spoken word
October 5, 2013 § 4 Comments
In the tidy space of one day, both children inspired pleasure and amusement with off-the-cuff commentary that left me temporarily speechless.
With an utterance unladylike but honest, my daughter interrupted our bedtime story to acknowledge the villain with an uncluttered, under-the-breath exclamation of character assessment. Her sweet voice projected a more worldly declaration of devious bastard. Smitten with her choice of devious, I was slow to process the noun in her fragmented statement. Accurate and indulgent, appropriate in application and inappropriate for her age, I set aside the book we shared to applaud and inform both word choices; context and comprehension suspended just long enough for me to revel in her language.
Still distracted by my daughter’s unexpected exclamation, I soon found myself pausing over my son’s passionate declaration that school is a husk of broken promises and lies in response to a routine, How was your day? Promised the company of scientists speaking at his school, he piled misfortune on top of misplaced promises to hold adults to empty assurances. I empathized with his disappointment and acknowledged the imperfection of good intentions, while savoring the elegance of his frustration.
Each utterance as sweet as their infant mastery of naming; echos of discovery and exploration in language that carves out space and colors their experiences with self.
forcing habit
October 1, 2013 § 4 Comments
Often what I share evolves as a response to my environment, an organic evolution of experience that I sustain among words to recall later for reassurance or redirection. This week I stripped my schedule of outside commitments, determined to recommit myself to small, essential gestures of care that sustain me in times of illness and disharmony. Rest, balanced meals, exercise, meditation, conversation, and creativity. In the busyness of everyday life these essential elements are the first to be compromised for efficiency.
Writing a dear friend this morning I hurriedly stated: I was thinking of how sometimes those acts that nourish us are the small moments that we dismiss as a force of habit – until we fall out of habit and have to force ourselves to make time for the little things.
almost october
September 30, 2013 § 2 Comments
Outstretched limbs ablaze with golden hues cast a sense of awe as we stand on the threshold of October beneath a canopy of magic. A month of worries cast to the wind like dry leaves somersaulting across tender blades of grass. I am gathering light and air, washing away the musty emotions of the month past to better dress my home in gratitude and hope. September falls in the shadow of Autumn’s glory as I eagerly turn the calendar ahead to tomorrow.
threads of thanks
September 28, 2013 § Leave a comment
Motherhood has been a happy accident of intentional relationships; exceptional moments of kindness creating connectedness between strangers. This past week was freckled with moments of gratitude for familiar faces lending strength in smiles and new relationships threading themselves among the old inviting hope. Our story is a marriage of chance and intention sweeping across adversity towards possibility in conscious acts of friendship. We learn and teach in the company of individuals who share our days, some from afar and others walking beside us. In each image of friendship I recognize reflections of experiences I cherish and faith in a future shared.
This morning, as I linger over my coffee in a quiet corner of our home, I am casting a silent note of thanks for the kindness of strangers who have gifted me the company of friends.
hypocritical oaf
September 26, 2013 § 2 Comments
Capturing pieces of my experiences among words I endeavor to be true to self without inflicting injuries to others. It is ironic then that the words I do not voice are the source of recent unrest, the contradiction between intentions and emotions creating an internal dialogue that begs forgiveness for wounds uninflected but whose harm slumbers in subconscious unrest.
I have outlined errors from the safe vantage of my perspective while erring in judgement as I trip over emotions into the messy business of blame. Anger and disappointment undermining patience and tolerance. Indignation chasing humility demanding to be heard. I coddle frustrations with patronizing tones of harmony, tempering my emotions with logic. Life isn’t fair seems an overused, insincere simplification for small tragedies of injustice.
Today I am giving myself permission to hold tightly to the uncomfortable emotions that have been clamoring noisily between exercises in forgiveness and acceptance. Allowing myself to hold each unpleasantness gently, relaxing my guard against unwanted thoughts to better see uncomfortable truths. Naming and releasing, owning each emotion to make room in my mind and heart for tolerance and hope.
underwater
September 24, 2013 § 4 Comments
These past weeks my mind has moved through the days distractedly, worries pushing against thoughts and routines disrupted by uncertainties. Physical, mental, and emotional exercises in everyday gestures carry the burden of gymnastics exerted underwater; each effort absorbed by resistance, slowing progress and creating fatigue.
Decisions for the future feel eclipsed by details of the day. Self care shuffled out of mind until anxiety erodes away serenity and I began to unravel in slow motion. Disjointed thoughts and directionless activities have left me run down, consumed by resistance. Today, without apology, I allowed myself a window of emptiness.
My children at school and husband at work, remnants of worries rattled in the silence undermining rest. An inconvenient cold, not unlike uncomfortable doubts, stubbornly distracting me from efforts to indulge in the restorative calm of quiet.
Then with a transparency that mirrored my worries, a simple truth occurred to me: symptoms of weakness are often disproportionate to ability.
For now I am standing still within the problem to lessen resistance, practicing gentle acts of self-care to better nurture a spirit of wellness and balance; weighting myself in strengths and informing my decisions with goals that are written in kindness.
postmarks
September 22, 2013 § 4 Comments
I have spent most of my life drafting letters to loved ones, a habit born of a childhood shuffled between my parents’ homes. I fold pieces of my days into words that travel over time and place to those who are never far from my thoughts.
Last week a new indulgence, whimsical stationery intended to inspire my children to practice letter writing, gifted me a beautiful surprise. Inside the carefully packaged envelope was a sentiment that seemed to encompass my affinity for a handwritten letter; the very essence of my affection eternalized in poetry.
More than kisses, letters mingle souls. – John Donne
The promise of sharing one’s self in lines of thought etched into paper is an intimacy of thought and intention between writer and reader that even time cannot fade. I sometimes wish I could gather old letters to chart my life in language; the block print of early efforts blending into carefully structured cursive that later looped around teenage heartache and then swept more hurriedly into long, sinuous letters.
First loves and cherished friendships, childhood companions and mentors in motherhood; my life is richer for the individuals stretched across my past between letters often lost along the way. So many people measure the value of relationships in finite language, beginnings and endings. I measure love in postmarks that travel across time connecting us to reflections of self and memories shared.
musical chairs
September 18, 2013 § 10 Comments
Last night I sat beside my son navigating assignments and redirecting his attention as I watched my husband and daughter move with well rehearsed choreography around the perimeter of the dining room table, careful not to disrupt our efforts while lonely for their place in our company. By evening’s end we traded time for tasks, shuffling our needs for responsibilities; the music gave way to silence leaving each of us lonely for a chance to trade places.
My son moved from school work to bed, restless and resigned to the loss of leisure that balances academics and replenishes his spirit. Envious of his sister’s more carefree evening, she coveted my company from the corner of my eye. When at last I moved between children to find a place beside my daughter I traded play for conversation, borrowing minutes from sleep before dreams absorbed her thoughts. Standing alone my husband gave me room to mother, needing a companion to share the burdens of his day but giving up his chair.
This morning we found our way back to the beginning of the song, each of us circling around the table and taking our place. Moving into the melody of togetherness.
september 12
September 12, 2013 § 2 Comments
Tragedy has a tendency to inspire passionate reaffirmations of consciousness. We honor loss with statements of gratitude and pledge to hold difficult remembrances alongside joy to keep ourselves accountable for the truth of tragedy. Anniversaries of loss are often haloed by memorials and gestures of shared grief, but what of the day after?
Public tragedy and personal heartache, calendar dates darkened by grief remind us to gather loved ones close, to speak kindly, forgive our neighbors, and extend a hand of friendship to a stranger. We shuffle our priorities to align with our ideals, then move slowly into the busyness of tomorrow our minds once again preoccupied by details that distort our commitments to one another and ourselves.
Yesterday I imagined husbands and wives, parents and children whose lives were orphaned by tragedy. I moved through my day cognizant that without warning we can wake to an experience empty of familiarity and the comfort of routine; my own good fortune measured in gifts of kindness as my husband and children, family and friends attempted to ward off the shadow of loss with a celebration of life. My birthday an intimate reminder of the blessing of time.
Today I woke mindful of the little things, details otherwise overlooked were swollen with sentiment. The smell of paint drying as my husband finishes up bookshelves for our daughter’s room, the cluttered countertops that signal a meal shared before starting our day, the sleepy conversations between home and school when side by side we have nowhere else to be but in between destinations together.
Perhaps to live consciously we have neither to trade mundane moments for extravagant exercises in living nor set aside our plans for tomorrow to dwell in remembrances. Maybe to honor yesterday we have only to be present in little moments that nurture our spirit and enrich the lives of those around us with small acts of love and kindness; today and tomorrow.
choosing & claiming
September 8, 2013 § 2 Comments
Recently my thoughts have chased around a common theme, the words we use and our responsibility to ourselves and others to exercise integrity. It began just before one of my posts was selected for Freshly Pressed. Days before the happy surprise I mused to my husband, What if I were finally Pressed and the post was one I wouldn’t wish to be my introduction to a greater audience?
There’s a vulnerability in collecting thoughts, beliefs, uncertainties and worries in a public forum. We release pieces of ourselves for critic and interpretation by strangers and friends, alike. Of course this truth extends into every corner of our life, beyond the words we consciously choose to share in writing.
At the same time I was curiously contemplating the value of introductions to strangers in written language, I met my children’s educators and support staff for an introduction that called me to question how we identify self in the context of education. I mulled over my statements alongside each teacher’s sharing looking for reflections of possibility and lines in the sand, trying to map the year ahead in a dialogue of partnership by first identifying my role as my children’s advocate.
A series of otherwise inconsequential events seemed to clutter pockets of my day with distractions; peer interactions, social media, serendipitous exchanges in supermarkets and school yards. In each instance this theme of language, choosing our words and claiming ownership of our thoughts in writing, speech, and silence have been following me like a string of tin cans rattling noisily between business begging me to look behind me and forcing stillness.
I tend to believe that these little life nudges are born of a subconscious warning that calls our attention to a reflective state. Today I am nestling in, trying to find the message that has been following me between statements of self, asking me to evaluate my words and uncover a lesson I might otherwise be overlooking.
scribblechic 