Best day ever

 I listen to Hal Elrod podcasts sometimes on my morning walks. I read his book Miracle Morning many years ago, and while I was inspired by his story of surviving a horrific accident, financial plummet, and cancer, I couldn't really imagine myself implementing the practices he did in S.A.V.E.R.S. When he talked about how he went running, I remember thinking, "Yeah. That's not me."

But his words stayed with me those stagnant months. I used to run and bike and exercise when I was younger. But my knees hurt so bad just taking the stairs, and I had long since abandoned step aerobics because I couldn't step or jump anymore. Yet his words were planted and grew. 

Now I regularly run 3-5 miles a day and can do a 7-mile long run, aiming for 10 in the fall because humidity and I aren't friends. 

I listened to Hal today on the post-run walk. I got out the door at 5:30 a.m. today--a feat in itself because I was resigned to take the day off because of the predawn 75 degrees and a later heat advisory. But when I walked Ruth I told myself I could run in this (I'm a weenie in the heat). So I did. And, like I said, I listened to Hal talk about making any moment or day the best ever, regardless of what goes on externally.

In the morning quiet, I appreciated moments this week. The red geraniums in my window boxes. The purple blossoms on the cascading weeds in the pool garden (lol). The first cucumber harvested from the garden. Basil and provolone on a grilled cheese sandwich. Cold, red grapes. The sound of laughter from my kids and their friends in the pool. Quiet lulls with Kellie as we sat in the sun. The rabbit trails with Nadine as we dumped thoughts like an abundant buffet--I savored the refreshment of it all. Books on the table about chicken coops (every time I see that word my mind immediately says co-op, and Shane's did too! Life in the homeschool world!) and winter greenhouses. The hummingbird outside the kitchen window while I was hugging Shane. Melty fudgesicles with friends on a summery day. Ruth constantly at my side. 

It felt so good to squeeze in three miles on a morning I thought I would log zero. It felt so good to have friends back in our life--all of us eager to fill the lost time of last year. Eager. 

It felt so good to laugh with Shane and the kids as we imagined the names of our future chickens. We are naming them after characters in The Hunger Games, and if I get a rooster, it's a hard call between Finnick and President Snow. We also joked we could name them after people at Lanie's church, like Pastor John, Ruth, Ruth, Ruth, and Donna. Thankfully, one Ruth, our pup, is more than enough (who was not named after anyone at Lanie's church, but picked from a woman in the Bible and a special verse.).

After several nights of uneasy sleep, I went to bed last night and slept soundly. I love the people in my life. Love the authentic ease between my friends and me. Love the beauty of this property and the creative genius of our maker. Love knowing that I am held, no matter what.

Best day ever. Every day. 

ten years ago!

Thank you, God.

Thoughts on the finish, part one

She closed her government book last week, and that was it. Kindergarten through twelfth grade. A full childhood. Over. It was as quiet as any book closing is. For me, carries the weight that every book closing does. Of satisfaction and sorrow. Of gain and loss.

She's worked months preparing for her senior solo recital this weekend. 

French Suite VI                                                                                              J. S. Bach

            Allemande

            Courante

            Sarabande

            Gavotte

            Bourrée

            Menuet

            Gigue

Danse (Tarantelle Styrienne) (1890)                                                                         Claude Debussy

 

Ballade Op. 38, No. 2 (1836-39)                                                                    Frédéric Chopin

 

* * Intermission * *

 

Suite für Klavier Op. 14                                                                                 Béla Bartók

            Allegretto

            Scherzo

            Allegro Molto

            Sostenuto

 

Rondo Capriccioso Op. 14                                                                             Felix Mendelssohn

(I hear her playing now.)

She was full of all the feelings today as we got flowers and cupcakes and drinks.  I was full of my own feelings. Oh, this reminder:

Eighteen summers. Eighteen years. I look back in a bit of shock--I'm not done yet! But I am. No matter how much I loved raising this girl, time marches on and I can't stop it. No matter how much I want to hold onto every full moment of this stage I loved, it is all only memory now. 

I loved it all. 

I loved it all. 

So proud of this girl. So grateful she's my daughter. So thankful I'm her mom.

Empty

I visited with a friend recently. (She texted me to see if there was anything she could prepare for me--a snack, a lunch, a drink. I told her it was enough she would text to ask and even invite me in her house. As far as hospitality goes--there are some people who don't do that. The kids and I have stories of unimaginable occasions. But that is another story for another time--perhaps at my table over coffee and banana bread. Or tea with foods to nibble. But for the record, hospitality is about creating a space for someone else to feel seen and cared for, so when they leave they feel both full and empty [emptied of any burdens they brought]).

She is preparing her heart and home to move out of state. A home she and her husband built and raised their family to grown and gone. She is feeling very emotional, and I understand it. I told her that even though we looked forward to moving (ten years ago), when it was time to go, I was hit with intense grief (The grief was really more fear we were making a bad decision. We weren't.) over leaving the place my husband and I built. The place where we brought home our babies. And for all the hopes and dreams we'd had, never realized there. Instead of a joyful departure to a next phase, there was an emptiness in me that I grieved longer than I would have liked. 

I just wanted a normal life. Family. Friendships. Good neighbors and neighborhood friendships for my kids. My friend understood what I expressed. She just wanted normal too. And it's hard when life doesn't live up normal. And normal doesn't feel like a stretch. It feels like a baseline. 

Her husband went out and brought back lunch. 

 "I haven't been shopping yet," she told me. "Want to see what the fridge of an empty nester looks like?"

"I caught a glimpse when your husband opened the door," I replied.

It was pretty empty. Empty bedrooms. Empty fridge. 

I had a backpack with me with my monthly meal planner and a cookbook. We looked through the cookbook together and talked about food and meal planning and health. But in my thoughts, I wondered about the two bookshelves of cookbooks I have at home--gluten-free cooking and baking, keto, plant-based, bento, meal prep. I know there's a cookbook in my Amazon cart right now, one in transit to the library for my hold, and another in the mail from Abebooks as I write this. 

We have crowded around our little kitchen table (oh, the memories of parties here), hosted holidays at our big dining room table, have spread out extended tables in the yard for cookouts. This house has always been a place where we've invited friends (I remember a picture-perfect blackberry pound cake I made for an afternoon tea on the patio with Nicole and Jen to discuss fall class curriculum. All the colorful plates and cups for pool dates. After school playdates and snacks once weekly, gradually tapering to occasional, now not so much at all. Knit dates. Book clubs. Mummers. Summer holidays. Sleepovers. Birthdays. Poetry teas in the field. 

Home and hospitality mean so much to me. 

As my friend moves onto new places and experiences, I think long on the wrapping up of here. How much more time here? I feel it all winding down. 

A neighborhood walk, and a neighbor whose sons have also grown and gone. On trash days, Erin wheels our two totes to the street, full, each, one recycling, one regular trash. And (theirs), a square basket sized recycle and a can worthy of Oscar the Grouch. That is downsizing. That is empty nesting.

We made chocolate frogs for a Harry Potter movie night and sleepover with a bestie. What of all the cake plates, frog molds, bento lunchboxes and the gobs of accessories to go with them, the big walk-in pantry, and All The Tables. What of those things when we are just two? 

How I sadden at the thought of a home built for two, or this, a house for a full family--mostly quiet and empty ... waiting. The toys in the basement--they are untouched from the last time my kids played with them together, years ago. Frozen in time, like Miss Havisham's wedding. I don't want to downsize their childhood.

My friend is moving, and it seems like a preview to my future. The empty fridge. The empty rooms.  

I told her I would photograph her house and put it in a book for her. Because I know what it is like to leave, and I know how memories fade.

 

Day story

June 2021

Outside my window, big blue. The pool is open and clean and inviting. I stuck my feet in yesterday for a bit, an icy embrace that soon felt delightful. Looking forward to friends over and big splashes and spending time together--my love language.

And I quote, "You want to know how I did it? This is how I did it, Anton: I never saved anything for the swim back." Vincent to Anton in Gattaca. I've seen that movie at least twice, but I don't really remember much of it because I'm pretty sure I slept through part of it each time. I do that a lot, sleep through movies.  But this time, I stayed awake. I watched it with the kids since I'm on a dystopian/sci-fi kick right now. This line caught in my heart. Because he wasn't perfect, but he valued excellence. He valued determination. He persevered no matter how things were stacked. And he was willing to die for it. (And both times, this imperfect, undervalued, underdog saved his perfect brother.)

Giving thanks for full, rich ends. Lanie is finishing up her senior year. She made the Dean's List in college for spring semester, was given an award for being top student in a class, and she came in first place during a piano competition. I'm doing her senior photos next week before her solo recital. I'm so very proud of her hard work, dedication and value for excellence. I have witnessed the hours she's clocked in. She amazes me.

In the school room, I am considering a next year and plans for Erin. We can make it anything we want.

From the kitchen, I am enjoying Trader Joe's European-style Whole Milk yogurt with a spoon of apple butter (currently using pumpkin butter) and a half cup of frozen blues. It is my very favorite post-run snack. Also, I came across a cookbook called Plant Over Processed, and it's a new fave. I love her very simple, healthy, tasty smoothies. Her green smoothie fills a large 2-cup glass of frozen goodness for under 200 calories and it's all health and yumminess. I'm focusing primarily on health benefits in food these days, and looking to limit my dependence on processed goods. No judgment. Just want to see what it feels like to eat more fresh foods. Also, I have cut back coffee to one cup a day. 

I am focused. Intentional. Committed.

I don't want to forget--oh, these graduating seniors with their sweet baby pictures. Shane recently sent me a picture from a file he had of Lanie in a little wagon at our other house. She couldn't have been a year old yet, and her cheeks were so full and kissable and I remember so clearly the duo we were. These are my favorite memories--being a mom to these girls. Best ever of my life, and the little stage was treasure.

I am reading How Bad Do You Want It by Matt Fitzgerald; Eat Run and North, both by Scott Jurek; Soul Survivor by Philip Yancey; How to Live or a Life of Montaigne by Sarah Bakewell.

Around the house, the slowing of time. I love this part about summer. I lovelovelove how my house smells as I climb the stairs up (it reminds me exactly of my childhood home). I love the fragrance of blossoms and fruits. I love the birdsong before dawn. I love the cool of a morning and the warmth of the ground beneath bare feet. At the dentist this week, he said, "Nice tan!" And I told him I got it from running (though at 6 a.m.--you can get a nice base and not burn then). 

I am hearing the siren song of cicadas. They sounded loud and distant, and we've had swarms of our own here clustering on trees and bushes. But it's only last night that they started their sizzle and screech sounds in our yard. Erin went to let Nella out this morning, and the cicadas were gathered at the step. Sometimes they catch a ride in on one of us. A few have found entrance into the house through the fireplace flue in our bedroom. I have managed to avoid them on runs, but honestly not looking forward to cutting the grass because they fly recklessly around.

A view of my favorite things

Reminder--not everyone wants you to succeed, even if they say they do. Actions speak.

yoga with friends

big blue unveiled

girls day out

ohmygosh those cheeks

first recital this month

ready, set, go!

 

At the table, I am making plans for Lanie's solo recital and cake, cookies and other goodies. I am so thankful for friends and family and those dear to her who are able to make it. This is what she wanted over acknowledging graduation. And it's a sweet gift for her and from her.

And still counting (15,247-15,336)

French toast for breakfast, a friend sleepover for Erin, Harry Potter, chocolate frogs

filming fun, taco night, a hike turned chat because of allergies, Sharon, Kellie

afternoon coffee, a good book to read (Run the Mile You're In by Ryan Hall), a comfy couch, games around the table, a clean bathroom

jump rope, Hershey Kisses, catching up with Connie, peace, remembering

air conditioning, cinnamon for my coffee, clean clothes, clean sheets, soft pillows

Michi, laughter and tears, truth talks, a yoga date, Pilates bands

big plates of salad, salted steak, burgers on the grill, popsicles, earlier sunrise starts

the phone call for the photoshoot, exchanging smiles in public, belly laughs with Erin, a full tank of gas, food in the freezer

Ruth, Wegman's catering for gluten-free (oh the gorgeous macarons! My heart squeezes in joy and gratitude), song, a senior shoot for Kirsten, Erin in tow

that man of mine, this heart beating, long runs, show tunes, cleaner eating

decaf, all the naked faces, frozen blues, Eventown, window boxes

red geraniums, the woman working at the garden center (oh--so old and weathered and wonderful), rosemary, a bikini in stars, happiness

Janice and her mom waving on their way out, Kat who encouraged me on the run, buttercups in the field, a thunderstorm, the field--cut

fragrance in the air, the alarming sound of cicadas, good blood pressure, good sleep, cuddles on the couch with Erin

a 7-mile run on a cool morning, work in the gardens, fresh herbs and vegetable plants, watermelon, cilantro in a pot

Trader Joe's European-style whole milk yogurt (plain!), frozen blues after the hot runs, sunnies and buffs in the mail, a plant-based whole foods cookbook from the library, a weekend quick read

a holiday weekend with my family, cloth napkins, smoothies for lunch, running shorts in the mail, plans with friends

a day I slept away, texts with Amy T, texts with Nadine, that man of mine, inexpensive summer dresses at the store

a music score background unexpectedly in a movie sparking joy (Run, Boy, Run)

This week's sidekick: Zio XT

Loving these

French toast for breakfast, Cara's first

Ruth thought we were celebrating her!

pool attire

lessons in grass clippings

Second senior shoot, next up: Lanie

And if I had planned it w/ water, I would have done more

Goofing with Erin