everyday life

The corners heap up with poetry

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The days tumble with meanings. The corners heap up with poetry.

I’ve been reading a lot of Annie Dillard lately.  And this line keeps running through my head (from Teaching A Stone to Talk).  A few years ago I wrote about how our family marks this holy season, this time that is simultaneously so sacred and so hectic for many.

I enumerated the traditions that mark this month for me: the large boxwood wreath on the door with the celadon satin ribbon, the advent calendars, the early, and glorious sunset through the bare branches of the tree outside my office window, the Christmas carols that I have on repeat these days.  I also described my effort to simplify this season which has now moved from new focus to established pattern.  Most people find December crazy.  Yes, I’m aware of more tasks than usual (cards, and gifts, and wrapping) but I don’t feel that much socially busier.  I think people just don’t ask us, maybe.  It’s okay.

This pulling back on craziness makes me more able to see that every day is crammed with holiness.  And this is especially true right now in these days limned with tradition, carols, and cookies.  I’m ever more grateful that I’ve resisted the mayhem that can pull like a tide in December. Every night I sit and gaze at our tree and feel the quiet around me I’m glad that I said no to something.  Equally, the celebrations I attend and the rituals I do participate in all mean so much to me now.  It feels different to attend an event out of deliberate choice than out of obligation, don’t you think?

Last night we trimmed our tree (see Matt hanging an early ornament, above – somehow the blur feels appropriate).  My mother joined us, which was lovely because I have such vivid memories of our childhood Tree Trimming parties.  Everybody was tired and cranky, though, and Grace and Whit were bickering, and my patience felt frayed.  It was not our most peaceful or most joyful evening, to be honest.  Yet there was still Grace and Whit singing Silent Night for us, their little voices quavering and mis-pronouncing “yon virgin” as “young virgin.”  There was still the coffee table piled with ornaments, each one carrying a memory.  There was still our crooked tree and imperfect lights, that I could see over the flickering candles on the dinner table.

It feels like a broken record, maybe, my assertion that there is so much glory and meaning in this ordinary life.  I’m sorry if so.  Every day it seems like there is cloud, and majesty, and awe (my favorite line from Oh Come, Oh Come, Emmanuel).  By stripping away at so many of the extra busy-ness this time of year, I can hear the glorious song of old (It Came Upon a Midnight Clear).  And I never, ever want to stop seeing, and hearing all this beauty.  The poetry and meaning in every corner of my life.

How do you mark this season?

 

2013: the alphabet

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In 2009 and 2011 I wrote posts titled The Alphabet of Right Now.  It seems fitting to do so for 2013, with both reflection and anticipation in my mind, from a place of both gratitude and hope.

Aquaphor.  It’s my duct tape, the solution to everything, and can hold the universe together if necessary.  Chapped lips, dry skin, scabs or scrapes: put some aquaphor on it.

Books. Reading them is a central preoccupation of mine and writing one remains a dearly-held dream.  I love the community I’m a part of at Great New Books and look forward to our sharing our favorite books of 2013 soon.  I’ll keep my favorite a surprise until then!

Coffee.  I drink it in the morning with coconut milk and sugar.  I make it the night before by about 6, and set it to brew in the morning.  It’s one of the highlights of my day.

Divergent.  Adored this series by Veronica Roth and can’t wait to see the movie of the first book, which is out in March.

Eleven and Eight. How is it even possible that Grace is eleven and Whit is eight?

Family. The one I came from and the one I made.  The family that taught me how to fly and the family that taught me how to land.  I love you all.

Galapagos. We are going for spring break and I cannot wait.  It’s all part of my newfound commitment to helping Grace and Whit see the world.

Harry Potter.  I’m in the midst of my third complete reading of the series, and I’m as enchanted as ever.  I love Harry, Hermione, and, most of all, Dumbledore, as well as everything about the world JK Rowling created .

Instagram. Love, love, love.

Juice. I make green juice most mornings, but my favorite combination is ginger and grapefruit.

Kids. (I actually dislike the word “kids,” and prefer “children,” but seemed like a good one for K!). I am without words in the face of all I cannot express.  There’s no question that my subject chose me.

Light.  Every year I’m more aware of the light.  I notice the shifting texture and specific characteristics of each season’s light, and take endless photographs trying to capture it. I never can.

Morning.  I’ve always been a morning person, and this is just becoming more and more true as I get older.  I’m pretty sure that soon I’ll be regularly waking up at dawn.  I like to run then, and read, and watch the sun come up.

Nut allergy. Whit is allergic to tree nuts.  It’s not something we choose to dwell on, and most of the time it’s frankly not a big deal.  But now and then (this summer) we receive a reminder that his allergy is serious and can be life-threatening.

Organ transplantation.  My father-in-law had a kidney transplant on October 27th.  This followed a heart transplant on November 26, 2002.  He is extraordinary and we are all immensely grateful.  When I stop to think about the outrageous miracle that is the fact of someone else’s heart beating in his chest I am without words. Please consider being an organ donor.  There is no greater gift.

Pals. (“F” was taken).  Near and far, old and newer, I’m more grateful than I can express for those people who support, love, and endure me.  I’m no picnic to be close to, I know that. Thank you.  You enrich my life more than I can express.

Quotes. Since sixth grade I have been filling in quote books, writing down lines and images and phrases that touch something deep and often inchoate inside of me.  I share some of my favorites here on Fridays.

Running. I have been a runner since high school, and as long as my joints permit, I’ll be out there, preferably as dawn breaks across the horizon, on the path that runs alongside the Charles River, watching my beloved Boston wake up.

Sports.  I did not play team sports as a child.  I was therefore unfamiliar with all the benefits of being on a team.  It’s a joy to watch Grace and Whit be a part of their respective soccer and hockey teams.

Teachers.  Dani.  Katrina. Brettne.  Mr. Valhouli.  I have been richly blessed with teachers, and I am hugely thankful for those named here and those not, whose wisdom, gentleness, and guidance have helped light my path.

Unable. to come up with “U.”

Vegetables.  Pity Matt, because a standard meal around these parts consists of creamed leeks and a baked sweet potato.  Or a tray of roasted root vegetables that were in the vegetable drawer.  Or half an avocado mashed on toast. A fancy cook I am not.  Further evidence that children are who they are from day one: Grace wants to be a vegetarian and eats everything under the sun (though very little meat and almost no dairy).  Whit will only eat meat, carbs, dairy, and greens.  Kale, spinach, lettuce: great.  Any other vegetable or fruit: no thank you.  He’s peculiar, my boy.

Worry.  I do it.  Way too much.

Xylem. We did a cool science experiment this year where we put white flowers in water with food coloring and watched the different colors spread across the petals.  I believe the xylem were involved here.

Years. Flying by too quickly. In my mind lately, I’ve been hearing: “There are years that ask questions and years that answer.” – Zora Neale Hurston.

Zinnia. Flowers that remind me of my grandmother Nana and of my dear friend Hadley.

I was inspired to revisit my own Alphabet by the list on The Quivering Pen that Dani Shapiro shared last week.

What you see is what you get

Seeing.  

Seeing this ordinary life of mine.

Seeing the sacred that’s strung in between the many, many mundane moments.

Seeing the holiness that exists inside those prosaic, everyday things.

This seeing has been a preoccupation of mine for a long time.  I searched my archives and found pages of posts that featured either photographs of or stories about my life’s small moments.  The “grout in between the tiles” of life, as I’ve called it.  Which is where all the magic resides, I’ve found.

In her essay titled Seeing, Annie Dillard said, what you see is what you get, imbuing those familiar words with a new layer of meaning.  Pay attention, and your life will be rich.

Lately my friend Aidan been writing about noticing the small moments in her life.  The messy, the in-between, the oft-overlooked experiences that, in fact, add up to life itself.  She’s one of many, many people who I know who are out there, noticing and stringing pearls onto the strings of their days, one at a time.  What they – and I – are building is a masterpiece.

This blog began as a catalog of these small moments.  I wanted to remember all the things I knew I would forget in those first exhausting, chaotic years of Grace and Whit’s lives.  And as I kept blogging, and kept noticing, I realized that the practice of writing about the divinity in my days had actually changed the way I existed in the world.

Now I can’t stop noticing.  Every day I trip over pieces of beauty, unexpected, unanticipated, often unimagined.  This is really what Instagram is, for me now: a gathering of the tiny, sparkling shards that glitter in my days.  I would love if you would find me there!

One thing I know for sure, as I barrel towards my 40th birthday, is that these things, these details that I notice and observe, these moments that pierce me: they are my life.  With that in mind, here are some things I have noticed lately:

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Watching Grace and Whit ascend a rock wall with grace and grit.

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Last week was one non-stop, breathtaking, outrageous sunset after another.

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Grace’s fifth grade class is participating in NaNoWriMo.  In the afternoons she likes to sit on the floor of my office and write while I work.  I can’t wait to read her novel.

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Whit doesn’t make his bed, but every single morning, without fail, he lines these three (Beloved, Bear, and Beloved’s Brother) up against his pillow.  I like to go in there during my work day and every single time this sight brings tears to my eyes.

What are you noticing right now?

 

 

Adventures big and small

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It is important to me to share adventures with Grace and Whit.  That’s among the things I want most for them.  I want them to have big adventures, and to see the world.  I also want them to have small adventures.  We did the trapeze a few years ago and learned to fly.  We have volunteered at soup kitchens, had picnics in local parks, and danced on a beach off-season.

This past weekend’s adventure was went rock climbing at Brooklyn Boulders in Somerville.  We tried top-roping, self-belaying, and bouldering.  I was struck by how fearless Grace and Whit were.  Whit struggled on one wall, and what impressed me most was his tenacity; he would not give up.  I kept yelling up that he could come down if he wanted and he finally hollered down that I should stop saying that because he wasn’t coming down until he made it to the top.

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Grace was a natural.  She scaled the wall so quickly and with such ease that our (wonderful) instructor asked me if she’d climbed before.  Um, at a birthday party, maybe once?  She loved it and I could see that climbing took advantage of her natural balance, flexibility, and courage.  It was great to see.

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The scariest experience of the day was coming down from the self-belay wall.  To do that, you had to lean back and trust that the belay rope would catch your weight.  Matt and Whit did that with little drama.  Grace and I hesitated longer.  When she finally made what is effectively a trust fall, she came down gracefully.  I bounced off the wall with significantly less elegance but made it down in one piece.

We had an absolutely marvelous morning.  I loved seeing Grace and Whit be brave, and push themselves, and, literally, climb to the sky.  It felt like exercise, and adventure, and a wonderfully non-competitive, collaborative family experience.

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Brooklyn Boulders is an impressive facility.  There are 25,000 square feet of climbing wall, as well as workspaces, exercise rooms, and free wi-fi.  The spirit of camaraderie that defines the climbing community is tangible in the airy space with soaring ceilings.  I am often dismayed by how negatively competition in kids’ sports (and lives in general) can manifest, and climbing seems like a powerful antidote to that.

A day pass to Brooklyn Boulders includes access to several yoga classes, the weight rooms, and all the climbing walls.  You could sit in one of a few different work spaces, watching the climbing or working with access to wi-fi.  Every single person we met there was, without exception, friendly and warm and didn’t make us feel like the awkward middle-aged people who didn’t know how to put on their harnesses we are.

We’ll definitely be going back.  Whit wants to do his birthday party there, and Grace is considering climbing on a weekly basis.

For full disclosure, Brooklyn Boulders provided us with a family belay session free of charge.  All opinions here, however, are my own, and the extravagantly positive opinion I have of the facility and staff is completely genuine.

You project what you are

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It is a fact that you project what you are. – Norman Vincent Peale

My father’s influence on me is enormous.  I can’t really convey the degree to which his example echoes through my life, though I have tried.  At least once a day, I think of something he said or did or believed or showed me when I was a child.  One thing he said often was that maturity is the ability to see how we are perceived by others.

I think this is true.  And I am sure I am not there yet.  Over and over again, I run into the brick wall of what others perceive and I am often startled by how far it is from reality.  There was the woman on the shuttle, all those years ago (four now!), whose voice still rings in my head.  Hard and self-assured, she called me.  Neither of which I have felt, ever, for even a single moment of my life.

Then there was my disconcerting and uncomfortable experience at BlogHer in 2010.  For some reason people have always projected things onto me.  Other peoples’ inaccurate impressions of and assumptions about me feel terrible.  These rattle around inside my sense of myself, small but granular, spiky, unavoidable.  My porous nature means that I’m extremely open to the input of others, and often I give too much credence to views that may not be based in any kind of fact (or, worse, not come with kind intentions).

There can be such a yawning gulf between what others perceive of us and what we actually intend, feel, and experience.  I’ve written of this lacuna often, a moat filled with monsters: assumption, stereotype, judgment.  Having been on the receiving end of snap judgments that are far from the truth has made me slower to jump to conclusions about others, and more inclined towards empathy.

But this quote by Norman Vincent Peale stopped me in my tracks.  Maybe what I radiate – the energy that has often caused others to perceive me as chilly or aloof – is what I am?  Is that possible?  Even considering that gives me a shiver.  But then I remember: those we know well may see an entirely different light radiating from us than do strangers.  That must matter.

Right?  How do you parse the difference – whether it is infinitessimal or gigantic – between reality and perception?  I have to grow confident in who I am without listening to what others think.  Right?  I thought this was the task I’d been engaged in for the last ten years or more.  I guess what I’m learning is that there is value in knowing what others pick up, and while it may or may not change the core truth of who we are, it is something that we are well served to understand.  Oh, wait.  Maybe this is the maturity that my father was talking about all along?