Like This One?

My husband found the very first one while we were on a walk around Lake Superior almost 16 or 17 years ago.  The water was calm and the sun glistened upon the lake and the rocks along the shoreline. We were amazed at all the different colors and odd shapes of stones we were walking on.  I mentioned that it would be nice to find one shaped like a heart and just as I said those words, he bent down and lifted a wet pink stone out from amongst the smaller ones. “Like this one?” he said.  We both looked at each other and laughed.  It was as if it had been planted there for us to find just at that moment.  It was a perfect heart-shaped rock.  He put it into my hand and I’ve kept it on a shelf in our home ever since. 

Finding that pink stone created in me a desire to find more.  It’s something I’m always conscious about and on the lookout for, but usually only pick them up when we’re on vacation or on a hike. I’ve spotted them in the parking lot at the grocery store or at the baseball park, but for some reason, I’ve chosen to leave those.  For me, it’s more fun to be in nature and spot them.  It makes me feel special when I find one. As if someone knew I was coming and placed it on the trail for me to discover.

Over the years, my collection has grown, but is still small in number.  I likely have 15-20 stones and a few heart-shaped shells as well. My children look for them now too when we hike and travel together.  It makes our time on the trails a little more special.  And the rule is: it has to really be heart-shaped, not “kind of” or “if you hold it this way” shaped.   It has to look like a heart to everyone. 

I can’t recall where each one has come from, but they are all special to me, but not as special as the first one my husband found for me.  It was a very romantic moment and was as if he said to me, “What ever you desire, I will provide.”   Every time I bend down to reach for one now, I recall that Saturday morning, holding hands and listening to the waves gently tapping the shoreline.  If I were to take that walk today, I could show you the spot where he found it; my beautiful pink heart-shaped stone. 

It's Worth Ten Points

When I was in college, I was President of the Resident Assistant Association on our campus for a year.  We held meetings twice a month to discuss ways to support and entertain the Residence Hall members we were monitoring. I don’t remember much about all the activities and people involved because there were so many, but I do remember one meeting we had very clearly.  That meeting has stayed with me for my entire life since then and I often recall the discussion in my mind.  

Our Director of Residence Life spoke as a guest speaker that day and discussed the topic of freshmen not being able to prioritize their activities well and how they often let little things bring them down instead of staying focused on the important things.

Here’s how she explained it to us.   Picture a target at the end of a 100-foot range. When a marksman aims at the target, he always aims at the center to obtain the highest marks.  Ten points awarded for a bullseye.  The next ring out is worth 9 points.  The next ring out is worth 8 points and so on.   It’s a basic concept.

Now picture those in your life who are important to you.  Can you see them?   They are the target.  Those closest to us; spouses, children, parents and siblings are the bullseye.  Our close friends and other relatives are the next ring out.  The further away from the bullseye, the less important the people become.   The outer lying ring could be the grocery store clerk or even the cashier at Taco Bell. They aren't worth many points on your target.  

She went on to explain that many freshmen tend to get bothered with the little things and give those items permission to upset their daily routines or lives.  Why spend thirty minutes upset about the slow traffic or a report that won’t print? Only one point. Maybe even zero. These items are on the outer ring of the target and many times aren’t even on the target, but the wide-open space surrounding the target. We give the unimportant things too much value and permission to bring us down.  We are aiming at the wrong part of the target and need to focus on hitting the bullseye!  Far more points awarded for that arrow than hitting the tree behind the target.   It is up to us to practice our aim and to shoot at the high value parts of the target. 

I will never forget that meeting and have thought about it so many times in my life. It’s a very simple concept to comprehend. The big points come from those closest to us.  They care about our happiness and well-being. They are the ones who bring us dinner when we’re sick and the ones who want the very best for us. The drive-thru Taco Bell cashier does not.  So today, aim for the bullseye because it’s worth ten points.

My Perfect Table

Why is it that when things aren’t perfect, we get annoyed. I know, because I can become this person very quickly and have to try and fight myself from getting annoyed. I have to really remember that it’s ok to have dents and scratches in my life.

When I packed up the Christmas tree ornaments a few years ago, I set my large ornament box onto the dining room table so I could reach it more easily.  As I finished, I pushed the box down the length of the table to make room to wrap up the star (which is terribly old and torn and really should have been tossed out eight Christmases ago).  When I lifted the box to make my way to the basement with it, there in the middle of the table was a scratch 20 inches long glaring right at me.  I was furious and didn’t have anyone but myself to blame.  The box had a huge copper staple sticking out of the corner and was the culprit of the table’s now ugly scar. My “perfect” table was now imperfect, or so I thought at the time.

Why do we get so angry about these things?  It doesn’t make sense to get upset over a table, does it?  Of course not, but our minds tell us that when these things happen, somehow the “perfect” image we have of ourselves is now not so perfect.  Oh my goodness, what will someone say if they see my scratched table? Silly worries. I have yet to have one person comment on the table. 

These things happen and are what make life interesting.  I’d much rather have dinner at my friend’s house on a scratched table and hear a great story about how it got scratched than eat at a house with a perfect table any day.  The scratch is part of my life and reminds me of that moment each time I see it.  Looking at it, I think of all the ornaments that were on the tree.  The puzzle wreath my oldest son made in kindergarten with his little picture in the middle, the handprint on pink paper that our youngest son painted with his fingers and tied with a green ribbon and the blue glass ornament we got in Bermuda and how the color was exactly the color of the ocean that day.  That scratch is my life and the memories in it.  I like my scratched table now. It’s perfect.

A Date to Circle on the Calendar

I just got my new Budget Travel magazine (it’s the only one I actually read cover to cover) in the mail yesterday and it made me think of where we might go on vacation this summer.  We don’t have anything on the calendar yet and really would like a timeframe to look forward to. Be it a weekend away or a cruise, I’d just like to have a date to circle on the calendar. Have you ever noticed that if you don’t have something to look forward to, things can get a little blah?  I know life is busy and there are the weekly things to look forward to like book club, a soccer game, hat day at school, a great presentation you’re planning to give; but for me, having that one big day circled on the calendar to look forward to makes life a little more perky.   

I don’t know if it’s the anticipation and counting down the days to a trip that’s more exciting or the actual vacation itself. It’s hard to say.  I enjoy both, but would probably say that the anticipation is a bit more exciting for me. I love thinking about what the area will look like and what the “vibe” of the location will feel like. Will the weather be warm and comfortable?  Will we find a great adventure to participate in while we’re there?  Will there be any surprises we find along the way?  It’s always more enjoyable to daydream when that day is out there.

Plus, I’m one of those who love to pack early too.  Having my suitcase on the floor for the week leading up to the trip just adds to the excitement.   I don’t like to be rushed.  EVER. I don’t think well under pressure so planning ahead and making all the lists of “Things to Pack” and “Things to Buy”, is part of the enjoyment for me. I love the feeling of being prepared.  Having the boys ask, while we’re on the plane, “Did you pack our red goggles instead of the blue ones?” and being able to say, “Yes,” is very satisfying for me. 

Perhaps this week we should get the ball rolling and figure out when and where and for how long.  I need something to look forward to that doesn’t involve the grocery store or laundry.  I need to circle a day on my calendar and soon! 

Nothing Pleases Me More

Nothing pleases me more than when my children don’t respond to me calling them to dinner.  “Boys, it’s time to eat. Wash your hands and come down.”  No response…still no response.  It drives me batty; however, when it’s because they both have their noses buried in a book, I’m ok with that.   I am so thankful they have embraced the joy of reading at such an early age.  I know by the number of books they read, it will be a life-long activity for both of them.  Nothing pleases me more.

We were in Barnes & Noble today (our favorite store in the world) on a mission for my little guy to get a book he’s been wanting for a while and saved his Christmas money to buy. He headed straight for the section where his book was located while my older guy headed to his section while I struggled to keep up with them.  They both looked like book zombies walking to their assigned areas in the store.  One went straight and the other turned right and parted ways. All  of a sudden, my little guy grabs a book off the shelf before I can see what it was and starts running, and I mean running, towards his big brother, with the book in hand.  Repeatedly shouting his name in a loud whisper, trying to get his big brother’s attention, he waved the book overhead.

He handed it off to his brother only to receive the biggest smile ever!  It was the newest book in a series he loves and had been waiting for its release for quite some time.  I don’t know what was more exciting to see: Witnessing my little guy thinking of his brother and wanting him to have something he wanted so badly and the fact that he knew enough about what his brother reads to recognize the new book or seeing the smile on the face of my oldest when he realized his weekend was now going to be filled with 10 hours of reading his new book.  It was just a wonderful moment and makes me so proud of them.

Yes they love to play video games and go swimming, be with friends and the like, but having them both be content on the couch with blankets tucked under their chins, the fireplace on and their noses buried in a book couldn’t make me happier.  Nothing pleases me more.

This I Know For Sure

Today is a day of thanksgiving for so many things.  I don’t’ even know where to begin to try and explain the events of today and the events that led up to today.  I don’t need to go into detail, but will tell you what I know for sure as of today, February 17, 2010.

            It is often darkest before the sun rises.

            La joie peut être entendue par le téléphone.

            Anxiety is REAL and affects the physical and emotional being.

            Your beliefs can be tested in very real ways.

            Sometimes our “wants” are bigger than we can handle alone.

            Wearing your heart on your sleeve is ok.

            A smile CAN be 10 miles wide.

            Determination is powerful.

            Patience is a virtue I do not have.

            I am blessed by God with my family and friends.

            A shark tooth necklace is worth a 1000 words.

            A parent truly feels a child’s every emotion tenfold.

            Your heart CAN beat out of your chest.

            Trusting isn’t always easy.

            Tears of joy can be exhilarating.

            Sometimes waiting is harder than knowing.

            You can pray in the drive-thru line.

            Belonging is important.

            Having passion in your life is paramount.

            Believe in yourself.

            Attitude is everything and can make change happen.

            God is real.

           

I go to bed tonight with only praise and joy in my heart. I will remember today for the rest of my life.  This I know for sure.

Obliviousness

I see.  I hear.  I watch.  I observe.  I pay attention.  I do, but some people don’t.  I often wonder how this “type” of person gets by in the world. Does not observing or paying attention somehow make life easier for them and relinquish them from any sort of responsibility?  I don’t understand this personality trait.

Waiting with my youngest son to get a haircut yesterday, I saw a mother walk in with her two young boys whom were crying about not wanting to get a haircut and heard her tell them to just sit and be quiet (in a not so loving way).  I watched as she got out her texting device and began to text away and continue to be annoyed with her children bothering her while she typed into oblivion.  I then observed her two boys (2 and 5 years old) destroy the display shelves of shampoos and hair tonics while her head was buried in her 1 ¾ inch screen.  My 9 year-old paid attention to what they were doing and looked at me as if to say, “Why isn’t that mom doing anything?” I could not believe what I saw next.

The stylist who was to cut their hair (bless her heart), called their names twice, because the mother obviously couldn’t hear (a fact already proven when the gels and texturizing creams hit the floor 22 inches from her feet without so much as a head turn) and only after the stylist walked over to the mother and tapped her on the shoulder did she lift her head.  The mother stood up and looked directly at the disaster on the floor her children so thoughtfully created and said, “Shame on you both,” and walked to the cutting chair.  She did not, I repeat, did not pick up one of the 20 some bottles and jars that remained scattered on the floor. Another stylist, on her way to break, picked them up and reorganized them back onto the shelves within a minute of her walking back to the chair.

Unbelievable!

I’m guessing this “type” gets by in the world because there’s always someone following up behind them doing what they should be doing.  Someone else watches out for the child.  Someone else cleans up the mess. Someone else gets them where they need to be.  You can’t tell me for a minute, that she couldn’t hear them dropping the bottles.  That’s just not possible.  I can talk on the phone, stir boiling noodles and hear that my two boys are giggling about the cats upstairs and that the radio in our bedroom is on.  It is possible. 

This woman’s obliviousness made my blood boil and force me to shake my head in disgust. Well, to the stranger in the hair salon; I saw you, I heard you, I watched you, I observed you and I paid attention to you.  Shame on you!  

Have I Ever Been A Mrs. Turtle?

Have you ever been stuck behind a turtle driver when you’re in a hurry?  Have you ever been in line behind the woman who can’t find her check card and continues to dig in her purse looking for it while you huff and puff to yourself? It’s frustrating and inevitably happens when we’re in a hurry.  Why is that?  Is it because we have poor timing or bad planning?  Perhaps we’re in a bad mood or it occurs on a day when the “to do” list is enormous and it just bothers us more.  Or maybe, just maybe it happens because it’s supposed to happen.

I am one who has always believed that everything happens for a reason.  I may never discover or understand the meaning behind what happens, but do believe that there is usually some purpose to the everyday events that occur and usually without our giving it much thought.

Not too long ago I was behind a lovely woman turtle driver, (we’ll call her Mrs. Turtle) and wanted to change lanes to go around her and be on my merry way. Just as I decided to turn my blinker on, a red pickup truck switched lanes locking me in place behind Mrs. Turtle. I sighed out loud in frustration.  Not two minutes later, me still behind Mrs. Turtle, was a police officer pointing his radar gun out his window right at us.  Needless to say, I was going the speed limit care of the pokey driver in front of me.   I laughed to myself and didn’t give it much thought.

Remember, I am one who believes everything happens for a reason, so as I look back upon that moment, maybe, just maybe, Mrs. Turtle was supposed to be in front of me so that I would slow down and not be tagged by the laser gun.  Mrs. Turtle was my saving grace, my “get out of jail” card without her even knowing it. 

She was there when I needed her yet she knew nothing of it and was probably in her own little world listening to NPR. Does this classify as a miracle?  Probably not, but it does make me feel assured that God is out there and he sees me and knows what I need better than I do. 

It makes me wonder whether or not I’ve ever been someone’s Mrs. Turtle.  Have I ever done something or said something that helped someone unbeknownst to me?  Has God ever used me in this way, to assist someone, to protect someone, to enlighten someone? (Ok, maybe I’m hoping on that last one, but I think at some point we have all wished we could help enlighten others to be the best they can be.)  Maybe I have, but may never know for sure.  Only time will tell.

964 FRT

It’s an ongoing game we play.  It confuses their friends when they’re in the car with us, but we still play it anyway.  Maybe you do too.  We don’t have a name for it, but perhaps should look into that.  Here’s how you play:  Get in the car.  Drive.  Observe. Spot a funny one and read it!  That’s all there is to it. Here’s one I saw this morning coming back from dropping the boys off at school; 035 KID.  I thought to myself, "Wow, that’s a lot of kids to have."  And, if there’s ever one that ends in GAS, or FRT watch out.  Giggles guaranteed from the backseat for sure. (And it doesn’t matter what the numbers are on those!) Not everyone has a humorous one, but if you try, you can usually come up with some phrase that works.  Mine is boring and ends with PJN.  Can’t really come up with anything clever for it.  Do you have a good one?  You could buy one if you choose, but for us, that takes the fun out of being creative and letting random thoughts pass through your mind.

It’s one of the times when it’s ok to interrupt the conversation, because it passes by so quickly and we always want to catch a view of it.  It’s not uncommon to be talking and then someone just shouts out, “Wow, that woman has read 856 books!”  We all try to get a peek before it’s gone and crane our necks just so for a clear shot of it.  It’s a way to pass time or make someone laugh.  You’ll have to try it next time you’re in the car.  It’s addicting.  You can start the next time you’re at a red light.   Read the license plate of the car in front of you and see if you can make something clever out of the letters and numbers. It doesn’t have to make sense or be funny, but it counts for more points if it brings a smile to the faces of the rest of the passengers in the car.  Good luck and if you come up with a name for the game, you’ll get bonus points.  So be ready for the next time I’m in the car with you, I just might shout out, “Hey, that man has 8 legs!”  (008 LGS)  It will make you look, that’s for sure.  Happy license plate reading.

Progress

For the last two weeks I’ve been writing and writing.  Ok, not writing and writing, but typing and typing.  Each day staring at a blank page and wondering if something will come to mind that is worthy of the keystrokes and time.  It’s been very interesting, difficult and enjoyable all at the same time.  For me, it’s been about discovering that inspiration is in the small things, the everyday things that seem to last only minutes.  These moments bring me the most satisfaction because these moments are my life.  All of us have thousands of moments that happen throughout the week, but don’t always take the time to see the humor, the joy or the lesson in them.  I’ve been diligently trying to be aware of these moments and seeing the truth in them, the frivolity in them, the importance in them and the life in them. The “them” is my life and what my eyes see and what my ears hear and there is so much to see and hear.  However, I’ve tried to be selective on what I write about. I haven’t written about my kids giving each other the “look” at breakfast or how much I detest putting the wet laundry into the dryer. (I really “hate” this part of doing the laundry.  I don’t know why, but I do.)  I also haven’t written about the fact that every morning I put 11.7 miles on the car taking the boys to school and once drove 52 miles in one day.  (How?  I do not know.) These are moments in my life, but do they have meaning in them?  Not so much.  They do show a snapshot of a moment in time, in my life, but haven’t made it onto my list of on-going ideas to draw from.  So, today I will continue to try and make progress on my goals and dreams.  I will write from my heart and share with you only those things I feel are worthy of the keystrokes and time, clicking on “File” >”Save As” and of being “backed up” on my external hard drive.  Here’s to progress!

Home

Come this July, we will have lived in this home for thirteen years. The longest I’ve ever lived in one home.  I love our home. There’s the one drawer by the fridge that always squeaks when you close it too hard, the stain on the carpet where I dropped the bleach bottle lid.  (Yep, the spot is now white and very visible.) There is the green sponge painted dinosaur behind our son’s bedroom door that we didn’t paint over when we upgraded his room theme to basketball.  There’s the one rail that is glued together because our son fell down the stairs and snapped it into two as well as snapped his collarbone doing so.   There’s our youngest son’s name hand-painted above his door that he won’t let us paint over, and a customized basketball free-thrown line and key painted on the basement floor.  The list goes on and on. 

But the time has come that we feel the need to move to a new house.  By doing so we hope to be closer to the boys’ schools and friends, have a little bit more space to spread out and perhaps have a flat driveway. (Our realtor told us it would be one of the reasons we’d want to sell this house one day. “Not a great driveway for children to play on.”  He knows his stuff!) 

We’ve embarked upon this quest several times in the last two years, with no success, but am hoping the third time’s the charm.  Looking for a new house can become obsessive very quickly.  Of course, the internet doesn’t help.  We don’t even have to brave the elements outside, but can walk from home to home in the comfort and warmth of our bed.  The only problem with this we’ve found is that home sellers don’t photograph what they don’t want you to see, like a 10-foot section of fence missing in the backyard or the water-stained ceiling in the kitchen.  They’re very clever as am I. (You won’t find a picture of the south side of our basement on-line. No siree.  Nor will you find a picture of our hallway with the bleach stain posted on-line.)  I could spend all day browsing the pictures and finding them on a map and have come close a few times to doing just that.

We’re truly hoping that we’ll be able to find a home that will fill our “needs” and perhaps a few of our “wants” as well. I know our new house is out there and have probably driven right by it on my way to the library or to the grocery store.    So if you’re listening new house, please wait for us.  Just sit tight and keep quiet until we get to you and find a new family that will appreciate the green dinosaur, the basketball court in the basement and the fact that a family actually lived in this home and created some of its imperfections.

I am Mom Of Sons

I watched the last few minutes of Dances with Wolves last night and caught it at the most moving part of the entire movie.   Wind In His Hair is atop the ridge on his horse and shouts down to Dances With Wolves and says, “I am Wind In His Hair. Do you see that I am your friend? Can you see that you will always be my friend?” This is a powerful moment in the movie given these two were mostly at odds with each other throughout the story. One person declaring his friendship to be real and true for the other, not holding back anything, but shouting at the top of his lungs to his friend. 

Why don’t we do this more? Declare our love for the entire world to see.  Shouting our love to our husbands and wives, our children and our friends might end the wars of this world. We wouldn’t be able to do anything but smile when the words were heard.  Knowing that you are loved and needed by someone makes everyone feel stronger and more worthy, thus making you stand taller and more apt to pass that feeling along to others.  We don’t do this however, because society has told us we need to be quiet and never “bother” anyone around us. There is something wrong with this picture. It happens occasionally at a college graduation or at a rock concert.  “We love you, Sarah!” “We love U2!”  Does this annoy you in any way, or does it make you smile?  Of course it makes you smile, and if you’re Sarah or U2, you love it and it brings great joy and a feeling of love to your spirit.

Why save the adoration for those once in a lifetime events?  Why not shout out, “I am the mother of the two greatest boys on earth” at the next baseball game or at the grocery store? It just might catch on for all you know.   A little shout out to your husband as he walks in the door, “You’re the best kisser in the world!” just might make his day.  It surely can’t hurt or possibly have a negative outcome.  (Well, maybe a little bit of embarrassment by your 13-year old son; but hey, he’ll get over it and be thankful later on that he has a mom who loves her family so.)

So, you better be prepared and on the lookout for me, because I just might be that mom at the next band concert that stands up and shouts, “I am Mom Of Sons.  Do you see that I love them?   Can you see that I will always love them?”   Don’t be surprised if you hear those words.  It just might happen, and when it does, I hope you smile.

Sore Throat

I was sound asleep as I heard my little guy say quietly beside my bed, “Mommy, I have a sore throat and it hurts really bad.”   I rolled over and looked at him and told him to go and get one of the sore throat lozenges from the cabinet in the bathroom.   He looked at me and told me that one of those wasn’t going to help at all because it hurt so badly.  I looked at him and a with little more firmness told him to just suck on it and it will help.  Whining was definitely not going to help and informed him of this.

I heard him rummaging through the plastic bag of drops in the bathroom.  I didn’t want him to be sick and sure hoped he wasn’t coming down with strep throat or a cold.  It’s no fun having a sick child.  A few more minutes went by and I thought I heard him crying.  (I had let both boys sleep on the floor in our room since Daddy was out of town.) Sure enough he was whimpering on the floor holding his cough drop. He saw me look at him so hopped up and came over to sit on the edge of the bed when he started to tear up even more and continued to tell me it still hurt.  I saw that he was holding the cough drop instead of sucking on it and told him he had to put it into his mouth if it was going to help at all.  Holding it was of no use. 

He put his left foot onto my chest and asked me to rub it.  I told him that rubbing his foot wouldn’t help his sore throat, and asked him to try and rest.  He started crying again, so I knew this was bad.  I asked him to open his mouth so I could take a peek and he started laughing.  He said it wasn’t his throat that hurt, but his foot.   We all started laughing.  I obviously heard him wrong.  Throat. Foot.  It all sounds the same when you’re half asleep.  We couldn’t stop laughing. I had told him to get a cough drop and that would help and he was so obedient and just did what he was told, but knew it wouldn’t help. Too funny.   We laughed out loud for several minutes and cried from laughing so hard.  I began to rub his foot as his tears quickly turned to giggles and the “”sore throat” went away.  

A Writer

A writer likes to be alone in a room

Happily writing sparkling prose.

The quiet lends itself to flow

Of the words that linger in the soul.

A writer voices what stirs the heart

Providing others with the beat.

The words are only a small part

The rest, we complete.

A writer has something to say

About the world or small detail in life.

They hope to inspire, amuse or relay

A point of view unique to their beliefs.

A writer truly wants to be read

On a bus, by the lake or in the car.

Opening up thoughts in your head

Taking you places afar.

A writer is what I aspire to be

Finding a place for the words within.

Opening the doors to what I see

This is how I will begin.

The Card

Fiction

The card was baby pink and had a red heart in the middle of it, with a cursive “I love you” written across the center.  It was the only one left at the gas station counter at 11:37 P.M. so he had no choice but to buy it.  It would be the vehicle that would say what he wanted to say yesterday but couldn’t.  He had to tell her he loved her or he just might die. At least that’s how he felt. Death would be better than letting this crack in the window of their relationship close too quickly. He started writing under the phrase printed on the inside of the card, “it’s how I feel about you”.  He began to put down the words that were his thoughts and couldn’t stop writing.  He had to draw arrows directing her where to read next so that his midnight poetry would make sense to her.  He didn’t leave anything out.  He told her his life meant nothing with out her in it and would make her happy if it required his last breath.  He needed to tell her. She had to know this.  He signed the card with his initials and sealed the envelope, addressed it and then went back into the gas station to buy a stamp then dropped the white envelope into the mailbox slot out front. 

When he got back home, his granddaughter was sitting at the kitchen table crying.  He held her until she stopped.  It had only been a week since her mother, his daughter, had passed away. Her two younger sisters were asleep on the couch.  They were too young to lose sleep over their loss.  He gave her a kiss on the forehead and told her to get some sleep and that things would be better in the morning.  She curled up next to her sisters and closed her eyes.

He climbed the stairs and got into bed, and he too began to cry, for his loss and fear of losing once again in what little life he had left in this world.  Tomorrow would be another day.  A better day.  He hoped, a day closer to loving her. 

Daydream

When I daydream, I always wander to the same place.  The road is covered by trees and shrubs and vines are creeping up the trunks of all the old oaks. When I see the wooden fence line on the left, I’m almost there. A natural opening occurs in the trees and there is a dirt road on the left that leads to the cabin. The dirt is soft and moist from the rain.  I always roll the window down to listen to the drops of rain falling from the leaves onto the wet undergrowth.  The smell fills my lungs with moisture and makes my heart ring.

The cabin is almost a mile off the road and is over 100 years old.   It was built by a man and his wife and took over two years to complete.  The porch is slanted towards the east side and two boards are cracked on the second step leaving a hole big enough for the rabbits that reside under the porch to come and go as they like. There really isn’t any paint on the house anymore, just chips of white flake here and there.  To paint it would spoil the charm and character the house worked so hard to achieve.

The view is nice, (a small lake surrounded by sugar maples) but it’s the atmosphere of this nook that draws me in.  The sky is barely visible due to the height of the trees and the ground is covered with leaves of every color the autumn weather can create.  It’s not cold, but a sweater is always around my waist.  The air is heavy from the rain and the trickle of water running down the side gutter can be heard ever so slightly. I can smell the lake and its muddy bottom from the steps. 

It is in this daydream that peace wraps around me like an old fashioned shawl.   I feel embraced by warmth and serenity just by “being” in this place.  I always sit in the rocking chair on the porch for an hour or so before going inside to light the logs in the fireplace.  Solitude.  Quiet.  Nature.  All in their place in this place. My daydream.  My place. 

I'm No Expert

I am not one of those who know the names of all the Presidents (I think I could name ten), nor do I claim to be an expert on all things baking (that requires skills I don’t have).  I cannot tell you the type of bird that sits on my fence in the morning to greet me at my kitchen window and I most certainly will not be able to help my children with their calculus homework in a few years (we have Uncle Jason and Arif Cha Cha for that). 

Now, am I capable of learning all those things? Of course, but do I need to know those things?  Not really.  I can Google a list of the Presidents in record time. I can buy beautiful cupcakes at the store, and I could probably take a picture of the bird and figure out if he’s a chickadee or a wren.  As for the calculus homework, I have the phone numbers of the uncles aforementioned, so am good there.

There are some days; however, that I wish I was an expert at something.  I don’t know in what, but it might be nice.  At dinner with friends, if the conversation happened to turn to, let’s say, animals of the artic and you were an expert; how splendid! You would be able to add your two cents about the Narwhal’s eating patterns or how the Arctic Tern migrates over 22,000 miles each year. “Fascinating, just fascinating,” they would say.  You’d smile and feel all “know-it-all” like inside, but that moment would pass and then the discussion would turn to finance and everyone would order dessert. Would being an expert on arctic animals benefit the conversation at dinner?  Maybe - Maybe not.

Perhaps that’s what this is about.  I’m searching for that subject I enjoy enough to become an expert on the topic.  Not so I can fluff up the dinner conversation, but to fuel my soul and keep my mind wondering and wanting to learn as an adult.  My dad and I have often talked about the fact that the value of education is lost on teenagers. I didn’t pay attention to Mrs. Peterson’s lectures, as I should have, but learned enough to take the test and pass.  There was no joy in 8th grade English, but now as an adult, I wish I knew more about punctuation rules and when it’s appropriate to use “…” or a hyphen.

As an adult, my interests continue to change and am enlightened by all that there is to learn and know.  For now, learning about writing and all the possibilities that come with that subject is fascinating, just fascinating. (To me, anyway.)  I hope that you will take a minute today to embrace something that fuels your soul and read about it, learn about it, watch a movie about it.  Because when our souls are fed, we are happier people.

A grammar book I checked out from the library is calling my name.  I’m off to learn and fuel my soul.