yes, yes, two heads are better than one, for sure. particularly now. between us, we can have a complete grocery list, a complete song, a complete conversation. it’s like mad-libs, but real life.
how is it that these words – practical words…not multiple-syllabic barely-used thesaurus type words or foreign expressions or highly technical jargon…just words like avocado or ravioli or well, i can’t remember any more examples…how is that these words disappear into thin air? they are seemingly irretrievable, escaping all the umms and uhhs buying time to try and unearth them.
it is fortunate that we most often choose partners who are in our approximate age bracket. for there is grace when you are both punting for a word, jaunting into the vast recesses of your brain with a flashlight and bucket – sieve-ready – like you are panning for gold in an old gem mine deep underground. only not.
instead, you are just trying to remember the round green things that go on top of chili.
i’m going to try and remember my grocery list from now on. standing there in the middle of the market – gawking at each other – blank looks on our faces – going through the alphabet, certain that the word we are seeking starts with some letter (one that turns out isn’t even in the word) – can be embarrassing. people are staring. they are wheeling their carts around us – two statues in the fresh veggie section, frozen by the broccoli and brussels sprouts. we are causing a rubberneck situation in the aisle. we are certain to remember what we need – as soon as we get home.
in the meanwhile, we know that our people are here too. they are the ones who glance over with sympathetic and understanding eye contact. they calmly – without disdain – walk around us. they smile. because they, too, have a few wrinkles and – every now and then – they stand still in some aisle, a lost look on their face, gazing around in search of some elusive item. and then – you can see it – their face lights up and you know. avocado. that’s it.
and we all skip to the check-out, hoping it is 5%-off senior day. because by now, we deserve it.
it’s like having bob marley on our refrigerator. every single time i glance at this bookmark, i can hear mr. marley and the wailers singing. it’s not a bad thing. i mean, what could be bad about hearing reggae in your head? it’s a reminder: don’t get mired in all the blankety-blank of life. in the end, it will all be ok.
i was gifted the book “don’t sweat the small stuff” decades ago. the book spent 101 weeks on the ny times bestseller list. clearly, the stress consultant/psychotherapist richard carlson had some idea what he was talking about. the rest of the title of his book is “and it’s all small stuff” and the tagline subtitle is “simple ways to keep the little things from taking over your life”. yes. it’s THAT stuff.
we humans tend to immerse in worst-case scenarios – i suppose it’s our nature. and i suppose it depends on all the baggage you have carried with you. it predisposes us and we are burdened by all of it, weighed down by magnifying the things we worry about, convinced every little thing is worthy of our angst.
but then, there are those moments we are reminded – yet again – of the very preciousness of all this – this life.
we have a stack in the basement. there are spare suitcases, backpacks, small carryons, small totes with zippers. baggage that holds baggage. they are in line to go. next to all the other things that don’t spark joy, next to all the other things that are extraneous, next to all the other things that other people might need more than us.
with that stack – little by little – i am placing the baggage i have carried internally. as space is created in the basement, in the main part of our house, in the attic, i am lifting the darkness off other spaces that need air. i have no idea what that will mean, how that will change me in any way, what light i will feel.
but the postcard bookmark at the antique shoppe spoke to me. and we purchased it, brought it home and put it on the refrigerator.
on sunday we parked littlebabyscion in front of big red – closer to the garage on our one-car driveway. it was making a funny noise, so, access to big red instead. then on monday, big red refused to start. tuesday morning the browser on my old laptop stopped letting me into my blogsite. last night my crown fell off my tooth. the bathroom sink doesn’t drain quite right. the fridge is still tinkling on the floor every so often. and then, there’s much bigger stuff…things that have impacted me or us dramatically…things that we are dealing with…things on which we spend great deals of emotional and intellectual energy. big stuff. or so we think. at least right now.
but there’s also this: we snuggled under the comforter and the quilt with the window cracked and fell asleep last night. we ate leftovers from a meal we had shared with 20, listening to music our son created and the piano music of kostia – both feeding us. our dog is laying on the bed with us, even as i write this. i can hear the tenor windchimes out back. i have a hydroflask from my daughter that is filled with bold coffee at my side. my dentist is making room for me in his schedule. and we are cleaning out. things that center us.
you just never really know. anything.
on page 185 of “don’t sweat…”, chapter 76 is titled “get comfortable not knowing”. richard must have heard bob marley in his head too.
because it was supposed to be blizzarding out right now, we are blogging ahead. it is not blizzarding out, however. it is raining and slushing and windy and is completely nasty out, but definitely not blizzarding. now, since you will be reading this on thursday and this is only tuesday, i am wondering will happen between now and then. the weather app says that it will all turn into snow at 3pm. and, as i look out the window right this second, a little snow is mixed in with the rain…so it is starting…maybe.
dogdog loves the snow more than anything. he is definitely voting “yes” for snowstorms and blizzards this winter. on the day i took this photo he walked outside and laid down on the deck, languishing in his bliss. he has been a snow-dog ever since we brought him home as a little puppy.
when we lost babycat to the other dimension i spent hours looking through my photos of him. i hoped i had all of his little quirks captured, all the things that made him the cat he was – on film. but we never really do get it all though. i wasn’t video-ing constantly or taking photos of his every move. and so, many of his funny quirks and the things we adored about him – this cat that saved me – are simply tucked in, in my memory.
and so, i am trying to capture a bit more with dogga. even his sweet pawprint in the snow. he is getting older now – an australian shepherd, he’ll be 11 this year – and he has some older-dog behaviors. like you, we are in love with our dog – just as we were with our cat. and, i suspect, like you, we don’t have any idea how this time has flown by so quickly. they capture our hearts immediately and time just doesn’t stretch out long enough.
the years of covid pandemic isolation/social distancing/loss of jobs/staying at home have given us concentrated time with dogga. and he just wants to be with us. it’s mutual. the look on his face when we leave for the grocery store is heart-breaking and the greeting when we arrive back home is magical and full-body, every part of him wagging – especially the infamous aussie butt-wiggle.
so this pawprint – in the snow and indelibly in our hearts forever and ever – and his tiny old-dog groans and a little slow-down – not to mention that look on his face anytime we leave – are tugging at us. he has been with us every day we have lived together, except for the first two.
it was during those first two that we debated dog-nodog-dog-nodog nonstop after meeting him across the state at a farm on the river road in pepin. driving the budget truck across the country to move d in, we stopped at the sign that said “aussie puppies” just to see. d assured me – though we had talked about a puppy ‘some day’ – that aussies are usually merle or tricolor and not black, which was our intended puppy-color-of-choice. thus we thought were driving up the long drive not likely to fall in instant love. and then, farmer don told us that he only had one puppy left and that he had no takers because he was black. one look, one puppy hug and it was all over. we left a deposit – which we told farmer don he could keep either way – and drove away with a decision to make.
and that’s when the debate started. it didn’t stop until two days later when we drove back up that long drive and this little black puppy came running directly to us, sitting down at the side of littlebabyscion. right then, we knew it was undeniable.
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it was the first time in years – literally years – since we had ordered chinese food. way back before the pandemic we stopped ordering as soy sauce used in cooking my favorite fried rice contains gluten. we’ve purchased tamari for use at home – sans gluten – but you can’t expect a chinese restaurant to use this. but then, the up-north gang started to talk about panda – one of the restaurants in town – and i was havin’ a hankerin’ for their amazing fried rice and eggrolls. (i don’t require complicated foods to be extraordinarily happy!)
and so, we decided to forego the gluten-worry and we ordered. we were in fried-rice-heaven. truth be told, we have purchased frozen fried rice from trader joe’s, added some more veggies and wok-ed it all up with tamari, which was pretty good. but…that container of fried rice and that little wax paper bag with our eggrolls after placing our order on the phone and jaunting over to pick it up – it inspired joy!!!
and then, there’s the fortune cookie. it’s funny these days – the back of the fortune cookie has an ad from jockey (the international headquarters is in this town), so you can’t get away from retail marketing even in your fortune cookie. nevertheless, this time we wished to pay attention to the cookie and its words of ancient wisdom.
“your to-do list for tomorrow: do absolutely nothing.”
and so we did. we spent the next day facetiming with our daughter while she opened her christmas presents. we went antiquing and immersed in treasures and ideas. we hung out with dogdog and had happy hour and made homemade soup. we were fortunate and our day was filled with great fortune. we did nothing that even resembled tedium or hard work. i mean, it’s a fortune cookie! you have to pay attention!
it’s now under a magnet on our refrigerator. but the thing is – we have already cashed in on the magic. we used up the fortune.
i wondered if that was it? was it spent? over? no longer our fortune?
and so, i googled it.
and found this:
“a fortune from a cookie typically lasts as long as you assign meaning to it or find it relevant. the lifespan of a fortune cookie’s message is subjective and varies from person to person.”(the ever-reliable knowledge factoid site – quora.com)
i’m thinking we will leave it up there on the fridge for a spell (or whatever the lifespan of this fortune cookie fortune might be). that way, we can glance over and “assign it meaning” any day we want!
we’ve spent days now – so far – going through, organizing, cleaning out. it is – in every way – an adventure. the items of life – in retrospect. stuff that tells stories, emotions wrapped around a piece of jewelry, a note, an old flannel shirt.
it’s a slow go. this time – of looking back – is not to be rushed. some things require lingering a bit. i have sat with many a ‘thing’ in my hand, telling d a tale of its arrival in my life, its meaning, where it came from, where it took me, prompts of life lived. some of it is astonishing – things i’d forgotten. some of it is astonishing – things i still remember. some things elicit the “if i only knew then what i know now” response. some things move into the keep category, while others are making their way to join the do-not-keeps. some things i just stare at, wondering what on earth to do with them.
and in some parallel plane – as i pick up each piece o’ life – touching it, feeling it – and then lay it back down – it is as if somewhere i am also picking up each piece of life – touching it, feeling it, laying it back down. this sorting is powerful, not merely tidying up.
and it is gaining momentum.
as we look at the difference it makes, it invites us to keep going and going. deep into the bins and boxes. into the storage room and the attic, the kitchen cabinets, the back of the closet, the file drawers, the desks, the studio. it seems this is the time. this time the cleaning-out will take; the purge won’t simply be a great idea that dissipates into thin air. even with all the hard work – physically and emotionally – this time i can see it.
it’s that way → → →
and while we have no clue what might be out that way – the amorphous – waiting – we move in that direction. we are giving our home, our lives – all of it – the cleanse it all needs – to breathe and to invite in the new.
“you are not only responsible for what you say, but also for what you do not say.” (martin luther)
january 8. we are a week into the new year. we are in the thick – in the territory of resolutions – things we will do, things we won’t do, things we wish to change.
in the way of good conversation at dinner the other night, 20 showed us a photograph of martin luther with this quote. we all shook our heads in agreement. moral silence, not speaking truth to power, not speaking against injustice or wrongdoing or marginalization – a key figure of the protestant movement (and even more specifically – what became the lutheran church) had a few things to say about that. we spent a bit of time swimming in this.
because we are in the thick.
we just passed by the third anniversary of the insurrection of our country’s capitol. white christian nationalism has upped the ante on the lack of moral responsibility – with silence, divisive words, blunt negation of the events of this day. where are the martin luthers of the day? seems a bit antithetical…with a big dollop of hypocrisy to boot.
but we need not be in the nation’s capitol to witness irresponsible words or irresponsible silence. we need not be traipsing down pennsylvania avenue to be in the thick – to be complicit, to be implicitly consenting, to actively perpetuate that which is dangerously wrong. we need merely to look around – closer in – at our own state, city, community, the organizations in which we are involved.
we are in the thick – of the new year. it would seem the most important things we might do – as we start down the 2024 road – is to be certain to be aware, be informed, ask questions, avoid making assumptions or just believing what we are told. it would seem important that we speak up, speak out, speak for, speak against injustice, wrongdoing, marginalization, agenda, a lack of transparency, discrimination, abuse, evil.
for in speaking up or out or for or against – in seeking truth, advocating for truth, insisting on truth – as citizens of this land, our states and our communities, as conscientious participants in organizations and institutions – we would be doing the responsible thing.
and in not? the converse – irresponsible.
martin’s words remind us to think about where – in the thick – we resolve to stand.
the spaceship hasn’t arrived and i am still – the tiniest little smidgiest iota of a bit – procrastinating. not entirely, but yes…enough. i’m wondering if there is such a thing as an estate sale while you are still alive and well and living in the house.
we waited for it. and the bit o’ sun showed up on christmas morning – after several days of fog. it was a moment of hope – to see that shining orb trying to burn its way through. it didn’t last long – it ended up raining – but it counts that it was there.
i woke early the other morning. snugged under the comforter and the quilt, open window by my side, i could hear birds. it’s unusual to hear them quite so zealous in the winter, but for a few minutes – on this not-as-cold winter dawn – they were there and it was exquisite.
we walked through the antique shoppe and stumbled across the frame of a lampshade tied with bits of muslin, satin and gauze. i was immediately back in the old farmhouse in iowa where several fabric-ed repurposed lampshades hung in a corner. we walked on, but that time-spent surrounded me for a few minutes and i texted the owner of the airbnb – just to let her know about this visceral fondness – the memories. they were there, swirling around me.
some things are indelible. they etch into us as touchstones of comfort. the sun, early-morning birds, memories. they feed us in times of extreme hunger, times when we really need something to hold onto that is somehow tangible even in its fleeting.
and some things are meant to be laid down. they are shadows. they starve us, they compel us into deeper waters where it’s harder to differentiate good from not-good and we feel a bit lost, out to sea. it’s too noisy, too raucous, too frenetic – when we are merely seeking serenity. we work to lay it all down – that which impedes us, which makes us stumble, which blocks us.
in this very first week of the new year i am hoping that this is the year i personally may be able to put a few things to rest. we all have them – those open manila file folders in our heads or hearts. i – like you – yearn to take a sharpie, label them “done”, slap the folders closed and staple them shut.
but even in this rapidly-approaching-medicare age of mine, i know there is work to get there. nothing worth doing is easy…isn’t that the saying? though i don’t have the flip-the-page-a-day-over-the-metal-u-rings-at-a-glance calendar that my sweet momma had, i want to flip the pages over to get there.
we all take out the manila folders and peek inside. it’s a hunger. to get to “done” on those folders and to get to “start” or “start again” on others.
and sustenance helps. the generous. the most basic. even crumbs. even the most transitory, the most evanescent. if it was there – if it fed us – it counts.
and it is time. to put it all away. the christmas trees are piling up in those grind-them-into-mulch places. the new year has arrived and with it the giant plastic bins come back upstairs. i’ll soon – with some reluctance – gently put away all the tiny trees, my mom and dad’s shiny brite ornaments, my children’s framed note to santa, the silver and snow-white of winter, all the gestures and mementos of the holiday season. the living room will look bland for the first few days, until i get used to it again.
it’s always a time to look around and imagine. imagine change of some sort – changing a look, rearranging, culling out, even minimizing. i run around – in my head – with ideas, things i’ve seen in catalogs or magazines, on hgtv or online – pondering, maybe doing a wee bit of rearranging here and there – thinking i’m too used to it to see it all as it is.
and then i stop and look. as if i just walked into our home for the first time. what do i see? what stands out? what gets lost? and, mostly, how does it feel?
we have both many hand-me-downs and many vintage pieces (read: old/re-purposed). they are in every room in our house. i wonder what our home would look like if we had started fresh and chose everything in it for specific purposes. how would it look with a narrow wood and pipe dinner table instead of my treasured sisu music productions’ office oversized teak table? how would it look minus the old desk and chifforobe in my studio? how would it be to change out the old cabinets in the kitchen – like most home-buyers these days? or to replace the cedar chest and old china closet in the dining room with cabinetry more suited for the space? to exchange the dresser i got from lois or the chest i got from miss peggy, the chimney cabinet from hayesville, nc or the ones i got at a wholesale show for my office space? the re-painted wicker set from the lanai in florida or the butterfly chair from one of the kid’s dormrooms? the gingham print reclining wingchair with fabric on the back that our angel babycat – in brattier moments – redesigned? and what about all those branches and rocks, driftwood and aspen and hagstones and miniature boulders, flat top red rock, tiny cairns?
it is a time to clean out – both figuratively and metaphorically. the beginning of the new year pulls at most of us that way. i’m already starting to rise to the culling part of that equation. though it’s never easy. give away, sell, find people who need the excess things we have.
the rest?
the replacing? the new purchases? the changing out? the shuffling around, the rearranging? not so much.
it’s home. it feels like home. and we’re used to it.
i spent much of last year looking back. way back. way past up-close. way way back – way way past the smallest of trees on the horizon. it was necessary and painful and shocking and mighty tedious.
“… the mind clings to the road it knows / rushing through crossroads / sticking like lint to the familiar…” (mary oliver)
and then you peel back the lint that is dryer-vent-covering it all. you wipe off the fuzzy pieces. you take a good hard look at what’s really there, at what you have softened with the padding of trying to forget, of stuffing you have piled on top of your frame, of what you have buried, of the traintracks you have sprinted ahead on, leaving the veritable picture of perspective – the v of traintracks running far behind – away away – with trees so small you can barely discern they are trees. and there it all is. raw.
and you can see it. and your brain tries to stop you from seeing it. both. so you sit with it – laden – burdened – in the retrospect of it all – connecting the dots, sometimes nodding your head in sudden understanding, sometimes eyes wide, horrified at it all.
it is surreal. you are back there. you can feel it. but you know – that in merely a blink – you can be where you are right now…where you are really.
and suddenly, you are at a crossroads. you must choose between replacing the lint – tamping it back down and turning your face away from it – or recognizing it as a shield, pulling it all out – this ancient insulation – discarding it and then staring at what’s left – what is now feeling air and space and attention.
“trauma creates change you don’t choose. healing is about creating change you do choose.” (michelle rosenthal)
and then, after some time – some processing, some sorting, some meaning-making, some swearing, much courage, sheer survival – you glance at all the baggage laying next to you – rolliebags and backpacks, crossbody bags and trunks, paper bags and reusable grocery sacks – and you pick up only that which you wish to carry.
and you make your way back up the tracks to the place you really are. the place by the big trees.
reverse threading 