Blueberries and Rain Ponchos

My niece is the nanny for Harlan and Elias – two adorable, sweet boys.  She’s been their nanny since they were babies…and she’s a good one.

To keep them busy…in the rain… she brought them to my husband’s garden to pick berries – blueberries and raspberries.  Sometimes nannies and moms have to create from what’s available, improvising and using imagination. 

Farmer Frank’s farm is a small patch in the city, and despite the summer rain, she found oversized “Disney” rain ponchos for the boys that she and her husband had used on their vacation, put up their hoods, and brought them over.

 

A couple memorable quotes while picking:

"Wow, look at that white cucumber!" Elias, checking out the summer squash.

And, "Farmer Frank makes the best raspberries I have ever had! He needs to tell Daddy how to grow a farm."

20 Seconds of Insane Courage

“Sometimes all you need is twenty seconds of insane courage

and I promise you something great will come of it.”

I didn’t see Matt Damon’s movie, I Bought a Zoo, but I saw the tagline above and latched onto it.  I think there is truth to it.

As I’ve aged, I have more fear than I did when I was young.  I have less self-confidence.  On the one hand, you’d think you’d have less fear and more self-confidence as more went right over time than wrong, but it doesn’t seem to work that way.  Perhaps we dwell on what went wrong over time or didn’t work out as we hoped or planned, so it begins to take us down a few notches, making us more fearful and less confident.

I love listening to people looking backward at the turning points in their lives and decisions made that changed the entire direction of where they were heading…. into the direction they seem so suited for.  Sometimes, it seems like one inspired thought or chance encounter, or 20 seconds of insane courage, is the pivotal point of change that guides someone in the “right” direction.  Twenty seconds of insane courage probably present to each of us many times over our lifetimes.  Do we typically step forward into the fear or stand rooted?

My husband, quite profoundly, believes music wasn’t Bono’s “path.”  He thinks the music just brought him to his real purpose – his activism.  U2’s music created the platform and the notoriety that allowed him to make deep and meaningful changes in our world.  What if he never lived in the twenty seconds of insane courage and never made the attempt to perform and play his music?  What if he went to work for the post office because it was a good, stable job at that time and a more realistic thing to do? 

In Steve Jobs’ biography, it describes the third partner who started Apple with him and Steve Wozniak.  Panicked, the third partner backed out early on and was given $2,300 for his participation.  If he had stayed, his ownership percentage would have been worth $2.6 billion in 2010!  He let his fear drive him and backed out on the risky venture.  The cost of decisions made isn’t always as clear as this. 

When I stand at the precipice, I am hopeful I will dig deep inside myself and live in that twenty seconds of insane courage.  Being conscious of it might give me the strength I need to live it, stand in that space, and jump off. 

Photo:  helicopter view of the Grand Canyon

Buddy the Elf

I have a colleague who, when she sees it’s me calling her, answers with a different phrase every time:  “Pat’s Pizza!” “Welcome to WalMart!” “Uncle Leo?”

Every time, I laugh.  It’s like our secret joke.

Unrelated, after 6 hours sitting in car dealerships one Saturday and getting a little punchy, as phones were ringing in the showroom around us, my son said, “Buddy the Elf!  What’s your favorite color???”  -- a line by Will Farrell in Elf when he was answering his Dad’s phone in his posh New York City office. 

I burst out laughing.  Remember, I was punchy after 6 hours there.  And then I knew what I had to do.

That Monday my colleague didn’t come into the office; her baby was sick.

Eagerly, I waited until Tuesday.  I had laughed ahead of my new joke all weekend by myself!  I emailed her, “Would you please ring me,” the way my boss emails me….but never for a joke.

She did and I laid it on her, “Buddy the Elf! What’s your favorite color??”

She too burst out laughing.  She’s the funny one, not me.  I caught her completely off guard and that’s when a joke is best, plus….her baby had been sick the prior day, the man she works with had slammed her the moment she had arrived that morning at 7:30 a.m. and she was not feeling very happy.  

And I changed her day!  

We laughed a full 10 minutes, moving on to other scenarios….like her buying me a velvet elf hat on Amazon and my suggesting the entire elf-girl-Herbie’s-girlfriend-in-Rudolph look with the triangle shaped velvet skirt to go with the hat and the soft shoes that curled up at the toes.  

Funny.  Silly.  Sometimes it’s the trivial that can turn an entire day around.

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