the weary world rejoices

I missed my children's chirstmas pageant.

there is a six day old baby in my house and I have not held her one time.

my parents were in town and I saw them for less than an hour.

no pottery open house for me last weekend.

my fever finally broke yesterday after holding steady in the 101 range for four days. my eyes are still a puffy swollen mess, but my throat doesn't hurt so much anymore. jamin seemed better this morning after two days of earache. he's missed more days of school in december than he's attended. and eric is the champion holding us all together.

did I mention I started my period in the middle of all this? tmi, you say? yeah, that's what I said, too.

last year's advent was a beautiful time. I was in a slump after coming home from camp and a season of waiting, of quiet anticipation was just what I needed. we lit candles, we sang songs, and that was enough. we got through the darkness. it is always my intention to make our december calendars full of empty squares, leaving lots of room for savoring the season. nothingness is always my priority in advent time so I have lots of time for reflection, for whatever happens to come up, for waiting.

this year, advent has yet to make it into my consciousness. there was a baby to get birthed, new friends to invest in, out-of-town company to entertain. thanksgiving was late which made advent seem early. someone always needed something. there were school projects and stocking lists and darn it, we still haven't put up a tree. we put up lights on the house, but they're the wrong ones, and I think we've only turned them on twice. so because I wouldn't pay attention to advent, because I wouldn't give pause for the holy, my body went on strike.

the passages we read from isaiah this time for year talk a lot about the people walking in darkness. the people walking in darkness don't know they are getting it wrong because they can't see what they're doing. people walking in darkness very rarely get things to turn out the way they want, but they can't see the end result anyway. people in darkness keep plugging away, hoping for the best, never being quite sure if they've made it or not. but. only people in darkness can truly see that great light. it is the contrast that makes it so miraculous.

so maybe only the weary can truly rejoice. maybe it takes three days in bed to humble oneself enough to ask for help so that the joyous work of advent can truly take place. maybe mandatory stillness really is required. and maybe sometimes if we can't see the contrast, it has to be made stronger for us, strong enough to get our full attention.

I am rejoicing in the midst of my weariness today. when I emailed my tribe to ask for help for our family yesterday, boy did they rally. I went to bed last night with my head on a brand new pillow, my belly full of homemade goodness, my body warm from wood chopped by friends, and my heart filled with good wishes and kindness. advent is not over. there is still time to anticipate the coming light. I haven't missed it all together. and my biggest rejoicing moment today? halfway through writing this post, a weary rabbit slipped a precious baby into my arms. I finished my writing with kitra in a sling on my chest. my first chance to hold this girl has lasted well over an hour. the weary world rejoices, indeed.

redbud's little free library

today is my half birthday. it's kind of cool to have a point of reflection in such an opposite time of year than my real birthday. I can look out the window down into the chicken pen and see such a different scene than I might have viewed from this same window in june. my family, never wanting to miss a chance to celebrate something, has sent me into my bedroom with the door closed so I can write all by myself in honor of this half-year mini-milestone. I'll take it.

for my birthday this year eric had a secret building project. he and rabbit had private consultations at the computer, looking up designs for something I wasn't allowed to see. jamin was eager to swing a hammer, and cora was eager to smile sweetly and tell me I was going to love it so much. this mystery project wasn't finished in time for my birthday last june, but that was just fine by me. it meant I got to help with all the finishing touches and decide where my little free library's final resting place would be. the best sort of birthday present, really: handmade, perfectly matched to what I love most, and I got to help in the end. my family is the best.

I really love to read. I'm not even all that picky about what I read, either. I am just as likely to spend my time reading billy collins aloud to eric while he cooks supper as I am to read cheeky internet articles on the top ten ways to save my marriage (even when my marriage is really in no need of saving). I love memoirs and novels, cookbooks and political manifestos. I read instruction manuals for appliances we don't even own. I read every bit of the newspaper, even things I don't really care much about like personal ads and those weird articles the TTimes publishes about how seniors can avoid being hacked online. I can't help it. reading is just what I do.

eric knows this about me all too well. and once I stumbled upon a little free library in orlando, I couldn't stop thinking about it. free books??? a community-building opportunity centered around reading??? it was almost too much for my heart to handle. all the things I love, all the things I feel most passionate about all rolled into one. so, my darling husband built one for me.

it's not like we live in a super high-traffic neighborhood with lots of room for book turnover. not too many people will stumble upon our little library the way I was overjoyed to find my first one in orlando. (on campus at rollins college, by the way. I snagged some john irving and swooned.) but we do have a neighborhood full of book lovers, serious readers (and writers) and parents raising their kids to be the same. and redbud springs gets some high quality visitors on a regular basis, people who might very well swoon at the sight of free books for the taking. these visitors are the sort that will come back with their own books to offer as well I think. bibliophiles attract other bibliophiles. it's just a fact of life.

so here we are six months after I turned 34, and my free little library is open for business. jamin and cora were so eager to dedicate the lower shelf for "kid stuff" and stack up old magazines and books they were ready to pass along. someone in the neighborhood already left an ann patchett novel I haven't read, and I promise to put it back for the next person as soon as I am done. I love this secret trade box we have, how it is saving money and reducing waste and making me so happy all at the same time. and you (yes you!) are invited to check it out the next time you visit. or better yet, pick eric's brain for building plans for one of your own. I am already scoping out the best place in town for our next installment. there is no such thing as too many books, especially when they are free.

we gather together

this year for thanksgiving our guest list kept growing and growing. eric would run into someone who didn't have plans, I'd invite another neighbor I hadn't seen in a while, those friends would invite another friend who didn't have plans. this explosive inviting is hardly uncommon at mudflower. rabbit just rolls her eyes at me mostly. but this year was different because our wonderful friends lindsay and travis offered the use of their summer house while they are in florida for the winter. here's my thank you to them and to everyone else who joined our family to give thanks this year.

travis and lindsay,

I know it is hard to believe, reading this in sunny south florida, but we woke up to snow flurries thanksgiving morning. no accumulation, nothing to get too excited about, but I couldn't help thinking how different your thanksgiving was probably starting out. there were socks involved in ours, just for instance, and we built a fire in your fireplace first thing. I can't imagine thanksgiving without either one, actually.

you hosted twenty-two people for thanksgiving this year. people came from as far as connecticut and as close as just down seeoff mountain road. we covered the gamut in professions (a chef, a couple of farmers, some graphic designers, a school guidance counselor, theologians, authors, a former auto mechanic, and a first grade teacher, just to name a few). we covered a wide age range, too: in utero all the way to 87. we had people present who have wikipedia entries in their names and people haven't had a "real" job in years and couldn't be happier about it. a whole spectrum of people living a wide spectrum of lives, but, boy we had a really great time.

jamin and cora were so thrilled to be in your house. it was comforting to them to have a place so familiar, even if the season for visiting was all wrong. cora knew just where to find annie's playmobil babies and jamin made a beeline for the games cabinet. they were the ones to show people where the bathroom is, to offer the view of the lake from the deck, to explain your collection of heart-shaped rocks on the back porch. jamin settled right in to a settlers of catan marathon, eager to play after a three month break from this summer. somehow they ended up being the only people present under ten, but they didn't seem to mind at all. we were at coopercameronandannie's house! everything else was just details.

I could hardly wait to introduce people to each other. we had farming friends visiting from new england, and I was super eager to show them the community we have fostered here. there were two alison (allyson) cheeks in the house that had never met each other. there were representatives from non-profits across the county that needed to get to know each other. we had artists that needed to compare notes and a landlord that needed to find housing for someone looking to move to the area and people passionate about community and how to make it stronger that needed to cheer each other on. listening to the conversations buzzing around your living room, so many that I wanted to jump into and be a part of, so many people I love getting to know other people I love, made my heart full enough to burst. it wasn't the only time I wished you were there with me.

and the food! we have managed to surround ourselves with people that not only love and appreciate good food, but that are also quite talented at preparing and presenting it. jason (our chef friend from connecticut) handled the turkey and fixings. it was a bird from busy bee farm and she was a beauty (if you are into that sort of thing, anyway). stephanie (eric's farm friend from new england) brought her own turnips and made this amazing appetizer-y thing that involved pomegranate seeds and goat cheese. rabbit made stuffing with dried cranberries and cashews. nancy made a mystery pie, later revealed to be parsnip. parsnip! there's no way I can tell you everything we had, but suffice it to say there was plenty of it and it was delicious.

I never take enough pictures and thanksgiving was no exception. there are a few of the spread and of eric's plate of leftovers, my children choosing their dessert and people fixing their plates. but how could I capture the magic of that room, the laughter in the glow of the fire, the laid-back feeling that everyone seemed to have? there was no cliched scramble to get things made at this gathering, no stress of who to sit next to whom at the table. we sat where we wanted, we ate as we felt like it, and we gabbed with whoever was nearest. the circle we made just before the serving line started took up the entire living room and kitchen. we held hands, connected ourselves to each other, and connected each other to that moment. it was powerful stuff.

after eating there was football in the front driveway (we need to loan you our ball pump next time you are up here), a walk down to the lake, more settlers of catan (my boy might be a touch obsessed at this point), and everyone took a turn listing what they were thankful for on leaves cora and I had cut out earlier in the week. those leaves are works of art, prayers of gratitude, reminders of what matters. I plan to use them as part of our holiday decorating tradition for years to come.




















people stayed til 930 or so before we finally called it a night. eric and andrew had their annual arm wrestling competition (it is just as giggly as it is macho, rest assured) and the final toast of the night was not with the last of the wine or a good ol' sammy smith's cider, but with crackers topped with tiny dab of mika's ghost pepper relish. the perfect way to end a perfect feast day.

the only thing that could have made the day better was having your family right there with us, and I mean that most sincerely. you would have loved this gathering, the laid-back feel to it, this particular grouping of people, all this happy relaxation in your home. so start planning your visit for next thanksgiving now. I'll be watching for sales on socks for you.

love in all the thankfullest of ways,

wendy

why we live here: our local public library

for a county of 30,000 people, we have a really awesome library.

when I first started at the group home in 2003, the library was a tiny dark building that smelled like you would think a small town library should smell. it was so tiny, in fact, that when kids needed a specific book for research we would have to ask at the circulation desk and the librarian had to go into the back or the basement to get the book for us. when we moved back to brevard in 2007, this beautiful building had magically appeared (through lots of hard work and an extremely dedicated friends of the library organization) and I just couldn't be happier about it.

the transylvania county public library has an amazing collection of books for both children and adults. I have happily feasted on homesteading memoirs and how-to guides, books about living of the grid and peak oil and putting up pickles. there is a whole "special collection" just on home education, chock full of information on curriculum and activities and why to homeschool in the first place. we've read all the boxcar children books and all the magic treehouse collection, too. we never go on a road trip without stocking up on books on CD. cora has taken home everything on turtles she can find. the children's librarians are eager to help my kids find what they want ("I can't remember what it's called, but there is a baby on the front…" true request made by my daughter, fulfilled by a librarian genius.)

the children's programming is especially fantastic. we've done flat stanley and the summer reading program. the kids both earned a library book dedicated in their honor for reading so much last summer, not to mention various take home prizes as well. jamin and I dressed as super heroes for mother's day one year (that was exciting). there is story time, complete with singing and a craft every other week. we've seen incredible puppet shows, billy jonas jam sessions, and even won a dance contest when secret agent 23 skidoo came through.



there is an outdoor concert series in the summer. local bands come to play, but also some bigger regional groups that we love to see. kids can run around and no one cares. the steps of the amphitheater are a great place to burn off some energy when we have time to kill running errands in town. and of course, it being brevard, you can't go to the library (or anywhere else) without seeing someone you know.

upstairs there is a special collection of local history and artifacts, scrapbooks full of treasures from the communities across the county. the transylvania times runs photos from this collection every so often as a reminder of who we are as a county and how far we've come.

the library has a CD collection that eric is particularly good at navigating. he brings home all kinds of things that I would never pick out, full of gems like this song that my children can't stop singing. we check out movies and television series (rabbit is especially fond on anything from the BBC).

maybe most towns are this lucky and have libraries this extraordinary. maybe I am gushing about something everyone else just takes for granted. but one thing I know for sure about the transylvania county public library: best public restrooms in town. big, clean, easy access. I've even seen people brushing their teeth at the sinks. we've stopped in plenty of times just because someone had to pee (or something even most urgent, ahem.) the library made potty training just a little bit easier for this family, that's for sure.

so whether you love books or bathroom breaks, there is something to be found for everyone, I promise. I hold the library responsible for some of my best brevard friendships as well (when you are new to town, it is a great place to find parents and kids just waiting to be friends with you.)

what has your library done for you lately?

house warming

I am really bad at being cold. every year I think I have gotten over it, this will be the year I will suck it up and be an adult about winter, embrace the change of seasons with a willing mind and peaceful heart. I have such wonderful visions of myself making it through a new england winter with enjoyment and triumph, but every year I barely survive north carolina through february without planning my tropical escape. I make plans that this year I will be better: I will take winter hikes to enjoy the view, I will not complain about wearing longjohns and socks at all times, I will be happy to be indoors and I will make the most of these short days and long nights. so far, that has never happened.

I start to whine about the middle of october. that's when I start to get cold. I can't help it. and it doesn't seem to matter that it is still sunny and warm by mid afternoon. my body has some sort of internal clock that senses the impending doom of winter. so I dutifully start layering: tights under my jeans, long sleeves under my fleece under my coat. my feet and my hands are the worst. it doesn't matter how many pairs of socks I wear, how much I invest in slippers and boots, my feet are always always cold. and on top of that, I am one of the lucky ones prone to chilblains (see that? "a predisposed individual"? that's me!) (my family made fun of me for coming up with such a silly name for my sore toes until we stumbled across the phrase in the long winter. and if laura says it, it is true. at least that is the rule in our household.)

but being cold for me is much more than just physical discomfort. winter is about stillness and quiet, a slower pace and a shift to the internal. gone are the long evenings in the hammock and the sunny afternoons of harvesting beans. winter means business, but business with the intent of less. the busy-ness of summer isn't there to distract me anymore. winter calls me to prove to myself that my summer days were well spent, that I stored up enough sunshine in my bones to make it through these darker days. and while I know that this shift of seasons is part of how we keep in balance, how we make the most of every quadrant of life, most of me just longs for the ease of warmth, the time of year I feel most like myself. the cold just reminds me of how much work it is to be still and wait it out, even if that time of stillness is what my body and mind and heart need most.

eric, whose bare skin I am not allowed to touch again until april because my hands are always so cold, has finally said enough is enough. this will be the year of the warm wife. he (with lots of help from our amazing landlords and other homesteading friends) did all the research, legwork, and purchasing necessary to install a wood stove in our happy home. he talked to the chimney guy and the stove guy, he laid tile and tore out drywall. he found a load of firewood to be delivered, and he has been happily splitting for months now. (being the frugal guy he is, he found a deal on wood that wasn't split: three cords for the price of one! he heard "logs" and thought two foot sections were in our future. imagine our surprise when this load of telephone poles arrived for delivery.)

this morning when I got up it was 72 degrees in my kitchen. last year we kept the heat pump set at 60 degrees. this is a wonderful change of pace. eric says he can see my body shift when I start to get cold and he heads downstairs to throw another long or two on the fire. he walks around shirtless most of the time. poor rabbit has had to rearrange her living space to accommodate the wood stove and all the equipment that goes with it, but even that has been okay. and when her mom arrives from hawaii next month, that wood heat will make her feel right at home, I'm sure.

so maybe this really is the year I can embrace winter. this will be the year of coziness and contentedness with the idea of being at home. I will crotchet and read while wearing only one pair of socks. and maybe, if I'm lucky, the temperatures will stay high enough that I can touch my husband's arm without him recoiling in horror. I'm pushing for a chilblain-free winter, one full of quiet reflection and balanced looks ahead. if you need me, I'll be curled up near the wood stove.

“Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.” 

― Edith Sitwell

why we live here

not too long ago the mountain xpress did a series on small towns in western north carolina and what made them special. brevard was the first to be featured, and I was beyond excited when I picked up my copy. the first time I flipped through that week's issue (because mostly I love the xpress for the horoscopes and the movie reviews and the rest is hit or miss), I missed the brevard coverage entirely. and when I did finally find it, I was terribly disappointed. barely two pages, and those two pages were mostly restaurant reviews and information anyone could find on a quick wikipedia search. I didn't see my sweet little town in those two pages at all.

so I am going to do what the xpress didn't: a whole series on why my family (and lots of other really great people, too) keep on choosing to live here. sure it's small, and the restaurant options are limited, but the choices for food we do have include some really great ones. and their may not be much industry here and it is tough to find a job, but that breeds some of the most creative small business owners I've ever met. and you can't shop at target in transylvania county, but some people actually view that as a good thing. you have to drive an hour to get to a movie theater with more than one choice,  but it's only fifteen minutes to the hiking of your dreams. pretty good trade offs in my book.

but natural beauty and small town living are just a part of why we stay. there is something about this place that lends itself to a pace of life that can't be found just anywhere. and because brevard is small, we need each other, which is pretty unique, too. and sure, it is a great place to raise kids, but I think it is a pretty wonderful place to be raising myself, too: raising my awareness of positive environmental practices because we are so connected to our natural world here, raising my consciousness of how my choices effect others because it is more obvious in this little town, and raising my standard of living to include real intimate relationships, serious volunteer involvement, and honest intention to enjoy it all because my community needs these parts of me.

I have lots of ideas for this series, tons of reasons to back up our decision to make this place home. but part of community is idea swapping, and I want to hear what make brevard worth sticking around for you. why do you live here? why do you stay? when you visit other places, what makes you want to come home? and for those of you who live somewhere else but love brevard anyway, what makes you smile about your time here?

I didn't always love living here. we've left and come back three times now. there are days I feel stuck and trapped and cold. there are days when I feel like I have done all I can in this place, offered all I have to offer, seen all there is to see. but here is home base, if nothing else, the place I need as a touchstone in my life to remember who I am, where I'm going, and why it matters. and I can't wait to share all those pieces of living here with you.

the right tool for the job

my dad can fix anything. and if it can't be fixed, he can build something beautiful in its place.

my earliest memory involves things my dad built. I was standing in a sandbox he made in our yard calling to the neighbor lady across the bushes. she wasn't even in sight, but there I was yelling her name for the whole neighborhood to hear.I remember being fascinated that her name, myrtle, was the same word for the flowering trees that separated her yard from ours. my dad came out and scooped me out of the sandbox and told me that little girls don't call grown up ladies by their first names, especially at the top of their lungs. even then he was building: building my manners, building our relationship together, building our relationship with that neighbor lady, building me up even as he was correcting me.

my dad built another sandbox that year for my kindergarten classroom. we moved to a different state shortly after that, and he quickly built a clubhouse in our new backyard. we moved again and he built a two story deck on the back of our new house. I drew up dream plans for a window seat/bookshelf combination that I'd always wanted, and he built that, too. we moved again. he built more bookshelves for his book-loving daughter. when the high school marching band needed new uniform racks, I volunteered my dad. he welded racks that I feel certain are still in use. he built custom shelves for my college dorm room. then he built a matching set for my roommate.

if my dad couldn't fix it, he knew who to call. he started a home repair and tree removal business and told all his customers, "the only thing you need to remember is this: call trent first." and they did. when trees fell, when pipes burst, when cross country moves needed to happen, people knew to call my dad. when my car would break down (and since I spent most of college driving my grandmother's 1983 oldsmobile it happened a lot), I always called my dad before I called AAA because wherever I was in the state, he had a friend nearby. if nothing else he could help me decide what to do next. his advice in distressful situations usually involved taking a milkshake break first and foremost.

my dad could help fix people, too. when kids were getting kicked out of the local high school for disruptive behavior, he started an alternative school just for them, one of the first in the country. and it worked. he would race those boys across the parking lot after lunch, them in their saggy jeans and him in his suit and tie. investment was the way to fix what was broken there. he believed it and I saw it in action every time I would sit and watch him play "one more point, just one more point," on the basketball hoop behind the boys' group home where he worked. I remember the day one of those boys fell to the ground in the middle of a seizure and banged his head on the pole of the goal. my dad knew what to do, and everything turned out okay.

then came the season of my life when I just didn't think my dad could fix things for a while. it was an intense combination of crummy life circumstances that felt out of control and a prideful stance that I should be able to handle things on my own. I knew I was making decisions my dad didn't understand, and I didn't know how to explain the hard stuff to him or anyone else. I know it was hard for him to know there were things in my life he couldn't fix, and even harder to know I didn't even want him to try. he had to wait for me to figure it out, and waiting can be such hard task for a man known for his plans of action.

but in this case waiting was the fix. patience was the tool he needed most and he used it most expertly. love looks like a million different things: a sandbox in the back yard, a ride to school in a dump truck, pulling out splinters and sliding kneecaps back into place with gentleness only the "daddy doctor" can have. love looks like requiring boys to come to the front door rather than honking from the driveway. love is knowing when to make the phone call and when to give it space. love is patient and kind, even when fixing it would be so much easier.

I'm back to believing my dad can fix anything worth fixing. he's proven it to be true too many times for me to think anything different. and if it can't be fixed, I know he'll already be working hard to build something else beautiful instead.

“do, or do not. there is no try.”

saturday afternoon I was sweeping the deck off in preparation for a potluck at our house, and I found yoda's head. this is a very big deal.

jamin does not know much about star wars at all, but first grade boys (especially those of a certain nerdy disposition, which includes all first grade boys we happen to know) are supposed to love star wars. until about a week ago jamin insisted I was wrong in correcting him when he talked about "dark vader." he has checked out every book our library has about star wars (he hasn't even bothered to as about watching the actual movies. in fact I am not sure he even knows that movies are the starting point on this one.) rabbit gave him a bunch of little lego guys earlier in this summer, before school started and before he knew that star wars knowledge was a necessary part of his new social life.) they were sort of background accessories until someone happened to mention (I don't know who to blame for that one) that he had several star wars guys in the group. these newfound talismans were rotated into regular play, but even they had taken a back seat in the past few weeks as some new recess game emerged at school that involved neither light sabers or death stars.


until it was time for jamin's share day. then the lego yoda was mandatory. except no one could find him.

that morning at breakfast when jamin realized it might be his share day and that he real REALLY need to take yoda, he and cora tried to remember yoga's last appearance. they had already found yoga's little lego body. it was only his super teeny lego head that was missing now. "cora had him on the deck," they decided and bundled up as a team to check outside. they looked on the deck, on the railings, then ran down into the yard to check the grass underneath. no yoda. lots of tears.

not having what he need for share (this cool thing! this thing that other kids would know and recognize and like!) quickly morphed into not wanting to go to school at all, a puddle of a boy on the kitchen floor while cora and I looked at each other sort of helplessly. after much reassuring and lots of attempts at problem-solving, we managed to get into the car with the promise of a fact-finding mission at o.p. taylor's after school. and it didn't feel like bribing, this promise of a toy store run. this might be the first time it felt like jamin and I really were working together to figure something out, a big something, something I was trying to value as much as he did while still keeping it in perspective. and it worked.

we went to o.p. taylor's, both of us shocked by price tags and the realm of lego possibilities. (you cannot buy just a lego yoda guy, in case you were wondering. he only comes as part of sets that start at $20. and I don't think I mentioned our particular yoda was wearing a santa outfit? I cannot explain this at all.) he didn't have the money, I wasn't willing to splurge, but even that turned out okay. he got it. we talked about saving up, but that wouldn't happen in time for his share (which had now been postponed an extra day). it was disappointing and hard, but he settled on building something lego-based of his own and saving up for yoda for his next share day. and that was that.

yoga's head became huge in my head. this was make-or-break parenting right here, and we got it right. somehow jamin and I figured this one out together, and it just…worked. major victory for us both in lots of ways. now that jamin is in school I remember it all so much clearer, how hard it is to be a kid. I remember being panicky at night before bed simply because I had to get up and do it all over again tomorrow. I remember the tears when new projects were assigned, a combination of excitement at the newness and overwhelmedness at the daunting task ahead. I remember never feeling like I was doing things right, be it academically or socially, always being slightly confused about what the "right" thing really was. I have to keep reminding myself that jamin is not me, even if he is very much like me sometimes, and that he is living his own reality, no matter how much of myself I can see in his face. it is hard to watch him do it, to remember it and want to fix it and still just have to watch it unfold on its own. but something about it all is working. and I like it.


so saturday I was sweeping and there it was, right there where jamin and cora said it should be. I might have already had a beer and a half by then, and I might have fist pumped and announced to the neighborhood in a rather loud voice that I was the best mom ever. even though it was pure chance that I was the one that found sweet little yoga's head, the victory felt well-earned. and jamin, hearing my proclamation, came running and quickly agreed with my assessment. and that was the biggest victory of all.

maybe there is something to that yoda wisdom after all. I guess when we all sit down to watch the movies together in five more years, I'll know for sure.

40x40

years ago one of my favorite friends told eric (I love having friends that talk about me to my husband, by the way. it is like a whole extra layer of friendship: the friend they are to me and then the friend they are to eric. double the fun!) that I was a very "goal-oriented person." I love this turn of phrase and I toss it around whenever someone accuses me of a less-than-flattering character trait where "goal-oriented" can be substituted. I'm not bossy, I am "goal-oriented." it's not that I am competitive, I'm just very "goal-oriented." see how nicely that works? it is a resume-ready phrase and I love it.

so being that I am very goal-oriented, I've decided I need a big ol' list to be working from. and to keep my life interesting and to make birthdays with a zero at the end a little less scary, I've settled in on 40x40: forty things I want to do by the time I turn forty (june 5, 2020 for those of you keeping score at home). and because I am not only goal-oreineted but a sucker for an audience, (what is the nice turn of phrase for THAT?) I've decided to share most of that list here.

when I am forty, eric will be 42. jamin will be 12. cora will be 10. I will have been married for 14 years. other than that, I am taking suggestions. mostly I think it'll look a lot like these photos, only with taller children.

so here is my list. I can't share everything on in because a girl has to keep some things just for herself. but here is most of it, all in no particular order.

1-get paid to write
2-get published by something people actually read
3-travel outside the US with my kids
4-learn the fiddle with jamin
5-have my own garden bed
6-backpack with eric
7-weekend with just my mom
8-weekend with just my dad
9-visit all fifty states (I only have the hard ones and the boring ones left)
10-create a piece of art I am willing to display in my home
11-write thank you notes to five people I have never met who have impacted my life
12-solo camping trip
13-learn to can
14-go a whole month without buying anything
15-ride a roller coaster with eric
16-sew something I am willing to wear in public
17-30 day bikram challenge
18-run up becky mountain
19-take a trip with just cora
20-take a trip with just jamin
21-get married again (to the same lucky guy, of course)
22-consolidate all of our photos and music
23-make photo albums for my kids
24-work with teenagers
25-blog every day for a month
26-get a really dramatic haircut
27-take a humanitarian service trip
28-work at a camp
29-take a silent retreat
30- bust out the trumpet
31-one month internet fast
32-build something useful
33-spend a week at john c. campbell folk school
34-10 day juice fast

you'll just have to guess on the last six.

there is a lot I want to say about each of these things, but I think I'll save it until I've checked them off the list or they are at least in progress. especially if I'm going to blog for a whole month. I'll need lots of fodder for that.

what have I missed? what else do I need to accomplish before my next decade birthday? what's on YOUR list?

week in review

things to be glad about

we are at the beach!::staying at the same beach house we stayed in seven years ago, remembering thinking that that might be our last kidless vacation::watching jamin swim::allyson's cooking::new friend katy::september, just in general::tired kids at the end of the day::making money doing things that don't feel like work::having a six year old with a great since of humor::did I mention our weekend at the beach?::new friends in old places::walks and talks with rabbit::the last dark and stormys of the season::eric's willingness to drive everywhere we go::easing into my life without feeling like I am settling::homemade ravioli::


things I've read

I haven't been reading much this week because I've been rotting my brain with television instead. I have to do this every so often to remind myself how much I don't like it. so, thank you "orange is the new black" and "ANTM" for being the force of what's terrible in my world while at the same time captivating my attention for whole seasons at a time. sheesh.

love this post on living an exceptional life, especially after my reflections on contentment this week.

our friends at eight owls farm gave me a nice shout out this week! they are doing some pretty cool stuff in a pretty cool space with some really cool people. I dig!

our favorite jam

I heard a great little segment on npr about this song and it has been running through my head ever since. the take away here? sometimes singing "ba de ya" over and over is just the right thing to do.

moments worth remembering

words for the week

"Embrace your loved one and if they cannot embrace you back, find someone who will. Everyone deserves to love and be loved in return. Don't settle for less. Find a job you enjoy, but don't become a slave to it. You will not have 'I wish I'd worked more' on your headstone. Dance, laugh and eat with your friends. True, honest, strong friendships are an utter blessing and a choice we get to make, rather than have to share a loyalty with because there happens to be link through blood. Choose wisely then treasure them with all the love you can muster. Surround yourself with beautiful things. Life has a lot of grey and sadness - look for that rainbow and frame it. There is beauty in everything, sometimes you just have to look a little harder to see it."

~charlotte kitley

we're driving cadillacs in our dreams

(I wrote this sometime back in april, before summer visitors and summer adventures, before school started and we plunged into the next thing. I remember feeling like it would take a kind of bravery to post this that I didn't feel like I had at the time. and now, a mere six months later, my life looks different, feels different, and it doesn't seem so scary. it seems brave in a way I am fully capable of living.)


Or maybe if your neighbor does you a huge favor
And he sells you that rabbit that's been sitting in his yard
You fix it up, you trick it out, you give it rims, you give it bump
You give it all your time because that's all you can think about
And that's as far as I got

And that's as far as I got, and where I wanted to go
Knowing the whole time that's all you could think about
Even though if you cut it off and start that bitch up
You need a jump like you'll need in your rump to grow
And you change all the time so that rabbit that you thought about
That whole summer, the next summer you didn't want
That rabbit no more
You wanted something bigger and better

So the summer past and the rabbit is old?
Right, right, so now you want a Cadillac
~a day in the life of andre benjamin (incomplete)

I've never actually had any desire to drive a cadillac. I don't really get their appeal or understand their symbol in pop culture. we're more honda fit kind of people (times two even!). but I am totally feeling the sentiment here.

it is never quiet in my house. right now jamin is lying on the kitchen floor listening to a book on cd. cora is sitting beside me in my bedroom, singing to herself about easter and her neighborhood and watermelon. we have no idea what she is talking about most of the time, but it doesn't seem to matter to her much either way. the window is open in front of me, and there are twenty-seven baby chicks (who aren't really babies anymore) scratching up the yard in the rain. there are beehives in my bedroom, a worm bin in the pantry, two different kinds of chicken food by the front door, and seed trays lining the deck railing. at some point in my not-so-distant past, I dreamed about every piece of this life, from the kids to the seedlings. and now here it is. 

there is lots of talk about the dream deferred, but what about the realized dream, the one we work for and plan about and fulfill, only to come face to face with the reality that it isn't our dream anymore? while are dreams are becoming our reality we are busy dreaming about something else. dreams don't seem to last too long around here. and now there are so many of us that dreams have to wait in line. but loving each other enough to wait, or to make someone else's dream part of real life, is part of the dream too, I think. or it should be, on days when I am feeling extra patient and loving.

I dreamed about having kids and now I dream about living alone. I dreamed about living in the middle of nowhere and now I dream about people dropping by for a beer because they were just driving by. I dreamed about working at camp, about homeschooling, about having a job, about staying home full-time, about being married to a farmer, about writing it all down, and I've had he chance to do it all. and then I've also wished all of those things away.

a friend told me recently she wishes she could make decisions the way I do: no floundering, just plunging. I change my mind a lot. I'm pretty indecisive. but I also plow through things like I don't know any better, sometimes leaving a lot of stunned folks in my wake. I haven't found much in my life that I couldn't change my mind about later. it is an expensive perspective sometimes (ask me about my move to canada and back) and it can be humbling to have to backtrack (again, see return trip from canada), but I suppose it makes for good stories in the long run. but here is the real question: is it a problem with contentment? or are we (or at least some of us) just hard-wired strivers, always ready for whatever is next?

my dream of different is not always a dream of something better. I am not always looking for the upgrade from vw rabbit to cadillac.  but I crave change, novelty, experience for experience's sake. it can be exhausting for those who love me best. my restlessness is a constant discussion in my marriage. it is not that I am dissatisfied (which has taken me a while to figure out) or unhappy so much as I just want the chance to try it all and I constantly feel like I am running out of time.

but then eric brings in a bouquet of asparagus and daffodils from the yard, presented to me more proudly than any exotic roses could ever be presented, and there is exactly enough time for it all.

ghosts in the night

eric woke me up in the middle of the night two night ago. on purpose.

maybe you don't realize what a weighty statement that is. sleep is precious and I need a lot of it. not in a "oh, I really enjoy a good night's slumber" kind of way. more like "if you expect me to be a functional human being, I need a good solid seven hours. and if you want me to be nice to you, better make it eight and a half." and waking me up in the middle of the night is no easy task. I am a babbler prone to long conversations I don't remember at all the next day. or I am overly emotional in a way that is not at all comfortable to my audience. it's really not pretty, either way.

sleep is not something we take lightly here at mudflower. we worked for years (years!) to perfect our bedtime routine for the kids. jamin didn't sleep through the night until he was about four, and I am not exaggerating. combine that fact with a mama who desperately needs her shut eye and you'll know why I don't remember much of my life from 2008-2012. seriously.

eric's relationship with sleep is a mystery to me. he needs much less of it than I do, for starters. he is up late into the night puttering around doing goodness knows what. and it is not unusual for him to lie awake for hours just running things over in his brain. when I can't sleep like that it is a sign that something is very wrong in my life. for eric, that's just the way it goes.

so two nights ago, eric was puttering and saw something that just couldn't wait until morning. I can imagine him weighing the consequences while standing on the deck: waking me up could mean a grouchy grump of a wife or a tearful incoherent one, hard to guess which. but what he had to show me was worth it he must have decided. because at 11:44 he gently shook my shoulder. "the blue ghosts are back. come see."

national geographic gets credit for this one.

there is nothing predictable in my story with eric. we've done everything out of order and unconventionally and none of it has turned out even close to the way I thought it would. there have been big adventures and huge heartbreaks and long stretches of "what the heck are we doing with our lives." I found an old shoebox of letters this summer full of mementos of our first year together, letters he would write to me from school where he sat next to behaviorally disruptive kids just waiting for them to, well, disrupt. and I can gush about how far we've come, how much we've done, but what amazes me even more is how much is exactly the same. how waking me up in the middle of the night is worth it because he wants to share his life with me. how sharing something with me makes his own experience even more enjoyable. how we can revel together in the simplest of joys. how we just keep finding miracles to celebrate, right under our noses.

they weren't actually blue ghosts. it's the wrong time of year for them to make an appearance, and I am not sure what those little glows really were, but that hardly matters. especially when you are standing under the stars with the one you love best watching a firefly display like you've never seen. these are the realest of love stories, the ones that matter most and last the longest, the ones worth getting out of bed for.

as long as when we get back in the bed, you let me put my cold feet on you, of course.

week in review

things to be glad about

::photos from summer adventures::supper with new friends::kids that love school::cool mornings::chai tea in a new coffee shop::new adventures right here in the middle of my life I thought was so boring::FaceTime with eliza (and mom and carey)(but mostly eliza)::mini road trips to discover new bakeries::sunday school::friends that love my kids::coziness under a blanket I made myself::real competition with my kids in board games::texting over the ocean::fresh eggs every day::kale in my farm box::

things I've read

a thousand years over a hot stove: this is a cool book all about the history of women through cooking and food. it isn't a book I read straight through, but instead got absorbed in the photographs and small sections at a time. and the recipes! oh man, totally enjoyable.

me before you: good enough. reminded me of what alice forgot without ever being quite as good. readable, likable. I'll read more by the same author, but nothing life-changing.

abroad: good read. good story, told in an interesting way.

6 things the happiest families have in common: I read lots of parenting stuff, most of it repetitive fluff, but I loved the emphasis on family history here. storytelling is so important and I keep re-reading this and thinking about it more and more.



our favorite jam

most requested song in the car this week

moments worth remembering

training to run up becky mountain

bathing chickens. I still can't believe this is my life sometimes.

words for the week

“I have come to accept the feeling of not knowing where I am going. And I have trained myself to love it. Because it is only when we are suspended in mid-air with no landing in sight, that we force our wings to unravel and alas begin our flight.”

~ C. JoyBell C.

throwback thursday: are your hands getting filled?

this one is from october 2012.

I am pretty sure I cry more than most people.  this used to really bother me.  at a recent family gathering my mom and I were talking about having teenagers in the house and all the tears that were involved.  my sister mused that she didn't remember tears being a notable part of her adolescence.  my mom and I just looked at each other and laughed, not that carey was a crier, but that I more than made up for both of us.  "my grandmother is a very emotional woman," I am quoted as saying regularly in our family lore.  I suppose I am just following in her footsteps.

I do most of my crying in the car these days.  in my twenties this was a huge marker of dysfunction to me.  I can remember having to pull over on 240 in west asheville because I was crying so hard and chastizing myself because THIS IS NOT WHAT NORMAL PEOPLE DO, which of course just made me cry harder.  I did a lot of screaming at the top of my lungs in those days, and the car was the safest place to do it.  I could scream almost the enitre distance from burnsville to the unca exit, that long stretch of 19/23 that brings up much more pleasant memories when I think about it now.  back then my tears were a mark of all that was weak and unhealthy and crazy about me.  now crying in the car is just part of my commute.  and I don't really scream anymore.  much more gentle emotional outpouring now.

we don't have a way to play cd's in our house, mostly because we are cheap.  so when a friend burned me some new discs I knew the car would be my place to listen to them.  and it fit right into my therapeutic crying time.  I still can't make it all the way through a mumford and sons song without tearing up, especially if jamin is with me and singing along.  "isn't this a great song, mama?" he shouts from the backseat, his whole body wiggling in time to the banjo solos.  so this week when eric and I had been having particularly heavy discussions about what's next (a constant conversation in our gemini marriage), I needed him to hear the song that has brought me to tears the most in my time in the car this week.  so, kids cozily in bed, we headed out to the truck to take a listen.  and there we sat, and I cried in the car.  par for course.  it is what I do.

here's what moved me.  feel free to ask me how my brick-layin's coming when I need a proverbial kick in the pants.  I'll know what you mean.

serve effectively, give profoundly

yesterday was my first day back to yoga in about three weeks. I always get super nervous when I haven't been in a while because what if I don't like it anymore and what if it is too hard and looking at myself in the mirror for so long is no fun and all the other things my brain likes to whine about. and for the first three poses I am sure I have made a huge mistake and I am never coming back and good lord it is hot. and then we make it into standing bow and tree and then I remember I am a total badass and I love it again. then we get to floor series and vivian says something profound and I remember the real reason I come to yoga.

yesterday was no different. my mat was next to a guy who kept doing headstands during his warm up and the guy behind me was putting his leg behind his head, you know, just to get ready for class I guess, and I was pretty sure that yoga wasn't for me anymore. but then vivian (she's so good this way) said this during savasana: "this is the reason we come to the hot room. to prepare ourselves to serve effectively and give profoundly, using all the best parts of ourselves." and of course she is right and nobody cares if I can ever do a handstand or not and I was humbled and honored all at the same time.

I just got back from a week on shelter island. going to camp is always so confusing for my heart, and this week was no different. I love camp, and I love (some things about) shelter island, and I was sad to have missed out on a summer there this year. but summer at home was amazingly good and full and meaningful, so there was part of me very glad to be catching camp only at the tail end of summer when the buzz had died down and I had lots of time to myself. after a summer full of company where I worked hard to show off all the best parts of my life here, it was almost jarring to go to shelter island, land of crazy excess where it is easy to pretend we could all live this way, but then again water tastes terrible enough to keep reality close at hand. I worked with a group of sailing kids, great kids who have families that work hard to give them lots of opportunities and support, families that have lives in the city and lives in the hamptons, lives that I don't really know a whole lot about. the other camp in session last week was a group of young adults with special needs, mostly downs syndrome, who were so exuberant and happy to be at camp in such a different way than the determined focus of my young sailors. a woman I met in the dining hall (this was her ninth summer at quinipet, she told me) said, "you seem so nice to me. I'm gonna make you a bracelet as nice as you are." she found me at supper that night and proudly presented me with my very own beaded bracelet on stretchy string with my name ("WZEDY") on it. I wore it all week, reminding myself of why I was there, what camp really had to offer me. the juxtaposition of these sailing kids and the other camp, my life at home and the life here on shelter island was overwhelming more often than not. I had trouble finding my place one way or the other.

it was good to be away, good to have time where I was only responsible for myself, good to have time to decide what the heck I am doing with my life. I feel like I am always trying to figure that out. I had lunch with a friend today and she listened to me grouse about the same things she has been listening to me grouse about for years, and she finally said," stop trying to figure it out. just stop. it is too big of a task to figure out the one perfect thing you want to do with your life. just do things, lots of things. and stop being so hard on yourself about it all." she's right, of course, not that that makes it any easier.

when I got home from my trip, kids were already in bed for the night. the next morning a little face appeared next to mine before I was even all the way awake. "mama, where did you get that beautiful bracelet?" was cora's greeting to me. "can I wear it?" of course she can. what better way to remind myself that the reason I am here is just to give profoundly?