Things I Love Lately

Helen Boggess – I’ve been following Helen Boggess’s beautiful work on Instagram for a while, and find myself adoring the words she shares and the gorgeous art she creates to showcase them.  I recently asked Helen to do a custom piece for me and in so doing stumbled upon this Tumblr of her work, which is a great place to lose yourself for hours.  It’s titled with a quote I haven’t heard before and which I love” “Where I create, there I am true” (Rilke).

Parenting, Not for the Moment, but for the Long Haul – I adore this piece of Jess Lahey’s in the New York Times.  I pay so much attention to the individual moments of my ordinary life here, and holding them up to the light, see their shimmer, but I also appreciate Jess’s wise and compelling reminder that the long arc of perspective is useful too.  I love her last sentence, and the way she calmly assures me that my children will be fine.  I want to celebrate their wandering, and she helps me do that.

The Thrive Portrait Project – I found Karen Walrond’s beautiful project through Asha Dornfest (who in part inspired my post last week about how everything is changing).  Karen’s project aims to photograph women over 40 and capture what it means to them to thrive in their lives.  The photographs are mesmerizing and the words are immensely powerful.  I’m in my 40s now too, and I really resonate with the concept that these can be fruitful, passionate, blazing years.

Everything You Ever Wanted – I’ve had terrible insomnia lately (not something I love at all) and Jillian Lauren’s memoir was a wonderful companion in the lonely early morning hours.  I was fortunate to hear Jillian read at my friend Aidan‘s house last month, and this book is as marvelous as she is in person: funny, warm, wise, and down to earth at the same time.  Jillian’s story reminds us that sometimes the path doesn’t look anything like we imagined, but it still gets us exactly where we need to go.

What Do You Believe In? – This post from Nici at Dig This Chick gave me goosebumps because I read it the morning after I published a post specifically about what I believe.  I also made me cry with its truth, the way it sweepingly embraces what was, what might have been, and what is.  “I believe in feeling all the feelings. I believe in big dreams and small movements. I believe in seasons, skipping stones, skiing, strawberries, saying yes, swimming, sleep, sunrise, snuggling and swing dancing. I believe what you believe. I believe in you.”

What are you reading, thinking about, and loving lately?

I write these Things I Love posts approximately monthly.  You can find them all here.

Things I Believe

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walking home after an evening baseball game on the last day of school, June 4th

There are certain absolutes that I believe, and that I hope to pass on to Grace and Whit.  I know they’ve got some of these already, and others are still works in progress.

These are some things I believe:

That you should write thank you notes.  For gifts, for experiences, and within a week (preferably within a day).  Always.

That most bad days can be turned around with a bath or a shower and climbing into bed with a book in pajamas.  Preferably together.

That you should wave to and acknowledge cars who stop and wait for you while crossing a street.

That everybody cries for no reason sometimes.  It’s ok and normal.  It might even be good.

That these foods should be made from scratch: applesauce, chicken stock, marinara sauce, chicken noodle soup, chocolate chip cookies.  As a bonus, they all make your house smell great.

That you should not talk on your cell phone while checking out at a store.  Ever.

That you should answer “how are you” with “well,” not “good.”  And that the difference between “can” and “may” is vast.  Try to use the right words at the right time.

That you wear a shirt with a collar (Whit) and clothes that are not athletic attire (both kids) when you go to a restaurant.

That there’s great value in saying yes.  I try to remember that, though I definitely fail a lot.  Try to say yes.

That Dumbledore is the greatest, kindest, wisest, most powerful figure in all of literature.

That you notice when I’m there, even when I’m quietly watching from the sidelines.  One of the most important things we can do for people we love is showing up and staying near.

That I haven’t irreparably damaged you by working throughout your childhood (first part-time, now full-time).

That it all begins and ends with sleep.  I’m not super fussed about food (the only vegetables Whit has ever eaten are lettuce/kale/spinach) but I take sleep very seriously.

That what matters is trying hard.  In school, in sports, in life.  I care much more about the effort than I do about the result.

What do you believe?

meeting what comes with the full force of your heart

“Strength means honoring your entire range of emotion, even your despair and heartbreak. Especially your despair and heartbreak. It means acknowledging each of those feelings, your questions, and ideas, and faith, and terror, and meeting what comes with the full force of your heart.” -Brenda Shaughnessy

I found this beautiful quote on Helen Boggess’s absolutely gorgeous tumblr, among so many other gems.

What’s next for me as a writer?

I loved my friend Nina’s piece about mulling over what’s next for her as a writer.  It rang every bell.  I’m often asked if or when I’m going to write a book, for example, and I stutter when I try to answer.  And then I’m asked what my blog is about, and I’m similarly tongue-tied and inarticulate as I attempt to respond to that question.

An aside: if you know what this blog is about, and can summarize it in a sentence, please tell me!

The truth of the matter is I used to want to write a book.  Desperately.  And I have tried.  I’ve written one full draft of a memoir, a half draft of another, and most of a novel.  I’ve been rejected by both agents and publishers, though I am hugely fortunate now to have a remarkable, extraordinary, way-too-good-for-me agent, Brettne Bloom (who just last week announced the formation of The Book Group, the news of which made me jump on the table and hoot and holler).

My point is, it’s not that I haven’t tried.  I have.  And the process of setting aside manuscripts and ideas has been hugely instructional for me.  I realized that there are certain things I just don’t want to write a book about.  My daughter’s adolescence is one of them.  When I write here I can choose what to share.  The expectations for disclosure when it comes to a book-length work are much higher, and I’m just not entirely comfortable, at least right now, with the idea of writing a memoir.  It makes me uncomfortable to write so much about myself.

I recently had a reunion (graduate school) and so was catching up with people I hadn’t seen in years over the course of several days.  More than a handful asked about my writing, which was enormously affirming.  For any person who mentioned that my writing spoke to them over the course of the 15th reunion, thank you.  I can’t possibly tell you what it means to know that you read and are moved by some of what I share.  Thank you.  But I answered a lot of questions about my plans for writing and the truth is … I don’t have a good answer.

More and more, I think what I am is a blogger.  I love this blog.  I love to write here.  I love my readers, and the other blogs I read (which are numerous) regularly, and the online community I’ve been fortunate enough to find.  I also love writing essays, and I hope to keep doing that and submitting them (though as Nina says I’m really tired of lists and link-bait posts – I say this knowing full well that my two most read and circulated pieces are lists, 10 things I want my daughter to know before she turns 10, and a similar list about my son).  I’d love to be published more broadly either in print or online, and I’ll keep working at that.

But my true love is right here.  I can’t decide if my waning focus on a book is a sign that I’ve given up or that I’ve accepted something essential.  Letting go of the idea of writing a book has been a multi-year process.  I wrote about it in 2012, for example (this was about the first memoir-length work).  My life feels pretty abundant right now, with a full-time job and my rapidly-growing children whose stories are ever more their own (and thus not mine).  I can’t imagine stopping writing here and I have no plans to.  But does my lack of ambition about a book-length work mean I’m a quitter?  I hope not, but I’m not sure.

I’d love your thoughts on the conversation Nina started, either as a writer (what are you working on, what are your goals, what are your thoughts on blogging these days?) or as a reader (what do you like to read, where should I submit, what else should I be writing about, and am I giving up by not pressing on a book right now?). 

A Window Opens

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Elisabeth Egan’s A Window Opens is both entertaining and poignant, a page-turning read that managed to move me to tears even as it made me laugh out loud. I’ve rarely read a book that felt so familiar, and I realized when I closed it that’s because Elisabeth managed to touch on so many topics close to my heart in this particular moment of life: aging parents, school-age children, marriage, work-home tensions, and the challenging ways that new and “revolutionary” retail intersect with those who love old-school, and traditional books.

A Window Opens follows a year in the life of Alice Pearse, a 38 year old mother of 3 who goes back to work full-time when her husband’s law career hits unexpected skids. She faces the return of her father’s throat cancer and juggles her new, demanding professional job with the needs of her three school-age children. Finally, Egan’s book makes some salient and provocative points about businesses that purport to change the world but, perhaps, are not quite all they seem on the surface.

Alice is a tremendously likeable protagonist, and I was immediately swept into her world. So much of what she’s dealing with is intensely known to me, and more than once I gasped out loud. For instance, Alice quotes my favorite Thornton Wilder quote (“do any human beings realize life while they live it – every, every minute?”), mentions that parenting small children can be like dealing with terrorists (Matt and I used to laugh that putting Grace to bed was like “negotiating with the Khmer Rouge at gunpoint”), and refuses to budge on the issue of cutting crusts of sandwiches. She won’t do it, and neither will I.

Alice is also a lifetime reader, a passionate lover of what her new employer calls “carbon-based books.” Her best friend owns an independent bookstore in their New Jersey town and Egan beautifully traces the ways in which their relationship changes as Alice joins Scroll, whose blazing, ambitious agenda is to revolutionize how people read.

There are many storylines woven together in A Window Opens, and each of them touched me, both at the level of a nerve and at that of the heart. While the book is clearly Alice’s, there is a rich and well-developed population of supporting characters around her.

Egan beautifully evokes the intimacy that exists between Alice and her long-time babysitter, Jessie. The scene of Jessie leaving on her last day made me cry, because it reminded me of our own long-time babysitter’s final departure. I was devastated, so much so that I had to take Grace and Whit on a walk around the neighborhood and trail them, hoping my sunglasses would at least partially mask my torrential tears. The genuine bond that develops between a mother (and, probably, a father; I just don’t know) and her trusted babysitter is a deep well of trust and love.

Alice’s parents, who live in a neighboring town, are also major characters in the book. Her father uses a device they’ve nicknamed Buzz Lightyear to speak after throat cancer caused the removal of his larynx years ago. He communicates often with Alice through text and email, and these appear in the book as well. During A Window Opens Alice’s father’s cancer returns, and his ensuing illness sends substantial shockwaves through the story. Towards the end of the book, as Alice finds herself in a difficult situation at work, her father’s cancer and the metaphor of voice echo in her mind. You have a voice. Use it, she tells herself, and I got goosebumps. Legacy and family and inheritance all combined in that single moment, and Alice, emboldened by the thought of her father, makes an important choice.

Most of all, though,  A Window Opens is a love letter to motherhood. Over and over again, I blinked back tears as I read details of Alice’s life with her three children, Margot (11), Oliver (8), and Georgie (5). Towards the end of the book, an architect who is drawing up plans for a kitchen renovation tells Alice that hers is “one of the ten happiest houses I’ve worked in.” This is abundantly clear to me, too, as I read the book, even though that happiness is shot through with challenge and struggle. There’s nothing simple or smooth about the year of Alice’s life that we witness, but her abiding love for her family shines through.
A Window Opens is replete with telling, vivid details. We see Margot catching her mother’s eye at an event at school, her glance telling her mother everything she needs to know about a certain tricky friendship. We see Oliver walking down to meet his mother at the train station every night when she comes home, sometimes in his Halloween costume and sometimes coming a little too close to a speeding car. We see Georgie’s face light up at the school nurse’s office when Alice shows up, having taken a taxi from Manhattan because nobody else was available.

Alice Pearse is a true heroine as far as I’m concerned. Her story is wildly entertaining – I could not put A Window Opens down and read it in a couple of days – and deeply affecting. Alice’s love for her husband, her children, and her parents is the beating heart of the book. Her narrative reminds us that sometimes all we really need is right in front of us, and makes palpable how almost painfully precious this ordinary life can be. After a long and difficult year full of questions and challenges, on the last page of the book Alice finds herself on a roof deck on the Jersey Shore at sunset. She looks around at her family, all of whom are still reeling from big changes, and observes to herself, “I was in the exact right place and I knew it.”

A Window Opens is about the reckoning that results in this knowledge.  It’s about figuring out who we love and who we most essentially are.  I adored Elisabeth Egan’s book and know you will do.  It comes out in August but you can preorder it now!

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