This is a Good Life Letter

Dear Blog Reader,

Yesterday I had lofty goals of getting many items crossed off the list as this early Sunday morning brings another round of travel.  Instead, I nursed a headache from book club Christmas party shenanigans while drinking coffee with Karen and Brittany for hours.  Then, because she realized I was getting in rougher shape (so responsible I am!), Karen proclaimed that lunch was necessary and the next thing I knew I was in her car in a this is what I look like straight out of bed mode.  She was spot on.  Food fixed all woes.  Next, we went to a craft show and then put mascara on in the same bathroom - we showered in different ones - to get ready to head out to the annual cookie exchange.  Book club Christmas party Friday night, where there are no rules about sparkles and selfies and group picture posing.  Coffee drinking Saturday morning with Christmas tree leggings and two forever friends.  Pretending like I'm a college student lunching on Saturday afternoon.  Cookie exchange partying on Saturday night with even more of my favorite people.  This is a good life.  The only thing I can actually say was productive about the weekend was I had a really great mascara rendevous last night and much needed quality time with the people I call my people.  

P.S.

Please tell me you understand what I mean when I say it was a great mascara day.  Sometimes it goes on just right and you feel like you just might be six years younger.  

P.P.S

The picture of Bobsy Twin and me is supposed to not be the same exact one side by side but I'm sitting at the airport and I can't do anything to fix it so seeing double is what you get.  

P.P.P.S

Karen came to my house at 4:15 this morning to take my garbage out and clean the coffee pot and bring my running late hiney to the airport.  She is the very best human. 

Sincerely,

Me 

Standing by the Belief

If you keep a flower chair in the middle of your living room, a little girl named Emma will read a book upside down while listening to her mom and you visit about all kinds of important things like what dresses to wear the next day and which kind of cheese goes the very best with apples.  

If you let a little girl named Emma in on those types of conversations she will pop in with, "Hey!  This book is kinda like you two.  One is blonde and one is dark haired and they are best friends who say and do silly things."  

Right on Emma.  Right on.   

Once again, I stand by my belief that a flower chair in the middle of the living room begs to be sat on and creates a certain welcoming something something.  It's not going anywhere anytime soon. 

The Flower Chair

A few minutes ago, I was sitting cross-legged on my flower chair by the fire with a zebra coffee cup on the blue table and a book in my hand. 

 

It's the same scene that played out early last Saturday morning as well.  Before the text to Karen that sent off the day of random. 

 

You see, that flower chair doesn't really belong in the living room by the blue table and the fire.  But it's still there.   

 

It's still there a week later after a random Friday night in which four friends held wine glasses in their hands and pushed chairs as close as possible to visit in a way that hasn't happened for so long.  Life gets busy, crazy, and in the way sometimes.  So when the life crazy parts briefly and allows for talking until past midnight, you embrace it and squeeze hug it.  Right after you set out the cheese, apples, dates, olives, and other wine night musts. 

 

 

While you sit with music floating in the air, you send up a how did I get so lucky to have these kind of women in my life.  The kind that just say whatever it is that's on their minds.  The kind that are happy for you and all that's going right.  The kind that share where they are and it makes you a better person for it.   

 

Then, the next morning you wake up and walk out to living room to see the effects of the circle of talking and you leave it - just as it is and grab a blanket and a cup of coffee to keep the feeling. 

 

The rocker was moved back to its spot on Sunday but that flower chair is still sitting there in the middle of the living room.  Last night it was a landing spot for parents who were taking their littles trick-o-treating in the cold.  They warmed their hands while I let their kids run wild and encouraged the wild by adding to it myself.  You want another piece of candy Brooks?  Sure thing buddy.  You want me to flip you upside down and tell you in a silly voice, "Love you Hazel?"  Sure thing.  You want me to pull all four of you in close on the loveseat to tell you a whisper story about your Auntie Em?  Sure thing. 

 

I think that flower chair in the middle of the living room is just right.  It begs to be sat on and it makes for the best kind of circle visiting.  Yet another reminder of the perfect tends to come from the imperfect.   

 

It also makes for a win of a spot to drink Saturday morning coffee out of a zebra cup. 

 



Might Truly be the Best Ever

Last night in my reading of the current book club selection, Cutting for Stone, I came across what truly might be the best ever weaving of words. 

Let me set it up a bit...

The words of the century came in the book after a well known African children's tale was referenced.  A tale about a miserable merchant who hated the fact he had no money and hated the fact he held a lowly job and hated his life so much so that he couldn't even stand the sight of his battered and beaten slippers anymore.  He kept trying to get rid of the ghastly in his eyes slippers but every time he did, more disaster struck.  Catastrophic disaster.  The reference to this made in Cutting for Stone comes when the character named Ghosh is in an Ethiopian prison (Kerchele).  The old jailbird man who tells stories every night while they all try to sleep ends up saying right before they all drifted off - that merchant "might as well build a special room for his slippers.  Why try to lose them?  He'll never escape."  The man then died in his sleep while imprisoned.

Flash forward to Ghosh talking to his son after he is out of prison.  He says while discussing life and its twists and turns, "The old man was right.  The slippers in the story mean that everything you see and do and touch, every seed you sow, or don't sow, becomes part of your destiny..."

And then they came.  What might truly be the best ever string of words.  

"Ghosh sighed, 'I hope one day you see this as clearly as I did in Kerchele.  The key to your happiness is to own your slippers, own who you are, own how you look, own your family, own the talents you have, and own the ones you don't.  If you keep saying your slippers aren't yours, then you'll die searching, you'll die bitter, always feeling you were promised more.  Not only our actions, but also our omissions become our destiny.'"  

Owning the slippers.  Owning the slippers on our feet.  How beautiful.  How perfect.     

What follows now has entirely nothing to do with the aforementioned other than the to say one thing I own about myself is the poor planning of slamming in last minute projects.  Case in point this one, the painting of the two end tables I've had sitting in the garage since last winter when they were on the teacher classifieds as brown 1960 veneer numbers.

I decided they had to be finished before I started my new job.  Had to!  It started like any other painting project of mine.  With an oh I know!  I'll just paint these real quick like today.  Which turned quickly into a you've got to be kidding me?!  This is taking forever and now I have paint all over hell and can this just be done already?  I did push through and finish them - all two coats and a wax job later - and I do indeed rather enjoy how they turned out.  Even if my driveway still has blue speckles of paint all around. 

Back to the slippers and owning your own pair.  I do believe that sentiment and the way it was spoken is the best I've heard to describe successfully wrapping your head around life. 

Reading, Writing, and Hiney Kicking

"Readers, writers, and thinkers...we are going to learn something that you can use today and every single day for the rest of your life."

 

I had to do some presenting on nonfiction writing yesterday to our district with a wonderful coworker and ended up with marker all over my face and hands and went over time by a solid 20 minutes each session. I guess I can get a bit passionate about the difference between teaching writing and assigning writing. Either that or I really need to lay off the coffee. I think I'll just stick with that writing needs to be a part of the air breathed in every classroom. Because coffee isn't going anywhere.

 

In another life, I want to open a school.  Anyone know any big investors who'd want to help with that?  Send them my way.  I say that flippantly, but seriously.   

 

 

I finished up my day with blue marker still all over my hands but wiped off my face.  I was the first one to muscle pump and couldn't help but enjoy the sunshine streaming in.  Class was taught by the one and only Sara.  She is a hiney kicker but I love her smiling face so it makes it okay.  We work together too and we have matching sores right now.  Too many sit-ups will cause a sore at the exact hiney area I was referring to earlier.  In case you wanted to know. 

 

Like a Bee

When there are twelve things going on at one time is when I am the most productive. 

I don't know what it says about my personality but I'm sure it's hidden jargon for something. 

Given a day like Monday, an unexpected day off from work, I get nothing done.  

It was cold here.  Really cold.  Twenty below actual temperature with a whipping wind, working together to cause a dangerous situation for bare skin.  Which resulted in many events were cancelled, including school.  

A day off.  All by myself.  Unplanned.  

You'd think I would work on getting ahead at my second job so deadline in February wouldn't be so breath catching.  You'd think I would work on the couple of nonfiction writing presentations I've been asked to do later this month.  Yes, you'd think.  

But instead I did nothing.  

 

First, I did work out with Karen early in the morning and then I did go to Brittany's for a cup of coffee.  But then, nothing. 

Other than cleaning the house, doing the laundry, getting all caught up on picture organizing, writing thank you cards, making good clean food, enjoying the sun spots in the house, wearing wool socks, and reading.

The stuff of a heart happy for me. 

The majority of the time, I was snuggled in a fuzzy blanket in the corner of the couch closest to the fire devour style reading.  I read an entire book and got half way through the second one before calling it a night.  Do yourself a favor and pick up Brain on Fire and read it, absolutely captivating.  Orphan Train is what I'm now on and it's also a win.

Monday was a soul rejuvenation affair of nothing and I liked it.  

I will also say this.  I feel recharged.  My head is clear again and currently it's Wednesday night and there are eleven things going on around here and getting crossed off the to-do list besides this writing, so there you have it.  My personality glitch.  Whatever it says about me, it says. 

A Really Great Book

One of my happies...  

Pulling the old rocker over the fire.  

Making a cup of tee.  

And reading.  

Until my feet become so freaking hot I can't stand it anymore.  

This time it was in the afternoon sun on a December vacation day.  

But the time doesn't matter, as long as all elements are present.

 

And may I say this.  If you haven't read The Fault in Our Stars, do it now.  Like this weekend.  It's perfect really because if you live here, we will be buried under a layer of ice and snow and butt numbing cold.     

I read the book in one day over break.  Tears ran down my face.  It's one I will read again, the words and message are hauntingly beautiful.

 

"I am," he said.  He was staring at me, and I could see the corners of his eyes crinkling.  "I'm in love with you, and I'm not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things.  I'm in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we're all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun wills wallow the only earth we'll ever have, and I am in love with you." 

'Sometimes the universe wants to be noticed.'  "That's what I believe.  I believe the universe wants to be noticed.  I think the universe is improbably biased toward consciousness, that it rewards intelligence in part because the universe enjoys its elegance being observed.  And who am I, living in the middle of history, to tell the universe that it-my observation of it-is temporary?"  "You are fairly smart," I said after awhile.  "You are fairly good at compliments," he answered. 

"You are so busy being you that you have no idea how utterly unprecedented you are."

Up Up Time

Today was back to work day and now that it's evening, I think I feel alright with it.  Well, I have to be in compliance since the money tree for the backyard hasn't been delivered yet.  That Amazon Prime two day shipping isn't all it's cracked up to be.  Anyways back to what I was saying, I tend to take the week and a half or so of Christmas break to really fall off the routine and structure bandwagon.  I do things like eat coffee ice cream after having cinnamon sugar toast and I sleep until seven and don't do any running or really much of any activity other than sitting cross legged with a crochet hook or lifting a coffee mug to my face while visiting.  

 

 

And I have decided I need those days of no rules with wearing leggings with fuzzy socks and nights of baths with wine and a book.  It actually makes me itch and want the structure.  The down time makes me want the up time back.  I was excited last night to set my alarm for 4:42 to hit the gym and I felt back in control while packing my lunch with real food like carrots.  The novelty will wear off again and then force of habit will take over but for now, I'm enjoying it all feeling like new resolve.   

It's up time again.  Go time.   

But that's not to take away from the magic that was Christmas break this year.        

  

I am fairly certain I could have really handled a few more days off but like I said previously, I think I'm alright with being back in the game.  Days of playing with helicopters and enjoying homemade tomato soup with ridiculous grilled cheese and never taking off glorified pajamas can't last forever.  Right?  Money tree where are you?     

We are Strong

As I sit here on this Saturday morning of Christmas break, with my 1980s sweatshirt quilt wrapped around me and a space heater humming at my feet, I feel like I want to write.  Probably because I just spent the last two hours reading.  Reading makes you want to write.  Or at least it does that magic for me.  Reading someone else's fantastically woven words inspires me to sit down and peck something out.  All full knowing, it won't be to the caliber of published works. 

 

But it's writing.  For me. 

 

And writing is a funny thing.  Sometimes I don't feel like I want to ever do that business again.  To sit here in this blue paisley chair and put any thoughts from my head down to this paper.  And then I go with that feeling and don't do it just for the sake of it.  But then it strikes again, the pull to make sense of an intangible train of thoughts.  And then I go with that feeling too and sit here with my space heater to say something. 

 

 

Which in this case is...

 

I love my book club. 

 

You want to talk about something that makes me feel inspired to read, write, and to live like I could jump off any risk at any moment?  Let's talk about book club then.

 

It's a sacred thing.  I don't toss that word around lightly either.  Sacred.  Sitting around a table or in a cluster of chairs or we could even sit on the floor, with that group of ladies...is magic. 

 

We had our annual Christmas party the Friday before all of the festivities started and this year proved to be as epic as all previous.  Complete with the Bison game on in the background playing to a vinyl records soundtrack of the old country of George Jones mixed in with the shatteringly beautiful Your Song by Elton John. 

This time of year is always bittersweet.  One celebration after another while the ever present nag of this the end of another year pulls at my heartstrings.  This party was the kick start to the nostalgic feeling of wrapping up the past 365 days.  All of us went around the table and reflected upon our favorite moments from 2013.  Our challenges and our triumphs and our misgivings came through, like they always do. 

 

It's a rare commodity, to be fully accepted and never judged and to put it almost unfairly simple, that is precisely what my book club is for me.  I often say things in book club or think things aloud in book club which I believed in my head would never see the light of day.  For I know those thoughts flying out of my mouth, have a safe spot to land.

 

It's a sacred thing.  Book Club.  At the end of every meeting, there is usually a mess of wine glasses and empty martinis and leftover bits of food and crumpled napkins but as we all put our coats on and shake our hair out of their collars, we are never a mess.  Quite the opposite, we are aligned and back to our core...ready to tackle the next month.  Because anytime we are given the full acceptance we all crave and so desperately need, everything else - all the little - quite frankly doesn't freaking matter.  

 

For we have been reminded we are strong.  Strong women who can and will do anything.