#101smiles

I have captured a moment for one hundred and one days. 

These were not ordinary moments.

These were not easily caught.

Last Monday was last day of a #101smiles project on Instagram.

I’m not certain who started the project.

 The premise was to photo document something in each day that made you smile.

It came on the heels of me completing my prayerful photographic advent meditation.  During the season of advent I go through photos I have collected throughout the year, and in reflection, I post pictures that voice what I value in life. 

At least for that year.

My “What’s Important” series looks for the good, the necessary.

#101smiles was different.

I didn’t have the luxury of a year to reflect.

It forced me to be mindful each day to search for the good.

Search for the smile.

It was shocking to me to realize that there were some days, sometimes weeks, where finding something to smile about was a challenge.

Life and I can get into my own way.

It was through the exercise of daily searching for the day’s post that I found it was truly in the little things in daily life that brings joy, or peace – a smile.

Trite – I know.  I got over it.

I have not posted my last #101smiles until today because I wasn’t ready

to let go.

I won’t be posting each day for #101smiles, but I haven’t let go.

I will keep capturing the good.

I like series.
Movies - Harry Potter, case in point.
Sports - still a Patriots fan.
Books - current one, At Home in Mitford., by Jan Karon.

It's a gentle series revolving around the life and times of an Episcopal priest living in small town Maine.
I know - it may sound small and uninteresting, but for me,
it's like sitting with a friend, and hearing the news,
good and bad of our families and friends.
If I have a choice of listening to The Donald spewing idiocies,
or listening to how Esther is fairing with her respectable mayoral bid
as the incumbent - I'm going Mitford all the way.

I believe there are eight books in the series, and I'm in book four - A New Day.
Yes - there is a Christian bent to it, but more than that -
there is a play on the goodness of people, with the evil in the world to challenge their goodness. Sometimes the characters fumble, but there is proof that friendship and love can buoy you.

Yesterday, a line stuck with me.
It was in the middle of a prayer by Father Tim that said something to the effect - " Lord, we could spend all day thanking you, but instead we're going to enjoy the company of these good people, and the meal they have prepared..."

I feel that way often.  I can spend hours counting all the blessings for which I can be thankful.

Blessings aren't always wonderful - sometimes they are are plain awful - but they lead to good. During those terrible times I am thankful for those who lend support.
I'm thankful for my kids.  I have four of them.
Each of them, all adults now, bring so much into my life.
They make be laugh, be honest, work hard, rest harder,
and toss out the life line when I need it.
My mom is in hospice.  This is an odd blessing.
In it's awfulness, my children have rallied around me, each in their unique ways.
It's something for which I'm truly thankful.

It's a good thing I had four of them.
I told you I liked series.

Mom 

***For more info on the Mitford series - here's where you can go:
https://www.goodreads.com/series/44044-mitford-years
http://www.mitfordbooks.com/

Cycles

Remember autumn?

The bad news when you live here in the Northeast, is that you are sad when you realize that the last bike ride you took, was the last fresh air bike ride for...well, quite a while.  
This happened to us way back in October.  
I was chilly at 60 degrees temps.  Pfft!  
That cycle was over.

Sure there are the diehards cyclists you see throughout the winter...
out there, bundled up, and peddling between snow pile and road sand mound, 
but really - why?  
(Yes - I know you could say - why not?  
Because it's freaking cold and dangerous!)

This year, not even the uber dedicated cyclists are out.  
There's no room on the roads. 
Snow after snow storm has dumped road blocks of snow.  
There are snow monsters, snow walls, and snow edifices.  
With temps marking "Feels like: freeze your butt off degrees", 
they are just not going to risk it.

Feels Like...

It is right around this time of year we plan our spring training ride.  
A hopeful part of the cycle.
My favorite place remains the Palm Desert area.  
You can count on the weather, and the roads.  
But this year I'm thinking someplace new.  
I'm looking all over the place...mostly stateside.  

Tell me - where is your cycling mecca?

The good news when you live here in the Northeast is that you are happy for the strong back and shoulders from all that snow shoveling...it will make staying on the handlebars easier.

Glass half full people!

Christmas without the Kranks

I know - I know - I have fallen short of the blogger cardinal rule...
write regularly.
Dang.
But life gets in the way -
and when you're a wee bit ADD -
each day contains millions of tiny little things...
every once in awhile they are productive too!

But today I had to share.
I crack myself up - pretty regularly...myself that is - no one else.

So even though this is Halloween - let me present you with my Christmas letter I just sent my children and husband, entitled -
Time to Talk:

Hi Gang,

It's time to have this talk.  By now you all know the truth about Santa.

He's a double agent.

On the one hand, he presents you with gifts that you need, that you can not or will spend the money on - 

despite its need.

On the other hand, nothing fills his sense of accomplishment more than presenting you with that one item,

that object of your heart's desire, 

that once again - is out of your reach or reason.

In short, he provides the socks AND the shiny, electric gizmo.

Yes, yes I did say gizmo.

So while I understand today is a day full of sugar induced comas, and frenetic parents everywhere - 

you need to set aside some time giving thought to Santa's assignment for 2014.  

Time is ticking, and I know his elves are starting their power play on Monday (big hockey fans those elves).  

Get out there - plan those lists for Santa's alter egos, and get them to me ASAP!

This message will not only NOT self destruct, but the absence of a response might encourage a certain spunky Cuban woman to start persistent pestering.

Glad we had this chat - carry on.

xo - me

Not chuckling?  That's okay - I am.  Carry on (as PH would say - right?)

Can you hear me now? (A rant.)

I remember a time when my mother would get a phone call,

and the world would stop.

The telephone had prime spots in our three-story home. 

One in the kitchen, one on my mother’s bedside table, and one on the third floor landing. 

As a preteen I recall the first telephone call I got from a boy.  I was certain that between all the concrete blocks and miles of wires he could see my flushed face, and hear my heartbeat…pounding, pounding. 

As I grew to a teen, I could easily spend hours chatting with friends about everything and nothing. 

Telephone cords were stretched long in an effort to shut a door somewhere. 

You could try for a private conversation, but the reality was, your laughter and words were carried through the house like a hum or a chime.

When I was a little girl, my mother would settle into the side of her bed, remove her cleaning gloves, and start talking, and laughing, and um humming. 

I would lie on the bed, settling my head in her lap, as she would stroke my hair, and talked with her friend on the other end.  I would know within moments, based on the tone of my mother’s voice, or through the faint, tinny sound of the person on the receiver just who was chatting with her.  I’d feign sleep and hear gossip, and stories, and jokes that I didn’t quite understand…but was thrilled to be privy to them anyway. 

It was the ultimate way of reaching out and connecting to another person, intimate, and whole.  It was a way to remain a part of the family unit, your voice and self never out of touch with everyone else in your home world.

Before I go on – let’s just get one thing straight – I love technology.  Adore it, 
in fact.

Today, I tried reaching out to an old friend.  We’ve kept tabs on each other for years.

When telephone calls were too tricky, we switched to AOL…

You’ve got mail…remember? 

From there we went to straight emails.  Then texts. 

Then Facebook messages. Then Snapchat.

Then Viber. 

Then there’s Instagram, Twitter and

go ahead – call some other ones out – you know them. 

Now today.

Somewhere along the way the laughter has left, as did the words. 

Our communication and connections had become so economical, that what was left, in the end of it, was a void.

There are circles, chat rooms, and group boards.  Suddenly the word “friend” has an entirely different meaning.

No one on my family knows with whom I’m talking to when I’ve my phone in my hand. 

And certainly, no one would lie their head down on my lap while I text.

Today – the world never stops.  And I’m left wondering –
who can hear me now?

Dirty Lttle Secret

We all have (at least) one – right?

Last week, one of my daughters, while packing her place up, found that she had collected a mass of magazines.  She confessed that she was a bit of a glossy print hoarder.   

With her tongue thoroughly imbedded in her cheek, she wondered aloud where she got this trait.

We both knew the truth.

This sent me on a journey throughout my house this morning, hunting and gathering anything that had a subscription label on it, and at least two dog-eared pages. It wasn’t hard.  Nooks and crannies, corners and cabinets were scoured as periodicals were rounded up.

There were plenty of stacks.  I toyed with the idea of adding another leaf to the table so it could support the collections.  If my daughter had a mass – I had a critical mass. 

As I sorted through the varieties of design, improvement and enrichment – I wondered where I, myself, had gotten that trait. 

 It was my mother.   

She did not have the opportunity to grow up with many books, so as an adult, she collected them as treasures.  Piles of them neatly on shelves and end tables abounded.   

A gift of a coffee table book resulted in her having a look of wonder and awe.   

She cherished them. 

I have already shared my love of books with you, and to be honest – I don’t love the magazines.  But I do cherish what they represent…just as my mom did...and perhaps my daughters:

There’s always room for improvement.

Beauty is everywhere.

Possibilities are endless.

So are subscriptions.

Mischief in the Making

I was wrong.

There are lots of adventures you can experience in life
- if you are lucky.

Living in different places, careers made from dreams,
finding children in your life,
holding onto love - whether for a moment, or more than a long exhalation of time...
these are the types of adventures that buoy one through one life stage to another.

Then there are the experiences which jettison you through your short stay on this planet
- for an even shorter moment of time:
the hike through the alps,
careening down rapids whose category you do not want to know,
the climb up an oxygen-absorbing peak,
or the tedium of one pedal stroke after another to cross a country,
or continent.

I thought that once we did one of those "super experiences" we'd be good -
no - I'd be good  - for life.
The scary, exhausting expeditions would be behind me.
I would have satisfied a need.

Nope.

Little did I know that a restlessness would sink in.

Need changes to crave - and the search for another adventure needs to begin.

I was wrong.