everyday life

Covered Bridges II

I did it.  My second Covered Bridges Half Marathon, and I beat my first time.  The first 8 or so miles were pleasant, even fun.  After that it got hard.  Really hard.  I thought about what Pam says about “sitting with her stuff.”  And I thought about my own inclination to stop when I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it through something hard.

And I did not stop.  I swear I finished on fumes and grit.  My feet are a blistery mess, my hip bone is worn raw from where I stashed the car key in my shorts pocket, and I feel the strange overwhelming stomach pain I often get after long runs.

But.  I did it.  And my family was there to cheer me on this time at the finish.  1:50.02. And this sign?  The best part of all.

Keeping my eyes open

This is how life is right now. Gossamer, luminous, delicate.  I am as swollen and as fragile as that bubble.  If you look closely you can see my reflection on its surface, but I feel as though I’m also contained within it: floating above the world, looking down, my perch about to vanish at any moment.

The beauty of any given moment is as evanescent as it is startling.  It’s all so extraordinary, and short-lived, and stunning, that sometimes I feel like just hiding in the house rather than taking it in.  Because this bubble burst moments after I took the picture of it, and what had been there, a floating, hovering embodiment of gorgeousness, was just as quickly, and as completely, gone.

Sometimes the truth of the grandeur of my everyday life flashes in front of me, as beautiful as this bubble or as bright as phosopherescence, and as fleeting. Like the sheer shimmer of a soap bubble, the unexpected, bright swirls of glowing light in a night sea, the knowledge of life’s holiness leaves an imprint on the back of my eyelids, a reminder of something witnessed, something important from a place beyond rational thought.

The bubbles – the moments, with their sudden, shining beauty, and their abrupt, final end – break my heart.  Today I’m walking around with a broken heart.  There is so much beauty and so much sorrow.  So much grandeur and so much terror.  But I’m learning to keep my eyes open for the bubbles, even when what I see makes them sting.  At least there’s that.

Carwash

I was very excited about my stay-in-the-dorms plan for Princeton reunions.  And it turned out to be great, in many ways.  Very convenient, we had our own bathroom (super bonus), and the kids thought it was a huge adventure.  The downside?  We were literally right over the dance floor, which was rocking until well after 2:00 am.  And the light streamed in early (see: aforementioned lack of biblical flooding) so they were up at 6:00.  For children who usually get 12 hours of sleep, 4 was a big difference.  This is all a long way of saying we drove home on Saturday night after the post-P Rade celebrations rather than spending the night.  Whit fell asleep before we hit route 1 and slept until 10am on Sunday.

And then Matt went to the office for most of the day on Sunday and Monday.  What to do with a holiday weekend and no plans?  I like these unscheduled days, but had not thought ahead to, perhaps, sign us up for trapeze.  It was very hot – enough that Whit exclaimed, “I feel like we are still in New Jersey!” when we went outside.  So, after some errands, we went to see Pirates of the Caribbean.  This was my first installment of the series, I confess, and my primary reaction is who knew mermaids were so terrifying?  Yikes.

We got home and the kids had punched the 3D lenses out of their glasses.  Grace has not taken them off since.  The big entertainment before dinner?  Washing the car.  And you would think these two went back to Disney for the utter joy that they felt.  I cooked dinner, occasionally drifting to the front windows to watch them, and they sprayed each other and the car, scrubbed with kitchen sponges, and giggled. They were soaked and happy when I finally asked them to come in, 45 minutes later.

One of my clear priorities as a parent is that my children are easily delighted.  I am proudest of myself as a parent – and of them – in the surprising, unexpected moments of wonder.  And this was one.

How to be happy

Look closely at the sky.  Every day.  Take pictures.

Walk outside no matter what the weather.

Listen to a song on repeat (lately, for me, it’s One Day by Matisyahu but others have been Fix You by Coldplay, Kite by U2, Just Breathe by Pearl Jam, Universal Child by Annie Lennox, and The Story by Brandi Carlile).

Lie in your bed (preferably with all-white sheets) and read, or nap, or just look at the ceiling.

Paint your fingernails a bright color.

Have a friend who can write lists like this for you with your child (their godchild).

Read poetry.  Naomi Shihab Nye, Mary Oliver, Wendell Berry, Annie Dillard are all good choices.

Write a birthday card to someone you love.  Or any kind of note.  But the real, paper kind.

Sit on the floor and play Guess Who or Blokus with your kids.  Without any distraction.  Just let their joy seep into you.

Cry if you want to.  Maybe hard.  Maybe often.

Use the silver.  Or the china.  Or wear the dress, put on the shoes.  Stop waiting for the right occasion for these things.

Go through your bookshelf, or your closet, and fill a bag for Goodwill.  Take it there.

Sit in the back of a church, or in any place that is sacred for you, and just listen to the silence, to your breathing, to what is and what is not.

Buy fresh flowers for your kitchen.  Peonies and ranunculus are my favorite.

Go out of your way to tell someone something you think is great about them.  It doesn’t matter if it’s a close friend or an acquaintance.  Just tell them, sincerely and authentically, something that you like and admire about them.

Please tell me … what makes you happy, no matter what?

Inspired by Jen Lemen‘s beautiful How to Be Happy Come Hell or Highwater (and, really, by everything she writes)

thank you

Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.

I thank you god for this most amazing day.

Thank you….

… to the lovely, loving crowds that made my 92 year old grandfather, celebrating his 71st reunion, smile more widely than I’ve ever seen

… to the rain for holding off.  The absence of biblical flooding was unnerving (at the 5th reunion we literally wore trash bags), but in a good, good way.

… to the people who came up to tell me that they read this blog.  I cannot possibly convey how much hearing that means to me.  At all.

… To my friends, who so generously talked to, played pool with, and posed for photographs by (and with) my children.  You are family.

… To the seniors who gave Grace, Thacher, Cade, and Ava a hundred or more high fives as they walked in front of us, leading our class, wearing costumes, holding signs, and demonstrating true spirit and pride.

I’m praying my favorite – and only – prayer tonight (and Meister Eckhart’s):

thank you