Focusing on the positive tonight after a long and tiring week at work.
I am grateful that I get to have long and tiring weeks at work, in this world where so many cannot find work.
I am grateful for wonderful, inspiring co-workers who commiserate and support, who are like minded and believe in what we are doing, perhaps more than I do these days.
I am grateful that at moments, my job rocks. Moments like when I get to be paid to watch an amazing iMax movie about the South Pacific.
I am grateful for coral reefs (and really want to visit West Papua now).
I am grateful for dinner with friends, for easy conversation and three happy little girls, for book recommendations and venting about school, pasta dinner and harvest tea and laughing at the dog until we cry. I've missed Fridays with our friends recently. Tonight felt good.
Friday, November 7, 2014
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
November 5
What better time to resurrect the Thirty Days blog than November, the original month of gratitude?
And how better to do it in classic Amanda fashion than 5 days late?
You guys, daylight savings time is killing me this year. Seriously. I'm twice as tired as usual at night and yet still twice as tired in the morning, too. More and more to accomplish, less and less time. Or less and less daylight, at any rate.
Definitely needing me some gratitude.
So here goes. We'll just call it 20 days instead of 30, and shoot for now til Thanksgiving, sound good?
November 5
Tonight I am grateful for the blue skies and warm weather that graced the day. Not many of these days left, I fear, so I am holding on to each one. I am even more grateful that I got to be outside, albeit briefly, in that wonderful weather this afternoon, by virtue of running to the UPS store over lunch. It has been such a crazy year, this is the first time I have been able to step out at lunchtime. Need to do it more often. I am so grateful for fresh air.
I am also grateful for Starbucks iced Americanos. Nothing tastes more sublime on a blue-sky, fair weather day. The taste of this drink , paired with sunshine glancing off the plastic cold cup, has the power to transport me to the base of Vail mountain, on a spring break almost 9 years ago. My first spring skiing in Colorado, my first iced Americano. Together forever.
I am grateful that I have the memory of skiing Vail mountain. We led a charmed life indeed, all those years ago. I'm not sure we knew just how charmed. But I think we did enjoy it thoroughly and I am grateful for that.
I am grateful for quiet evenings with my kids, for our local grocery store where the deli workers hand my kids a cookie while we wait, where the children know where to find everything as well as I do, where there is never a line at the checkout. Seriously. It is a terrific grocery store.
I am grateful for leaf-finding walks with bikes and scooters and dogs, for feet and wheels swishing through leaves along the sidewalks in the gathering dark.
I am grateful for a bright, blue, full moon blazing between the trees.
I am grateful for bedtime stories and two children that love them, for my daughter's questions and my son's ability to tune out the world when he picks up a book. I am grateful for the glimpses of myself that I see in them, for the bit of immortality that comes from the way Jack-- just like me-- compulsively reads any words he sees; from the way Ivy --just like me-- loves to turn the world into a great game of pretend.
I am grateful for graham crackers and milk at bedtime.
November 4
I am grateful for family and music tonight. Grateful that we live so close to my mom-- grateful for her presence in the world, the simplicity of family dinner at her place every week, the gift of time she gives to Nat and I when she keeps the kids, the gift of time she gives to them.
I am grateful for the weekly walk Nat and I take in Lakewood park. I am grateful that we went today even though it was rainy, because it always works out to be more perfect that we imagine. Tonight-- a gray lake blending with a gray sky, a foggy city skyline int he distance, lights twinkling, smooth soft air, a happy spaniel prancing along the path.
I am grateful for my choir, for my wonderful director, for the bits of music theory he effortlessly teaches us, for the challenge of learning music and the joy of making music. I am grateful for the friendship of Fiona, my driving buddy, for the stories she regales me with and the inspiration she provides.
November 3
November 3rd was a Monday. the Monday after Halloween AND daylight savings time. It was not an easy day. Looking back, I'm having a tough time coming up with much. I suppose that night I was grateful that the day was over. And that my kids did well at their piano lessons, both reportedly picking things up quite well. I am grateful for this opportunity for them to build a musical foundation.
November 2
I am grateful for IKEA, for sunny chilly driving days and consumer therapy and making a low-key weekend memorable.
November 1
There's a reason I didn't start this right away. It's called rainy, 40 degree weather. I don't do well with rainy, 40-degree weather. I was kind of a grump on Saturday.
I am looking forward to letting the practice of gratitude get me through the rest of November unscathed...
And how better to do it in classic Amanda fashion than 5 days late?
You guys, daylight savings time is killing me this year. Seriously. I'm twice as tired as usual at night and yet still twice as tired in the morning, too. More and more to accomplish, less and less time. Or less and less daylight, at any rate.
Definitely needing me some gratitude.
So here goes. We'll just call it 20 days instead of 30, and shoot for now til Thanksgiving, sound good?
November 5
Tonight I am grateful for the blue skies and warm weather that graced the day. Not many of these days left, I fear, so I am holding on to each one. I am even more grateful that I got to be outside, albeit briefly, in that wonderful weather this afternoon, by virtue of running to the UPS store over lunch. It has been such a crazy year, this is the first time I have been able to step out at lunchtime. Need to do it more often. I am so grateful for fresh air.
I am also grateful for Starbucks iced Americanos. Nothing tastes more sublime on a blue-sky, fair weather day. The taste of this drink , paired with sunshine glancing off the plastic cold cup, has the power to transport me to the base of Vail mountain, on a spring break almost 9 years ago. My first spring skiing in Colorado, my first iced Americano. Together forever.
I am grateful that I have the memory of skiing Vail mountain. We led a charmed life indeed, all those years ago. I'm not sure we knew just how charmed. But I think we did enjoy it thoroughly and I am grateful for that.
I am grateful for quiet evenings with my kids, for our local grocery store where the deli workers hand my kids a cookie while we wait, where the children know where to find everything as well as I do, where there is never a line at the checkout. Seriously. It is a terrific grocery store.
I am grateful for leaf-finding walks with bikes and scooters and dogs, for feet and wheels swishing through leaves along the sidewalks in the gathering dark.
I am grateful for a bright, blue, full moon blazing between the trees.
I am grateful for bedtime stories and two children that love them, for my daughter's questions and my son's ability to tune out the world when he picks up a book. I am grateful for the glimpses of myself that I see in them, for the bit of immortality that comes from the way Jack-- just like me-- compulsively reads any words he sees; from the way Ivy --just like me-- loves to turn the world into a great game of pretend.
I am grateful for graham crackers and milk at bedtime.
November 4
I am grateful for family and music tonight. Grateful that we live so close to my mom-- grateful for her presence in the world, the simplicity of family dinner at her place every week, the gift of time she gives to Nat and I when she keeps the kids, the gift of time she gives to them.
I am grateful for the weekly walk Nat and I take in Lakewood park. I am grateful that we went today even though it was rainy, because it always works out to be more perfect that we imagine. Tonight-- a gray lake blending with a gray sky, a foggy city skyline int he distance, lights twinkling, smooth soft air, a happy spaniel prancing along the path.
I am grateful for my choir, for my wonderful director, for the bits of music theory he effortlessly teaches us, for the challenge of learning music and the joy of making music. I am grateful for the friendship of Fiona, my driving buddy, for the stories she regales me with and the inspiration she provides.
November 3
November 3rd was a Monday. the Monday after Halloween AND daylight savings time. It was not an easy day. Looking back, I'm having a tough time coming up with much. I suppose that night I was grateful that the day was over. And that my kids did well at their piano lessons, both reportedly picking things up quite well. I am grateful for this opportunity for them to build a musical foundation.
November 2
I am grateful for IKEA, for sunny chilly driving days and consumer therapy and making a low-key weekend memorable.
November 1
There's a reason I didn't start this right away. It's called rainy, 40 degree weather. I don't do well with rainy, 40-degree weather. I was kind of a grump on Saturday.
I am looking forward to letting the practice of gratitude get me through the rest of November unscathed...
Saturday, April 5, 2014
April 5-- Runner's High
I think I'll take this moment to ramble on a bit about my first 11 mile run, right now at this moment when my endorphins are running high and I love the beauty of life and this ache in my hips and knees.
After starting off with wind and grey and even a few flakes of snow, the day transformed itself into perfection, blue blue cloudless sky and a crisp 50 degrees. It begged me to get outside, this day, so after a morning of shopping and family time, I laced up and headed out on a bit of an odyssey. I decided, while driving back from Lakewood, that it was about time I run through Rockefeller Park. After all, I've driven through that park for my whole life, taking MLK to the highway at least once a week for the past few years. But I've never walked through even one of the cultural gardens, can you imgine? I clocked the distance and found it to be just over 5 miles and so I set off with my goal in mind....
What a wonderful way to be a tourist in my own city, winding my way down the hill, through Case Western, a little detour to scope out a $40,000 house just up from the park, gawking at the mansions on Wade Park and East Boulevard along the way. I ran up and down some stairs in the Italian Garden, and underneath two of the wonderful bridges. At the playground-that-time-forgot I happened upon a group of deer, who looked up at me calmly then went back to grazing. A moment of kinship. Or perhaps they were just secure in the knowledge that I was already moving at my maximum speed and they had nothing to worry about. At 8 miles I found myself at the pond in front of the Art Museum and allowed myself 1 minute to stop and stretch and revel in this city I call home. I ran along Euclid, making plans to attend the Music at Meditation on Wednesdays at that one beautiful church. I headed up hill through Little Italy, noticing details on buildings I'd never seen before, the charming hidden gardens on the hillside. Running up Edgehill, hitting the steepest of the hills I'd encounter on the way home, my Pandora playlist came through, with a little "Fix You" timed just right to sing (gasp) along and keep up a 9:30 pace through to the top.
Mile 1-3, warm up, excitement to be on an adventure. Hardly noticed them passing as I concentrated on my route.
Mile 4-5, an adventure, finding the little house to look at (no backyard, sorryy, no dice) and then finding my way down to the park. Fast miles, feeling good-- good enough to run up and down those stairs. Smiling at fellow pedestrians, enjoying the warmth of the sun.
Mile 6-- A little slow. No more downhills. Flat and long through the park. A road I've driven before so no more mystery either. I found myself checking my distance. A lot. Fifty degrees started to feel a little too warm.My knees began to yell at me.
Mile 7-8 Heading up out of the park. Winding along that stretch of MLK we never drive, carefully avoiding geese. Feeling surprisingly fine, positive, in love with life and springtime mud and the fragility and perfection of it all. Loving the all the people out walking on Euclid, a wonderful random collection of humanity. Finding even construction sites to be beautiful .Runner's High, anyone?
Mile 9-10 Hills. That's all.
Mile 10-11:30. Every single step hurt. But running felt a great deal better than walking actually, so I plodded on.
I'd planned to run 12 miles today. But I didn't have the heart to keep going that last .70 when I found myself one block from home. Some days, 11:30 is enough. Today was one of those days, and I am feeling fine about it. Sore, tired, and rather hungry, but fine.
It's odd to feel this good after spending two hours of my fleeting weekend time torturing my body while very slowly traversing a route I could drive in 10 minutes.
Right now, I can't think of a better way to have spent those hours.
After starting off with wind and grey and even a few flakes of snow, the day transformed itself into perfection, blue blue cloudless sky and a crisp 50 degrees. It begged me to get outside, this day, so after a morning of shopping and family time, I laced up and headed out on a bit of an odyssey. I decided, while driving back from Lakewood, that it was about time I run through Rockefeller Park. After all, I've driven through that park for my whole life, taking MLK to the highway at least once a week for the past few years. But I've never walked through even one of the cultural gardens, can you imgine? I clocked the distance and found it to be just over 5 miles and so I set off with my goal in mind....
What a wonderful way to be a tourist in my own city, winding my way down the hill, through Case Western, a little detour to scope out a $40,000 house just up from the park, gawking at the mansions on Wade Park and East Boulevard along the way. I ran up and down some stairs in the Italian Garden, and underneath two of the wonderful bridges. At the playground-that-time-forgot I happened upon a group of deer, who looked up at me calmly then went back to grazing. A moment of kinship. Or perhaps they were just secure in the knowledge that I was already moving at my maximum speed and they had nothing to worry about. At 8 miles I found myself at the pond in front of the Art Museum and allowed myself 1 minute to stop and stretch and revel in this city I call home. I ran along Euclid, making plans to attend the Music at Meditation on Wednesdays at that one beautiful church. I headed up hill through Little Italy, noticing details on buildings I'd never seen before, the charming hidden gardens on the hillside. Running up Edgehill, hitting the steepest of the hills I'd encounter on the way home, my Pandora playlist came through, with a little "Fix You" timed just right to sing (gasp) along and keep up a 9:30 pace through to the top.
Mile 1-3, warm up, excitement to be on an adventure. Hardly noticed them passing as I concentrated on my route.
Mile 4-5, an adventure, finding the little house to look at (no backyard, sorryy, no dice) and then finding my way down to the park. Fast miles, feeling good-- good enough to run up and down those stairs. Smiling at fellow pedestrians, enjoying the warmth of the sun.
Mile 6-- A little slow. No more downhills. Flat and long through the park. A road I've driven before so no more mystery either. I found myself checking my distance. A lot. Fifty degrees started to feel a little too warm.My knees began to yell at me.
Mile 7-8 Heading up out of the park. Winding along that stretch of MLK we never drive, carefully avoiding geese. Feeling surprisingly fine, positive, in love with life and springtime mud and the fragility and perfection of it all. Loving the all the people out walking on Euclid, a wonderful random collection of humanity. Finding even construction sites to be beautiful .Runner's High, anyone?
Mile 9-10 Hills. That's all.
Mile 10-11:30. Every single step hurt. But running felt a great deal better than walking actually, so I plodded on.
I'd planned to run 12 miles today. But I didn't have the heart to keep going that last .70 when I found myself one block from home. Some days, 11:30 is enough. Today was one of those days, and I am feeling fine about it. Sore, tired, and rather hungry, but fine.
It's odd to feel this good after spending two hours of my fleeting weekend time torturing my body while very slowly traversing a route I could drive in 10 minutes.
Right now, I can't think of a better way to have spent those hours.
Monday, March 24, 2014
March 23-- Becky
Today is my friend Becky's birthday and I am so happy to write about her. Becky is one of my oldest friends. Well, not really oldest, she's younger than me... but we go way back. Back to that golden age at Hiram, back to The Group, The Friends. She is one of the ones that has shaped who I have become and I am so grateful to have her as a part of my life.
How to describe Becky? The first words that come to mind are: kind, honest, unapologetic, and brave. There is so much more to Becky than meets the eye. When you first meet Becky-- or perhaps, hear her voice from several miles away (sorry, Becky, you know your voice carries! :) ) you might miss the complexity of her, and only notice her sense of humor and her fierceness of spirit. Not that those things aren't enough! In fact, Becky's fierce tenacity is one of the things I admire most about her. I have always wished I could emulate her forthright speech and brash confidence. Becky is a true friend and will go to the ends of the earth for the people she cares for. She will also fight the forces of hell to right a wrong. Woe to those on Becky's bad side! And what a friend to have for those she loves!
It seems that what I love most about my friends are the things I have discovered underneath the amazing faces they show the world. The secret about Becky is the sensitive and gentle soul she keeps just beneath all the jokes. She cares deeply and passionately for friends, family, animals. She is a brilliant scientist with an analytical mind I cannot fathom. But she never makes anyone feel less. She is always approachable, down to earth, real.
Becky has faced so much adversity in her life. She is beautifully resiliant and has only stood straighter against the obstacles she has faced. Nothing will keep Becky down for long; she is my role model for bravery.
I miss Becky these days. Our lives have pulled us apart and I don't get to spend hours talking with her or reveling in nature with her or telling dirty jokes over a drink. (Someday soon, Becky??) But she should know that she is in my heart every day, a little piece of me. When I am brave, when I stand up for myself, when I fight injustice or just give someone a piece of my mind, I am channeling Becky, and grateful to call her my friend.
How to describe Becky? The first words that come to mind are: kind, honest, unapologetic, and brave. There is so much more to Becky than meets the eye. When you first meet Becky-- or perhaps, hear her voice from several miles away (sorry, Becky, you know your voice carries! :) ) you might miss the complexity of her, and only notice her sense of humor and her fierceness of spirit. Not that those things aren't enough! In fact, Becky's fierce tenacity is one of the things I admire most about her. I have always wished I could emulate her forthright speech and brash confidence. Becky is a true friend and will go to the ends of the earth for the people she cares for. She will also fight the forces of hell to right a wrong. Woe to those on Becky's bad side! And what a friend to have for those she loves!
It seems that what I love most about my friends are the things I have discovered underneath the amazing faces they show the world. The secret about Becky is the sensitive and gentle soul she keeps just beneath all the jokes. She cares deeply and passionately for friends, family, animals. She is a brilliant scientist with an analytical mind I cannot fathom. But she never makes anyone feel less. She is always approachable, down to earth, real.
Becky has faced so much adversity in her life. She is beautifully resiliant and has only stood straighter against the obstacles she has faced. Nothing will keep Becky down for long; she is my role model for bravery.
I miss Becky these days. Our lives have pulled us apart and I don't get to spend hours talking with her or reveling in nature with her or telling dirty jokes over a drink. (Someday soon, Becky??) But she should know that she is in my heart every day, a little piece of me. When I am brave, when I stand up for myself, when I fight injustice or just give someone a piece of my mind, I am channeling Becky, and grateful to call her my friend.
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
March 11-- Melinda
I am excited that today is the birthday of one of my very best friends and I get to write about her! What a privilege. And what a challenge! She has been a part of my life for almost two decades and how to sift through all those shared memories for the very best? Really, any memory will do because they're all the best. Just having her as a part of my life for all these years-- I am the luckiest.
So, Melinda. We met freshman year at Hiram, but not right away. I can't remember the first time I talked with her but I think she was there that night we played sardines in Colton, and then after that, well, we were just all together. She moved in with Jen and Leigh and that was it. We were the group. We dressed up to go dancing, we helped Jen cook feasts in the kitchenette, we stayed up too late taking My favorite memories? Cooking spaghetti in the summer dorm. Hoping the Dodge Colt would make it up the hill on 700 so we could get to work. The music festival. That one night we planned out, in great detail, just how we would all move to Portugal and live a life of communal perfection. There is hardly a memory of my time at college that doesn't have her in it. But the really great thing about my friendship with Melinda is that the memories go on after college too. The Shaker house and dinner parties in Bedford, moving away and then coming back home-- with my dear friend to welcome me. We've moved in tandem into this next phase of our lives-- husbands, houses, dogs, kids--and I can't imagine it any other way. Watching our children play together every Friday night, I am immeasurably grateful for a friendship that has grown and changed and endured all this time.
When you meet Melinda today, what you'll notice about her right away is that she is kind, and so utterly giving of herself that she doesn't even notice it. You'll also know that she is a great cook, even if she never writes down the recipes, and she's a brilliant writer, and she's got great taste in jewelry and in art. When she is all in her teacher-and-mom persona, she will impress you plenty. Because she is so put-together and so calm, so confident with that tiny little lift to her chin, so at ease with herself. She has this wonderful wry smile and this incredible talent for knowing the right words to say, almost all the time. She is honest and real and approachable and she makes you want to stay a little longer to just enjoy her presence.
And if you do stay longer, and you get to know her a little more? Then you'll see what I really love about her, because she'll start to let her guard down a little and underneath, she is passionate and irreverent and delightfully funny, a dreamer of dreams like no one you've met. I love to hear her talk about books, her deep knowledge and intelligence and insight coming out in every gesture. I love to get her laughing at some silly double entendre, because she will laugh so hard she cries and everyone in the tri-state area will have no choice but to laugh along with her. She has a joy that is contagious.
When we met, all of us friends back at Hiram, we all fell in love with Melinda because of that joy, the way she attacked life so fearlessly and beautifully, sweeping us along with her. It didn't matter if we were heading off to go camping, driving to work, or sitting drinking wine in a dorm room--everything was more fun when she was around. Nineteen years later I still love that about her, even though we have all settled into our adult lives and nothing is quite so sweeping any more. But what I find myself noticing the most now, is how true she is. How she will do anything for her friends, how she perseveres, how she devotes herself to causes and to people, how she channels her passion to make change in the world. I love to watch her as a mother, to know her as a teacher, to see her as a wife and a daughter and a friend-- because everything my beautiful friend does, she does so very very well.
I hope she knows that she's always been an inspiration to me, and that every day I know I am so very lucky to have her as my friend.
So, Melinda. We met freshman year at Hiram, but not right away. I can't remember the first time I talked with her but I think she was there that night we played sardines in Colton, and then after that, well, we were just all together. She moved in with Jen and Leigh and that was it. We were the group. We dressed up to go dancing, we helped Jen cook feasts in the kitchenette, we stayed up too late taking My favorite memories? Cooking spaghetti in the summer dorm. Hoping the Dodge Colt would make it up the hill on 700 so we could get to work. The music festival. That one night we planned out, in great detail, just how we would all move to Portugal and live a life of communal perfection. There is hardly a memory of my time at college that doesn't have her in it. But the really great thing about my friendship with Melinda is that the memories go on after college too. The Shaker house and dinner parties in Bedford, moving away and then coming back home-- with my dear friend to welcome me. We've moved in tandem into this next phase of our lives-- husbands, houses, dogs, kids--and I can't imagine it any other way. Watching our children play together every Friday night, I am immeasurably grateful for a friendship that has grown and changed and endured all this time.
When you meet Melinda today, what you'll notice about her right away is that she is kind, and so utterly giving of herself that she doesn't even notice it. You'll also know that she is a great cook, even if she never writes down the recipes, and she's a brilliant writer, and she's got great taste in jewelry and in art. When she is all in her teacher-and-mom persona, she will impress you plenty. Because she is so put-together and so calm, so confident with that tiny little lift to her chin, so at ease with herself. She has this wonderful wry smile and this incredible talent for knowing the right words to say, almost all the time. She is honest and real and approachable and she makes you want to stay a little longer to just enjoy her presence.
And if you do stay longer, and you get to know her a little more? Then you'll see what I really love about her, because she'll start to let her guard down a little and underneath, she is passionate and irreverent and delightfully funny, a dreamer of dreams like no one you've met. I love to hear her talk about books, her deep knowledge and intelligence and insight coming out in every gesture. I love to get her laughing at some silly double entendre, because she will laugh so hard she cries and everyone in the tri-state area will have no choice but to laugh along with her. She has a joy that is contagious.
When we met, all of us friends back at Hiram, we all fell in love with Melinda because of that joy, the way she attacked life so fearlessly and beautifully, sweeping us along with her. It didn't matter if we were heading off to go camping, driving to work, or sitting drinking wine in a dorm room--everything was more fun when she was around. Nineteen years later I still love that about her, even though we have all settled into our adult lives and nothing is quite so sweeping any more. But what I find myself noticing the most now, is how true she is. How she will do anything for her friends, how she perseveres, how she devotes herself to causes and to people, how she channels her passion to make change in the world. I love to watch her as a mother, to know her as a teacher, to see her as a wife and a daughter and a friend-- because everything my beautiful friend does, she does so very very well.
I hope she knows that she's always been an inspiration to me, and that every day I know I am so very lucky to have her as my friend.
Sunday, March 9, 2014
March 8- Claire
Today on her birthday, let me tell you a little about Claire. I'm lucky enough to be her daughter-in-law and I absolutely treasure this woman. She's an inspiration to me every day and I simply love to spend time with her.
Claire has this way about her that just puts people at ease. I love this about her: We'll come upon her talking to someone, engrossed in easy conversation, and we'll think, oh, Claire's run into an old friend again. And then we'll come to find out, she's only met them moments ago. But the thing is, they ARE friends already. And that that person will remember Claire, for certain, remember the way she made them feel so very important, the way she really listens to them, gives them her heart. It's no surprise she really does run into old friends everywhere she goes.
Claire is so patient and so careful with her time and her tasks. When you are with her, the world slows down and you don't need to rush anymore. There will be time enough to get it all done, and beautifully. There must be, because she does. She always thinks of the little touches--the bits of pine tucked into the box of Christmas presents, a bit of ribbon tied around a plain package, just the perfect flowers arranged on the counter-- to make everything feel a little bit more special.
I love being in her home, because she creates such comfort and beauty there. So many little spots to nestle into, all with something beautiful in sight-- but nothing fussy. There is nothing fussy about Claire! This is a woman who can handle anything the world throws at her, and meet it with graciousness and calm.
The best thing is watching her with my children. The way she helps them explore the world around them, guiding them as she follows their lead. Giving them her utter attention, sharing her peaceful aura; its a beautiful thing.
Did I mention she's an artist? And she's the keeper of the family stories, and a lover of good books, and a friend to animals. But mostly she is a person who just feels so good to be around. We are lucky indeed.
Claire has this way about her that just puts people at ease. I love this about her: We'll come upon her talking to someone, engrossed in easy conversation, and we'll think, oh, Claire's run into an old friend again. And then we'll come to find out, she's only met them moments ago. But the thing is, they ARE friends already. And that that person will remember Claire, for certain, remember the way she made them feel so very important, the way she really listens to them, gives them her heart. It's no surprise she really does run into old friends everywhere she goes.
Claire is so patient and so careful with her time and her tasks. When you are with her, the world slows down and you don't need to rush anymore. There will be time enough to get it all done, and beautifully. There must be, because she does. She always thinks of the little touches--the bits of pine tucked into the box of Christmas presents, a bit of ribbon tied around a plain package, just the perfect flowers arranged on the counter-- to make everything feel a little bit more special.
I love being in her home, because she creates such comfort and beauty there. So many little spots to nestle into, all with something beautiful in sight-- but nothing fussy. There is nothing fussy about Claire! This is a woman who can handle anything the world throws at her, and meet it with graciousness and calm.
The best thing is watching her with my children. The way she helps them explore the world around them, guiding them as she follows their lead. Giving them her utter attention, sharing her peaceful aura; its a beautiful thing.
Did I mention she's an artist? And she's the keeper of the family stories, and a lover of good books, and a friend to animals. But mostly she is a person who just feels so good to be around. We are lucky indeed.
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
March 5- Kate
I think today I will tell you about my friend Kate. Happens to be her birthday today and so far (on this my second day of my challenge) birthdays seem to be as good a way as any to choose a person to honor.
So, Kate. We go way back. She was my TA at Hiram, back when I was young and impressionable and blonde (no, really, I bleached my hair for a while). I even carried a purse, a fact which Kate never lets me forget. I don't think she liked me very much. I found her funny, and more than a little intimidating, with her dry wit, her cadre of equally intimidating witty friends, and the easy condescension of an upperclassman.
I'm not entirely sure how we gravitated together but suddenly there we were, going dancing at Trilogy and staying up too late, rooming together over the summer, drinking Red Dog, pulled into friendship in that accidental Hiram way.
I am so grateful for that.
Over the years I've known Kate I have discovered these things about her:
She is a fantastically amazing writer. Don't let her tell you otherwise. She is wicked smart. That easy condescension of hers in college? I think it was a cover for a soft heart and the kind of vulnerability that makes you want keep her forever. She loves animals (but you knew that) and she loves her friends and family with the same unconditionality, accepting us equally with all of our flaws, seeing our beauty underneath. She is steadfast, and kind, and hilarious. I love to spend time with her.
Kate (and Marc and menagerie) have moved far enough away from the the Heights -- beyond the accepted 30 minute drive-time-- that we don't see them nearly often enough anymore. But Kate should know how much I treasure her and her friendship, our shared memories from these intertwined 17 years. Kate, you are a gift to us all and I celebrate you today!
So, Kate. We go way back. She was my TA at Hiram, back when I was young and impressionable and blonde (no, really, I bleached my hair for a while). I even carried a purse, a fact which Kate never lets me forget. I don't think she liked me very much. I found her funny, and more than a little intimidating, with her dry wit, her cadre of equally intimidating witty friends, and the easy condescension of an upperclassman.
I'm not entirely sure how we gravitated together but suddenly there we were, going dancing at Trilogy and staying up too late, rooming together over the summer, drinking Red Dog, pulled into friendship in that accidental Hiram way.
I am so grateful for that.
Over the years I've known Kate I have discovered these things about her:
She is a fantastically amazing writer. Don't let her tell you otherwise. She is wicked smart. That easy condescension of hers in college? I think it was a cover for a soft heart and the kind of vulnerability that makes you want keep her forever. She loves animals (but you knew that) and she loves her friends and family with the same unconditionality, accepting us equally with all of our flaws, seeing our beauty underneath. She is steadfast, and kind, and hilarious. I love to spend time with her.
Kate (and Marc and menagerie) have moved far enough away from the the Heights -- beyond the accepted 30 minute drive-time-- that we don't see them nearly often enough anymore. But Kate should know how much I treasure her and her friendship, our shared memories from these intertwined 17 years. Kate, you are a gift to us all and I celebrate you today!
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
March 4-- Sarah
Today I want to tell you about my mom.
It's her birthday and so its a good day to celebrate her-- but so is every day. Because every single day she is an inspiration to me.
She has faced so much adversity in her life-- and she rises to the challenge every time. She is my role model for resilience and perseverance. When you look at her slight frame and pretty smile you might miss the core of steel that is in her, the utter strength she has called upon over and over to get through some pretty dark times. She comes out the other side still smiling, her passion for life and her sense of humour and her unconditional love for her family intact. I smile all the time because she has showed me how. She has taught me-- as she has so many others in her life as a teacher, Recovery leader, church member, friend-- how to be headstrong and determined, generous and gentle, all at the same time. She never stops giving of herself.
She also has really great taste in clothes and dogs and decorative pottery, and you can't find a better shopping buddy (though you'll undoubtedly spend more than you planned on, with her help). She's a great writer and a lover of music, art and film, and her passion and enthusiasm are contagious. I love going to special exhibits at the art museum with her, or seeing an interesting film and chatting about it afterward. My favorite, though, has always been dreaming our way through open houses in big old mansions. I am so grateful that she has given these passions to me. I just wish we had more time to share them together these days...
But I can't complain about the reason we don't-- in her spirit of giving she eagerly steps in as our main "babysitter", taking my kids for overnights, or to fun activities, or just hanging out with them and sharing her talents for teaching and parenting. Lucky kids. Lucky us. I am so grateful we live close enough that she can be such an active force in the lives of my children. And that I get to see her every week, too. I don't tell her that often enough.
Thank you, mom, for all you've done for me, and for all you continue to give to me every day, just by being yourself in the world. You are my moral compass, my role model, my friend. I am so lucky to be your daughter.
It's her birthday and so its a good day to celebrate her-- but so is every day. Because every single day she is an inspiration to me.
She has faced so much adversity in her life-- and she rises to the challenge every time. She is my role model for resilience and perseverance. When you look at her slight frame and pretty smile you might miss the core of steel that is in her, the utter strength she has called upon over and over to get through some pretty dark times. She comes out the other side still smiling, her passion for life and her sense of humour and her unconditional love for her family intact. I smile all the time because she has showed me how. She has taught me-- as she has so many others in her life as a teacher, Recovery leader, church member, friend-- how to be headstrong and determined, generous and gentle, all at the same time. She never stops giving of herself.
She also has really great taste in clothes and dogs and decorative pottery, and you can't find a better shopping buddy (though you'll undoubtedly spend more than you planned on, with her help). She's a great writer and a lover of music, art and film, and her passion and enthusiasm are contagious. I love going to special exhibits at the art museum with her, or seeing an interesting film and chatting about it afterward. My favorite, though, has always been dreaming our way through open houses in big old mansions. I am so grateful that she has given these passions to me. I just wish we had more time to share them together these days...
But I can't complain about the reason we don't-- in her spirit of giving she eagerly steps in as our main "babysitter", taking my kids for overnights, or to fun activities, or just hanging out with them and sharing her talents for teaching and parenting. Lucky kids. Lucky us. I am so grateful we live close enough that she can be such an active force in the lives of my children. And that I get to see her every week, too. I don't tell her that often enough.
Thank you, mom, for all you've done for me, and for all you continue to give to me every day, just by being yourself in the world. You are my moral compass, my role model, my friend. I am so lucky to be your daughter.
Say it now
A former colleague of mine, who has been battling cancer for years, died last night. She truly was a light in the world, and I am not just saying that because its what you say when someone dies. She, really, truly was amazing-- always happy, full of energy, unfailingly kind. My heart is heavy today even though I have not seen her in a long time. At least, not in person. I have been lucky enough to keep up with her on Facebook, to read her status updates and admire photos of her enjoying every ounce of life with her beautiful family over these past few years. And, most recently, to revel in the wonderful, love-filled posts crowding her wall as family and friends and co-workers from all facets of her life poured their hearts out to her, keeping her company in virtual form during her last days in the hospital. All these stories of students she'd turned around, crazy-fun times with friends, the little things people love about her. Visiting her Facebook page was heartbreaking and beautiful at the same time. I know. How is any part of this beautiful, you ask? Most of it is not. Cancer sucks. And this wonderful woman-- mother, teacher, sister, friend-- should be busy building her life, not finished with it. And it is not right and it makes me angry and so very sad.
But it was beautiful because these people, these friends and family, parents and students whose lives she touched-- they said these amazing these to her, they brought the truth, they put the words out into the world while she was alive. So she knew it. So she could feel it. So that some of the light she gave to the world bounced back to her and glowed before her as she faced the darkness. They didn't wait til after, didn't wait for their truth to become platitudes. They told her when it mattered most and that was beautiful and important and right.
Say what you will about Facebook. In the last week I've witnessed digital space becoming sacred space, virtual reality wrapping people tight across miles. Inside my heavy heart there is gratitude sparkling, for the ease with which we can touch each other and make they world a softer place. We are lucky indeed.
And so for March, in honor of Barb and everyone who knew her, I will use my thirty days to take advantage of social media, to use it for good. To say it now. Every day I will post to someone in my life, share a memory, tell a story. Let them know just how perfect they are, how important. And let the whole world, know too. I will not wait until they are in their last days. I will say it now.
We need to tell people why we love them, today. When it matters. Without letting another too-busy moment go by, without another excuse. Don't you think?
But it was beautiful because these people, these friends and family, parents and students whose lives she touched-- they said these amazing these to her, they brought the truth, they put the words out into the world while she was alive. So she knew it. So she could feel it. So that some of the light she gave to the world bounced back to her and glowed before her as she faced the darkness. They didn't wait til after, didn't wait for their truth to become platitudes. They told her when it mattered most and that was beautiful and important and right.
Say what you will about Facebook. In the last week I've witnessed digital space becoming sacred space, virtual reality wrapping people tight across miles. Inside my heavy heart there is gratitude sparkling, for the ease with which we can touch each other and make they world a softer place. We are lucky indeed.
And so for March, in honor of Barb and everyone who knew her, I will use my thirty days to take advantage of social media, to use it for good. To say it now. Every day I will post to someone in my life, share a memory, tell a story. Let them know just how perfect they are, how important. And let the whole world, know too. I will not wait until they are in their last days. I will say it now.
We need to tell people why we love them, today. When it matters. Without letting another too-busy moment go by, without another excuse. Don't you think?
Monday, February 17, 2014
February 1
So I am thinking about doing something that may surprise you.
It surprises me, on a number of levels.
But I am still thinking about it and I just might do it and I feel like this is the space to work it out.
So-- I might be running a marathon. As a spiritual pilgrimage.
Yeah.
A few levels of surprise there.
The marathon part probably not so much. I mean, I'm signed up to run a half in May. I finished 10 miles on Saturday. I seem to be doing this distance-running thing, and a marathon seems to be the logical end-point to aim for. Despite my scoffing about the "crazy people" who run marathons, it stands to reason that I might be one of them someday. Maybe this fall, maybe not this fall, but someday.
The spiritual part might be a bit more surprising to many of you. Not quite so much if you've known me since middle school. Bible bowl champion, right here. I was, for quite a few of my formative years, a pretty spiritual person. Not just a regular church-goer and staple of my youth group, but a soul-searcher, a woods-wanderer, a dreamer and a true believer in that way that only a 12 year old girl can be. I made crosses out of pieces of wood and placed them in sunny corners of the Wind River forests. I talked to god and wrote in prayer and my spirituality was not tied to any theology and so it sustained me with ease.
Then I went through catechism, and encountered the concept of the Trinity and started questioning more than believing, struggling to justify a faith that no longer seemed to make sense. Then I went to college and questioned even more. Then I dated, and later married, a religious studies major and our questioning and skepticism became a way of life, a defining reality. And my woods wandering became just a photograph in the archives of my childhood.
But of course, she's still in there, the seeker and the dreamer, the little girl who saw divinity in a beam of mountain sunlight. And I miss her sometimes and wonder if I might find her again.
I don't get to the mountains too often these days, though. Or even out of the house before 10am to go to a church. So in the absence of these things, I've been reading blogs. Cruising the intertron for entertainment and inspiration, like everyone else. Photo blogs, mommy blogs, interior decorating blogs. Turns out there's a lot of Jesus in the blogging world. Perhaps having Jesus in your heart gives you more time on your hands? Or just more to talk about...
I find myself reading these accounts of the godly life with the sort of curiosity usually reserved for car crashes or etymological research. I am interested in these women, in their certainty, in the lives they present-- actions aligned with values, adversity faced with unshakable faith. I envy them their sureness.
But that faith is not for me. I have too many questions in my heart to turn it over to an unseen entity. I have too much antipathy for the god of the old testament to think about living my life by his rules.
Then I found this guy. Happened on a post of his on parenting that was going around facebook-- and spent the next 45 minutes engrossed in the rest of the blog. It took me at least five posts to realize that this excellent dad-blogger, a fine writer whose humor and philosophy echo my own, actually is a pastor too. A pastor who writes about spirituality with the same humor and gentle irreverence I found in the parenting posts. I've been following him for a while now and somehow the posts on this blog line up in just the way I need them to, from lists of ways to cope with snow days to musings on the purpose-driven life.
Last week, he invited readers to join him in training for a marathon, as a spiritual pilgrimage. And like usual, the post spoke to me in that just-right way. Seeking. Pilgrimage. It fits. I've no need for that old testament god at the end of the path, no need to install scriptures in my heart. But I know I am still looking for something. And maybe, putting one foot in front of the other, I can find out what it is.
Or maybe I'll just run a marathon.
Either way, that's something, isn't it?
It surprises me, on a number of levels.
But I am still thinking about it and I just might do it and I feel like this is the space to work it out.
So-- I might be running a marathon. As a spiritual pilgrimage.
Yeah.
A few levels of surprise there.
The marathon part probably not so much. I mean, I'm signed up to run a half in May. I finished 10 miles on Saturday. I seem to be doing this distance-running thing, and a marathon seems to be the logical end-point to aim for. Despite my scoffing about the "crazy people" who run marathons, it stands to reason that I might be one of them someday. Maybe this fall, maybe not this fall, but someday.
The spiritual part might be a bit more surprising to many of you. Not quite so much if you've known me since middle school. Bible bowl champion, right here. I was, for quite a few of my formative years, a pretty spiritual person. Not just a regular church-goer and staple of my youth group, but a soul-searcher, a woods-wanderer, a dreamer and a true believer in that way that only a 12 year old girl can be. I made crosses out of pieces of wood and placed them in sunny corners of the Wind River forests. I talked to god and wrote in prayer and my spirituality was not tied to any theology and so it sustained me with ease.
Then I went through catechism, and encountered the concept of the Trinity and started questioning more than believing, struggling to justify a faith that no longer seemed to make sense. Then I went to college and questioned even more. Then I dated, and later married, a religious studies major and our questioning and skepticism became a way of life, a defining reality. And my woods wandering became just a photograph in the archives of my childhood.
But of course, she's still in there, the seeker and the dreamer, the little girl who saw divinity in a beam of mountain sunlight. And I miss her sometimes and wonder if I might find her again.
I don't get to the mountains too often these days, though. Or even out of the house before 10am to go to a church. So in the absence of these things, I've been reading blogs. Cruising the intertron for entertainment and inspiration, like everyone else. Photo blogs, mommy blogs, interior decorating blogs. Turns out there's a lot of Jesus in the blogging world. Perhaps having Jesus in your heart gives you more time on your hands? Or just more to talk about...
I find myself reading these accounts of the godly life with the sort of curiosity usually reserved for car crashes or etymological research. I am interested in these women, in their certainty, in the lives they present-- actions aligned with values, adversity faced with unshakable faith. I envy them their sureness.
But that faith is not for me. I have too many questions in my heart to turn it over to an unseen entity. I have too much antipathy for the god of the old testament to think about living my life by his rules.
Then I found this guy. Happened on a post of his on parenting that was going around facebook-- and spent the next 45 minutes engrossed in the rest of the blog. It took me at least five posts to realize that this excellent dad-blogger, a fine writer whose humor and philosophy echo my own, actually is a pastor too. A pastor who writes about spirituality with the same humor and gentle irreverence I found in the parenting posts. I've been following him for a while now and somehow the posts on this blog line up in just the way I need them to, from lists of ways to cope with snow days to musings on the purpose-driven life.
Last week, he invited readers to join him in training for a marathon, as a spiritual pilgrimage. And like usual, the post spoke to me in that just-right way. Seeking. Pilgrimage. It fits. I've no need for that old testament god at the end of the path, no need to install scriptures in my heart. But I know I am still looking for something. And maybe, putting one foot in front of the other, I can find out what it is.
Or maybe I'll just run a marathon.
Either way, that's something, isn't it?
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