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. 

birthday magic


Twelve years ago, he was born on national bundt cake day. I remember because in the days after his birth, the two of us spent many hours on the living room couch watching Martha Stewart while he nursed and I drank endless cups of Ocean Spray cranberry juices, and Martha Stewart did a whole show on bundt cakes, and I caught the replay. It was fitting because at that time I mostly baked bundt cakes.

Twelve years of mothering. Specifically, twelve years of being his mother. I could say all the cliches, how he's been a gift and a blessing and how he's changed our life. They'd all be true. 

But mostly, I want to write about the way he sees the world, with gratitude and joy. About how on his birthday he carefully tore at wrapping paper, and examined each gift, his face open with thanks and awe. I want to tell you about the toy store we visited after filing for passports (and how gracious he was to share his birthday with the tedious work of getting passport photos taken and the paperwork that goes with it), and how the woman behind the counter told us the entire store was 20% off, and the only thing Fynn wanted in the whole store? A five dollar mood ring. 

On the evening of his birthday, we headed into Boston to see Potted Potter. We knew a storm was coming, but the reports of how much snow we were likely to get varied, and the timeline was even more questionable. We parked the car and walked through Chinatown and into the Theater District, bundled up in coats and hats and mittens, Fynn clutching his Harry Potter wand that was a gift a few years back. The skies were cloudy, but there was no precipitation. The show was less than two hours, full of hilarity and inside jokes and pop culture tidbits. The magic came when we stepped out of the theater and into a snow globe. Snowflakes were coming down rapidly, sideways, and there was at least an inch of snow on the ground and on top of cars. Both of the kids eyes were wide, taking in the first snow of the year, but Fynn's face held all the wonder of birthday magic. He loves snow. I can't tell you how much. It'd be like asking someone to describe how much they love a child or a parent or their favorite food. 

The drive home was long, slow, and tense. Lucas's knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel. I'm not even sure we turned the radio on. When our kids get nervous, one gets very chatty, and the other becomes quiet. Fynn was quiet the whole ride home, only laughing when we joked about how driving through the snow looks like going at warp speed in star wars. I reached my hand back and held Fynn's. His hands are nearly as big as mine these days.

At home we had to park the car at the end of the driveway so we could shovel off snow and make it to the top. I sent the kids inside, but told Fynn he could play outside in the snow for a while. "It's late, and I'm so tired," he told me. I nodded. But once Lucas and I had cleaned off the driveway, pulled the car into it's spot, and were walking back towards the house, we noticed Fynn on our little hill, building a snowman. 

Paige watched from inside the warm house, and Lucas joined her. But I stayed outside, helped finish up the snowman, and then Fynn and I made snow angels and had a snowball fight. Just him and me. His laughter mixed with wonder, and his eyes twinkled in the dark. It reminded me of when he was little, all the times it was just me and him and I bundled him up for winter walks, all of the first snow of the season we've marveled at together. The house in Ipswich where the storm window wasn't shut properly, and we had snow inside the living room, how he played in it with a shovel and a pail. The hours he spent in his huge snowsuit sitting in snow, taking handfuls of it and eating it no matter how much I protested. Boots caked in snow and mud and how tiny they were in comparison to the big clunky ones he wears now. The blue of his eyes against cloudy grey skies, and how they come alive at the very mention of snow.

Twelve years of being his mama. On his birthday mother nature celebrated him with a nor'easter, and we partied late into the night with snowballs and cake, and joy. There was so much joy. May he always know the joy of birthday magic, a snowstorm, and a family who loves him dearly. 


November rambles


November is here, and it came with it's predictable moodiness. Overcast weather, drizzles for days, and a foreboding sense of winter. 

I love it. 

For those of us who love quiet, and a slower pace of life, November is something of a treat. Especially early November, where it's nearly too early to start focusing on the holidays, but they're still in sight as a balm for when the grey gets to be too much. And let's be real, there does come a time when it's too much. But to stave off the dreariness there's fairy lights and glowing candles and before long the next season of The Great British Bake Off drops in the US on Netflix (the 9th!). 

These early November days I'm thinking about what I'm interested in and want to write about in this space, aside from writing about writing. I keep coming back to the idea of slow living, and I want to expand on that. Slow, intentional, minimal... all buzz words, I know, but they resonate deeply for me. In slowing down, I always learn about myself, and notice more about the world around me, and how I want to exist in the world. 

At the same time, it's a choice that comes with privilege, to slow down. I find it increasingly painful to read about minimalism and anything remotely to do with self help and the wellness industry because of how glaringly obvious it is that there's misrepresentation happening, cultural appropriation right and left, and a lack of self awareness and privilege. 

I'm not sure where that leaves me, except to share my own experience, acknowledging the privileges I'm afforded. 

And my experience? It's about how my body does not do well in a hurried state. A rushed state. A loud and noisy and stressful state. And how I'm starting to think maybe it's our society and culture that is troubled, and not me. 

Or at least, maybe our society could do a better job of accepting people who are not in it for the money, who aren't in it for the glory, who aren't in it to keep up with the Jones's, but who want to exist in a way that keeps them content and doesn't hurt anyone else in the process. 

I want to talk about living in a way that isn't exactly mainstream. About motherhood, but more so, about how someone who is extremely introverted feels about mothering growing children. About becoming more eco-friendly... in our kitchen and with our wardrobes. 

This season, there may be a shift in this space, and at this very moment I want to extend a preemptive olive branch: by speaking about any of these topics, I am not condemning your way of living. I will be sharing what works for me, in hopes that maybe a bit will resonate with you, or perhaps you could learn something new, or spark some interest. As with everything I write here, I write for myself, but I also write with the thought that maybe someone needs to hear what I have to say.. and that person might feel less alone after reading my words. 

That's what happened last week, when I shared about my roller coaster of emotions that comes with rejection. I'll tell you something, it helps me to hear that others are in the same boat. So it often comes full circle, and a bit of vulnerability can go a long way. 

Thank you for reading my ramblings, I wasn't sure what I was going to share today when I opened up a new blog post, sometimes my favorite bits of writing come spilling out without a plan or an outline, they flow as they see fit.

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. 

NaNoWriMo Tips



Last week I shared in my monthly newsletter that my plan for next month is to participate in National Novel Writing Month. If you haven't heard of it before, you sign up and accept the challenge of writing 50,000 words over the course of November (roughly 1,666 words per day). I've won three times (which simply means I hit the word count goal) and while I haven't done much with any of those novels since, I've enjoyed the process and the practice it's given me. 

I thought I would share some tips and tidbits I've learned over the years that have helped me break down NaNoWriMo to make it seem more manageable. It's a little late in the game for tips on preparing for the challenge, so I'll share things that help me get through the month. If you're looking for prep tips, they're just a google search away :) 

  • Tell your friends and loved ones you're taking part in the challenge. Not only will it help with accountability, but it will also help them to understand why maybe you aren't as fully present as you usually are! 
  • Ask for help with things you usually do. For me, it's the household stuff, cooking dinners and laundry, things I like to stay on top of to make life easier in general. Those things tend to slide in November, and I care less when my family knows it's going to happen, and they're willing to help.
  • Find a group! Whether it's in person or online, NaNoWriMo works better if you have a community of writers who are doing the same crazy challenge that you are, helping you feel less alone. The NaNo site is a great place to find local meet ups, and search by #nanowrimo2018 on social media to find other people online so you can cheer on each other. 
  • Get ahead early on in the month. While the daily word count goal is around 1,600 words, aim for 2,000 a day in the first week. Bank any extra words so that you are ahead of the game if you get sick, have to cook a big Thanksgiving spread, emergencies pop up, or you just want a day off.
  • Writing sprints. Whether on your own or with others, set the time for a certain amount of time (ten or fifteen minutes) and see how many words you can write. A few of those in an hour can get you to your daily word count goal. 
  • Write first thing in the morning. Or in the evening. Or in little bits and pieces throughout the day. Mostly, write in whatever way fits with your lifestyle, and works best for YOU. 
  • Get out of the house and write at a cafe. Or the library. A change in space can do a wonder for your mood, especially midway through the month when it feels like things are stalling and you feel like you can't go on any more. 
  • Take a break. If you've banked some words, take advantage of that and take a day off. It'll be okay.
  • Just keep writing. Don't edit. Don't judge your words. Just write. The main goal of NaNoWriMo is simply to write 50,000 words. Hopefully of a story, but mostly just words. They're not supposed to be perfect. They're not supposed to be polished. They're not supposed to be linear. They're not even supposed to be coherent! They are supposed to be words typed on a page. That's it. 
  • Don't judge your first draft. Whether it's written in a month or longer, it doesn't matter. 50,000 words isn't a full fledged novel in general, so regardless of what gets written, you'll need to finish the story and edit after November anyway. 
  • Make small goals, and reward yourself when you achieve them. Maybe it's at every 10,000 words, or only the halfway point. I like to buy myself a few treats, like nice chocolate bars or boxes of tea, and save them for meeting various goals. For someone who is goal oriented like myself, it works well!
  • Have FUN. Remind yourself that writing can be fun. Challenges like this are just that, challenges, but the goal is to have fun at the same time. 
The best part of NaNoWriMo is at the end when you see what you've created. Whether you meet the big goal of 50,000 words or not, you created something out of nothing. 

NaNoWriMo is a magical thing. While often it's something people check off of their bucket list, for others it's a starting point. The first novel I ever wrote was during NaNoWriMo back in 2013, and it gave me the confidence I needed to move forward knowing that I could write a story (bare bones as it was) that had a beginning, middle, and an ending. 

I can guarantee you that if it weren't for my early novels, I wouldn't be trying to find a home for Farm Girl today. 

So have fun, write on, and let me know if you're participating or not! Head over to the NaNoWriMo site and find me, my username is crnnoel, I'd love to be a buddy and cheer on your adventure.

~~~~

I also want to note really quickly that I turned off the comments for my blog posts. This isn't because I don't want to hear from you, quite the opposite actually. I find it difficult to respond to blog comments because I'm unsure if I should respond via email, or via this space, where people will see the response... and sometimes the blog comments come in without an email attached to it and that leaves out that option, but the comment warrants a personal response I may not want to share here. 

So what I've done is opened up a permanent contact submission form that you can find at the bottom of the website. Feel free to email any time! I love having conversations about my blog posts and your experiences and all the things, but most often I prefer to have them one on one. There are so many ways for us to be in touch via social media, that another space to have public conversations is wearing on me. I hope you'll understand! 


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!


Hobbit hole ramblings


"Whatever a house is to the heart and body of a man – refuge, comfort, and luxury – surely it is as much or more to the spirit." ~ Mary Oliver, from "Building the House" Photo taken during the Outdoor Sculpture at Maudslay event. 

Every fall there is an art exhibit at our favorite local park. Walking through familiar spaces while inundated with creativity, new art forms which create new landscapes, is a treat. The kids and I spent some time there on Monday with our nature adventure group, and the exhibits this year blew me away with their attention to detail, play, and connection.

The above picture was taken of the inside of a little shack, filled with poetry and decorated with clam shells and driftwood. A friend we've known for years came up to me and asked if I wanted a picture of me and the kids in it, "If I were to guess you made any of these exhibits, this would be the one," she laughed.

This summer our road has gotten louder. It's a fairly busy street, but there have been several building projects in the works, and where there was space for noise to travel and dissipate... there is now an echo chamber. Sounds of cars and motorcycles and boat engines from the nearby river all bounce not only in and around our walls, but off of house after house, new build after new build, and the spaces where I've been able to find quiet are no longer.

I've been daydreaming of a house surrounded by woods where I have to make a conscious effort to see people. Of open spaces and trees and quiet. Of privacy. Maybe of seashell covered shingles...

The louder the world feels, the more the world is invited into our homes via all this wonderful technology, the more I want to pull away and find a hobbit hole and focus on second breakfast and cozy nooks and crannies and home.

Perhaps it's the seasonal change. The draw to go inward and curl into oneself a bit.

Michelle put it well in her recent post when she wrote:

"The hours of daylight get shorter and I love that (so much). I know most people don’t feel the same (don’t hold it against me; let’s still be friends). For me, things just feel quieter and softer. Moving into the colder months seems to reflect my introverted nature, I suppose. What can I say? It suits me."

It suits me as well.

I'm hoping that once the storm windows shut and the air cools and the motorcycles are put away for the winter, our home will feel less like an assault on the senses, and more like home again to me. I want to hear the sound of my own thought. And maybe, just maybe, with the return to the quiet seasons and a feeling of reset, I'll be able to recreate a bit of what was in that simple wooden, poetry filled shack in our own home and carry it through the noise of the following seasons...

~~~~~

Before I sign off for the week, take some time and read the Mary Oliver essay I linked to under the photo, I'm still digesting and need to reread again... but I'm finding myself drawn to Oliver's words often, and the little house full of poetry felt serendipitous and ever so sweet...




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.}



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.













Writing update: expectations, reality, and hope


The notebook pictured is full of scribbles pertaining to my novel. Several outlines, timelines, character sketches, full paragraphs, lines, sometimes only a word to jog my memory. It's fun to look through and see what stuck. What didn't. What might need to come back someday when an agent or editor has suggestions. 

Last week I began the process of querying literary agents. Prior to that I worked on a query letter template, with the help of a few patient people who held my hand and read my words. I struggled over tone, word choice, and how to capture the essence of a 100,000 word novel into three short paragraphs. But it's done, and after the first email submission, I felt a sense of relief. 

It's a process, getting your novel out into the world. I don't expect to hear anything from anyone anytime soon. But, I do hope that my email will fall into the right inbox at some point. 

Before I hit send to the first literary agent on my list, I had to dig deep and ask myself the question I've been avoiding for months:

Will I be okay with rejection? 

I don't truly know the answer to that. But I'm doing my best to keep my chin up. I hope that keeping some perspective about the business of publishing and realizing that it's all just the nature of the beast, and not necessarily my writing, will help. I've never taken rejection, or criticism well. Writing groups have helped me tremendously with handling criticism. But rejection, it still stings. The fear of it holds me back. But I'm tired of holding myself back, of giving in to fear and letting what I believe other people think of me and my work keep me from pursuing my dreams.

My goal for the summer is to send out as many query letters as possible, and hope that one will stick. While doing so, I'm planning on enjoying time with my children, countless trips to the beach, and some serious self care rituals and routines. For me, that includes getting up early, writing morning pages while sipping tea, exercise, dry brushing {I find it so therapeutic! Look it up if you haven't heard of it}, drinking lots of water, connecting with my husband, and remembering that while my book and my writing is important to me, my worth, my value as a human being, does not rely on finding an agent, and having my book traditionally published. 

But yeah, it'd be nice if I could find a literary agent to represent my book sooner rather than later. 

Managing expectations and reality while staying mildly optimistic will be the true work of my summer. Maybe my life...

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.