Unhelpful Companions

If I were to write a story about this summer, Humidity would be the antagonist. In the beginning, he might seem innocuous, a gentle reminder to slow down, maybe you would think he had your best interest at heart. And then as the story went on, he’d thicken his presence and pepper the days as sweat on your brow, condensation on your cup. Nothing more than a nuisance, still tolerable. The story would build and the climax would come when you realized what was holding you back was actually Humidity. He was behind the stiffness in your step, the ache of your joints. He was to thank for the feeling of general malaise towards the three-quarter mark of the season, causing you to crawl through the count down to autumn. In the end, just as you were gaining strength to fight him off, he’d vanish into the newly cooled and dry air. The epilogue would be dated the following June, just at the point where you feel a hint of stickiness in the air, and find yourself grateful for the opportunity to slow down and savor the long summer days…

~~~

The shift in seasons is one of my favorite things about living in New England.

We’ve been in our house now for a full cycle of seasons. We’ve seen the hay fields through maturing to harvesting, snow-covered and dormant to youthful in spring. We settled in through the fall, made it through our first Maine winter by staying cozy near the woodstove, planted our own seeds in the spring, and are enjoying the fruits of our labors this summer.

When we moved into our last home, over a decade ago, we knew it was going to be temporary. Of course, we thought we would only be there for a handful of years, which turned into ten. For at least the last six years we lived in our rental home we had our eyes set on the next move. The Next Move, like Humidity in the summertime, was a constant companion. It settled in our minds, lingered in corners, and was on the tip of our tongues, an often unasked question.

The answer finally came in a situation that we couldn’t even fathom at the time, and we’re just starting to fully grasp it now, a year on. We live on over thirty acres of land, which we share with my parents who also live on the property, in a house a stone’s throw away from ours. It’s a place where one can wander for hours, exploring not just hay fields but woods and trails, as well as a meandering river. Just yesterday we went for a walk and saw a deer grazing in our hay fields. It raised its head, acknowledging our presence, and then went back to its morning meal. We’ve spent a set of seasons knee-deep in learning about this place, our home, only to learn that we’ll spend the rest of our time here learning… growing… becoming.

Somewhere within the last year, it’s started to sink in - we’re not focused on The Next Move. It’s a strange feeling after a life of moving {or planning a move} every few years, to be settled. To not have The Next Move on the horizon. To simply allow yourself to be.

For so long I put countless things on hold, things I’d do “after The Next Move.” Well, it’s after. And it’s time.

Truthfully, waiting for The Next Move was always a bit of a comfort for me, like a safety blanket. I know I need to be careful not to shift from The Next Move to The Next Thing, and instead put The Next- to rest. Not to wait on something to do the things we’ve dreamed of, to finish writing the books I have in progress, and build the writing career I’ve talked about for years.

It’s time to take advantage of the fact that now is the time to create the life I’ve been waiting to live. The humidity is about to go poof, The Next Move is gone quite possibly forever, and everything that’s been just out of reach is now sitting at my doorstep… waiting for me to answer the doorbell.

Do you hear it, too?

---

FYI: I’ll be writing here the second and fourth Tuesdays of the month. It’s a bit of an experiment, as I’m unsure of how I want to use this space… maybe for journal type entries, maybe playing with some short fiction… however it turns out, I’m so glad to have you along for the ride. Thank you for being here, and for reading my words.

easing out of vacation

Vacation came and went and there's little proof but a few photos and a small pile of Florida sand that made it's way into my bedroom carpet. Sunday evening we sat at home, and the four of us looked at each other and all wondered out loud, "did that really happen?" That's what nearly six days in the car, and four days of jam packed activities in the Florida sunshine will do to you. It was a beautiful whirlwind of a trip, and within it we created many memories of laughter, adventure, and family legends. 

Now we're home where the wind is still chilling bones, though the calendar says otherwise. Yesterday I drove Lucas to the train station and watched the nearly full moon set low in the horizon. It was breathtaking, the glow and fullness. By the time I pulled away from the car park the moon was gone, tucked in for the daylight hours and the sky laid in wait of the sun. 

The days are flying fast and hard and instead of tightening my grip, I'm easing into the flow of it all. In working on what feels right, and resting when my body needs rest. In starting off gently with breakfast on the couch and kids tucked into my side, and housework nestled in the corners instead of it taking up prime real estate in our waking hours. In laying the groundwork for play and creativity and work, and finding the sweet spot where they intersect and the magic happens. 

It's also in pulling back from a weekly commitment to blogging. I may or may not show up here every Wednesday. I'm giving myself some grace and ease as I dive into other projects that are calling to me, like another round of edits on Farm Girl and furthering the word count on the new novel. {The best way to stay in the know about this space is to sign up for my mailing list, or to have blog posts emailed to you as they get published (you can do so on the side bar)}

A new season, a full moon, a new perspective. Spring is all about uncovering the shoots and buds, giving them room to grow, allowing and nurturing, cultivating. What's being unearthed for you this season?

Found in a bookshelf

Last week the cable company had to come and do a thing to some cables, run some wires, all sorts of technical things that go in one of my ears and go straight out the other.

The day after they were here I went over to look at my carefully curated stack of books that sits in front of our built in bookshelf. It's full of to be read's that I intend to go through this year. But the stack looked different, bigger books were on top (the horror!) and even worse than that, some books were facing the wrong way! 

Upon further investigation, half the book stack were books I had already read or had no plans on reading.

And then I looked down and saw the cable.

Someone had taken books out of the shelf in order to rerun the new cable, and my stack of books was taken down as a casualty of fiber optic war. 

I sat and found the books that were in the original pile, and went through others that I forgot we had, adding to the ever growing TBR stack.

And then I found a book about Haiku, which was timely as the creative writing class I'm teaching at our co-op was covering haikus the following class, and isn't that always the way it works?

The book, The Essential Haiku, has made it through many years and several moves. It was one, like about half of our collection, that became ours when we moved in together but was originally Lucas's. He studied poetry in college, and I sometimes joke that his collection of books was part of the reason I fell in love with him.

I know I've written previously about our bookshelf, about his books and how they always literally pop out at me just when I need them. About how I'll think of a title or an author, consider checking it out a the library or on Amazon, wander over to our shelf, and there it is. But I can't remember which blog it was on, or if it was an Instagram post, and I'm too lazy to look through the archives to find the link.

Yesterday morning before co-op I had a chance to look through The Essential Haiku, and I found Lucas's chicken scratch in notes and underlines and stars. From a different time, lifetimes ago. The underlined sections resonated with who he is and who we are. Separate but also together.

This time of year I tend to get sappy. The anniversary of our first date was a week or so ago, and I have such fond memories of our early days together. Wandering the streets of Salem to see the ice sculptures, brunches at Red's, Netflix dvd's back before streaming was a thing. The process of becoming us was quick, we both knew early on that we had something special. But the process of being us, that's a lifetimes worth of work. And finding little bits that remind us of our authentic selves, then and now, is what makes it exciting and rewarding. My husband is a man of few words, and so to see his inner workings, even from years ago, is an honor, one that makes me love him even more than I thought I could.

We often talk about what a gift it is to watch our children grow and become the people who they're meant to be, but we don't often talk about those aspects of our partners and spouses. With parenting, if you have a co-parent you're able to discuss ad nauseam your children's developments, physically and emotionally.

But when it comes to your partner... not so much. Maybe because we're all in the trenches, and it's harder to see changes, progress, their changes often impact our lives for better or worse, and the conversations don't happen as easily. We're willing to dissect our children's lives, but not nearly as willing to dissect our relationships and our own growth. Our partner's growth may be tied up in our own, or compared to our own lack of, or maybe don't want to own up to something, or are afraid that with one persons growth comes distance, if we don't allow space and encouragement.

Maybe we're not prepared to see when and if we evolve at different rates.

But there's joy (and sometimes frustration) in watching another person evolve. To watch someone embrace themselves, and then come back and embrace each other. Not quite new, but not nearly the same as when you first met.

Our books hold a sacred spot as a reminder that we are always evolving, separately and together, and to witness that process is a privilege.

February

60 degrees Fahrenheit on February 5th, 2019

January went by in a long blink. It was one of those months that embodied the saying all parents dread hearing, "the days are long but the years are short." January of 2019 felt that way, only the hours were long, and the month was short. It was a month, for me, of resetting, of evaluating, of new habits - not resolutions. 

January was cerebral, and now February is for action. 

In December I met with a friend of mine who happens to be an herbalist and an energy healer. We'd talked for quite a while about setting up a session with her. Finally, it happened, and ever since there's been shifts and realizations, openings and awakenings. I do believe I was on the path to all of the things already, but the visit with her sped things up, and proved to me that I have a lot of work to do for my body and soul, and that now is as good a time as any to show up for myself. 

 I'm currently healing a leaky gut and diving deep into emotional healing from various things. It's a wild ride full of shifts in thinking about food and how we heal and nurturing, rest and eliminating stress and finding peace as well as voice. I plan on writing more about the process, but I'm not quite there yet... all in good time. 

These days I'm going to bed and waking early. I'm getting on the yoga mat before the sun comes up and then I spend some time writing the first draft of a new novel, pulling a daily tarot card and writing morning pages all before my children wake for the day. Then it's on to life and homeschooling, feeding all of us - body and soul, over and over again, and reconnecting through it all. To self, to each other, to the natural world. 

We joined a new to us weekly homeschool co-op this term. It meets on Tuesdays, and it's the only co-op that my kids and I have left not feeling drained, but instead energized. On the drive home yesterday we opened the windows and when I suggested we head to the beach, the kids both agreed. Last week we were in the midst of the Polar Vortex, and yesterday we saw the temperature rise to the mid sixties. The weather and our bodies are confused, but we'll hit the ground running when the beach calls. They went barefoot, the native New Englanders that they are, and we played and laughed for a good hour as the sun started moving down the dunes.

Flow has been a word that has come back to me over and over again this last week. I feel like I'm in it. I'm listening to what I need, what my family needs, and while occasionally we need a reset (as anyone who saw us Monday knows...) we're also showing up for each other with language that used to be foreign but is now flowing freely about relationships and self, about growth and moving towards what matters most for us as a family. 

Intention weaves its way through the hours of my days, the moments of my life, in a way that I haven't felt before. Spoiler alert, it feels good...

I'm excited to write in this space again. I needed the last two months to take a pause and think about what writing means to me, what sharing my writing means, and what ultimately makes me happy. I'll be writing more about this is tomorrow's newsletter {you can sign up here!} but ultimately writing is a way for me to connect and share, and even if my posts don't go viral and my words aren't being shared a gazillion times. I'm happy to be here, in this space, chatting to those who are reading and enjoy my words. 

My hope for this space in the coming months is to share not so much specifically about my writing journey, but about life in general. Adventures and thoughts and mundane moments. I loved the days of personal blogs, before ads and sponsorship, before motives came into play and the personal narratives that were so good at connecting us to each other disappeared. I'd like to go back to a bit of that... 

So here's to 2019, may it be full of creativity, words, and connection. 

I'm building up my blog reader again. If you have a blog you're currently writing, I'd love if you'd share in the comments! I've been using Feedly, but am open to another option - what do you all use for reading blogs? Please let me know!

Making space for a pause

We came home from our Thanksgiving travels late on Saturday evening. Sunday we all slept in, in our own beds, and let the day unfold at a leisurely pace. Lucas brought me tea in bed, as he's wont to do recently, steaming and perfectly steeped for two minutes. 

Later in the day I went down to the basement and found a big green Rubbermaid bin, the kind that stacks and looms in corners collecting dust until their annual pilgrimage upstairs. The kids squealed {yes, squealed, at 10 and 12 years old!} when they saw it in the dining room. 

We tore into it and found all of the non tree related Christmas decorations. Nativity scenes, holiday themed books, jingle bells, and the quilted stockings my mother made us all. We've lived in this home for long enough that the kids know exactly where to put each decoration, they know what spaces need to be created in order to make room for trinkets and nutcrackers alike. 

It was early, I know. Not even December, not even Advent, and the plastic angel nightlight from my childhood now sits in my bedroom window. But it felt  necessary. Not because of keeping up with Instagram or Pinterest, but for the pause. 

I wanted to put up the decorations for the pause it affords us during our days: to stop and kiss under the mistletoe, to marvel over creations handmade by the kids when their palms could have fit neatly into mine twice over, to light the candles before dinner and tell the story of how Lucas's mother gave the glass star shaped holders to us years ago, and the memories they hold.

There is much I say no to leading up to this time of year in order to protect the pauses. And it's worth it, as every single no results in a more meaningful yes later on. Whether it's to a planned outing or a night in watching movies or being able to say yes to a last minute opportunity that wouldn't have been afforded otherwise, the yes I utter is unwavering. 

More than anything, the pause is what I crave this time of year. It holds the magic that happens when you least expect it, like in the early morning hours with a mug of tea and twinkle lights and a child, half asleep, who wandered downstairs in search of mama snuggles. 

If not for the pauses, so many sweet moments and memories would be missed. I'm not willing to let that happen in the name of a Perfect Holiday Bucket List, spending money we don't have on things we don't need and manufactured memories that everyone else has simply because it's what we do. No, I'll take the pauses, and the quiet, and the mismatched ornaments on the always lopsided tree, and the laughter that comes with an imperfectly perfect holiday season. 

voice

It's the end of October, and as cliche as it is to say, I don't know where the month went. Last I knew we were gearing up for a road trip and various visits and field trips and a month of activities, and here we are on the other side with heads spinning and candy bowls overflowing and sugar highs all around. 

In the midst of the comings and goings of family life, this month I've made another push forward with agent queries. I've sent out quite a few, and have received quite a few more rejections. Some flat out no's, some encouraging messages, and another one to add to a growing pile of "I like the concept, but the voice is wrong for me." 

The voice is wrong. 

Of course, upon receipt of such feedback I spiral, thinking about how terrible my writing must be, and vividly picture myself throwing my novel into the recycling bin, all the notebooks and sticky notes, the printed - and digital - copies. I imagine what life would be like without writing. Reading for the sake of utter enjoyment, not ever thinking, "yeah, I'd like to write book someday." 

The thing is, I've already written a book. Several. I may need to write a few more for one to stick.

The other thing is, logically I know this is something newbie writers struggle with: finding their voice. 

I've been thinking for hours about voice. My voice. About how I've cultivated a voice in my blog writing, and in my longer Instagram posts, the style I write in, and the depths I dive. How I struggled to translate that into fiction, and how when I was writing Farm Girl, at times I felt like I was skimming the surface. How I didn't think the voice used in my creative non fiction was worthy of fiction. How every single time Tori Amos's song Silent All These Years plays I weep. About trusting our voices, no matter the context, no matter the medium, and how often I simply don't. How I use my voice, or don't, daily. How impossible it is to hear our own voices in the din of constant media thrown at us from all angles. How voice and ideas dance, and the execution of both is work. How no matter how many times I say, "if you bring a dish to the sink, and there's no dishes in it, please wash your dish" the dishes occasionally pile up in the sink.

I'm thinking about how the times I think least about the specifics of my writing voice (like getting it right...) the more authentic it is. 

Because let's face it, the Instagram captions and these blog posts get less attention than a single sentence of my novel... 

So, I'm thinking about voice today, and thinking about how the only way to really get to where I want to be is to write more. Here, there, everywhere. Because that pit in my stomach that comes up whenever I think about reading a really good novel and thinking to myself, "yeah, I tried doing that. It didn't work out," is uncomfortable, downright painful, and I'm not willing to live with it quite yet. 

~~~~~

I'll be sending out my monthly newsletter tomorrow... 

If you are interested and haven't signed up yet, head over here to do so!

When NaNoWriMo isn't for you

Last week I wrote about how great NaNoWriMo is and gave a handful of tips for those of you participating in the challenge. 

And now this week, I'm here to say I've changed my mind. I'm not going to participate this year.

Earth shattering stuff, right? Not really. 

But, we don't often talk about when we change our minds and decide NOT to do something we said we would do. How often do we back out of something, stick our head in the sand, and never discuss the matter? I think it's because quitting, or if it looks like we're quitting, is somehow shameful in our society. 

It's not. So many times, quitting (or whatever word you want to use here) comes down to someone changing their mind. 

We're allowed to do that. People change. Circumstances change. 

Or, as so often happens with me, you get excited when you first think of something, decide it's a great idea, only to think about it as the days go on and realize it isn't the right choice for you. 

Over the last few years, I've tried to listen to my gut, to think before I act and speak, and to give myself time to process ideas before making a decision. I didn't do that with NaNoWriMo earlier this month. I got swept up in the excitement of it, remembering the fun of years past, and compared those feelings to those associated with the slow steady work that has been my writing life as of late... the two years and then some it took to write my latest novel, and the months it's taking to find an agent.

Ultimately, I forgot the process that fits with my life. 

By late last week I felt a growing sense of dread. I couldn't even think about planning and plotting my next story, because what was the point? I was just going to spend November freewriting and getting words in, and then after the month was over I could see what I had and go from there. I'd have 50,000 words to work with and weed through, and that would be amazing. 

Over the weekend I realized that the very thought of working through 50,000 quickly written words was the very thing that was filling me with dread, and I hadn't even written the words yet. 

And then, I gave myself permission to say no. To change my mind. To examine my life and remember what works for me, what my limitations are and be realistic in order to continue a writing life that is fulfilling, and sustainable. 

I am certain that there will be times when I'll be able to do NaNoWriMo again. But right now, as a homeschooling mom who is just finding her groove with so many things, I'm not willing to jeopardize my sanity, my sleep, my time, for those 50,000 words. 

What I am willing to do is cheer all of you on who are participating, and get to work on my next book in a way that makes sense for me, right now. Slow and steady. Like so many things in my life, slow and steady progress made by creating and meeting small achievable goals, is the way to success. My family and I live a purposefully slow life that meets the demands of all our personalities. This is not a hindrance. Hustling is not in any of our natures, and when one of us is hustling, it effects the rest of us. 

At this point in my life, I'm unwilling to let the culture of busy and hustle get the better of me. Even if that means backing out of commitments and challenges and anything that does not feel like it is a good fit. 

I'd invite you to do the same. Whether that means jumping into NaNoWriMo or not (again, read last weeks post! I think NaNo is a great thing! I fully support you if you're doing it next month!) 

I'm willing to bet our world would be a better place if we could all have the freedom to change our minds and say no when something doesn't feel right. 

It might give us the space to explore what brings us joy and what makes us tick without judgement, or own or others. 

whirlwinds

A week ago, we were in Washington, D.C. Lucas had a conference to attend, and since part of the reason we homeschool is to be able to say YES when opportunities present themselves, the kids and I tagged along. We left early on Monday morning and drove down the coast, putting us in our hotel room by 3pm. The following two and a half days were a blur of sight seeing and walking and touring our nation's capital. We arrived home on Thursday evening, tired and punchy from ten hours in the car, ready to rest before the arrival of my brother and his wife the following day all the way from Switzerland. 

Much to our surprise, and theirs (it's a long story), they arrived a night early! Not two hours after we unpacked the car, I was back in the driver's seat on my way to Boston to (happily!) pick up the world travelers. We had barely any food in the house, the bathroom wasn't clean, the laundry wasn't done, but none of that matters when you haven't seen your brother in over a year. We fed them bits and pieces leftover from our road trip snack bag, and then hit the grocery store the next day. 

We visited and laughed and ran on fumes and bits of sleep until Toby and his wife left on Saturday morning for the next leg of their journey, and then Lucas and I crashed. I napped for three hours, and didn't feel like I woke up until just today. There were walks, and the new season of Doctor Who (we all LOVE her), a robotics class for Fynn and tennis for Paige and many loads of laundry folded, but it was all done in a sleepy haze. Yesterday was my birthday, and the sky was grey and the air cool, my favorite, and normally I have no problem waking up on even the most overcast of days, but yesterday we were all still sleepy, all still catching up. 

It's felt that way, the last few months, that there's spurts of activity and then a period of catch up. Consistency has been just out of reach. A week or two of that is manageable, but long periods of inconsistent sleep and activity make me grumpy. And it's not being busy. I don't buy into busy. It's inconsistency that wrecks me and my highly sensitive system. But there are times it's necessary, absolutely, and I try my best to lean into it, but there is a huge recovery period. And I always forget this. 

Thankfully, I'm looking forward to a bit more consistency, a bit more rhythm. We've hung fairy lights in our house and embracing all things cozy, I'm desperate to get a handle on the housework (and involve the rest of the family as well) so we're trying out The Organized Mum method, and our learning rhythms are back on track as of today and it all feels good. I feel awake. I've got my feet back under me from our whirlwind summer that feels as though it's finally come to an end, and I'm here saying yes please to it all. But first, the rest of my birthday cake is calling me...

~~~~~

Tomorrow I'll be sending out my monthly newsletter. If you haven't signed up yet and are interested, head over here. I'll be sharing a bit of an update on my writing life, and what I'll be up to next month! 

20 ways to jump start your creativity

~take a walk

~leave your phone at home

~go screen free for an hour, a day, a week...

~bake something, maybe a loaf or two of pumpkin bread

~try a new medium of art. Paint, draw, knit, crochet, collage, calligraphy.

~take yourself on a date to someplace you've always wanted to go

~play tourist in your town or city

~read outside your usual genre

~write outside of your usual genre

~make a list of things you love

~make a list of words that start with a specific letter

~make a list of lists you want to make

~give yourself permission to daydream

~think about what you used to love as a child

~watch a favorite movie with the intent of noticing something new

~look for patterns, in nature, in your daily activities, in your thought patterns

~go outside and sit with your eyes closed for ten minutes

~follow a butterfly

~journal. Write without stopping, even if you only write one word over and over and over again... see what comes up

~move with the intent of exploration and a sense of curiosity, always

*next week we will be traveling, so there will not be a blog post and the monthly newsletter will go out the second Thursday of the month instead of the first. Take care!*

My favorite pumpkin bread recipe

The other day we were making pumpkin bread and one of the kids asked me where I got the recipe from. I shook my head, "I don't remember," I told them. It's a recipe that's been printed off and taped into a notebook. The edges are a little torn, the paper a little splattered. I've been making this recipe since both kids were in diapers, maybe even since before Paige was born. There's no website listed, and it's not one my mom, or my mother in law, uses. But it's my favorite. It's moist, makes two loaves which only ever lasts two days, and when I turn the mixer on and smell the pumpkin I can picture Fynn as a chubby toddler sitting on the counter with a mixing bowl on his head like a helmet, licking a spoon full of orange batter, his striped pajama pant clad legs swinging wildly. 

It's the recipe I'll send my kids off into the world with, the one they'll make and think of home. 

And I wanted to share it with you all. So here it is, my favorite pumpkin bread recipe. Origin unknown, but I most certainly didn't create it myself. My endless gratitude for whoever did!

Pumpkin Bread

Ingredients: 

1 1/2 cup sugar

1 cup oil of choice (coconut, vegetable, whatever...)

3 eggs

1 16-oz can pumpkin

3 cups all purpose flour (I use Bob's Red Mill gluten free one to one)

1/4 tsp ground cloves

1 tsp ground cinnamon

1 tsp ground nutmeg

1 tsp baking soda

1/2 tsp salt

1/2 tsp baking powser

1 bag chocolate chips (optional, but I always use them!)

Method: 

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Butter and flour (or just use oil, like I do...) two 9x5x3 inch loaf pans. Beat sugar and oil in large bowl to blend. Mix in eggs and pumpkin. Sift flour, cloves, cinnamon, nutmeg, baking soda, salt and baking powder into another large bowl. Stir into pumpkin mixture in two additions. Mix in chocolate chips if desired. 

Divide batter equally between prepared pans. Bake until tester inserted into center comes out clean, about 1 hour (though I start checking at 50 minutes and sometimes that's all it takes). Transfer to racks and cool for 10 minutes. Cool. Slice. Enjoy!

Ritual

The fans are still working overtime. Hot cups of tea are relegated for first thing in the morning, and then by mid afternoon I'm so desperate for the ritual that I sweat through a steaming mug... because that's what it's really about, the ritual. I've never figured out how to make iced tea that pleases my taste buds. Then, even if I make a half decent pitcher, a glass of the cool beverage disappears quickly. A few gulps, and it's gone. There's no waiting, no patience required, no gingerly testing, risking burned taste buds and that bit of spilled boiling water if you wince and pull the mug away from your lips too quickly. 

We turned the oven on the other day to make a cake to celebrate our return to the school year. Our calendar is filling up with activities and field trips, indoor climbing and birding with the local Audubon, some road tripping and many weekly hikes. Chocolate cake so moist and spongy, it was worth the warmth in the kitchen on an already sweltering day. The ritual, the celebration, the return. 

The kids bake every week, every Tuesday to be exact. They take turns selecting recipes and baking (mostly) on their own, and then they select poetry to read for Poetry Teatime, and we celebrate the every day beauty of words and sugar and togetherness. It's simple, this ritual, but in it's own way it's just as meaningful as the first cake of the school year. 

Noticing the importance of rituals and routines, while honoring the unexpected and impulsive, and noticing the ebb and flow of each is part of my life's work, I believe. I am a creature of habit, an introvert who loves the comfort of home and seek out cozy nooks and sofas where I can tuck my feet underneath me wherever I go. Knowing this about myself is half the battle. Loving this about myself is the other half. 

And so, summer has made me weary. I've lost myself a bit. I'm tired. I'm waiting patiently for the arrival of my most recent order of yarn so I can cast on for a new sweater. I'm ready to pack up the swimsuit and the boogie boards and wash the hand-knits and dust off my boots. I'm ready to not sweat as soon as I take a sip of midday tea. 

But for now I'll take those beads of sweat on my upper lip, and know that my rituals are carrying me through until a bit of ease creeps in with a change of weather patterns, and I can tuck my feet under me on the couch and throw a hot water bottle on my lap while knitting as a child reads aloud next to me, and the change of seasons breathes new life into all of us. 

Currently...

I'm writing this on July 3rd, and it's beyond hot. My brain is fuzzy with the heat and humidity, and so for this weeks blog posts I'm turning to a tried and true journal prompt...

Currently I'm...

Reading... Enough as She is, by Rachel Simmons (it's for a book club on raising girls, but let me tell you... I'm getting just as much out of this book for myself as I am for Paige), and Somewhere Beyond the Sea by Miranda Dickinson. 

Playing... endless games of Exploding Kittens with the kids.

Watching... Nailed It on Netflix (if you need a good laugh, be sure to start with Season One!), and Death in Paradise, also on Netflix ;)

Listening to... Frank Turner, non stop since Lucas and I saw him play in Boston on Sunday. His new album, Be More Kind, is brilliant, especially his song of the same title, "In a world that has decided it's going to lose it's mind, be more kind, my friends, try to be more kind..." and his song The Way I Tend To Be, from an older album, has these lines which I simply adore: "Love is about the changes you make and not just three small words." 

Working on... reminding myself that only I can find my own internal motivation, self confidence, and self belief, no one can do it for me.

Eating... all things grilled. We made these Hawaiian Chicken Kebabs over the weekend, and they were a huge hit! 

Wanting... a new tattoo... 

Needing... to speak kindly to my body, and to drink more water.

Loving... summer evenings on our porch. We've embraced eating alfresco, and have been lingering after dinner. I'm loving the connections and conversations this time affords for the four of us nightly. 

Thinking... about the second rejection I received for my manuscript, and how the first one gained high fives, but the second one I kept to myself for a few days. It stung. Not because I expected to hear anything positive at this point, but because the reality of the long road ahead sunk in on an already difficult day. I let self doubt creep in, and I talked myself out of how much I wanted to be on this journey very quickly. Luckily, after a few days I found myself again... thanks to a husband who listens until I answer my own questions, some inner searching, and loads of journaling... and I'm in this for the long haul. {Editing to add... the universe is definitely testing me, almost as soon as I typed the words "long haul" another rejection letter came in! I'm handling it much better this week... so that's something!}

Feeling... hot. 

Celebrating... the patriotic act of dissent. 

Grateful for... beach days, live music, iced tea, summer dresses, and hope.

{The newsletter will be going out on Thursday, per usual, though it may be later on the day depending on if I have a chance to pull it all together on the 4th or not! If you haven't signed up and would like to, click here. My mailing list is, at this point, simply one email on the first Thursday of the month. I write a bit of a personal letter, share links that I've found interesting, and the most recent blog posts all in one place.}

Words of Wisdom: Joan Didion

"I have already lost touch with a couple of people I used to be." 

~Joan Didion

multitudes...

I've gone quiet on most social media platforms this week. I'm feeling as though there's not much for me to add to the conversation on what's happening in our country, the border, the president, the government, the divisiveness. 

Times like this, it feels frivolous to talk about anything else. It feels as though if I turn to look away, I'm ignoring what is happening. And if I'm not speaking, how will anyone know where I stand? 

But, in order to not go numb, we need to continue with our work, whatever that may be. We must continue the work of keeping ourselves grounded, and informed, and mentally healthy in order to continue to process, to find ways to help, to be useful. It's a tricky thing to balance, and something I'm not sure any of us know how to accomplish. 

What I do know is this:

We are capable of doing more than one thing at a time, and we are capable of feeling more than one thing at a time, as well. We can be horrified, stricken, and disgusted by policies and the hypocrisy our leaders, and still find joy in our children. We can be saddened by the separations of families, and still find time to read a good book and smile at the jokes. We can frustrated and maddened by the institutional racism that plagues our country, and still take a peaceful walk on the beach and marvel at the ebb and flow of the sea. 

And that fact, that we contain multitudes of layers and feelings and joys and pains, that makes us human, and as long as we remember that each person on this planet is, in fact, human... maybe we'll have a chance after all. 

But for now, I encourage you - as I'm encouraging myself - to write on. To create. To feel empowered to do your work, to inspire and champion others work as well. We need words. We need beauty, the pretty and the messy. We need sincerity and truth and humanity. Connection. And with art, in all it's forms, we can find those very things. 

So keep writing. Keep creating. It matters.

Noticing awe

A huge part of being a writer is awareness. Not necessarily of self, though that helps, but of awe inspiring things that go unnoticed to most. We're so busy, as a people and a society, that we hurry through our days and errands and hours and meetings and gatherings that often we don't hear what people are saying - or aren't saying - and we miss the glory of what surrounds us. The silly shapes of the clouds, the perfect climbing tree, the way someone winces when they think no one is looking, or the tender moment when a young man gently touches his mother's arm in the checkout line at the grocery store, and the look they share before moving forward. 

For me, it's a win win. I need to slow down and notice things to write, but then it becomes a practice and noticing, slowing down my mind and feet, ends up enhancing my daily life in ways that remind me of childhood. 

Giving myself the freedom to spend moments in awe, to allow my heart to expand and swell with wonder, makes me think back to those moments on walks with my children when they were toddlers and we would gently encourage them to keep moving, otherwise we'd stay in the same place for hours watching ants or picking dandelions (which we often did).

Now, they're the ones racing ahead as I lollygag on walks, taking pictures and daydreaming. 

Some of the things my jaw drops in awe over make it into a notebook, or more likely an Instagram post, but often they sit somewhere around my rib cage in a warm glow, waiting to be tapped into when I need a bit of warmth when the world feels cold, callous, and foreign. These small moments remind me of our shared humanity, but also of the natural world which will continue on well after my time on earth is over. The details of earth humble me, ground me, and I'm regularly overcome with awe.

Do you stop and smell the roses? Do stop in your tracks and marvel at nature? Do you notice details as you move through the day? Do you feel awe regularly? If your answer is no to any of these questions, what's stopping you?

Spring at Long Hill

Over the weekend we decided to trek down to one of our favorite places to walk around: Long Hill in Beverly. The kids and I have been several times recently in the last few months on Monday hikes with homeschool friends, but Lucas hadn't been in a few years. It's a gorgeous, 114 acre property that boasts sprawling gardens, a children's garden, an orchard, hiking trails, and more. 

This place never fails to impress. We're currently listening to Anne of Green Gables on audiobook, and all I could think while wandering the gardens was how much "scope for the imagination" Long Hill offers! I felt like Anne as she marveled over the Lake of Shining Waters and the White Way of Delight. 

I'll leave you with a few pictures... and if you're local, make sure to check it out this spring and summer.

shifts in spaces, and perspective

We live in a modest two family house. We think it was built around the time of the Civil War. The wide floor boards are creaky, and you can fit several types of Legos in the gaps between. The floors slant and the ceilings are low, there are no hallways - one room leads to the next on both floors. Privacy is at a minimum,  but with exposed brick in the dining room and a built in bookshelf in the living room, the house full of character and charm.

Technically, it's a two bedroom apartment. The kids have been sharing a room since we moved in, seven'ish years ago. They've rarely complained, and it has suited them well. But now they're 11 and almost 10, and their heights and collections are rapidly growing.

Every year or so we start to look at this place a little differently. Notice corners we've under utilized, shelves that lend themselves to dishes rather than canned goods, the perfect wall space for a picture previously stored in the attic. This house has grown with us, changed with our needs, and met us where we are every single time. Whenever I get frustrated with the space, or lack of, I only need reminding that furniture can be moved, pictures rehung.

The other week the kids and I were undertaking a huge spring clean. With vacuum in hand, I looked at their bedroom, how the two beds were so crowded, and the landing we used at the top of the stairs for a playroom was overrun with unused toys and clutter. We'd talked in the past about how maybe it could someday be used for a bedroom, sort of loft style.

"Would either of you want to take over this space for your bedroom?" I asked.

Paige said no right away.

Fynn pondered.

Then he said no.

"That's fine," I told him. I began picking up, preparing to sweep the floors and dust the light fixtures.

And then I caught him pondering some more.

Ultimately, he said yes with excitement in his eyes.

Within the next two hours we moved Fynn onto the landing, reorganized Paige's room, and sorted all the toys and hid them away neatly in the shared closet.

We created space where it looked like there was none. In a way, it felt like alchemy. Everyone is happy in their new spaces, they've shifted bits of furniture around, taking pleasure in the freedom they each have in making their rooms their own. The creative energy has shifted into other areas of the house, we moved around the living room furniture to create more of a conversational area, and the dining room feels more spacious after we moved most of Paige's craft supplies up to her bedroom. We're settling in, again. I'm not sure how long we'll be here, but these shifts remind me you can make a home wherever you are. With whatever space you have. Little or big. It's partly about creativity, but mostly about perspective.

When I was growing up, there were many days when my father would come home from work and find the house rearranged. Bookshelves moved (oh my word... my mother, brother, and I still joke about moving books... all the books...), bedrooms switched, furniture rearranged. He always laughed and said something to the affect of "Your mother is at it again..."

If nothing else, I learned from those experiences to take control of my surroundings, that you can make a big impact in a space without spending much money, and that moving a bookshelf can change an entire room. My hope is that my children will learn the same lesson, and we'll all be able to laugh when they're older as we remember the bruises on our thighs and arms from moving furniture, and the weight of carrying armful after armful of books from one shelf to another. Fond memories they'll be, I'm sure of it.

Life post screen free week

Screen Free week ended with a viewing of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix on Saturday night. We huddled together on the couch and all sighed as the television glowed and the familiar theme song filled the living room. And just like that, screens were back in the daily rotation... 

To be fair, we'd all used devices on and off all week. Mostly for work and school, but also for communicating with friends via email and various messengers. This year, we were reminded of how often necessity dictates device usage, from paying bills to knowing the details of a homeschool get together, to simply finding out the weather. 

The weather cooperated and last week we were able to spend quite a bit of time outdoors. The kids each sanded, primed, and painted a piece of furniture. We hiked with friends twice. There was an afternoon at the beach that ended with the first faint sunburns of the year... 

We had a good week, though I found myself longing for Instagram. For Pinterest. For ways to zone out which didn't take much attention or concentration on my part. 

The funny thing is, those things I longed for, actually make me tired. I reintroduced all of the above starting Saturday night, and it's exhausted me. This week I've paid attention to my moods before and after I scroll through pictures and words, and I'm not pleased with my findings. I'm irritable. Tired. Worn down, emotionally. 

I've given this a good deal of thought. As an introvert I need to be cautious about how I spend my energy, and while I think social media is a good way for an introvert to find community, participate in conversations, etc... it's still energy, and I'm still expending it by using my phone to scroll, by being at the beck and call of texts and messengers.

Don't get me wrong, I love the connections made through blogging and Instagram. They are true and valid and worthy of attention and love and provide many positive things to my life. But... I think there's a valid case to be made about how social media and the internet can interrupt the flow of life, while at the same time providing connection. It's all about how we use it, and why. 

Attention, intention, and responsibility are all words that have been floating around in my head the past few days. 

As a family, we've declared Thursdays to be Screen Free Day each week. We're going to keep the conversation going about how we use our devices, and try to be more attentive to the people around us instead of our screens. It's a challenge, especially as technology keeps moving forward and is proving to be a bigger part of our lives than at least I had ever imagined it would be. 

And let's be honest, having the world at our fingertips is amazing... provided we don't let it stop us from getting ourselves out into the world. 

Growing

I haven't showed my face around here for a while, so... hello. This is me. The thirty something year old version of myself that is occasionally hard to recognize. Or rather, was hard to recognize. Not so much anymore. 

On our road trip I found myself squinting at the road signs on the highway, having headaches that weren't from dehydration or fatigue. Turns out, when you're driving around your own town and not really paying attention to signs - because you don't need to - you don't really realize when your glasses prescription changes... 

An eye exam showed that, low and behold my prescription changed enough to make a not so subtle difference... so I bought myself some new glasses. 

After wearing the same frames, give or take, for fifteen years, a change was in order. And a change it has been. 

My word of the year - I assume you've all heard about this concept by now - is grow. Meaning to grow into myself, to grow my writing, my yoga practice, my patience.... you get the idea. 

The most challenging of all of that, is growing into myself. 

Somehow, I've avoided it for the majority of my life, focusing instead on what I thought others would want me to be and do and dress and act.

So this growth thing, it's been kind of huge. 

And my new glasses are all part of it as I'm choosing to wear things, to adorn myself, with things that I like, instead of thinking about if other people would like how I look in them.  Like corduroy overalls, oversized glasses, flowy, shapeless dresses and clogs. All the clogs, please. I'm choosing to buy things and wear things that fit my body comfortably now, instead of someday. And to exercise because I love my body, not because I want it to change or become smaller. I'm a little softer around the edges than I used to be, but  no less strong. And frankly, I love how my curves play with my strength, how soft doesn't mean weak. 

I'm choosing to pause before saying yes, to honor when my gut tells me to say no, and to really look at what negative "obligations" I can eliminate and things I truly want to do because they add something positive to my life. 

The last few years I've known somewhere deep down what I wanted out of life, who I wanted to be and who I am. Sometimes I've had to squint to see that person, and the headache that caused... I'm done with. I don't want to squint to have to find myself. 

Growing into myself, and then staying close to my heart for the inevitable ebbs and flows of the inner journey, is the challenge. It's what life is all about. Growing into, and then loving, the self. It's only taken me thirty some odd years and a new pair of glasses to get here...

Editing, editing, and editing some more

These days are full of colored pens, typed pages, and a clip board. Each day I sit down with the clip board, the chapter at hand staring at me, and I dive into the hard copy and strike words, change sentences, or close my eyes and try to remember why I thought writing a novel was a good idea in the first place. Pen marks made, I move to the computer and fiddle with words, save the draft, stack the marked pages under my desk with the other edited pages, and then grab another chapter and put it on the clip board for the next days work. 

I'm about a third of the way through this - what I hope will be the last - working draft. At this point my family is invested heavily in my work: my husband has read the entire book and has given invaluable feedback, my children ask questions about the characters and plot, and they don't bat an eye if I sit down in the living room with my clip board while they're playing. It's part of our daily lives, our rhythms and routines. 

It has taken much work to get to this point. 

And so I sometimes sit and wonder what the next phase will look like. Honestly, I have no idea. With a self imposed deadline of the end of April for this draft, I should be in good shape to start querying agents this summer. 

With that comes patience, rejection, dedication, but also room to start writing another first draft of something else. The next novel. 

Can I tell you something? The idea of that creates all sorts of butterflies in my stomach. Because yes, it's work. Dreadful and tiring and painful work at times. But... writing books is what I've always wanted to do. 

And I'm doing it. 

So I'll edit on, knowing that this is all part of it. I'll edit on fully knowing that there's no guarantee that this particular book will ever see a bookstore shelf. I'll edit on with hope in my belly and all sorts of questions on my mind, forever thinking about the next book.

Because that's what writers do. We ask questions, and we have unfathomable amounts of hope.

Have you signed up for my mailing list? The monthly newsletter will arrive in subscribers inboxes tomorrow! You can sign up here.