we walked past macy’s in downtown chicago and i noticed a digital billboard as it transitioned into its next message. “the best present? being present.” i couldn’t agree more. as trite as that message may be, it is a truth that spans the ages, spans time, spans generations. if there is one consistent thing i talk about, it is moments. moments i’ve noticed. moments i’ve memorized. moments i’ve written down. always – moments i’ve spent being present. whether present for someone else or present in the universe for myself, it matters not. it is the act of showing up….all-in….that makes all the difference.
the beloved moments on facetime with my daughter, son and his boyfriend. the moments spent laughing on a phone call with friends or family. the moments watching a dear one open a present or two. the moments walking outside under a cold dark sky of stars. the moments in the dark room alit only with twinkling lights. the moments snuggled under a blanket. the moments cooking or eating together. the moments singing carols at the top of your lungs. the moments sharing stories. the moments making music. moments where distraction would make you would miss it.
in this time of full-tiltedness…heading into the new year, i hope that you are gathering moments like this in your heart. they are the best presents.
“…i love to watch the lights shine on my baby’s face…”
the place this song came from. motherhood. the full-body-overwhelming-love-feeling for me of holding my babies those first christmases. seeing the lights from the tree play on their faces was magic-on-earth. i suddenly understood my sweet momma and her joy having us there at christmas, surrounded by her babies (forever her babies, regardless of age.) this is a story-song. i’ll say little else about it. you’ll understand when you listen to the lyrics.
this painting!! i fell in love with it the instant i saw the horses. utter-arms-outstretched-bliss on horseback. what is not to love? i have been horse-crazy ever since i was little. my room decorations at one point in my life included stable-brown walls, burlap curtains, horse statues and ribbons on shelves and wall space and my headboard.
i took horseback-riding lessons as a little girl; i relished every minute of it. it was expensive (horses in general are expensive, whether you own or rent or just go on a trail ride) and the opportunity ran out for these lessons, but when i can, i ride. a couple years ago My Girl and i went on a trail ride out in the mountains of aspen. it was sheer heaven!
this painting!! it makes me think of other recent times looking-into-the-gentle-eyes of these beautiful animals. we walked later at night in holland past fields and obvious horse-fencing. i heard the sound of a horse nickering, that blowing-out of air so easily identifiable. i walked in the dark toward the sound. there at the fenceline was this beautiful horse, just waiting for us to quietly talk to him, stroke his face. no treats, just love.
this painting!! linda and bill can relate to horse-love. their horse chance is the sweetest. she literally finds her way to the side kitchen door in the morning if they haven’t gone out to feed her yet and will stick her head right inside the car as you drive slowly by.
this painting!! it transports me to warm springs ranch, a budweiser clydesdale eden with sweet foals and gentle giant mares. a glorious afternoon with wendy and jani, david followed me around with a camera, documenting my glee.
this painting!! it brings back all my having-a-horse-one-day yearning. ahhh. someday, i think. i have many brochures about the wild mustangs of out west, all needing homes and an adoptive chance at life, not to be swept up in roundups due to an imbalance of excess and lack.
this painting!! how will i be able to let it go – because someone will want this stunning painting for their home…
we spent a wonderful day thanksgiving friday in boston with craig and dan. taking trains here and there, we had brunch at the greatest little dietary-restrictions-aware-diner called the friendly toast, walked through a magnificently decorated copley place, had drinks together and went bowling, a tradition that has been established now for a few years. it would have been hard not to feel the holiday spirit; carols were playing and everything was decorated…and we were together.
copley place had enormous decorations. i mean eNORmous. everywhere you looked there were oversized ornaments and lights. now, normally i might find that gauche; in this case it was stunning. they really made you take notice. i wanted to sing carols and skip through the mall.
i keep carols on pretty much non-stop in this season. in the house they play on a boombox booming out of my studio. we drive with them on in the car. i sing in the shower. i make up new words to old standards and sing LALALALALA really loudly when i can’t think of the lyrics. joy joy joy! big joy!
thank you to copley place for the reminder that THE JOY of the season – those moments we are together – is enormous. it is oversized. it is stunning. take notice.
a couple of weeks ago i ran into a couple i hadn’t seen in many years. they asked me about my children and how they were; i excitedly rambled on about them for several minutes, explaining where they were living – 20 hours west and 20 hours east – and what they were doing in life. then they asked me how i was. i said, “you can always gauge a mom’s happiness by how recently she last got to see her grown children.” i was fortunate enough to see my daughter in november AND my son in november, so i was happy-happy-happy. time spent with them. a wondrous thing.
i was perched on one edge and My Girl on another, a ways down the side of the canyon. we yelled back and forth, listening to the echo, ultimately dissolving into laughter. the beauty. the joy. the echo. the laughing. a wondrous thing.
it was not his best bowling day; the planets clearly were out of alignment for My Boy, who pretty much rocks at bowling and many other sports, but he goofed around and cartooned and had us all laughing. so much fun on that lane. a wondrous thing.
we stood around the piano and sang in my studio, wendy’s voice next to my own. suddenly, that thing-that-happens-when-two-people-who-are-related-sing-together happened. my sweet niece’s voice and mine had the same timbre and it took my breath away. i had to stop for a moment to take it in. a wondrous thing.
from the moment we walked into their house, my girlfriend-since-elementary-school and i laughed. we told stories, reminisced, struggled to remember details, poured a little wine, shared some more. our husbands sipped lemon drop martinis and we talked non-stop. i wanted to stay longer, talk more, remember more. so much of my growing-up-history was standing next to me, hugging me as we left. a wondrous thing.
we don’t really leave the kitchen table when we are there. we sit on high stools and the chatter starts as soon as we arrive. our dear friends jen and brad and the two of us have potluck dinners on many friday nights; each couple has leftovers from the week and no one has to worry about cooking. we just heat up our leftovers and plate them and talk, wine glasses (or a beer in brad’s case) in hand. conversations about our children, our work, politics, travel, ukuleles, npr…the spectrum is wide and we relish the time that flies by; six hours later we glance at the clock pointing to post-midnight. a wondrous thing.
as glorious as the high mountains, ocean-front waves, flowers birthing out of winter, exquisite melodies, the first sip of coffee in the morning, a magical snowfall, texts with heart emojis, a hand holding yours, finding an old note in your child’s little-kid handwriting, black and white pictures of your parents in young days, shooting stars and sunrises…the list of wondrous things we can see around us is endless…limitless…boundless…
and moments shared? also endless…limitless…boundless…
my husband paints. he is an amazing painter. i truly love his work. with both of us as artists, it could be interesting to love each-other, but not love each-other’s-work. we are lucky to not only respect the work of the other, but to want to lift it up and out there to others, to share it with the world, to say, “LOOK! this is beautiful!”
my husband paints. his studio is in our basement. sometimes i wander down, sip coffee or tea or wine and watch his dance with canvas. i’m aware of the stacks around me, paintings that have not yet been shown, paintings that need loving homes.
my husband paints. he doesn’t like selling things. it’s not his gig, so to speak. but me? i do like to sell things. it’s a joy, for me, to match a painting with a person (this usually happens naturally…they find each other) or music with a person’s need for music. in my next life (ok, one of the list of my next lives…a horse ranch is up there on the list too), i would love a small boutique shop, filled to the brim with things that people have made, repurposed, pieces of something old or something organic that are now treasured parts of a home.
visit the online gallery. take your time. listen. breathe. if you fall in love with something that speaks to you, let us know. it’s impossible for me not to say, “LOOK! this is beautiful!” my husband paints.
there is something magically sweet about a snowman. you know, without a doubt, that it won’t last forever, but it makes you smile every time you see one.
weeks ago when it had snowed packing-snow-to-just-cover-the-grass, the little boy a couple doors down went outside and built this snowman. his silly grin made me stop the car and back up; i had to take a picture of him, preserve him for gloomy days, days of no snow, days when it’s dark at 4:30.
little-kid relationship with snow is good wisdom to remember. embrace every chance to be in the moment. cherish the snow falling, the feeling of flakes gently landing on your face. treasure the slow-down of time, the chance to be with each other. be mindful that the time is fleeting; it won’t last forever. in this busy time, i think i will try to take every opportunity to build a snowman.
WE live here. on this beautiful planet earth. we have inherited it from those before us and we will pass it on to those who live beyond us. it is our responsibility to leave it as-good-as or better than we received it. (my sweet momma’s teaching…in all things.)
OUR. responsibility. we cannot just take; we must give back. and, as in all things, the things we learn must be applied, even if it’s hard, even if it’s inconvenient, even if it costs us, even if it won’t directly benefit us but will, alas, benefit those beyond us; our work, our diligence, our values, our dedication, our respect will transcend us.
the first thing The Girl did the morning before she drove back to the high mountains was to put her personal stamp on her new vehicle IVY. she planned carefully where to place the two stickers on the far back passenger side window. the POW sticker – protect our winters – a cause she believes in. on their site, “Outdoor sports is a way for the public to understand the consequences of climate change, and what we stand to gain by stopping it, or lose by failing to. We all need winter.”
it’s bracing. the changes OUR beloved planet is experiencing. the changes in weather, the changes in resources, the changes, ultimately, in the way we will each live – all around the world. the questions of being able to grow ample food supply, have enough clean water, and sustain this – what is, by sheer comparison – tiny planet in the vastness of space.
i stood in the living room of the historic mining house My Girl lives in right in the middle of telluride, colorado and saw this poster on the wall. each of the renters in this house, directly or indirectly, depends on the health of the outdoors in these high mountains for their livelihood. who among us does not truly – when you trace all things back to their source – depend on the health of OUR environment? NO SIDES IN CLIMATE.
everything we do or don’t do will affect this good earth. who is it that said, “you don’t know what you have till you lose it”? we take for granted that for which we should have the simplest and deepest of gratitude.
OUR earth. were it not here, where would WE live? how would SIDES matter?
peace signs. the word peace. ornaments of peace. our home is punctuated with these. i believe it is possible – peace. but then, for truly big things, i believe in that which i cannot see.
the days older that i get, the more i see the simplest things are the things that bring me peace: the moment in the car with my beloved daughter, driving and laughing in the high desert or standing on a red rock precipice overlooking a canyon, tears in my eyes. the moment my beloved son let me link arms walking through the city or his hugging me -one more time- right before the train, yes…tears in my eyes. being -anywhere- with my beloved husband. all the stuff of deep soul warmth. the stuff of good tears.
i have found that peace doesn’t have to be complicated. it is simply there. in the very tightest concentric circle around me. if i can be at peace, perhaps i can do my part, i can ripple that outward. and maybe, eventually, with all our ripples, peace and earth will truly combine to be PEACE ON EARTH.
we drove into new york from pennsylvania and one of the first things we saw on this beautiful drive was this sign. “it can wait,” it declared. so true. what’s so important that can’t wait a few miles? traveling at just 60mph that would only be a mere 5 minutes away. i was infinitely proud of my homestate of NY and the effort to acknowledge and accommodate today’s technology while not superseding safety. distracted driving is against the law in many states, including NY and for good reason. we have all been privy to devastating stories, accidents that might have been avoided, moments when paying close attention should be paramount. providing a place to communicate is smart; these text stops were fairly frequent on the road and there were always cars and trucks parked there. but on the road, speeding down the highway? no technology present.
we are kind of at the back end of technology, david and me. the girl and the boy are smack dab in the middle of it. and the little children and young teens we see running around with ipads for entertainment or their own cellphones are clearly at the leading edge. we’ve watched while standing in line, even at the post office, as a mother hands a small toddler a phone to play with while waiting. i’m not sure where conversation or making up games or riddles on the fly went. i remember standing in a zillion lines in the post office with the girl and the boy (shipping has been key in my business) and they seemed perfectly content to wait or, ohmygosh, just talk. no technology present.
but it’s different now (saying this is a sure sign of us getting older) and everything is more immediate and more distracted. how many times have you seen a couple together in a restaurant with cellphones at the ready, lingering halfway between their tablemate and the pull of the internet or the text or instagram or twitter… the look on one of the faces an expression of defeat or, worse yet, an aloofness that comes with not being able to compete with the magnetic pull of that small device across from them. “it can wait,” i whisper silently, wishing the other person at the table could hear. what’s so important it can’t wait? what’s more important than those moments spent together, really together? paying close attention. no technology present.
reverse threading 