The Royal Event

I know I’m not alone.  I know you will be watching. You’ll watch from the couch or from the warmth of your bed (since it will be VERY early in the morning).  I know you will, even if you say you won’t. You’re curious just like the rest of us.  It’s ok to wonder and want to see it. I’ll have to set my alarm, but I’ll be up and watching as William and Kate walk down the tree-lined aisle of Westminster Abbey.   Yes, they are bringing in trees (six English Field Maples and two Hornbeams) to line the aisle along with plants, and flowers galore.  Can you even imagine the glorious aroma that will fill the church?

I love all the hubbub that will go on and all the pomp and circumstance with the Royal mews (go ahead and look it up, I had to too!), the mounted military, the carriage, oh the carriage.  Wouldn’t it just be grand to ride in that carriage?  I do think it would be splendid. (Do you like my British speak?)

I don’t care what anyone says about it being silly to get up at 2/3/4AM to watch it in all its glory.  I am going to watch every minute of the day as it unfolds and celebrate the history-making event that it is and enjoy the beauty that royalty can afford.  I can hardly wait.

I think part of the thrill for me is that no one (us commoners that is) knows what to expect.  We will all be surprised by what we see as we see it unfold right before our eyes.  What crown will she wear?  Will the bridesmaids be in white or spring colors or a deep navy blue?  Will she have a train?  Will he carry a sword?  Will he wink at her as she steps beside him?   Who doesn’t love a fairy tale? I know I do and there will be no laughing at me when I cry. 

I’m not a betting person, but if I was, here is what I’m willing to bet:

She will wear a ball gown with a 15-foot train.

She will wear an all diamond crown that has historical ties to the Spencer family.

She will have color in her bouquet.

The bridesmaids will wear multiple shades of one color.

He will wear his military uniform and wear white gloves.

He will not wear a sword but have some sort of sash with medals on it.

He will speak to the church and mention his mother and get teary eyed.

The queen will be moved to tears.

They will stay on the balcony longer than Prince Charles and Princess Diana did (4-5 minutes) 
and kiss twice for their public, not once.

I can hardly wait.  I will be watching from my bed, under my warm covers, with no makeup on and will not be wearing my tiara.  It’s in the safety deposit box.   Cheers to the happy couple.

New Numbers for My Back Pocket

Today is the last day of this birth year for me.  Tomorrow I will be getting a new set of numbers to carry around in my back pocket and call my own.  Yes, tomorrow is my birthday.  Just start the parade now, because it’s going to be a great year.  I have big plans for this year. Nothing that will probably make the local papers or the news ticker that scrolls along the bottom of your TV though.  They are big plans for me however; while I’m on this wonderful adventure we call life. 

I want to start tomorrow with a smile and be joyous about all that I have in my life.  I am so thankful.  I won’t make you read all the things on the list, but they are numerous and I am grateful for them all.  Life is good.

This year I want to stretch my wings and stop holding myself back from trying new things.  I want to take risks.  I am not a risk taker and it can be almost painful to actually step outside of my sometimes very small box and spread my wings.  I can’t keep living like this.  I need to take those leaps of faith into the clouds that carry my dreams everyday.  I need to do instead of dream.  I’ve been stuck in dream mode for a while now and there is no better time than now to “do”.   That’s one of my plans.  Do the dream, and stop dreaming the dream. 


Life is short and we don’t know how long we have here with our family and friends.  I feel that sometimes I’m living in slow motion in my own life.  I procrastinate (yes, I haven’t balanced my checkbook like I said I would a few months ago).  This doesn’t help anyone, namely me.  How can I tell my children to do their homework right as they come in the door from school when I, myself am putting off things I feel are difficult or scary?  I need to work on my follow-through B.I.G. time.   Exercise, my eating habits, my positive attitude (that lacks many days I might add), are just a few that could use some attention in this area. 

Maybe this isn’t the most entertaining read for you, but know that it’s helpful to me to put the words out there.  I have to be accountable if you’re reading them.  Someone else knows.  That’s helpful to me.   I’ve enjoyed the set of numbers I’ve been carrying around in my back pocket this year, and think I might actually enjoy the new set.  Only time will tell. 

The Little Boy Who Could

I wasn’t having my teeth pulled today, but I had the anxiety as if I was.  I wasn’t having my teeth pulled today, but I had the upset stomach as if I was. No, I wasn’t having my teeth pulled today, but my youngest son was.   I was a little worried.  Ok, that’s a lie.  I was super-sized, big-gulp, venti-sized worried.   He has in the past shown extreme fear of shots of any sort.  So much so, that just a few years ago, to say the word, would bring instant tears to his eyes and make him want to run for the nearest door.  We both knew a shot would be involved in the day’s events.  I knew.  He knew.  Yet, we didn’t speak of it at all. 

We were scheduled to be at the office at 12 noon.  At 9:00 a.m. the phone rang.   It was the dentist’s office calling to see if we could come in an hour as their schedule had changed.  I covered the phone and asked him if that would be ok and the anxiety faucet turned on.   He thought he had more time.  He needed more time.  I asked the assistant if I could have five minutes and would call her back to let her know if that would work.  I hung up the phone and tried to talk to him for a few minutes to calm his fears.

I went over the procedure with him one more time, asked why he didn’t want to go and explained that it didn’t matter what time we went.  Well, it didn’t matter to me, that is.  To him, those extra hours meant extra comfort.  When I asked why he didn’t want to go at ten, he laughed and smiled and said he didn’t know why.  I reassured him he would be fine and called them back to confirm the new time.

I didn’t know what to expect when we got to the office.  Tears, hyperventilating, fear?  I didn’t know.  To my great surprise, he was as calm as could be. He carried his ipod and headphones and sat in the chair beside me waiting for them to call his name.  I was so proud of him as he walked back alone (knowing he’d do better alone than with me there to continually ask if he was doing ok). Somewhere, somehow, he found the courage within himself to dig deep and face a fear he was so frightened of.  Thirty minutes into it, they said he was doing fantastic and didn’t have one complaint.   I was so thankful. 

When he walked back up to the waiting area, he looked like a little chipmunk getting ready for winter.  He was so brave.  I could see in his eyes that one hint of worry on my part and the tears would show themselves.  I smiled and just reached for him as he leaned into me with a relief big enough for the both of us.  Gauze filled the holes in his mouth and he started to laugh because he couldn’t talk or smile. I was thankful for the giggles.

I have never felt so relieved in all of my life.  I don’t know who learned more today, him or myself.  He learned that he could face his fears alone and get through them and be strong for himself and I learned that I needed to have more faith in his ability to handle more difficult situations. He was stronger mentally than I had given him credit for.  I was so proud of him and couldn’t stop telling him that.  I think in his own quiet way, he was proud of himself as well.  I could see in his eyes that he did something he feared and did it with dignity and strength. My son, the little boy who could. 

Wanda

My Grandma had her jeans dry-cleaned and then ironed them before she wore them.  She had a coke (in a glass exactly like this one) and toast made in a toaster oven for breakfast each morning.  You know the type where the little metal tray slides out and you put the toast on the tray?  It makes it perfectly golden brown along the edges. (I can taste it right now.  It’s not like normal toast because you butter it before it goes in.) 

She walked each morning and took a nap in the afternoon and always had mother of pearl beige nail polish on.  She played cards her entire life, got her hair done each week and never said an unkind word about anyone.  She paid me five dollars to polish her silver that didn’t need polishing and wore White Shoulders perfume and looked stunning in a denim skirt and red espadrille wedges.  She washed her face with dove soap and to this day, the smell of it will bring instant tears to my mother’s eyes.  

She was in love with my Grandpa and was spoiled by him every day in the most loving way.  She didn’t like to fish or hunt but she went fishing and hunting. She loved to watch The Lawrence Welk Show and read more books than anyone I know.  She knew the words to every song and would hum while she filed her nails.  She had this little skip or spring to her step if you complimented her and she’d cut her eyes at you for saying such sweet things about her.  She held my oldest in her arms only a few weeks before she passed away.  He was only weeks old. 

In the last years of her life, she suffered a stroke and began to write names or thoughts that came to her, perhaps to spark her memory, on the back of little yellow legal pads.  I have one that I keep on the shelf in my office.  It’s just a little reminder of her that I like to see when I’m in there.  It brings back all those memories for me; her waving at us from the kitchen window as we drove by, the cases of cokes she had stacked in the pantry, the pile of blue rubber bands from the morning newspaper she kept in the kitchen drawer.  It’s amazing what memories come flooding in as I see the notebook sitting on my shelf.  

I was thinking of her today as I made my toast and wished I had a case of coke sitting in the pantry to go with it. Wishing she could see my boys today.

The Four Minute Party

Today as I did my morning “straighten up” walk through the house, I noticed that the laundry seemed to have doubled overnight.  How is that even possible?  Did the soccer and baseball socks multiply like rabbits after I brushed my teeth and crawled in under the covers last night? 

I just do not like to do laundry.  Well, I found myself in this mood as I walked by the door to the washing machine several times this morning and decided I needed to do something about it.  (My first thought was to simply close the closet doors and make a wish that it would all disappear, but that didn’t work.)

I got out the broom and swept up the cat litter that’s flung across the floor so politely as our cats exit the box each time, took out the trash, swept behind, yes behind, the two lovely machines, washed the inside of the laundry soap dispenser, cleaned out the dryer vents and wiped down both machines.  It looked so clean and fresh.  It didn’t really make me want to do the laundry that much more, but it did lift my spirits a bit.

I got caught up in the moment of “having” to do my work and had a little pity me party (it wasn’t long enough to have sent out invitations, so don’t think you missed out on anything. It was only four minutes long.)  I changed my frame of thought, cleaned up the mess that was making me frustrated and my spirit started to lift.  If I focus on giving while I’m doing it, it really isn’t so daunting of a task.  I’ve already done three loads and even cleaned out the sock basket, so things are looking up.

So rather than hang the pity me party streamers, and set out the punch, I’ve decided to light a few candles, grab my new book, my hot tea and read in between loads and just get it done with a light heart rather than the woe is me heart.  Amazing what a little change in attitude can do, isn’t it?

The Story of What is “You”

As my car comes to a stop at the light, I see a young woman jogging in place, waiting for the white hand to appear in the light box across the street.  She waits for it, still keeping her pace and then quickly crosses to the other side. 

While standing in line at the grocery store, I notice the man in front of me has on a very large gold ring with engraving all over it.  It appears to be a military type ring but can’t tell from my angle.  He nods at the clerk and walks toward the sliding doors, a small bag of oranges in hand.

The jogger, the older man, each have a story.  I don’t know their story.  I only see a small snippet of their day, their lives, as our paths wind in and out, likely to never know what has brought them to the stoplight or the check out stand.

We all have a story.  Our histories are unique to us and not one other being has the life experiences we have. What will our lives mean to those who are important to us?  Will our stories be told to generations to come? What will the stories include?  Will they remember the same details we do or will those bits be left out?

Many of us keep photos or scrapbooks, so some of our lives are there in all their color to be remembered, but we don’t take pictures and scrapbook the days we were disappointed or sad. We don’t write down how we met our spouses to pass on to our great-grandchildren or what our favorite song of all time is.  These little pieces of our story, when pieced together make for a very interesting life that is uniquely our own.

What are you doing to share the story of what is “you” with your loved ones?  Do you keep a journal?  Do you record yourself singing along to the radio?  Do you write letters? I think it’s important that our children and their children know what our lives contained, what we were like as a child, a teen-ager, a first-time mother with a tiny baby in our arms.  These are our stories and no one else can tell them, share them.  Share them.

Yet, There Are Moments...

There are some days when the “daydreaming” takes over my mind and my heart.  It’s usually just for a few moments, but yet it still happens some days.  I have all that I need.  I don’t need anything but what I already have.   I have so much. 

Yet…there are moments….that I dream of flying to Paris on business for an important meeting.

 Maybe we have to have these moments to appreciate all that we have.  I am surrounded by love everyday.  My husband tucks me in when I don’t feel good and keeps the boys quiet so as not to disturb me.   My children laugh and giggle at the dinner table about silly lyrics to made up songs.

Yet…there are moments…that I dream of buying the Sunday paper from the little corner store in the city and walking to the bakery for a cream cheese danish.

Maybe we have to have daydreams in order to know what is real to us; know what our truth is.  I have more than I deserve. I have a husband who supports my every whim or creative idea and encourages me to do what I want.  I have children who play the recorder on a Saturday and play the baritone for the fun of it.

Yet…there are moments…that I dream of owning my own gift shop and selling 

homemade jams in a small town in Vermont.

Maybe they aren’t “daydreams” at all but more like little pieces of our personality that just peek out every once in a while to tell us it’s ok to day dream about life and all it has to offer.  What ever you want to call them, they sneak into our days and allow us to drift for a few minutes to places unknown, to be creative in our own little worlds. I suppose it’s not about wanting a different life, but knowing that life is filled with endless possibilities.

One day, maybe one of those daydreams you have will no longer just be a daydream?

Just Be

walking around the lake carrying a book with a cream colored shawl

wrapped around my shoulders

embroidering pale pink flowers on a crisp white pillow case

while listening to the birds chirp

sitting on a porch, rocking in a green chair

watching the rain drip from the gutters as the thunder rolls past

a candle burning on the nightstand while the curtains blow

and the ocean waves rush into the sand

sitting in a meadow surrounded by lavender

with the sun shining on my neck listening to the choir of grasshoppers sing

Maybe I’m just an old soul, but the idea of quietly being in the world 

is in my heart and so wish I had more time to just be.

Dog-Eared Loveliness

I just purchased a new magazine and am only half way through it and almost every page is dog-eared.  I thought I’d share with you some of the loveliness that I’ve come across while reading it.  

Enjoy your weekend.

           

BD Antiques

Just Something I Made

Beachy Chic

Letter Lover

Gimundo

Old Crow Farm Antiques

Jill Ruth

Secret Garden Cottage

Gonna Need A Bigger Cup

This week has been one of those weeks where my cup has truly runneth over.  I think I could use a mug right about now.  I need one of those big touristy types that have my name on it (misspelled of course) and are too big to hold in one hand.

I have been hit in the face with such grace and blessing that I have been teary eyed most of the week, but in a good way.

I taught on Monday and was moved by how our elementary school truly cares about the students and the world around us.  The Junior United Nations was meeting before I came into the library and was discussing how to raise money for the Japan earthquake victims and how they were planning on making paper origami cranes to send to Japan.  It was so wonderful to see them early before school caring about others half way around the world. 

Later that morning during one of the classes, I watched a student discuss so wonderfully how he would handle a conflict with his peers if they were having trouble getting along.  He truly “got” the lesson and knowledge was pouring from his mouth.  I was happy to witness such a small yet profound moment.

Our dishwasher died this week and to top it off, it leaked for several days through to the basement ceiling.  Normally I would have been very upset, but there was a calm within me that it wasn’t a huge problem or disease and knew it was a fixable problem.  It was simply a patch in the ceiling that needed repair.  Yes, we needed to buy a new dishwasher as well and don’t like having that expense, but am so thankful that we have the ability to just go pick a new one out and pay for it and go on with our life. 

Our children are involved in many activities and almost always we are the only parents where both are present at the events.  I know it’s not possible for many, many families to attend everything and we’ve had a few things here and there that we both can’t attend, but that’s the minority for us.   We are so fortunate that our schedules and lives allow us to be present for them. 

I could write thirty more small examples of the blessings and grace that have been poured over us this week.  Our health, our families, our neighbors and friends to name but a few.  The list has been so great this week that I cannot be anything but grateful for the life we have and for all those that touch our lives each and every day.  If it keeps on like this through the rest of the week, I might have to get two mugs to carry around.  One will never be enough.