On Being Grateful

I'm the first one up this morning. Come to think of it I was the last to go to bed too. LUFU: last up first up. It suits me. I need a little solitude on days like today. Days that seem to arrive with an abundance of nostalgia and melancholy. This was my mom's holiday. She loved cooking her traditional meal and gathering with family and anyone who had no other or better offer. Everyone was welcome, and that always added an interesting and appropriate element to the feast that celebrates coming together to share our blessings. My mom was a big-time sharer. I was blessed for her model of open generosity and I'm eternally grateful for the great many things she gave and taught me.

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I'm enjoying my coffee and watching the 90th Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade just like my mom always did in between stuffing and basting the bird. I'm not responsible for too much for today's meal, which we'll enjoy with family at my dad's later today. He is the Thanksgiving master now. I have my mom's zucchini casserole ready to take. It's what remains. I'm grateful for what remains...for the memories of Thanksgivings past and memories yet to be made. Today. Tomorrow. Next year.

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Last night my cousin arrived in the middle of the night. She missed her connecting flight and had to take a bus from O'Hare. I got up to welcome her and we stayed up with a bottle of wine. This is her first Thanksgiving without her mom and I hate to say it, but I know how much that sucks. Plain and simple. I'm glad she's here and I'm grateful I can be here for her. I miss her mom. I miss my mom.

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Today I'll toast loved ones lost, hug loved ones here and celebrate my beautiful blessings.

On My Mind Monday

Half the things in life I wish I could remember and the other half I wish I could forget.

~ Ann Patchett

I finished Commonwealth. It was a quick read, but one that will stay with me for quite some time. I believe the word is linger. The novel was character-driven and every single one of them had redeeming qualities. It's the first time in ages I finished a book satisfied, but also sad that the story was ending.

On Things Found

 First snow...it melted in an hour.

I don't normally turn my computer first thing on Sunday morning, but just before bed something shiny caught my eye. As I was coming out of my bathroom, the missing earring was in the walkway of my dressing room the length and width of which I had searched previously on my hands and knees twice. I smiled and said thanks. Thanks most for having hope. I knew I would find this earring, and that is so not me. Or is it?

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Friday I found Ghosts on a random thumb drive tossed in a drawer. I really cannot explain that, and yet it makes perfect sense.

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Yesterday I found a healthy dose of Christmas spirit. I think it helped that I woke to flurries. I think it's finally time to put away the flip flops. My switch was flipped and just like that I wanted to shop and bake and decorate while listening to my favorite Christmas crooners. It's just what I did too while the kids were out day and night with friends.

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I haven't found my mom's diamonds yet, but I trust I will.

First batch of pumpkin donut muffins...they may last 24 hours.

Grateful Friday

Today I give thanks for...

The sunrise. The sky was showy every morning this week and I was awake to admire it. Standing there watching the day dawn always allows me to start my day with the right amount of humility and inspiration. The pictures below were taken at the same time on three mornings.

Watching Lily swim. She has a command of the water I don't share. She participated in another meet this week, and she rocked it.

Belgian chocolate. Chocolate in general really, and knowing that another Whole30 is in the near future.

Dedication. Every night this guy is out there practicing both his golf and baseball swings.

The way everything waxes and wanes.

Fat squirrels. It means winter is coming and I am ready for it after an unseasonably lovely and warm fall. To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.

Everything about LL Bean's soft pima cotton long-sleeve t-shirts. 

This book and this reading buddy.

Bug time. It happens every morning at approximately 7:05. If I don't turn his bug on, he reminds me.

A long walk on Wednesday. I listened to two Moth podcasts...8 stories total and I stopped to take pictures. It's good to remember that there's so much beauty even in barrenness.

Moth podcasts and in particular Angels as told by Run of Run DMC. I have my own affinity for Sarah McLachlin.

Two of my muses...pretty in pink. 

On Things Lost

I've been feeling a little lost lately. I've also been losing things. I'm not sure if there's a correlation between my existential obscurity and these physical misplacements, but I'm inclined to think so. Yes. I just listened to Darryl McDaniels of Run DMC on a Moth podcast. He was quite convincing on that old adage that everything happens for a reason. I believe it...always have, and yet know that sometimes it's easier to see it hence prove it. Even those of us with our heads in the proverbial clouds want proof.

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This morning I almost didn't brush my hair before putting it back in a bun before taking my husband to work, but then I did. As I stood at the vanity avoiding the dark circles under my well-rested eyes and the unevenness of my aging skin, I heard something small drop onto the counter. The ping urged me to do a once over of the space, but without my glasses it was futile. I dismissed it without much of a thought until I realized once I was home again that my right ear was naked. It was a quick case to crack: earring. Upon sleuthing, it was plain to see with now procured glasses that the earring back was the source of the ping. Cubic zirconia nowhere to be found...yet.

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The earrings...they were my mom's. I wear them because I don't want to wear my real diamonds. Her diamonds. I don't want to wear the real diamonds for this precise reason. Also, I cannot find them. The last time we went away for a week, I hid them so well, even I can't find them. It's the truth. There's a whole lot of psychology that goes into sinking these treasures. My husband asks, "Why do you do this?" I have no answer. It's instinct, self- preservation, self-mutilation. I swear on some level I think...lose the diamonds, find my mom. So far it hasn't worked.

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Last week I realized I lost my stories. I have a folder of tales in various stages. Yes, original penned pieces of me. That caused far more panic than sparkly things. I tore through file cabinets, folders, drawers. I was a woman on an unsuccessful mission. No luck. I had to trust that I wouldn't throw them away. They're like my children only illegitimate and obviously neglected. It's no wonder I tucked them away. Today when I couldn't find the stud and didn't have the energy to unearth the diamonds, I went in search of the stories like Leonard Nimoy. I don't think it's a small coincidence that I had just listened to two Moth podcasts. I was in a state of story awe. I was worshiping the power of  story and feeling a little undone that mine were MIA. I retraced the same steps I took just one week ago so sure I would find them and then when I didn't, I surrendered in defeat on my bedroom floor and on the verge of a mental break. Only something compelled me to get up and go downstairs and look in the front closet. I went right to a single bag in a sea of bags and there they were...my stories. So lost and then found.

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I promised never to lose them again before rifling through them reading a page or two. One...my first...is much further along than I remembered. Apparently, I've lost that too: my memory. It's supposed to be a novel, but it's a bit of a mess. A beautiful mess. Another story seemed too much a rant. It was immature and full of rage and blame. This one I can hide again. Another...Ghosts...well, appropriately it's nowhere to be found, yet  it's so much a part of me I think I can rewrite it verbatim. It's the one I thought of when I listened to Angel earlier. Ghosts is the story I can see myself on stage telling to a rapt audience.

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I've lost so many things in my life: my innocence, my youth, my virginity, my faith, my way, myself. I've lost years, opportunities, loves, friends, a child, a parent...too many loved ones to count. I've lost hope and perspective, drive and dreams, and so so much time. I've lost little bits of myself every time I've hidden my things and bigger bits when I've hidden who I really am. Not wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, but dreamer, believer, and woman with strong shoulders, able hands, well-spoken tongue, kind heart and old soul.

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I've found many things too. I'm hopeful that I'll add diamond earrings to the list soon.

weekending

it was a happy birthday weekend in honor of this guy.

it wasn't a milestone birthday, but it's very close.

the two of us spent the day at homecoming in madison with a few friends and many fans.

it was a long day of fun.

jess held down the fort at casa wags.

she and lily had a great day lunching, playing, crafting and cooking.

ted was out all day and night with friends.

sunday we were tired, but we rallied to host an impromptu bday bbq with my bro and s-i-l.

brats, burgers and a rather disappointing ding dong cake that was way too much work for too little reward.

and yet it was a pretty sweet weekend.

On My Mind Monday

"The past has a clarity I can no longer see in the present."

The Nightingale

Kristin Hannah

I'm in a stretch of days and nights where I find myself lamenting that we don't live our lives backwards. So much insight comes to us in hindsight when it's quite honestly too late. Ah, but it's never too late because if we're lucky we live our lives forward with the knowledge and experience of all that has come before. And still we falter, side step, back track, but we keep on keeping on as best we can muster. It's the only way...through.

I finally picked up this novel and was drawn into the story without much effort. Now it waits again as Ann Patchett's Commonwealth came into my library cue over the weekend. I picked it up and read 100 pages yesterday in between to dos. I was smitten straight away. What's not to love about a story that begins: "The christening party took a turn when Albert Cousins arrived with gin."