Sorting Laundry

If you look hard enough, this photograph is actually very sentimental. During the first creative writing class I took in college, our instructor read us a poem titled "Sorting Laundry." I struggled with poetry (still do) but that poem held a bit of magic for me, from the first time I heard it. I suppose because I felt it was a loving poem and I have always been a romantic. But also the way our teacher read the poem was beautiful. When I read the poem today, I hear all of her pauses and phrasing. 

As a mother to three and the person who does all of the laundry in our household, this poem is still magical. Fortunately, I don't have to sort and fold the clean laundry too often anymore; two school-aged children have to earn their allowances somehow. But when I do sit down with a load, this poem comes to mind as I try to focus on the people who wear these clothes. No mound of clothing of any size could ever fill their place. Thinking of this poem helps me to remember that it is a privilege to care for them, even by doing their laundry.

Sorting Laundry

Folding clothes,
I think of folding you
into my life.

Our king-sized sheets
like tablecloths
for the banquets of giants,

pillowcases, despite so many
washings, seems still
holding our dreams.

Towels patterned orange and green,
flowered pink and lavender,
gaudy, bought on sale,

reserved, we said, for the beach,
refusing, even after years,
to bleach into respectability.

So many shirts and skirts and pants
recycling week after week, head over heels
recapitulating themselves.

All those wrinkles
To be smoothed, or else
ignored; they're in style.

Myriad uncoupled socks
which went paired into the foam
like those creatures in the ark.

And what's shrunk
is tough to discard
even for Goodwill.

In pockets, surprises:
forgotten matches,
lost screws clinking the drain;

well-washed dollars, legal tender
for all debts public and private,
intact despite agitation;

and, gleaming in the maelstrom,
one bright dime,
broken necklace of good gold

you brought from Kuwait,
the strangely tailored shirt
left by a former lover…

If you were to leave me,
if I were to fold
only my own clothes,

the convexes and concaves
of my blouses, panties, stockings, bras
turned upon themselves,

a mountain of unsorted wash
could not fill
the empty side of the bed

--Elisavietta Ritchie

A LOVELY MOMENT FROM TODAY: I find one of the most difficult things to balance is getting a workout in as well as getting some time in with the children. Today, I actually succeeded moderately well. Noah helped with dinner and told me all about the book he is reading. Isla joined her parents on a LONG walk. (So even though it wasn't a run, like I'd planned, it was over twice as long as my run would have been and I had the pleasure of listening to Isla's proclamations that if we didn't get home soon we would all die. Drama much?) Then Sky and I read together a bit tonight. Balance during the week can be very difficult to achieve, so it must be celebrated when it happens!

That lovely moment when you discover a miracle

I come from a huge family. The youngest of nine, I grew up in a different decade than my siblings, and as I came to find out last fall, my political ideologies fall on the other side of almost every one of my relatives. These differences, along with a physical distance, can make me feel a bit disconnected at times.

After this past weekend, though, I wonder if I'll feel that way again. A wedding on Friday and casual gathering on Saturday were wonderful reminders that no matter what things may divide us, there are many, many things that unite us.

• We love God, and we have a strong faith that no matter what we face, we'll be brought through it safely. Best of all, every one of us know that we can count on the rest to pray for us whenever needed.

• We've all been raised by the same two great people, no matter what decade most of that rearing took place. That means we have similar values, even if our interpretations of those values differ a bit. Also, we can all laugh at the same parental quirks and be thankful for the blessing that they are.

• We love to eat. Yes, I place this high on the list of things that unite us, because, despite what the nutrition experts tell us, sometimes food is love!

• We laugh at the same jokes. We cry at the same life moments. (Well, the women do.) We can understand each other.

• Many of us love to read! We can talk about stories, pass along books, and only one of us gets harassed regularly about our reading techniques. (I can't help it...I'm often tempted to read the end before I get there!)

• I don't understand how it is possible, but I have eight siblings, all who married, and all together had 28 children, seven of whom are married. (Plus there are three great grandchildren now!) And I genuinely like every single one of these people. They are funny, attractive, talented people. I know I'm biased, but trust me: I'm right about this.

• On top of all these things, I know my family loves my kids. How lucky are my three to have all these great people to play with, to look up to, to pray for them, to cheer them on?

I've come to realize that a family like mine is one of God's great miracles. I'm thankful to be blessed with each and every member. May you discover the ways your family blesses your life.

A LOVELY MOMENT FROM SATURDAY: My 83-year-old father asked Isla, "Have you got a hug good-bye for me?" Isla's reply: "No...but I've got some kisses!" It gave both dad and I a laugh!

You are lovely.

I'm sure by now you have watched the Dove Real Beauty Sketches. I realize that it is an ad, but to me it felt like a short documentary. It is beautifully made and designed to evoke a lot of emotion. In that it succeeds. I posted the short version on Facebook, but here is the longer version. And you can see so much more, like all the forensic sketches and additional footage here.

This whole idea really speaks for itself, right? I'm sure I can't say anything new about it. We all know what the lesson is just by watching. It's finding a way to remember the lesson that is important to me.

I'm only human. I want people to think I'm attractive, and aging doesn't make that desire go away. But more that being an example of beauty, I hope to be an example of grace. To me, grace is simply saying thank you when you are paid a complement, rather than rolling your eyes and putting yourself down, even a little. (Why do we do that?!) Grace is letting what's inside you shine. I find my grace through prayer, through exercise and through enjoying and thinking about stories in all forms.

The wonderful thing about finding grace is that it tends to make you feel beautiful. What strikes me the most about the women in this short film is they are at their most beautiful after the drawings are revealed. It's like you can see their hearts open and this wonderful gift of knowledge, of grace, comes through their eyes, making them shine. They're skin gets a bit flushed. They look open to the possibility that they are more than they expected. They are humbled. They are stunning.

Life is a lovely place...except when it isn't.

Focus on the light. Focus on the love. 

Like the rest of the country, I've been thinking a lot about the events in Boston yesterday. In addition to the physical victims, I keep thinking about the people who love Boston, who call it their home, because when something so tragic happens in your city, it forever changes you. Even things that are not completely related are different. Like sunny Tuesdays in September. Beautiful September Tuesdays will never feel the same to me, whether they fall on the 11th or not.

The thing that helps me cope when tragedy strikes is focusing on the strength of the human spirit. The human capacity to endure and even triumph over pain is truly amazing to me. It stands as a reminder that the world is not a dark, evil place. Strength in spirit is everywhere.

Consider R.A. Dicky. This year's Cy Young winner was featured on 60 Minutes last Sunday. He was a victim of sexual abuse as a child. But he rose above it to be the best at what he does, and more importantly, he works to help victims of human trafficking in India. This man had a very difficult childhood, but he found the strength to use all of his gifts to the fullest. His example actually made me cry because he had every reason to give up on life, but didn't. It makes me ask myself, "Don't I, who had every advantage of a loving, secure environment growing up, have the responsibility to use my strength and gifts, too?"

Examples are found much closer to home as well. The story of a 4-year-old Minnesota boy who nearly drowned has strangers from all over praying for him and his family. His parents journal entries on Caring Bridge are filled with positive reflections and gratitude. Their son has a long recovery ahead of him, and they acknowledge their worries, but the message first and foremost is love. Love for God, for the boy, for each other, for their other children. There is no anger, just strength.

When terrible things happen, it is easy to lose faith. I hate it — hate it — when people elude to there being no hope for the world. "What is this world coming to?" "What is wrong with people today?" "The world is awful." This sort of thinking will only break you. Focus on the love. Focus on the strength. It is there, behind every tragic experience. Open your heart and see it.

Week One Recap (Or I'm trying to find the bright side of snow in April)

It has been one week since I've been more conscious about looking for the lovely. Mother Nature certainly tried to put a damper on my plans. In fact she threw a whole snow storm at it. But there were some definite high points. Here are my lovely highlights:

On Monday, I came into work and decided to tidy things up. Although I don't mind working in this semi-disaster, I recognize that a bit more order is helpful and dirty dishes are never lovely.

 

On Tuesday, I got a run in—the last one I've had outdoors. I really prefer to run outdoors. 

On Wednesday, I enjoyed this great book with Isla. And then I enjoyed the only waking hour of my week that is just for me. Nashville is a show that my husband hates, but I refuse to give it up. It is just too delicious for words. 

Oh my gosh, there has never been a couple I want together more...

On Thursday, we woke up to six inches of snow and worked from home. I much prefer to work from the office were my chair is comfy and my co-workers are fabulous. But I did get to watch this scene from my window:

Fridays are just automatically lovely, for obvious reasons.

Saturday had me bringing some intentional lovely into my life, and I think it is safe to say that my family is really enjoying the benefits of this blog. 

First there were these:

Taking after my mother, I cheated with frozen bread dough. Don't judge. 

...which turned into these...sigh.

I learned the hard way that you should really take your rolls out of the pan as soon as you take them out. Fortunately Sky preferred this "crunchy" batch, and for the rest of us, there were these:

You can find this recipe here. It is the exact same as they one my mom makes.
My kids are so excited that I can make rolls like Grandma!

After the rolls were baked, I made a batch of homemade granola, loaded with nuts. One of my work pals used to run a great cooking blog. The photos no longer load for me, but I can access all the recipes still. And this granola recipe is beyond good. Beyond. Here is what it looks like when you are mixing it up:

Today was spent brainstorming and writing for future posts, reading magazines (this article in bon appetit is fascinating), and getting down to my local community center for a run. There was also some Barbie time, and I baked a loaf of bread that ended up really heavy. (My bread baking is still far from lovely, but it is good to have goals.) It was a day of good balance, and that is my ultimate goal every day. 

ANOTHER LOVELY MOMENT FROM TODAY: We made oven-fried chicken, yukon mashed potatoes, and corn roasted with olive oil for dinner. (Click on the links for recipes.) The food tasted lovely, but the best part is EVERYONE ate well!

Pride vs Vanity

The loveliest part of my work space came courtesy of a friend and co-worker: a printed set of quotes from one of my favorite books, Pride and Prejudice. Recently, I have found myself thinking about one of these in particular:

I found this print on Etsy. You can buy it here. 

It is a fine balance. We should all feel pride in who we are, how we work, even how we look. Why would we pursue particular paths if we didn't feel pride in what we were doing? But I find it difficult, even in my thirties, to not compare myself to others, and that is where vanity comes in.

Our home is a modest 1961 multi-level house. I am quite comfortable here, my children all have their own room, and we have a nice big yard with plenty of room to play. But the bedrooms are all small, there isn't a lot of storage, and the main bathroom doesn't have a plug in. I can honestly say none of these things bother me until I see it through someone else's eyes. I don't want a bigger home—I can barely manage to clean what we have—and I love our space. But when I think other people are missing its charm, I feel sad. It shouldn't matter, but it does.

Celebrating the lovely things in my life means that I have to accept that everyone will not share my definition of lovely, but that doesn't make my definition less worthy. Thirty-five years old, and still so much to work on...

A LOVELY MOMENT FROM TODAY: Happy hour with my love, talking about painting and writing. What a perfect way to start the weekend!

Book Review: A lovely story for bedtime...

Weeknights are . . . what's the word I'm looking for . . . frustrating for me. I constantly find myself wishing for more hours. Although I get home at a reasonable time each day (4:45), our hours at home do not go far when you consider exercise, dinner, evening activities, homework, and bedtime all needs to happen by 8. My youngest child, Isla, often plays by me while I exercise, visits with me when I am distracted with cooking, rides with us to take her older siblings to classes, and whines all through dinner, but none of this time is both quality and pleasant, which is really what we both need. So our saving grace is evening story time.

Now story time isn't always perfect. Sometimes I'm too tired to make the most of it. Sometimes Isla is too spent to care. And sometimes story time is poisoned by books like this. (I'm sorry, I just do not care to look for a rhyming list of objects with eyes that have stared at a screen all day.)

But tonight, story time was nothing less than lovely, and a big part of that was because we read Z is for Moose by Kelly Bingham, illustrated by Paul O. Zelinsky. Have you read this book? It is so funny and has a sweet ending, and it is all about a moose who just wants a shot at his spot in the alphabet.

Like many parents, I tend to hear this list of all the things I want to accomplish running though my head, even while I'm reading. But a hearty four-year-old laugh will snap it out of me. And the page below is where that giggle came...what a lovely sound!

Just how big is that cone?!

And finally here is where both of our laughs always pick up: (Incidentally, this illustration also is a strong representation of how things look at our house on an average weeknight. When I say life is a lovely place, please do not assume that it is not a messy place, too.)

What are your favorite books for a lovely story time?

A LOVELY MOMENT FROM YESTERDAY: My nine-ear-old daughter has been biking up and down the street a lot recently. Yesterday, I took a good look at her grinning, energized face as she climbed off her bike. Her smile reached into her eyes and beyond. It made me pause and think how exercise is just as important for one's soul as it is for one's body. 

Why so lovely? Or the weekend where a seed began to grow.

It has been a cool spring, and by cool, I mean cold, really. And when you easily tire of winter and actually enjoy working up a sweat by just laying in a hammock, a cold spring seems like a cruel trick. So was it any surprise when on Friday, I felt nothing but anger when I spotted snowflakes in the air?

But then Saturday came, and while it was still chilly, I could push that annoyance from my mind because I had a number of tasks at hand. First, to the grocery store to pick up ingredients for a lunch to be shared with a friend. Then, of course, there would be the cooking and the cleaning up. Also in the back of my mind was the need to get ready for a story-time reading that afternoon. (This new haircut is a bit more demanding, but thems the pains of growing out hair.)

And then our friend Blake arrived, and we caught up over corn chowder and fresh salsa and chips and pecan pie bars. Between the time when Blake left to man his booth at our local book festival and the time when I would need to leave to visit the same festival, I was struck by how lovely my life was. I had interesting friends, ate fresh, good food on a regular basis, and was about to share some stories with area toddlers and preschoolers.

Over the course of the weekend, I went on to read a very interesting cookbook, Dinner: A Love Story. This book, by Jenny Rosenstrach, is not a typical cookbook. It gives the story of Rosenstrach's family's loving relationship with dinner. I have long felt much joy from thinking about and reading about and of course, eating food, but until reading this book, I hadn't much given any thought to why that was. What is it about food that makes me subscribe to so many food magazines? That makes me ask others what they had to eat on a special occasion? That causes it to occupy many thoughts throughout the day? Many.

The simple answer is that it brings me joy. The same way an hour reading brings me joy. Or a quality television show, or a deliciously juicy television show. These are the things that make life lovely for me. But too often, I get bogged down in the work of life, rather than the lovely. And so, I thought, what if I made a conscious effort to concentrate on the lovely in everyday situations? How would that change my life and relationships?

I'm not sure if I have the follow-through to make this happen. (You would not believe the amount of great ideas I have that go absolutely nowhere.) But I do think it is worth a try.

Joy is quite easily found on that hammock,
especially when the grass is green.

A LOVELY MOMENT FROM TODAY: My younger daughter says, "I think I have some sugar for you." Me: "Where's this sugar?" Her: "It's a hug and it's in my pocket....Mwa! I love you."