intentionally and insightfully, each child identified themselves by defining their relationships and outlining past experiences. I marveled at the grace and maturity of their language as they shaded questions with patient answers.
They did not pretend away difficult memories under the guise of a false ideal or exaggerate details. They were genuine and accountable in their acknowledgment of personal weaknesses and strengths, open and trusting in their welcoming.
I was proud, not for the ease of their answers, but for the sincerity of self. My son’s humor and philosophical rambling. My daughter’s storytelling and mischievous smile.
At the end of our time I was pleased to note that we had stumbled into a safe sharing with a kind stranger and thoughtful professional. More importantly, I recognized my children already possess a place to rest worries and honor complicated experiences, celebrate our past and dream out loud.
Listening to my children I realized we’ve become closer in our shared displacement, more confidant of one another and gentler in our company.
Despite all my worries and imperfect days, we’re ok.
trick of light
September 29, 2015 § Leave a comment
Science will explain prisms with logic and light, but I prefer a bit of mysticism. The innocent sense of awe and admiration that something unassuming can gather white light into a spectrum of beauty.
This is my morning, little miracles of perspective; small moments of beauty conjured from fragments of nothing. The smell of warm laundry bundled in my arms, neatly stacked piles of clean dishes settled in want of a meal, a cool breeze and fat raindrops as I watch our pup chase the perimeter of her yard. Separately they offer fleeting glimpses of beauty, but collectively they create an atmosphere of possibility.
Here I sit, a quiet house and full heart, poised on the precipice of the day to come; cloaked in wonder for an expectation of something spectacular among the otherwise mundane.
green & gold
September 28, 2015 § 2 Comments
This morning was my daughter’s first morning at the bus stop. We waited together in the early morning quiet, the grass around us still kissed with dew and sticking to our feet.
It is a small change to a still new routine with curious discoveries. The neighbors we have not yet seen as they stirred from their homes and the sounds of the street as it woke to the day’s activity.
We hesitated, uncertain of our placement, as we watched the street for a hint as to the direction the bus might appear. When the yellow arch crested the hill, we delighted in a run to the other side.
Even in the fleeting displacement, our disorientation in an unfamiliar routine, there were smiles enough to chase away the awkwardness of our clumsiness.
This is the beauty in standing still with someone you love; mindfulness allows us to catalogue discoveries we might otherwise deem unexceptional. For a moment, we were adventurers in a work of art; saturated greens and brilliant yellow. Smiles that sounded like bells against the quiet.
A sweet moment on an ordinary day made exceptional, everyday magic.
homecoming
September 27, 2015 § 2 Comments
For our children it was a week of school celebrations; traditional fall festivities in a place only newly home. Football games and formal dances without the comradery of old friendships and familiar colors. By Friday it was tempting to toss ourselves into the frenzy of other people’s enthusiasm, to assimilate into an expectation of good cheer for the sake of belonging.
Except the act of pretending demanded an energy we did not possess. Our daughter was homesick, our son disinterested, my husband and I were exhausted.
Sometimes we muscle through the difficult days, demanding joy, but Friday it was peace we sought. Everyone else’s noise had reminded us of a quieter absence and we found comfort in our shared contentment with a simpler experience of our new community.
We skipped the formalities of a high school dance for outdoor music at our local farmer’s market; the colors of our new school for the kaleidoscope of flowers bundled into humble bouquets. Here, among strangers, we belonged for the sheer serendipity of our experiences.
A beautiful fall day with small children and large dogs, warm food and cool drinks. Colors that threaded the bustle with a harmonious cacophony of lazy busyness.
We gave ourselves permission to belong only to the moment. There will be other games and new friends, community events and school celebrations, but this weekend was an exercise in coming home.
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