gratitude remembered
January 1, 2017 § 3 Comments
It is one of the few intentions I have muscled into tradition, the jar of notes we read aloud on New Year’s to remember the year past. A hodgepodge of paper scraps in mismatched handwriting; moments of gratitude we collect over the course of each year.
There’s magic in the happy exclamations of remembering, a current of joy that leaps from page to person as we take turns sounding out one another’s celebrations. The notes are read out of order and without ownership so that each memory becomes a curious discovery.
This year the greater joy came from those misplaced moments. The events and good fortune forgotten on paper that we collectively called into account. The act of reading expanding to accommodate left out Remember When’s.
Small moments and sentimental milestones that map the past in a constellation of family.
peace
December 26, 2016 § 1 Comment
Friday morning I was the first to wake. Warm coffee in my favorite mug and only the light of the Christmas tree, I watched the first snowflakes tumble lazily against the darkness. Curled beneath the blanket my mother crocheted, with a book fallen forgotten across my lap, I lingered in content distraction while my family slept.
The past few days have been a happy treasure of simple riches; the company of loved ones and the easy busyness of cooking, card games and old movies. Our children curled into my parents’ company and I stole kisses from Mr. Claus beneath the mistletoe.
Some traditions were lost, Christmas picture books collected dust. The elf watched from his shelf, but without the magic of forgotten caution. A game of clues was played with the distracted mastery of someone sleepwalking a familiar path.
I might have grieved these small changes, reminders that my children were outgrowing beloved holiday hallmarks, but in the quiet moments I marveled at the new traditions in this unfolding season of joy. My children drafting their own Christmas cards to friends, an activity I once performed in solitude, or their company in the kitchen as we worked through the mechanics of family meals and holiday baking.
It’s been years since I baked with so much joy, exploring unfamiliar recipes and experimenting with new ingredients. Stumbling through the mess of failed dough for the perfect cookie. The meditative quality of soapy water and endless dishes. Meals that unfolded into the rhythm of wakefulness and rest, punctuated with conversation and laughter.
There was a gentleness to this Christmas, a quiet togetherness that ruffled old memories with fresh air. It was impossible not to remember the complicated experiences of past holidays; destructive houseguests that rattled peace with unkindness. There was a time I might have been caught in the contradiction of these experiences with disappointment or remorse, but the wealth of my gratitude outweighs regret.
This week, as I tuck away ornaments to welcome the New Year, there is a tranquility of peace and joy; mindfulness and presence for this season.
borrowed words
December 9, 2016 § 3 Comments
The space between my words are filled with a chaos of gratitude, a noisy contentment that has grounded my presence and busied my thoughts. I’m holding the emptiness of these pages with a borrowed quote to guide me back to this fullness.
“My head is a hive of words that won’t settle.” Virginia Woolf
muscling gratitude
August 31, 2016 § 2 Comments
I’m out of shape, easily winded and tender. No matter my regimen, I am perpetually on the other side of fit. It has been years since I moved unconscious of appearances, confident in my strength.
Still, I move determinedly; slowly and sometimes clumsily, but forward.
Yesterday, I was pedaling after the retreating image of my husband’s more capable form when we rounded a stretch of trail that presented an unexpected distraction. Graceful and hesitant, tucked into the shelter of trees was a fawn.
In that moment, I forgot the temporary aches for awe.
Gratitude has a way of tempering negativity, shifting our perspective from a scale that measures the burden of our worries and insecurities to a truer gauge of our abilities and gifts.
Some days I muscle through gratitude, consciously. Other days it comes unexpectedly, drawing me further from myself.
mother’s helper
May 11, 2012 § Leave a comment
Motherhood has been a journey of love and discovery I share with my husband. From the first days of clumsy uncertainty and sleepless nights I have been blessed with a genuine partnership in parenting. My husband and I speak a silent code of gestures and tones that reach across rooms of our home calling for a spontaneous celebration, quiet collaboration, or reprieve from a moment’s frustration. This Mother’s Day I am giving thanks for the strength and humor that balances my endless worries.
My favorite moments as a mother are greater for witnessing my children and my husband together. Playful and patient, my husband feeds their natural curiosity with the same ease I curl them into my company over a book or in the event an unfortunate moment robs them of their smile.
An oversized adolescent he startles our children out of slumber with play while I run through an invisible checklist each morning. Where my responses are often measured, my husband laughs sincerely and heartily with a boisterousness that invites humor in moments weighted with worry. Quite often he is the raucous force inside the picture frame while I hold the camera to capture the image.
At the end of the day I look forward to unraveling our experiences into stories, drawing him into our timeline from the mundane to the miraculous. I could measure our life in the expressions my husband and I exchange over the tops of our children’s heads as we give thanks for a life well shared. It is a story of simple joys and unconditional love, sprinkled with humor and kindness.
seasons & sentiments
December 21, 2011 § Leave a comment
Christmas Eve I will not sleep, eagerly anticipating the first sleepy footsteps of my children tumbling from their beds into the hallway. For now, I want to postpone the unraveling of ribbon and wrapping paper. Let the surprises linger a little longer. I’m not ready. Not yet. I want to rest suspended in anticipation and make-believe.
I know each gift by shape. I worked without lists trying to select items that would find a home in the hands of the right person. Now, I can only wait and wonder if the gift will fit their wishes. If the recipient will feel that sense of joy that comes from feeling appreciated and understood. The silent sound on rounded lips that fills their eyes with glee.
This year, I want to pack away our ornaments, but leave the spirit of the season scattered like pine needles in the corners of our home. To wake each day in celebration of small blessings and with faith in possibility. I want love and kindness to echo like remnants of carols and candlelight to reflect the magic of twinkling lights. This year, I am not ready to undo the tidings of the season.
Dear Santa, stop here last.
before we say goodbye
December 15, 2011 § 1 Comment
My husband and I try to honor a handful of well-intentioned rules we made as newlyweds. Among them is a simple promise to say something nice before we say goodbye. Some days it is a rote I love you. and other days it is an intentional sharing. On days we disagree or accidentally hurt one another’s feelings we are more conscious in our efforts. The gesture is forced by an unspoken awareness that each time we part we may not see one another again.
This act of love has been a part of our lives together for so long I cannot draw into consciousness its source. It could be our son’s premature birth made us mindful of the fragility of life and our blessings. It could be the experience of witnessing the tragic loss of 9/11 in the media as a young married couple with an infant child. Certainly unexpected tragedies in our friends’ lives have kept our eyes open to loss and mindful of the blessing of time. However it began, our parting words are a priority.
Last night, we learned a family in our community lost a loved one. I looked at my children and realized that in another house there were children learning they would not see a parent again. In a sudden, tragic accident another family woke up today without the opportunity to say I love you. In the face of such tragedy it is easy to say that loss makes you appreciate that which we have, but I challenge myself to identify how I express my gratitude for my blessings.
If I were not home tonight to read bedtime books and kiss my children good-night, if I couldn’t share in the events of the day with my husband, if I couldn’t call my mother to share a funny anecdote about my children… would my family know they were loved? Would my heart and mind be at peace with our last goodbye?
In place of resolutions to improve myself, I am contemplating how I might extend my goals to encompass how I love. Brainstorming new ideas, critiquing old behaviors, and lingering over impulsive acts. I don’t have a perfect answer, but I am resting in this moment and trying to consider what I say, how I act, and those I love.
September 11
September 10, 2011 § Leave a comment
I have written this date for as long as I could write. Initially, I wrote it with the innocence of a child, proudly staking claim. It has become a date I share with strangers. My birthday a day of remembrance.
On the morning of September 11, 2001 I was watching the news as tragedy unfolded, sending ripples of shock, fear, and uncertainty across our nation. Like so many, I followed the news closely trying to grasp the reality of the moment. Horrific scenes of violence and destruction seemed borrowed from a Hollywood production, too far outside the realm of possibility to be real. The news brought the devastation into our living rooms, our homes made uncomfortable as we stood in witness of the unimaginable horror of hatred.
My mother waited to hear from her brothers; one worked near the World Trade Center and another’s wife worked near the Pentagon. My In-Laws waited anxiously for word from my brother-in-law living in Manhattan. We all waited helplessly in a place of paused uncertainty for reassurance*.
That evening my In-Laws arrived to babysit, my husband had planned a special evening out weeks in advance. The tone of the day was dark and attempts to celebrate felt forced and inappropriate. My husband trying to carve out a moment for us amidst a day that drowned joy with grief, toasted my birthday. I was sharing a moment with my husband that countless others would never again know. I could not be joyful, but I could not discard my blessings.
On a day of immeasurable loss, my blessings are countless. I have no doubt that each of the souls lost on the morning of September 11, given the opportunity, would live fully unbound by fear and mindful of each moment. On this day each year I think not of dwelling in a place of sorrow, but of living gratefully for the moment I am blessed to have.
*After a long day of waiting to hear from loved ones, I am happy to share they were all safe.
Rx: rest
September 10, 2011 § Leave a comment
For the past couple of days my husband has balanced work and a house project, keeping late hours toiling away at a task he doesn’t enjoy. He did this while I slept peacefully unaware courtesy of sleep-inducing, over-the-counter allergy medicine. I am writing this because sometimes we say thank you, but cannot hear the value behind the words.
When I don’t feel well, I need to stop and rest. I am someone who seemingly catches everyone else’s bug if I am not well rested. Once sick, I don’t stand a chance of getting well without tuning out and turning in. At the moment I am well, but seasonal allergies have me stuffy and red, pouty and tired; sleeping a wonderful reprieve from irritating symptoms.
My gratitude comes from being allowed to be selfish. The time that is normally our time at the end of the day has been my time. We don’t go out as often as we would like, evenings after the children are tucked into bed are our time to reconnect. My husband set aside our time and gave me his time to rest. Genuine appreciation lies behind two little words: thank you.
the measure of a smile
August 29, 2011 § Leave a comment
Most days the measure of my accomplishments are tallied by the volume of tasks completed: groceries purchased, house cleaned, meals planned, laundry completed. It is a simple life and, while I dread the mundane invariability of housekeeping, there is a sense of gratification in taking care of my family’s home. Today I set aside the predictable pattern of my day and squandered stolen moments.
My son woke early and we bantered across the kitchen island over breakfast. A shared sense of dry humor and a quiet moment provided an opportunity to begin the day with smiles and laughter. It was a small moment, but I carry the image of my son’s dimpled smile with me.
Good humor was contagious and I quickly lost myself to my daughter’s company. Her big brother’s school day already begun, our morning walk together was filled with stories and dramatic gifts of dandelions. Today she created a game with her sight words that held our attention until goodbye.
Our children settled at school, my husband and I played hooky from our schedules and escaped to a late breakfast. Sitting outdoors and visiting over the small indulgence of a favorite meal we stopped to smell the roses. I have accomplished nothing on my list of chores, but today my accomplishments are measured in smiles.
scribblechic 