Birthday Love

I'm feeling very loved.

After a small avalanche of birthday wishes on Facebook, topped off by a cozy family evening of fondue and red velvet cupcakes, my love tank is full. It doesn't take much to make me happy these days.

After all the sadnesses of Haiti, a friend's husband struggling with brain cancer and another gal pal who is beginning radiation and chemotherapy, I know I have a lot to be thankful for. I have my health, a great husband, a lovely son and a stunning collection of friends who are good with computers.

The beauty of social media is it's snappy ability to remind everyone that it's your birthday. As always we still get to enjoy birthday cards, birthday lunches and of course, presents from our close family and friends.

This year brought birthday wishes on steroids -- as I got celebratory wishes from my chiropractor, grocery stores, retail stores, the vet and yes even my dentist. Some may think that this is really cheesy, as they don't really care about your birthday, they just want your business.

True, but I'm still going to bask in my birthday love wishes, even if they are from my mechanic.

What to Do with a Bad Book?

After treasuring the book Julie & Julia by Julie Powell, I was looking forward to picking up her next book, Cleaving.

The Julia book was a blast for me -- My mom practically had a personal gourmet shrine to Julia Child growing up. It was a treat to read along as Julie plowed through Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking series. The "Cleaving" book was supposed to be what happened next to Julie Powell...I couldn't wait to see.

In one word: disaster. Quick summary: naughty cheating on husband story, going to work at a butcher shoppe in detail and all the horrible self-destruction style behavior to go along with it. Lovely. Just the sort of pick-me-up you need for 2010.

Not only had I bought the book, but also had taken the extra step of downloading it to my electronic reader. Truly, I felt invested. I had paid good money, now what to do with a horrible, drag you down electronic book? I felt sort of like watching the Tiger Woods debacle -- horribly disgusted, but for some reason unable to look away.

What to do with a bad book?

1. Stop reading -- Trash the book.

2. Plow through and hope it gets better.

Maybe I had high expectations, maybe I'm not cut out for the dirty little secret experience. I have learned this about my reading style -- life is pretty rough, so know what you are getting into before you go and spend good money on a book. Especially an electronic book that you can't even re-gift or take to charity or get your money back.

Perhaps I'm in the wrong state of mind for this sort of book right now. Maybe I will save it for another day and see if it strikes me differently. Perhaps never would be about the right time.

The Christmas Collage

Every Christmas season starts with the ratty little collage.

I made it more than ten years ago. I was newly married, but still lacking the confidence of how things were supposed to go. My collage was really just an oversized piece of poster board. It featured a quote I read in a book that spoke so loudly in my head, I couldn't stop thinking about it. Just like everything else in those newlywed years, I was trying to do the best I could and hoping things would turn out alright.

Christmas was always a slippery slope for me. For some reason, I couldn't shake the guilty childhood feelings of either feeling like I had too much or I didn't have enough. There never was a true joy about it. After I read this quote about Christmas, it changed for me. I wanted to wear this statement about Christmas, to walk around in it, to let it be who I was. Instead I did the next best thing, I made a collage out of it. With beautiful re-used Christmas cards framing my faded handwriting, every year this becomes the decoration I love best.

Here's what it says:

"If, as Herod, we fill our lives with things, and again with things; if we consider ourselves so unimportant that we must fill every moment of our lives with action, when will we have the time to make the long, slow journey across the desert as did the Magi? Or sit and watch the stars as did the shepherds? Or brood over the coming of the child as did Mary? For each on of us, there is a desert to travel. A star to discover. And a being within ourselves to bring to life." -- Author Unknown

(an excerpt from Simple Abundance: A Daybook of Comfort and Joy by Sarah Ban Breathnach)

For me, my collage and this powerful quote remind me of the point of Christmas. The trouble is -- I don't want to miss it. I want to attend all the great plays, hear all the awesome concerts, see all the lights, the parades and the parties. But in my heart, all I want is this quote. Year by year, my collage strikes me differently. Over time, I find myself seeing from a different vantage point -- whether it's from the shepherd's watch, the mom looking down on her child, crossing my own desert, looking for the stars. It always speaks to me and always reminds me.

The truth is I don't have to do anything, buy anything or be anything to have a beautiful Christmas. I only have to stop and notice all the beauty before me. And in that pause, to truly see the one star overhead.

Tiny Thankful Things

Today I was thinking of the "little" thankful things.

My emphasis is on the word little -- as I think the small stuff tends to get a bad rap. Not to take away from the big important stuff like health, family, friends, food and shelter, but what little teensy tiny things make up big piles of joy in your life?

Here's my teeny tiny thankful list:

1. The first cup of coffee on a cold morning.

2. The way my body hums after a 3 mile run on a dreary day.

3. Sunlight as it just begins to touch the treetops first thing in the morning.

4. When people tell me that my writing changed the way they think about things.

5. Love notes from my son.

6. The way my husband takes my hand before we enter a crowded room.

7. The miracle of my snowy white Camellias blooming in the winter when you least expect it.

8. The velvet warmth of a sultry Southern evening paired with the magic of fireflies.

9. Chocolate croissants from Trader Joe's.

10. Taking a long, steamy bath with Chris Botti's jazz playing in the background.

Now it's your turn -- what's on your teeny thankful list?

Purse Memories

It all began with the missing iPod.

I knew it was somewhere in the contents of my purse/snack bag/portable brain of mine. Out of desperation, I dumped the entire contents of my purse on the counter for total reconnaissance.

After sorting through the immense pile, I began to notice the contents were sort of bag-like-scrapbook of my life. Spread out before me was not only a pile of junky stuff, but bits of memories, funny little items and things saved for no apparent reason.

There was the pressed penny from a recent trip to the zoo. It housed the sweet memory of a summery week spent in Michigan visiting family and friends. Not just a penny, but a chance to treasure my son's viewpoint of seeing my birthplace through his eyes.

Then there was the Thomas the Train sticker. My son's reward for a trip to the doctor. The quiet comment from him saying "Mom, I'm not too old for Thomas the Train," then watching him secretly slip it into my purse out of the sight where no one would see.

A collection of leftover Tylenol Junior tablet wrappers brought the reminder of a family wedding in Florida. Upon arrival, my son developed a scary-too-high fever. Alone in a strange hotel room, all night I kept vigil with cold compresses. Watching the clock, I barely slept to stand ready to give him the next dose. I remember the miracle of the next morning, when he completely recovered, allowing us to spend a joyful day with family at the beach.

At the bottom of the purse I found tiny Lego men and strange pieces that I knew had invaded my entire home, but now like Carolina Kudzu had shown up where you least expect it. A surprise was a Moosehead beer cap. I neither drink beer nor like it, except for on extremely hot summer days. The cap must have been saved as treasure from my son and placed in my purse for safekeeping.

I thought about what the contents of my purse might say about me. If it was found by some private detective and analyzed for diagnosis, I'm sure it would come back to say something like "an extreme fetish for breath mints, weird gum, hair tools and lipgloss. Extremely jumbly - how does she find anything?"

Like an adored scrapbook, I was surprised that my purse contents told such history. The items offered sweet nostalgia from a past season of my life. Not simply a bunch of stuff in a bag, but things that told my story. I never did find my iPod in there, but I did find something even better -- treasures of times in my life worth remembering.

Little Cowboy

We are counting down the days until my son gets to unleash his "inner buckaroo."

As we make our way to the motherland of rural Michigan, we arrive just in time for the opening of deer hunting season. My 8 year-old son is completely beside himself at the idea of the great outdoors, guns and wide open spaces. It may not be PC, but it's true. The cowboy gene cannot be denied.

Part of me is glad for it. I want him to know what it's like to walk through a frosty field. To understand the silent quiet of watching the world from the hidden perch of a deer blind. To be completely enveloped in nature without the worry of getting hit by a car, stolen by child molesters or having to be perfectly-mannered at a desk.

He will walk in the footsteps behind his grandfather and his uncles, just as I did as a young girl. I can see him now, wearing oversized hunter orange gear, ambling quietly behind, studying the field's movements. As a girl, my dad and I would perch quietly in our grown-up size fort, listening to our own steady breathing, watching the grey field become ablaze with the red sunrise. After what felt like hours, we would numbly come home for hot chocolate, while my dad would fry up some corn fritters to go along with homeade maple syrup.

The simplicity of taking a walk in nature and appreciating its delicate balance is a lesson you can only learn by doing. I want him to discover memories of a time and a place that is simple. A place that doesn't require a carpool, a suburb or a commute on a highway. To appreciate that hunting was how people used to sustain themselves -- like it or not, it was the way people survived.

As a mom, I'm about as pro-NRA as the rest of the mommy club. But I want my son to know what it's like to be a part of a place that knows how to take care of basic needs. In rural Michigan, people know how to survive both with the land and from the land. There is an underlying respect of nature that can't be appreciated going down the road at 65 miles per hour. It takes a slow quiet walk in the woods. It takes a watchful eye, an appreciation for the rhythm of nature and all creatures within.

Getting Scary

It's scary season and in the spirit of things, I have been working on scaring myself daily.

Last week I read "do something every day that scares you."

I was trying to remember the last time I attempted something truly scary. Usually it's life that does the scaring -- watching the news, praying with a friend that was struggling with breast cancer, making casseroles for a family who is undergoing bone cancer treatments. You don't have to work very hard to be scared every single minute.

I was running through my daily moments trying to find anything I did that was a bit edgy, risky or truly dangerous. Here's my day: car pool, getting some writing done, paying bills, going to the gym, a few errands and then back to carpool. I think the scariest thing in there is the driving.

Scary doesn't have to be huge -- like bungee jumping, doing an Ironman or scaling a mountain -- although those are all good and creepy things to do. The scary I was looking for is in the taking risks. Even little ones that weren't really a big deal in the scheme of things, but a teensy bit dangerous nonetheless.

Scary to me is picking up the phone and pitching my ideas, sending out my writing, actually doing the work and being okay with getting a lot of rejections. It's getting my book done. It's being committed to the craft of being a writer and following through, despite the fact that it doesn't pay well and it's dang hard work.

As we close in on the season of mischief, I'm going to get busy scary myself today.

A good question: how have you scared yourself today?