manner

manner

Sunday, June 21, 2015

june 21, 1975

solstice is a great day to get married. what great symbolism there is in choosing the day with the most light available to us to begin a life together. the longest day of the year is a perfect time to repeat vows about forever. I am willing to bet that my parents weren't thinking about the earth's rotation on its axis on this day forty years ago. those two teenagers were only thinking of each other when they grinned their way down the aisle of a baptist church in downtown atlanta. they had to hurry, after all, since my dad's dad had sworn he would only wear a tuxedo for twenty minutes exactly, threatening to disrobe right there in the church if things took too long. he is dressed in all the wedding photos, so they must have made it out in time.

forty years is forever, I'm pretty sure. my parents have been married twice as long as they were single. when someone asks how long my parents have been married my mom will always give the number of years and quickly add "but we were born married," lest someone should think her older than she is. I am sure that is how it must feel to not really remember life any other way than being married. my parents came of age together, putting each other through college in what they call their five year date: those early years of marriage before kids were born.


I have really great parents (professional parents, really: people who get paid to raise other people's children), and one of the best things my parents ever did for me was love each other. of course they loved me, too, but it was always clear to me that they loved each other first, that loving each other best made more room for them to love me more. the idea that love doesn't make mathematical sense was an early lesson in my childhood. I can remember rolling my eyes when my mom would say "do you know that your mom loves your dad?" and now I see how important that really was (and is) for me to know. I tell my kids the same thing. they haven't started rolling their eyes yet, but I know it's coming.




my parents' marriage has always been a very public practice. when we lived in the group home, their marriage was the only successful partnership most kids had ever seen. later they taught parenting classes and led workshops on healthy family life. you can't take on a career choice like that without expecting a little scrutiny. my dad especially loved to invite people in just to let them see our family in action. there was always someone coming to supper or sitting on a corner of the couch, just being a part of whatever was going on. people have always been drawn to my parents, not because they throw lavish parties or because they have a huge tv, but because they are nice to be around. they like each other and that leaves room for them to like other people, too.


forty years is plenty of time to put marriage vows to the test. my parents have been through hurricanes (they seem to attract big storms like no one else I know), teenagers (their own and dozens of others, too), big moves and job changes, babies and grandbabies, chainsaw accidents and kidney stones, marrying off a couple of daughters, house remodels, deaths of their own parents, a dog who ate dishtowels, crazy family vacations, and lots and lots of ups and downs that I will never know about. and yet here it is, the longest day of the year again, and they are still waking up right beside each other.



happy happy anniversary, mom and dad. thank you for setting the example, loving each other first, and still having plenty of love to spread around. thank you for choosing each other over and over and over. your marriage is a gift, not only to each other, but to me and carey and eric and kyle and jamin and cora and eliza. and hundreds and hundreds of other lives that have looked to the two of you to see how good married life can be. thank you for teaching all of us what love looks like so that we can love you right back.



ps-since this is the most recent picture of all of us together that I can find, carey and I (and kyle and eric, too) would like to honor you and celebrate your forty years together by having kaelee denise photography capture all that love in a photo session for our entire family this fall. a trip to the mountains is in your future!


Thursday, June 4, 2015

explore.dream.discover.

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”
~Mark Twain 

june is probably my favorite month of the year. things are starting to pour in from the garden, the weather is fairly predictable in holding steady with warmer temperatures, summer solstice greets us with long days to fill, my birthday always makes me happy, and june is the time of year when camp starts off. when you get to june, you are halfway through the calendar year, a good place to check out where you've been and where you're going. there isn't much reason to wear socks in june. beer tastes better on a porch or in a hammock and june leaves plenty of room for both scenarios. what's not to like?


this year the manner family started june in mechanics burg, pennsylvania, the halfway(ish) point on our trip from brevard to shelter island. kids slept in til 730 after a previous afternoon of hotel pool swimming and a night of torrential downpours and thunderstorms. we kicked off the best month of the year with a continental breakfast and too many trips up and down the stairs from our hotel room to our car. (did you know that on june 1, 1915 "the love song of j. alfred prufrock was published for the first time? me either! but what a great reason to love june even more!) the older our kids get, the easier travel seems to be. we made the trip to shelter island in just two days this year, which means that by the evening of june first we were gazing out our bedroom window at the view of the bay that will greet us every morning this summer. I didn't dare hang curtains because I don't want to take it for granted for one second, even if the sun does come up so very much earlier here than it does in brevard. 




and now we're just…here. it is so much more than that, of course, but that is the biggest difference from doing this trip now, when we've already been here as a family once before, when our kids are older and wiser and bigger and more sure of themselves. when we know what to do to make this place home. we're already settled in a way that took us more than a month last time. of course, we don't have hand soap in the bathroom yet (sorry, guests!) or know where we keep the spatulas in the kitchen, but we know we are wanted here. we know we have a role in making the summer magic happen. and we know a little bit more of what that role is. we know we belong here, not only because our people (old and new) have welcomed us with arms wide open, but we belong here because of some calling that tells us we have a job to do and this is where we need to be to do it. 


we are here this summer to offer hospitality in all the ways we've learned we are so very good at. to let people sit on our couch or our porch and see what happens next. to hand someone a rake or a shovel and say "let's get to it." to let our kids be a present part of people's lives. to tell stories we've lived and stories we want to live. to listen to other people's stories. to be the weird ones who don't have full-time jobs but do have chickens and lots of time to spare. to say that good food goes a really long way in making hospitality work, that there is always always room at the table. this is what we are good at. this is what we love. this is why we are here.


my word for 2015 is harbor. I can't think of a better place to be reflecting on that word than here beside the bay at a camp designed to offer respite, to be a harbor, to folks that need it most. we've left our safe harbor of home to create that safe harbor right here. when we pack up our life like this I am reminded of how much of home is transferrable. there is a definite connection to place that happens, and I am drawn to those north carolina mountains in a way I can never be cured of, but I know that this can be home, too. that home is bigger than I thought it was. jamin and cora are teaching me that. their ownership of this space is based on what we've told them mostly, and they take it all to be true. "we belong here," jamin's strut to the center of camp says. "this is home," cora's glass jar of seashells whispers. 




there is so much more to say, of course. there always is. there is the work I am so fortunate to be a part of in planning staff training, these kindred spirits we're surrounded by every day. there is pizza to gush about and the story of jamin and cora going up to the control room on the ferry last night and the revolving door our guest room has already been. mostly I just want to be here now and let that be enough. to save the stories for another day while we revel in the harbor we are making real. to focus on the exploration, the dreaming, the discovery part of this adventure. we'll keep you posted on how it all goes.