that's mrs. mediocrity to you

an

almost blue

sky

cradled

an

almost warm

sun

: :

and these.

Maybe it’s because I have a blog now, this journal that chronicles my days, and maybe it’s because I’ve been doing this for a full year, but I am beginning to see the patterns of my life, ups and downs, hills and valleys, joy and discontent. Things I don’t think I ever noticed before.

I suppose having a blog forces you to become the journalist of your life, reporting on the world as you see it. It has a way of placing you under a microscope, and you start to focus on all the details.

I see the way I do things, or don’t do them, I see that the basement that was a mess last year is a mess again, that my desk is always messy, that my studio collects things no matter how many times I clear it out. There is the chair in my bedroom that grows clothes, the stacks of books that migrate to different rooms, the bench in the kitchen that is always cluttered.

I see the things I do over and over again, every year, every season, every day. I see the hours as they pass by, but I also see the sum total of their passing. Some days add up to much more than others.

I see cycles of whining and complaining, stress and calm, being sick and being healthy. I see the joy at the beginning of each season that wears out its welcome just as the next one shows its face. I see myself noticing the subtle way sunlight shifts with each month as it falls across the yard… did I ever notice that before?

I see myself as in a book, and I thumb back and forth through the pages finding phrases and sentences again and again. Sometimes I like what I read, other times, I cringe. Sometimes I am surprised to find myself there. It’s like looking in the mirror.

So am I noticing these things because of this blog, or simply because I’m getting older? Or both…?

Mostly, I’m thinking it’s a good thing, that I am building some sort of manual for my life. Perhaps it will instruct me on how to fix the things that are broken, how to avoid making the same mistakes over and over again. Perhaps it will teach me a thing or two about myself and this world, and one day, I will find that all my bad habits have been broken, eradicated, overcome.

Okay, fine, we all know that’s not going to happen.

But perhaps as I write my way through another year, I’ll find a word or a sentence that alters the pattern, ever so slightly, so that next year I can look back and see myself wearing a different dress.

One that feels comfortable and makes me smile each time I put it on

to go out and chase those shadows through the garden.

Because it felt like the right tree at the time. But then, one day, you find out that it wasn’t, that you were supposed to be barking up an entirely different tree, the one with the cat really stuck high up there in the branches.

And that changes everything.

So you look around, find another tree. A tree that definitely has a cat in it. And you bark and you bark and you bark, and still, nothing happens.

You change your strategy.

First you stop barking and just stare. Then you pretend to look away, at other things. Later, you sit, glancing up every so often to make certain the cat is still there. Later still, you lie down, fall asleep, forget to watch for the cat at all.

Or maybe you don’t forget, but instead, you multi-task. You keep one eye open, just a crack, in case the cat makes a break for it. But then you don’t get any good sleep and that makes you cranky.
Plus, you’re getting hungry. Really hungry.

And that makes you stand up and start barking all over again.

It’s an endless, vicious cycle.

The cat, of course,

just smiles.

Two good things:

First, today, I am over at Vision & Verb thinking about abandoning my first word of 2011, which was balance, and maybe, just maybe, adopting a new one. Since I keep writing about hope–sorry, but it just keeps popping up–I’m starting to think it was supposed to be my word in the first place…

::       ::       ::

And second, over the past week, several people were sweet enough to bestow upon me the Stylish Blogger award. I am honored, truly, and grateful and blushing. Thank you, Stephanie, Emily and Stereo! So, I am supposed to link back to these wonderful new friends, tell you seven things about myself, and then pay this award forward to five recently discovered blogs.

Okay, so here goes, seven things about me:

1.  I have six cats and a dog. If you already know me, this is not big news, but since some of you are new here, I figured it would be best to get it all out in the open, again. In case, you know, you are allergic or something.

2. Chocolate, roasted red peppers, broccoli and zucchini are my favorite foods. In that order.

3. I read a lot, I am always busy, I am never bored and I’m always crazy (see #1). Not necessarily in that order.

4. Alaska is the place I most want to visit before I die. Not from a cruise ship. From somewhere smack dab in the middle. Of nowhere. (Oh, this is probably the right time to mention that I am a hermit, in case you don’t know that yet, either.)

5. I’m a romantic at heart, an idealist by nature and a purist by design. Except sometimes I’m not any of those things. And sometimes I am their opposites.

6. When I was young, I wanted to be pretty much who I am now. Go figure.

7. I’m really good at building fires, (the legal kind, of course!) and even better at sitting it front of them.

So there you have it. Now for five recently discovered blogs…

Besides the three wonderful people that passed this award to me, here are a few of my newest reads:

Mujerzen’s Blog

Elizabeth Deacon Photography

a muse

Andrea Maurer, Storyteller

Krista Kruger Photography

But whether you are recently discovered, or have already become an old friend, you know I love you all, right?

late last year i felt the sudden urge to read hemingway again.

he has always been my favorite writer, which is somewhat odd, because none of his books are on my list of favorite books. i have issues with some of his subject matter, issues with his treatment of women, issues with his views on love.

still, i adore the way he writes, his ability to condense entire stories into one paragraph, to make me not only see it, but feel it, to make everything he wrote seem like it was not fiction, but an autobiographical account of his life.

in fact, some people think that is the case. he has said it was not, and i believe him. but that is why i think he is such a great writer, i never feel like i am reading a story, i am immersed in a tale, a recounting, a snapshot of someone’s life. he knew how to make it seem real.

so i gathered all his books together and waited until the week after christmas to begin. and now here i am, wading my way through his body of work, in chronological order. and all i want to do is read.

in the past week i have been to spain and italy, france and michigan, to horse races and bull fights. i’ve gone fishing and to war. i haven’t yet been to africa, that will come later, and i will fall in love with that place all over again.

i will love the heat and the dust and the wine and even the machismo. when i was young, i hated that part. i won’t love the scenes with the animals, that has always been the hardest for me.

but i can read him now with one eye on the story, and one eye on the craft. i can appreciate the gift he left to the world, flawed as he may have been as a person.

i can appreciate the magic of a phrase like true at first light.

or a story that draws me in and won’t let me go until the last page has been turned, and even then, leaves me wishing for more.

a story that can transport me to another time and another place, even as i sit in a noisy room filled with people.

a story that is written so well that not one word could be altered or removed without compromising its integrity.

the kind of stories that have always made me want to read.

what more can you ask of a writer?

A new  day, a new year, a new decade.

A clean slate, a blank canvas, an open road.

Let’s begin this journey.

Together.

Hand in hand.

my word was going to be growth. really, it was.

see? i even had a picture to go with it.

but today was a crazy day. crazy as in, i spent the whole day running around like a chicken with its head cut off, which is a visual i hate, but it gets the job done.

and i realized that if i am going to be honest, the one word that describes this year best for me is: crazy.

oh, there were other words that mattered.

growth. hope. writing.

words in general, they mattered. a lot.

i learned a lot, i grew a lot, i traveled in circles that i never knew existed.

i spent most of this year feeling like i couldn’t catch up, couldn’t catch my breath, would never have time to relax and do all the things i want to do. yet i accomplished more in this past year than in the three years before that.

most importantly, i started writing again. really writing, every day.

my one word could be writing.

my one word could be words.

but i am one of those people that tends to be blunt and honest, to a fault.

so my word is crazy.

and i am.

crazy.

crazy about life, crazy about writing, crazy about cats and books and art and jewelry and love and hope and each new morning.

yup, that’s it.

crazy.

::     ::     ::

i’m also supposed to write about what i want for next year, what i envision.

i could lie and say a whole bunch of stuff about goals and dreams and how next year will finally be the year that i get my shit together.

but in truth, i know it will just be more of the same.

more words. more hope. more learning. more growth.

and most definitely,

more crazy.

but there had better not be any more cats.

{reverb10} check it out here

Today is my birthday. Most of the time I don’t make a big deal out of this day, I see it simply as the day after yesterday and the day before tomorrow. But this year it is bugging me, a little.

Bugging me because I am now 48 and my son is 24 and that makes me exactly twice his age.

Why is that bugging me? Part of it is simply the implication of aging that comes along with it, but I think the other part is me, thinking back to when I was 24.

Back then, being 24 was so much different than being 24 is now. And I wonder about that, too.

I got married (the first time) the day after I turned nineteen. And then a few years later I went to college, and while I was in college I got pregnant with my son, (you know about green m&ms, right?) and he was conveniently born during January break, and I went back to finish my last semester when he was just a few weeks old.

Thank goodness that my mom was able to care for him while I was at school, and then later, at work.

And at the end of that semester, when I had a photo in the student art show and my husband and my tiny baby son came to see me there, at the opening, he threw up all down the front of my brand new suit. But now that I think about, it was a really ugly suit.

In that year, the year my son was born, I had a baby, graduated college, bought a car, got my first job and bought a house. It was a big year, a year filled with change, the year I turned 24.

And this year, while he was 24, my son graduated from college and got his first job. But he’s not married and he didn’t just have a baby and he still needs to buy a car and buying a house will probably come much, much later.

Times change and I look back at myself and I say, “how did we do it?” Times change and I look at my kids now as they embark on their lives and I say, “how will they do it?”

But it will be the same for them and for their children and on and on and on.

We all do it, we get through this life and we walk through all these milestones and we make our mistakes and one day, we are twice our children’s age.

So on this day as I turn 48, I am thinking about 24 years worth of life. His and mine, all bound up together, the parts of mine that started when he was born, the parts of his he has yet to experience. 24 years of laughter and tears, hope and disappointments, love and joy and so much wonder. All that growth, for both of us, marked by the endless, uncaring passage of time.

The spring after we moved to this house, when he was one, we planted a row of trees along one edge of the property, tiny little twigs that would grow up to be pines. Over the past couple of years, for unknown reasons, they have all died.

But I am thinking that this might be the year to plant new ones.

Originally, there were 12.

But this time, we might have to go for 24.

on a good day it’s easy to be grateful. for everything.
on a bad day, it’s hard to be grateful for anything.

i’m working hard at on staying on the good side.

of course it doesn’t always work, some days, no matter what, i grouse and complain and cry woe is me. and some days i even have good reason to.

some nights i sit on the couch just before i go to bed and feel like crying, because i’m tired and i’m worried about my business and about money and about my kids and my parents and usually a whole long list of other things that i really shouldn’t be worried about.

some nights.

other nights i sit on my couch just before i go to bed and i add up all the things i have to be grateful for. i start with the fact that i have a couch, i have a house, i have a fire to sit in front of, food in my cupboard, a roof over my head. i have a soft bed to get into, a husband lying there next to me, three wonderful children.

one dog. six cats. (here i waiver between gratitude and disbelief).

for now, i still get to work from home. i have a garden. birds at my feeders. tea every morning. books to read. seasons to monitor. good shoes. flowers in a vase. words in my pocket. chocolate. warm quilts. wool socks. love.

yes, i whine when there is too much work and not enough money. there are days when i feel like i am running in place on a treadmill of my own design. i cry when i am hurt, i fume when i am angry, i pout when i am depressed.

but really, i have nothing to complain about. it isn’t perfect, my life. it isn’t easy.

but it’s my life.

life.

that in itself is enough to be grateful for when you think about it. and i think about it. a lot.

i’ve learned a lot this year. about myself, about the world, about life. i’ve relearned things i had forgotten, i’ve discovered things i never knew. i’ve made more friends than i can count, i’ve expanded my horizons. through it all, i found the gratitude. i said my thanks. i embraced so many moments.

life is hard. life is good. life is life.

nothing is perfect. nobody’s perfect. life is life.

i sit here on my couch in front of my fire and i think about all these things and when there are tears i let them fall and when there are smiles i let them shine and when i remember to be grateful to be alive and it all starts to make sense again and the shadows on the wall make me stop what i am doing just to stare them, well, then i know just exactly where i am.

i am there.

five degrees south of hope.

two degrees north of thankful.

in this place called life.

most nights, once cold weather sets in, this is where you’ll find me.

i never get tired of sitting in front of the fire.

in my house, i am known as the firemaster. after twenty-three years of starting fires every night, all winter, i’ve become pretty good at it.

sometimes i let my husband pretend that he is better at it than i am.

sometimes.

and sometimes i let him have the couch, which offers the best view.

but after he goes to bed, it is just me and the couch and my fire. and if i’m lucky and i don’t have anything else i have to do, a good book will join us.

i am such a hermit, such a homebody. so not dynamic.

but hey, opposites attract, right?

see more dynamic for one word wednesday over at Sally G’s place