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May 30th, 2013 This past week a really good friend of mine gave up her cable. While that is admirable, I could never do that. Most of you know me as a pop culture fiend and if anything should pop in our culture and I missed it, it would be devastating to me. (Why? I don’t know, but that’s the way it is.)
Today my husband was here unexpectedly and we dove into our backyard revival project. The morning started off with visits to two plant nurseries and a stone place. Top that off with a grill place, lunch, and basically we covered two thirds of the cape. When we were done, we had a new grill, a firepit, and a whole new backyard.
During this whole time I left my phone in the car and didn’t even check it between stops. When we got home we were busy planting plants and laying out bricks. My phone stayed plugged in in the house. Next we we went to a cool little place for dinner. I never took out my phone. When we got home we built our first fire of the season (in the old firepit – new one is coming soon) and my phone stayed charging in the house. It’s now 9:30 and I retrieved it to write this post.
This morning I touched base with one daughter in NY to make sure she was okay in yesterday’s wild weather and later on I made plans to pick up Boston daughter tomorrow to go to NY for a wedding this weekend. That was it. No email. No words with friends. No Facebook. I stayed off the grid for the whole day.
How did that feel? Freeing. I spent the day living in the moment, appreciating my husband being here, and now, appreciating the first fire of the season together. Off the grid was great today. I can now fully appreciate what my friend is feeling on her third day of no TV.
Try it. Disengage for a day this weekend. Talk only to those who are at arms length. In this day of technology, it’s a new experience.
And so, as another day goes by, off the grid was really cool – no anxiety about not being connected at all, and…I have written.
Here is the best part of this post. When I went to check my Sparkpeople quote of the day, this was it:
May 29th, 2013 On the way home tonight I heard a commercial on the radio and it was talking about “do something days”. You know, like Clean Out The Fridge Day” or “Take Your Cat To Work Day”? Then it complained that every day was a “do something day”.
Negotiating the Bourne Rotary, I thought what’s wrong with that? Why not make every day a “do something day”? Today was “get out with my friends” day. Yesterday was “focus on the firepit day”. Some “something days” can help you get a lot accomplished. Monday was “clean out the basement” day. Boy, did that one ever feel good.
But what about the little things that could put a bit more joy in the world? Maybe tomorrow, you, yourself, could designate it as “open a door for someone day”. Or how about “give a compliment day”? “Write a thank you email day”?
What would happen if at the start of each day, say when we brush our teeth in the morning, we designate what “something day” it will be for us? Kind of gives new meaning to “be the change you want to see in the world” huh? You don’t have to donate thousands. You don’t have to be a first responder. Just open a door, give a compliment, display a smile.
Reba McEntire just sang on Healing for the Heartland. The chorus of the song said:
Everyday people are the ones makin’ miracles and it’s beautiful
Everyday people. That’s you and me. Doing simple, everyday things. How do you know you just smiled at someone who lost something really big and thought no one cared? How do you know you just held the door for someone who thought they couldn’t take another step because they hurt so bad? You don’t. But they do. Everyday everyday people are standing next to you in Dunkin Donuts holding hurt of their own. Maybe tomorrow could be “let someone go ahead of me in line day”.
This was an important lesson for me because I used to get overwhelmed by all the horror and tragedy in the news and would think there’s no way I could possibly help it all. Now I know I can. On a small, but consistent, basis I could help just by being conscious of designating each day a “do something day”, because, you see, it isn’t the size of the thing you do, it’s the consistency that makes the difference in the long run.
And so, as another day goes by, my mind moves to what I’m going to be doing tomorrow and what my “something” might be, and…I have written.
May 28th, 2013 Waking up today I slowly realized it was Tuesday. That’s how it always is after a weekend – especially one that afforded me another day of Sunday. In examining the order of my days M-F is filled with exercise, yoga, writing, drawing, meetings, various responsibilities and friends. Saturday and Sunday I slide off that grid and land in my backyard. My husband is here and we do house projects and go out and celebrate our time together. I love Saturdays and Sundays because they are decidedly different from weekdays. That is important to me, even in retirement, that weekend time is reserved and special. I work well on that rhythm.
Today when I padded down the stairs and realized my husband was here for an extra day, I suddenly wanted one more Sunday. Tuesday could go fly a kite. I wanted one more day on my patio, planning my new fire pit. I wanted one more day covered in sunscreen, idling about the yard, with no particular place to go. I wanted to drag more items out to my free tree and clap like a kid when people took them. I wanted dusk to come and instead of rushing out for a meeting, I wanted one more night with some burgers and chilled wine by the fire instead of night yoga.
Another Sunday definitely sounded better than a Tuesday. Sometimes it’s good to examine the order of our days and maybe even change them up a bit. Have you ever tried a Sunday on a Tuesday? Tomorrow’s Wednesday and I think it’d work just as well.
And so, as another day goes by, my big project today – my wine holder planter – is done and ready for summer, I loved another day of Sunday, and…I have written.
May 27th, 2013 All day I scrolled Facebook and read the various Memorial Day posts. All my friends posted about wonderful times with friends and family. I’m glad everyone had such a nice day. There were also a lot of posts about remembering what this day is about. The pictures and posts about those who served were especially moving.
In the Cape Cod Times I found one that summed it up just right and reflected how I feel today. A local dad who lost his son in Iraq said he sometimes feels mad, sometimes feels sad, but always feels proud. Perfect. That’s exactly how I feel when hearing about the thousands who gave their lives for everything I’m thankful for today.
And so, as another Memorial Day goes by, we stop and appreciate what it was all for, and…I have written.
Photo credit: My friend, Debbie Hoffman, taken on 9/11
May 26th, 2013 Cape Cod is open for the season and it’s been a hodge-podge of a day on this holiday weekend. Even though the rain departed and the sun poked itself through the steel gray clouds, normal activities for the opening days of summer were pretty much curtailed due to temps in the fifties and a sharp ocean wind. Going to fit club this morning seemed the obvious thing to do, followed by some soup and book reading downtime.
After an early dinner I asked my husband to go out and get some ice-cream. He suggested we go out for it instead. Yay! At last. Something to commemorate the opening of summer. We went to the Ice Scream Sandwich and of course I got my favorite in a waffle cone: cranberry bog. There’s nothing like it anywhere because they make it. It’s almond flavored vanilla ice-cream with white chocolate pieces, dried cranberries, and walnuts mixed in. Oh yeah. Now were talkin’ summer.
We drove down to the canal to eat it and watch the boats and fisherman. On Pulse XM radio they were having “Live At The Vineyard”, a concert from the Napa Valley in California. The artists were amazing and we really enjoyed it. In fact, we took a couple of spins around town to hear more.
Memorial Day weekend on Cape Cod and the place looked like a ghost town. No traffic. The restaurants at 6pm were virtually empty. I laughed because the Sunday paper had headlines reading “We’re Open”. We were open, but nobody came. On the way home we stopped to the store at the end of our street. My husband went in while I waited in the car listening to more of the concert while people watching. Two young men (early 20’s) pull up. As they walk to the store I notice the words on one young man’s shirt : No Fat Chicks. I was amazed. How could anyone walk around with such a blatantly offensive shirt on and expect a young woman would ever want to date him? These were my thoughts as I sat there getting more and more irate.
Everyone is entitled to their own dating preferences, and I have no interest in his, but to insinuate and ADVERTISE that one person is better than another simply because of their weight is absurd. If there was a heavy girl in his vicinity, say behind him in line, I would’ve felt really bad for her. What a blatant slam that you are not good enough because of your weight.
I wonder what went through his mind when he put that shirt on and looked in the mirror? Do you think I’m overreacting? Was that an acceptable shirt to wear? Sorry, I just hate hurting people.
And so, as another day goes by, Cape Cod is definitely open for the season, and…I have written.
May 25th, 2013 Today was a drizzly start to the Memorial Day weekend. 47 degrees with a cold mist spitting from the gray clouds. And we had Red Sox tickets. Normally I would be hesitant to do this in that kind of weather, but we had clubhouse seats so I knew I wouldn’t have to brave the cold and drizzle if I chose not to.
On the train to Boston for the first time I felt like something was missing; different. I couldn’t put my finger on it. My eyes searched the train car for clues. Nothing. But something certainly was different. I shrugged my shoulders and sat back against the seat. I was with my NY daughter and her boyfriend and my husband. She made a joke about me, my husband chimed in, and I burst out laughing. Suddenly I knew what was different. I laughed. Hard. Fully. And I laughed with everyone at myself. That was the old me. The me I had lost in the last few years. I was always the brunt of my family’s humor and I used to revel in that. It created camaraderie and brought everyone together in a common goal – mom’s a whack job, but we love her anyway.
Over the past few years I was fragile. Couldn’t take a jab or two. I was sad. Hurt. Red Sox trips the last two summers were forced. I spent most of the train time and game time totally disengaged. My mind stayed in a sad place, while my body moved toward Fenway. I’d leave the game and go out on the mezzanine, gaze at the Boston skyline, and post some sadly profound pics to Facebook. I’d drink too much trying to forget that which made my heart hurt. By the end of the game I’d be so exhausted I barely made the long train/car trip home.
Today, for the first time in a very long time, I stayed present. I was totally involved in not only the laughter, but with the food and great seats, too. I rolled easily with the rain, wind, and cold. I enjoyed the game. Posted fun stuff. And laughed a lot. I never appreciated laughter so much as I did today. On the train I heard myself telling my husband that I don’t grasp at the future so much anymore. Maybe things aren’t exactly the way I want them in the present, but I made up my mind to immerse myself in it and appreciate and enjoy it to its fullest. It’s attitude, not actions. I don’t have to change anything about the things I do. I just had to change how I think about those things.
When we arrived back on the Cape twelve hours later I wasn’t anywhere near tired. We stopped for a late dinner and I was thinking how that was just not possible the last two years. A broken heart zaps all your energy and leaves life flatlined. It takes a long time to put a heart back together again, but it can be done. Never give up. Rattle around long enough in the pieces and pretty soon you begin reassembling yourself. The jagged edges become soft and round like sea glass churned for years in the waves. You can pick up the pieces without slicing your wounds open.
My Boston daughter was close by in the city at a concert with friends. When I saw her pic on Facebook, holding up her glass, enjoying life despite the drizzle, I thought to myself, yup, that’s life. And that’s how it should be.
And so, as a drizzly day goes by, I discovered what was different – the pain is gone, I appreciate laughter, signs of being truly healed pop up more and more each day, living in the present is possible again, and…I have written. (Oh, and yeah, the Sox won!)
Boston daughter, bottom left, so cute…
May 24th, 2013 You know how our news media and sometimes our government takes a negative thing, spins it, and gets you looking at it as a not so bad thing? Today I heard the best spin. It made me laugh and I just have to share it.
I was painting in the garage with the local radio on. The newscaster was informing us that this weekend there would be extra police presence all over the cape looking for drunk and aggressive drivers. They wanted to remind everybody that the back ups on the bridges and roadways are just a part of the total Cape Cod experience. That was a good spin. If you visit the Cape this summer, remember to look forward to an eight mile back up on the bridge. It’s just the beginning of your total vacation experience. 🙂
And so, as another day goes by, I wonder if my daughter and her boyfriend are beginning their holiday Cape experience right now as they approach 495, and…I have written.
Click Here and laugh with me!
May 23rd, 2013 TullyandKate. All Kristin Hannah fans know TullyandKate. Kristin Hannah’s Firefly Lane is the best friendship story ever told. I remember reading in 2009 and just crying and sobbing after I turned the last page. Making the reader care and invest in the characters is the mark of a best selling author. Nobody does it like Hannah. Firefly Lane, is, and always will be, my answer to What is your favorite book?
Imagine my excitement a few months back seeing on Facebook that Hannah wrote the sequel. What happened to TullyandKate? I couldn’t wait to find out. I reposted her posts and talked with friends and blogged about the sequel coming out. I would read it the first day it hit Amazon.
Imagine my chagrin and surprise when I got a text from a friend yesterday telling me that she had just finished both Firefly Lane and the sequel, Fly Away, and could I recommend more by the same author. What? Impossible. I’m totally sure I pre-ordered Fly Away and would have it on the day it came out on my Kindle. I searched my Kindle on both my phone and iPad. Not there. This can’t be. I went to Amazon. It was released April 22. I never pre-ordered it. I downloaded it before I even answered my friend back.
I started it last night and read past midnight. Today I hurried through my chores and sat down and finished it. My reaction? Numb. Amazed. My usual reaction after reading any of Hannah’s books. Nobody brings home the importance of a child having a mother that loves and cares for them as Hannah does in this incredible tale of the fate of TullyandKate.
When a broken mother, who herself is the daughter of a broken mother, has a child, the damage is insurmountable. In Firefly Lane you never know Tully’s ridiculous mother’s backstory and you can’t imagine how she could just keep leaving Tully. In Fly Away it all comes to fruition. We all know that if mother’s and children get caught in that cycle, it seems hopeless. It is good people, people able to give and receive love, that step in and break that cycle and offer hope in a hopeless situation.
One sentence, that will stick in my heart forever, sums it all up when Kate says to Tully:
Ha. You are more afraid of love than any person I’ve ever met. It’s why you keep testing people and pushing them away. Open your eyes.
The most important thing in life is to be able to give and receive love. To be able to put your heart out there and risk having it broken. To know you can love and are loved unconditionally. For a child to grow up and form long lasting relationships, it must be modeled by a parent. If not a parent, then someone who enters the child’s life and cares enough to stay there. Kristin Hannah is a master at telling this story in both Firefly Lane and Fly Away. If you are a mom or a caregiver of children, these are “must reads”. If you are an adult that missed that mother-child connection along the way, this is a “super-must read”.
In the story of TullyandKate, Hannah offers up love, hope, and deep, deep forgiveness in heaping helpings. Download them today and grab your share.
And so, as another day goes by, I close the cover and come away with renewed hope that even the most damaged among us have shot at real love, and…I have written.
May 22nd, 2013 Recently I had my hair spritzed with red again, so when I entered the the Koko Fit Club this morning fit coach Amanda commented on how cute it was and wasn’t it purple last month? Near me was an elderly woman with gorgeous short, white-silver hair. She commented she liked my hair then said, “Imagine an old woman like me walking around with color like that in my hair.” I replied, “Nonsense,” and proceeded to tell her about a first grade teacher in my school, older than me, who had beautiful silver hair like hers. When she couldn’t do blonde highlights anymore because of the gray, she would have pink, blue, or purple on the front of her hair. We all loved it and so did the kids.
I went to my machine and began my workout, but my mind stayed in the conversation. This woman reminded me of a goddess necklace I bought during my first month of retirement. On the back was engraved: “Forget your age, live your life.” That necklace reminded me that my retirement age wasn’t going to place rules and limitations on what I did with the second half of my life.
Recently, a young college boy on my Facebook page put a random post saying “I hate when old people put colors in their hair.” I don’t know if he meant me or not, but who was he to make rules about what people of any certain age should do with their hair or clothes? Now, mind you, I wouldn’t go into Forever 21 and buy a mini-skirt and pair it with four inch heels because that would be terribly uncomfortable and not fun at all. But I would go into Forever 21 and buy a pair of comfy black and white print leggings and pair it with a bright yellow sweater and some cute boots, because that is both fun and comfortable. The name of the store is Forever 21, not Under 21.
If something is comfortable and fun and makes you smile when you look in the mirror, by all means, go for it. Life is too short to never let out who you really are. I learned through Bikram yoga that you are never too old, never too tired, never too sick, and especially never too scared to get out there and be who you are at any age. Stop letting the unwritten rules of society, which are only people’s opinions, get in the way of you being fully happy in your own skin.
If you want to write a book, stop worrying if it’ll be good enough – just write it. If you always wanted to sit in a field and paint, pick up the brush and go for it. If you want to start a blog and find your voice, go to WordPress.com and begin today. If you like wearing your jeans with pearls, who says you can’t? If you want a little red or pink in your hair, the last time I checked at my hairdresser you didn’t have to get a permission slip from your kids.
The saddest thing to me would be to find myself in the last months of my life, looking back at the person I wish I had the courage to be. I figure I have close to thirty more years left on this earth and I plan to spend every minute of it being truly who I am, not who others think I should be. If that means doing the writing and illustrating I always wanted to do, then I’m going to do it whether it’s pro-standard or not. If it means doing it in cute boots, with a shock of red or pink in my hair, then I’m going to do it in the most colorful way I know how.
I think it’s important to look in the mirror every morning before you start your day and really like the person who is leaving the house. Create your look. Fall in love with it. Own it – whether you’re five or fifty-five. Then go out each day into the world and do what you do with confidence in who you are.
As a teacher I met all kinds of little beings. I always sought to make them feel special, even if they didn’t follow the rules or follow the crowd, and instill a confidence in them for who they are. They were five. It should be no different at fifty-five.
That’s a big part of creating your own happy life. Take it from one who spent time on both sides of the fence. I once let a person get close to me and steal every part of me that was me and make me feel I was “wrong”. That will never happen again. In the words of Kelly Clarkson, “I came back swingin’ “.
So…
You are good. You are kind. You are important. ~The Help
Go gettem’ – Forget your age; live your life.
And so, as another day goes by, I gotta go upstairs and dig out that necklace, and …I have written.
How cute is this? 🙂
May 21st, 2013 Every May I clean out my garage, put screens on the door and settle my white resin rocker and small red table in front of the screen. This summer room becomes my “place” until late fall. I sit for hours gazing out across the marsh, at the cottages on the beach. If I turn my head slightly left, I gaze at an ugly brown door.
There are big rips and gouges on the door. They were made by a huge dog that was our “houseguest” many years ago. Every summer I hate those ugly gouges. It’s bad enough that the door is stained an ugly brown, but add the gouges, along with the memories of the dog, well, – ugh. I can’t even count how many summers I let that door bother me. We had gotten new windows in the garage two years ago and I never painted the trim on them. They were ugly brown like the door.
This spring I had enough. Today I dragged out the white paint and went to work. I finished the two windows and turned to face the door. The gouges made me stop and think. I could go downstairs and get the wood filler and fix them. Then when I painted over them they’d be gone. I put the paint down and went for the filler and tools. (Usually I’d blow right by this step to hurry and get the job done.)
I was busy filling in the gouges and smoothing them over when I realized hearts, like old gouged up doors, can be filled in, smoothed over, and painted to be pleasant again. Eventually you get tired of dragging a broken heart around. Fix it. Fill in the gouges. It can be made new again. It can regain it’s rightful place as an energy provider instead of an energy drainer. Like the door, you have to take the time to patch up the holes before painting. Once the putty is in place, spend time carefully smoothing it. Rework that doughy mixture and pretty soon the heart is ready for the first coat of paint. One won’t do it. Just like the brown stain will bleed through the white paint, so the heart will still bleed a bit through the first coat of paint. Put on two or three more. The door turns white. The heart begins to shine with new life.
And so, as another day goes by, it’s good to fix the door before painting it, and…I have written.
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