Clotheslines

I’m certain I’m reincarnated from 1910 England…or at least an earlier era.  There are certain odd things I feel a sense of profound connection to, an attraction that seems to go deeper than simply liking something.  And as I say, these things I’m attached to are odd.

Clothelines are an example.

The clotheslines I’m attracted to must be old-fashioned – the wooden “T” shape frame on both ends with rope strung across in a rectangle shape.  (The modern 1950’s circle affair made of aluminum has absolutely no draw for me.)

One of my favorite sights is white sheets blowing in the wind on the clothesline….and one of my favorite smells is those same sheets when taken inside from the line.  The sound of the sheets  whipping in the wind on the line makes me happy and comforted.  It’s the sight, the sound, the smell – that’s when you know you’ve deeply connected.  

And they can’t be patterned sheets on the line but white sheets – crisp, clean, fresh. 

I imagine the cotton bag holding the clothespins – wooden, of course, and preferably not the clip kind but the old fashioned slim line ones that look like a little man called clothespegs – round head with no features, 2 legs, simple Shaker-like design.  Designed and created according to what works best.  

The laundry basket must be old and wicker, never a Rubbermaid bucket which may be practical but can’t cut it for my vision. 

There is a certain feeling of productivity and industry in seeing laundry drying outdoors.  Someone has washed it for the family and taken the time to hang it on the line.  She will then take it down, fold it, iron it for her family to wear again. 

In college, there was a short story I read as an English major that has haunted me my entire life.  I don’t know why it lingers with me.  It was about a woman ironing.  She recounted her life and throughout the story said.... “as I stood ironing.”  It was the act of standing there, quietly ironing, that made her think, remember and reflect on her life.  

Household chores can put us in a meditative state – sweeping a floor, chopping vegetables, washing dishes by hand…and hanging clothes outside on a line in the sunshine, fresh air, and gentle summer breeze.  

There is something to be said for simple physical tasks, done in silence, as a sort of meditation to calm us…getting us away from cell phones, computers, and the noise of our lives.

Photos selected from pinterest.com/lschrenk/clotheslines-old-fashioned

I was introduced to 3 beautiful new websites....

#1 "miss the simple life" mybluecanoe.tumblr.com

#2 "linen on the line - perfect" from laylagrayce.com 

#3 "clothespegs" lestroischouettes.tumblr.com

Magical Journey

“Sooner or later, we are handed the brute, necessary curriculum of surrender.  We have no choice, then, but to bow our heads and learn.  We struggle to accept that our children’s destinies are not ours to write, their battles not ours to fight, their bruises not ours to bear, nor their victories ours to own or take credit for.  We learn humility and how to ask for help.  We learn to let go even when every fiber of our being yearns to hold on tighter.  We learn that love is necessary, but that love doesn’t always save people.  We learn that we can’t change someone else; we can only change ourselves.  We can go down fighting, or we can begin to practice acceptance.  Grace comes as we loosen, at last, our white-knuckled grip on what ought to be – but even grace is not always gentle or chosen.  Sometimes it arrives disguised as a burden – as loss or hurt or unwanted upheaval.”

~~ Katrina Kenison

Katrina Kenison is one of my favorite authors…and could be my friend.  Several years ago, I read The Gift of an Ordinary Day at the perfect time.  I was beginning to slow down a little and becoming more grateful for what was, versus ever-pushing toward what might be.  My copy is dog-eared, highlighted, and referred back to often.  You can tell my best books by what’s written in the margins.   A friend has told me she cannot borrow my books because she’s too distracted by my highlights and notes, wondering what I was thinking to write THAT?  

Now has come Magical Journey….again at just the right time….middle age.  

Katrina speaks with honesty and compassion; her words like a warm embrace.  She yearns for simplicity and the natural world.  You can visit her website at http://www.katrinakenison.com/.

Excerpt from:  Kenison, Katrina. Magical Journey.  New York:  Grand Central Publishing, 2013 p. 147.

YOLO

YOLO is my older son’s mantra.  He says it when a story warrants it; he’s taken a photo of a license plate that said it and carries it in his iPhone.  Talking to me by phone from NYC on a hot July night, he said it to me:  “You YOLO’d today, Mom.  You YOLO’d.” 

He was right.  I had.

“You only live once.”

A few years ago, my husband and I were looking for camps to rent and found one on the internet located at Bell’s Point in Harrison, Maine on Long Lake.  Our friend had a camp on Long Lake so we Googled “Bell’s Point” to see where on the lake this rental might be.

What came up in the Google search was a professional photograph of the most beautiful shingled cottage on a point, surrounded by the lake and trees.  I loved it.  It was “my” type of cottage – large wrap around porch, varying roof lines, small paned windows.  I printed the photo and began using it as a book mark.

If that cottage was a neighbor to the rental, we thought it might be a good spot to check out so we drove to Harrison to look at it.  We did like the rental, and when we walked out onto the dock to look at the swimming area, to our left was….that cottage on the point.  That cottage was the rental’s next door neighbor and in person, it was even more beautiful than in the photo.  To think I could sit sunning, looking at that lovely camp, was a dream, and we called the owner of the rental to book it.  Unfortunately, the weeks we wanted in July were all taken. 

It was within a week that we were visiting the book shop at L L Bean to see if my book, Away at a Camp in Maine, was on the shelves yet.  There, right in front of me, was the most stunning coffee table book of photography showing Maine dwellings built suitably into their surroundings, as if they belonged in their settings rather than garish or outlandish outcroppings that interrupted and upset the natural flow of the space.  On the cover of the book was the Bell’s Point cottage.  

That cottage had presented to me three times in the course of 10 days….so I had to write the owner.  The occasion was too serendipitous not to.

I sent her a copy of my camp book and all my good wishes and appreciation of her cottage.  She wrote back the most lovely letter.  I got her.  She got me.  And... she invited me to visit her at the point that summer. 

YOLO.  I visited on a Friday afternoon, the kick off of my own summer vacation.  I had the most wonderful afternoon spending time with her and her partner, sitting in the rocking chairs on that glorious porch, sipping herbal iced tea with mint, munching crisp vegetables and humus they offered, chatting about their lives, their pre-retirement jobs, their painting and photography and piano playing.  We swam in the lake late in the afternoon, laughing, and talking like we’d known each other forever.

YOLO.  I took a chance.  I wrote someone I didn’t know when moved to do so.  She reached out and offered to let me visit, a stranger.  And we connected.  I made a new friend under the most unusual of circumstances.  

I will forever remember her generosity of spirit, the beauty of her cottage, and the feel of the gentle afternoon wind blowing across the lake.

Mothers

I like to buy my own gifts (to my husband’s dismay); I like gift cards (when my sister says if all I can select for her is a gift card, don’t even bother!); and I prefer dishwashers or a new fridge if I need one over something frivolous or romantic.

But from my very first year as a mother, a WONDERFUL Mother’s Day gift was a must!  I saw how on this day (and on Father’s Day), it is so important to show our mums & dads how much they mean to us and thank them for all they do, day in and day out.  On this one day, I absolutely feel I deserve the best….and want effort made!

Often, in mothering my own sons, I’ve thought about how I want to do it – what to give, what not to give, how much to hold, how much to push, how much to say or not say.  I’ve looked to my own upbringing to lead my way.  I was one of the fortunate ones to have been given the perfect mother for me – so much of the good in my life and my relationships has come from what she taught me through her own actions and way of being with me.

Every child is different so the same mother’s qualities may touch siblings in diverse ways.  Their experience may or may not be similar.  I’ve also seen that mothering over different phases of life can be different – a young mother to a first child can be a very different mother ten years later to the last child. 

In honor of Mother’s Day, I want to give a big hug (from afar) to my mom for all she did for me and share the best things she gave to me:

• her laughter, her smile

My mom is funny.  She’s a bit of a comedienne, without trying.  She laughs most of the time and from deep in her belly; it’s honest, heartfelt….and infectious.

• her attention

I can vividly remember coming home from school in the second grade and my mom, sitting on the couch, would ask, “How was your day?”  I would proceed to give her the blow by blow description of every minute of my school day….. “Well, when I got on the bus……”  And she’d listen.  My day seemed the most important thing to her.  She didn’t shut me down, not have time for me, or quell a child’s enthusiasm.

• her play

My mom would rather take us to the beach than clean the house, so that’s what we did!  She taught us to skate, ski, dance, play, eat ice cream, sled, swim.  She was a do-er.  We got out there and tried everything.  Oftentimes, she’d have to go to work at night, but we’d spend that entire day at the beach and drop sandy towels at the door as she slipped on an outfit and rushed to work.  We slept deeply after hard days of play; she worked and never let it hold her back.

• her stepping back

This may sound a bit counter-intuitive, but it was perfect parenting for a child like me (and happens to be the perfect way to parent my own older son).  She let me loose.  I made my own decisions from when I was a small child.  I was never too fat, too crazily dressed, too dramatic, or not giving my all.  She never criticized me.  She let me date a boy from the time I was 13, although her friends were telling her she must shut that down; she let me get on a plane to England when I was 21 when it was not as common as it is today; she let me build a deep relationship with my father, her ex-husband; and made room for me to choose 100% for myself the life I wanted to live. 

And….I’ve been married to that boy for 27 years, England and my European travel were one of the most joyous times of my life, and my father’s influence is the reason I’ve been in the investment field for 30 years.

My mom was right.  She was good.  Her love for me shows in everything she does and says.  What she gave, mattered so much.

Happy Mother’s Day to my mom….and all moms.  And a great BIG thank you!

Photo:  Mom at Shelburne Farm, Vermont

Mama Mia

So what is it about the movie Mama Mia that absolutely, completely, thoroughly sweeps me far, far away?  What compelled me to see it at least a half dozen times in the cinema with anyone willing to go with me….and then buy it when I only own about 3 DVD movies….and watch it, now probably upward of 25 times?  What is it about that movie?

It’s EVERYTHING.

It’s everything that speaks directly to me and cuts me to my core.

It’s:

• the friendships - among the young girls, the older women, the men, the friends participating in the wedding, the Greeks working at the inn
• the scenery - the sea glistens, the stone terra cotta villa shimmers in the sun, the bright colors on their summer clothing, and the vibrant bed sheets hanging across the courtyard
• the chapel....high up on a mountain in the middle of the sea...that the bride gets to by donkey with tiny white lights twinkling to mark the rugged staircase to the top
• the fact that Donna (Meryl Streep) has old friends coming from far away...and hasn't made her bed.  I would never do that, but would secretly love to.
• Dancing Queen - oh my goodness, it's Dancing Queen -- one of my all time favorite movie scenes.  The scene captures "the old days" of the girl band for Donna and her middle aged friends simultaneously with the hardworking Greek women who throw off their bundles of sticks carried on their backs and their aprons to join the dancing tribe of women skipping through the woods down to the sea where they dance in unison on a giant dock and then jump in.  The scene is pure, unadulterated joyful women escaping and being free-spirited for a collective moment!
• the story - I laugh out loud and discover my sense of humor
• the final scene of the wedding in the chapel and the 3 dads and how Sophie doesn't care if her mom "slept with hundreds of men"
• the ending - long lost love found at midlife, two young people leaving to find a life of their own and start their exciting journey with a feeling of "possiblity" that only young people can feel as purely
• it's ordinary people coming together and touching each other through conversation, laughter, dancing, comeraderie, shared experience

Ah-h-h.  It has all the elements that touch and move me deeply.  It makes me smile, laugh, cry, and feel better every time I watch it.  

If art can do that to just one person….success.  

The Conversation

Real Simple magazine’s, Kristin van Ogtrop asked

in her editor’s note of their August 2012 issue: 

“Have you ever had a conversation that changed your life?”

One immediately came to mind for me.  It was a sentence said to me at the age of 15 that has haunted me all my life.

I was at my grandmother’s camp on Sebago Lake, meeting her for the first time as a teenager.  Lettie, a relative on her Norwegian side, was visiting and staying in one of the small cottages on the property.  I don’t even know if that’s how she spells her name and I don’t believe we had more conversations than one, but one was enough with that woman.  

My impression, formed from her sentence, said with a rugged finger pointed at me and with squinted eyes, created her lifelong persona for me that may or may not represent who she is entirely.

Unsolicited she said to me:  “It’s just as easy to marry a rich man as a poor man.”

I was horrified and offended.  She didn’t even know me.  I was 15 and deeply in love with a kind, gorgeous boy.  And I already knew that riches didn't define a person, didn't make him or her smart or compassionate or caring.  I was an independent woman with big dreams of my own.  That was like telling me the earth was flat.  I thought that the most deplorable thing to say to a strong young woman.

And then all my life, it has come back to me at various odd times.  I’ve softened in that her intention was probably noble.  I know nothing of her life and maybe that is what she wished for herself.  Perhaps she thought she was giving me sage advice.  I’m certain now her intent was surely not to upset me.  

That sentence didn’t change me; it just deepened my own strong convictions.  One sentence was the conversation that directed my life.  

I’ve been married to that boy for 26 years.  At the age of 50, what I know for sure is that Lettie was wrong.

Photo:  the 2010 wedding of my niece and her husband

Creatives and Drinking

My barista at Arabica said something to me while making my cappuccino the other day that gave me pause – I’d never thought of it before.

I had told her my younger son got his 1^st choice college acceptance letter – what a great day, what a moment seeing that ear-to-ear smile, getting a warm embrace from him and even an invitation to lunch to thank me for my help.  Wow!

I guess the “college” part prompted her to say she will get her kids drunk for their first time!  (How we went from “college” to “drunk” so quickly was a fascinating commentary on our current society.)  She feels it’s important to have her child drunk in front of her where it’s “safe,” and it will “kind of take the edge off” or the darkness of fascination off when it’s done with parents.  She’s certainly not talking about “child” but when they turn “young-adult.”  She’s just planning ahead since her kids aren’t close to college age.  And she’s only talking once, not routinely.  I see her point but that’s not my style.  Now for the point of this blog post…

I told her my older son (21) doesn’t drink, never has, and I honestly don’t think my younger son (17) has.  She said immediately and matter-of-factly, “That’s because they’re creative.  They don’t need to.”  One of my sons is a musician/songwriter, the other is an artist/animator heading to the Savannah College of Art & Design in the fall, and my local barista knows this. 

She then elaborated that she was an “art kid” and said she didn’t drink until the age of 25 and that none of her “artsy” friends did either.  She said that she and her friends thought, as kids, that boring people had to drink to have fun.  Fun people don’t need to do that.  Creatives are inspired by everything so don’t need an artificial substance to jazz them.  Wow.  No idea if that’s true but it surely is with my two creatives.  Interesting idea to just make us ponder…..

Art work by Ben Kalicky, drawn with a mouse