Small good things
I accomplished something nearly impossible today: I found a pair of jeans that fit my silly long legs!
I bought my first pomegranate of the season, and type with bright red juice staining my cuticles.
I went for a run in the cold for the first time all week. I've missed it. My body thrives on the rhythm of running and breathing.
I got an extra hour of sleep this morning---while DH read the newspaper and watched Bean.
I taught Bean how to sign *milk* this week---he caught on faster than I ever imagined he would---and it's made things so much simpler. We've avoided several typical meltdowns because he can convey what he wants.
I got a cup of Old World hot chocolate walking back from dinner out tonight. It's thick and rich and dark and unbelievably good, especially on a cold evening.
I decided to trust that the house thing will work out. And didn't think about it again all day.
Fragile
Due partly to the fact that daylight savings time is something invented by adults, and as such has absolutely nothing to do with the natural circadian rhythms of sleeping that animals and small children follow, Bean has been waking up quite early this past week. There have been many early mornings when the sky is just turning rosy and he's ready to play and explore his world, patting our sleepy faces with enthusiasm. As a result, I've been more tired than usual---if that is possible---and a side effect of more tired is more moody. I've been moved almost to tears by practically anything this week. The tiniest things make me profoundly grateful, or sad, or awestruck, or lonesome.
Like seeing Claire Kramer's photography. This photo in particular made me sort of gasp, with recognition, loneliness and awe all at once.
Or this: Instead of doing the usual while Bean napped this morning (trying scatterdly to complete the too-huge list of things to do that always looms over my head) I sat down with coffee and a grilled bagel on the couch and read uninterrupted for an entire hour. I cannot describe the simple delight this brought---sitting in the sunlight, the cat purring at my shoulder, just reading The Sun.
Each month I devour it voraciously. Filled with writing that speaks to heart and intellect both, each issue leaves me wishing I could be more, do more, say more to affect change in the world. In addition to essays and interviews and brilliantly written prose and poems, each month readers write in about a given theme. This month's "Reader's Write" was "True Love" and nearly every entry made me swallow hard.
There are so many ways to love, and each is profound. Readers, scattered all over the globe and from all kinds of backgrounds wrote in about their idea of true love: sacrifice, grace, devotion, adoration.
I was struck reading each small story, by how deeply every person experiences his or her world---and how differently. I try to remember this when I am affronted by the immense distrust and fear our media spawns of "otherness."
I try to remember this when I look into my sons eyes, and then look into the eyes of the stranger I pass in the street. Then I think, "you are someone's child. Someone gave birth to you. " This is enough to keep me lifting my eyes to meet the eyes of every face I pass.
NOVEMBER'S LIST
Some things I’m into this November:
Writing, and sketching my little moleskine notebook.
Hanging out with the other hapless writers in my writing group and swapping the chapters we’ve written for critique.
Machine washable merino wool yarn I’m using to knit Bean a baby blanket.
Classic toys, like the ones found here.
Buying cross country skis.
Organizing a postcard swap and getting paper mail.
Sending out query letters.
Taking black and white pictures.
House hunting.
Baking bread.
Tagged
The incredibly talented Carla tagged me. I'm supposed to list 20 random things about myself and then tag as many people as it took minutes for me to write my list. I did play by the rules in that the list is random. It took me about 20 minutes to write however, so I'll not be tagging 20 people. Although that might be fun... 20 random facts:
1) Encarta's definition of topography: a study or detailed description of the various features of any object or entity and the relationships between them.
2) Things I'm into this month include: raspberry doughnuts, corduroys, chocolate colored sweaters, packages in the mail, beeswax candles, and wine with pretty labels.
3) I forget to eat and then get really moody and totally annoyed that I'm hungry.
4) I intensely dislike having to talk to people I don't know on the phone (except it was delightful to talk to Elaine, who has a lovely musical laugh, and who sounds just like I'd imagined: strong, wise, and insightful.)
5) I stay up way too late at night.
6) My second serious boyfriend in high school once told me to "Go downstairs to the kitchen and help my mom cook me a nice steak."
7) At the time I saw nothing wrong with his request. Now I'm mortified.
8) I was born in Colorado.
9) I have taken care of a boa constrictor twice in my life.
10) One of my favorite flowers is the Zinnia.
11) When I'm by water, I skip stones.
12) I can't paint without getting it all over my hands.
13) I can't eat popsicles without getting the juice all over my shirt.
14) I like Thai iced tea, Mango Lassi, Chai, and Mexican Hot Chocolate.
15) I don't like fresh figs, brussel sprouts, or okra.
16) I love going skinny dipping, especially at night.
17) I'm a bit of a magazine whore: I have a shameful amount of subscriptions coming to my house (Yes Jillian, that includs People!) but I rarely watch T.V.
18) I'm not afraid to admit I like froufrou drinks like zinfandel and wine coolers.
19) I have taken extended backpacking trips in Pueto Rico, France, Switzerland, Germany and the Pacific Coastal U.S.A.
20) I say prayers.
I'm tagging (if they want to play, or have already been tagged..): Blackbird, Melanie, Steph, Fuzzypeach, and Jill
OCTOBER'S LIST
Happy October! This is the month where fall actually feels real to most of us in the northeast. When leaves heap up high, and kids sink into piles, chest deep and giggling. It's the month of all things pumpkin. Of cider doughnuts, hot coffees, and the first of many mornings cold enough to see our breath. Since I'm obsessive about lists, and totally inspired by Irene's fabulous sidebar lists, are some things I'm into this month:
* Starting a bookgroup. What we're reading: classic contemporary lit we all kinda think we read but have forgotten, or maybe never read and just thought we did, or know we haven't read but should. First up: Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller.
* Reading our new camera manual cover to cover so that I know how to do all sorts of nifty things like astrophotography, macro pics, and self timed shots, so I can do red currant’s awesome October SPT life documentary challenge.
* Learning to knit---I'm terrified I'll still be terrible at it like I was in fifth grade (the last time I gave it a whirl), when everyone had to make mittens in handwork class and mine had monstrous thumbs. This time, I'm going to start with something simple & straightforward: a knit-purl blanket out of super soft wool for Bean. I'm eyeing the gorgeous knitting needle rolls that Nikki Shell makes.
* Trying some yummy new recipes. I'm looking at Traveler's Lunchbox and Chocolate and Zucchini, and Delicious Days for foodie inspiration.
* Making art with my son; doing pen and ink drawings for Everyday Matters; exploring digital collages like Dreamy via the Garden; looking for design inspiration in the world around me like Poppy, and branching out into new terrain in my art journal with some more mixed media collages like Joleen. I'm also finding arty inspiration at: paperheart, boygirl party and ryan garber
Illustration Friday: Roots
Listen to this. Andrei Codrescu's words filled my soul last Wednesday, and for days I've kept running over these sentences in my head. Images suit me better in times of wonder or grief. So I painted.
Starting with a topographic map of the Mississippi delta, I wanted to convey how hope takes root, like it always has. How it floods up through song, through sorrow, through the mouths of the poor enraged by poorer leadership. How our country, always feeling entitled, stumbles and then reaches out, realizing that to blame is not the point. And from flooded rubble, a million small stories of human grace turning devastation into song. So much is lost, but this we can remember.
