Let it be

Les Disciples Jean et Pierre Courant au Sepulcre Le Matin de la Resurrection, Eugene Burnand

I brought the postcard of this painting home from the Musee D'Orsay. It sits on the shelf above my desk and my heart pings a little every time I look at it. According to my rusty college French, the title translates to something like The Disciples Peter and John Rush to the Sepulchre on the Morning of the Resurrection. Look at those faces, that simultaneous hope and anxiety. Rushing but almost reluctant. Please let it be.

Today I read a post about "the wild, tender place between knowing and not knowing" and I glanced up at my postcard tilted there on the shelf and thought, Yes.

I had a rush of understanding about paths and inspiration. I can feel fear and anxiety (those disciple faces! I recognize them) about things I feel nudged to do and yet still be headed in the right direction. Just because I wonder how shall it be doesn't mean I'm not confident in the outcome.

Even if I'm whispering a mantra of Please let it be under my breath and clasping my hands as I walk into the wind.

 . . .

Oh, hello, grateful November! Today I'm thankful for Costco and babies in the air and art postcards and closing lines and illustrative graphs and The Beatles' Let It Be.

Magical machine

I kind of love Mondays. As much as I adore the weekends, it's a lovely moment when everyone is off to school and work, the house is quiet, and I start trying to conjure order in our weekend-blitzed house.

Usually, this means laundry: gathering, sorting, loading, unloading, folding. That makes it sounds so busy, so work intensive, doesn't it?  But my great grandmother Elsie's laundry day was exponentially more taxing. With 9 daughters, a husband, and herself in one household, her laundry piles must have been massive. She soaked, scrubbed, twisted, wrung, and ironed at least 45 dresses and dozens of underclothes, sheets, towels, etc.  Hers, no doubt, was a very active and exhausting laundry day.

This morning as I waited (waited! luxurious extra time!) for the washing machine to do its thing, I came across this TED clip by the marvelous Hans Rosling (one of my personal heroes: co-founder of Doctors without Borders Sweden  and Gapminder, public health guru, and no one makes data more clear--I salute you, Hans!). 

We do take it for granted but I think Rosling's right: this was a game changer for women. Let's hear it for all the books read, children played with, and interests pursued while the magical washing machine chugged away. 

Folding these mounds of clean clothes doesn't seem like such a drag today, you know?

Thankful things

We are anxiously anticipating a fun time next week with out-of-town visitors and lots of hygge. I've been collecting some ideas and images to inspire our celebration.  Just thought I'd share a few...

 ^The I am thankful for chain template. We usually have a bunch of little slips of paper and a jar for everyone to note all the things they're thankful for. I think this year we'll graduate to these lovely graphics for our gratitude notes.

 Or these thankful cards downloads from Cathy Zielske (plus ideas for making into a mini album)

 

^I've been enjoying Leah's daily thank you notes at ThxThxThx--and the reminder that gratitude is not just for November.   

^ Fun ideas from the brilliant gals over at One Charming Party: paper bag turkey with popcorn inside, New World boat game (which technically should be Mayflower boats instead--not sure why they used the Columbus boats), and mini pumpkin pies. What fun!

I love The Pioneer Woman as much as the next gal but I want to tell you about my other go-to food site for Thanksgiving recipe and planning this year: Annie's Eats (not me, no relation). I love her cheerful approach; her posts include timeline planning, great ideas and step-by-steps for recipes. Totally worth subscribing. 

. . .

It really is one of my favorite weeks of the year: all food, family, and gratitude.

. . .

And now, off to the weekend! Hope you have a marvelous one.

Car talk

Here's how it goes every morning: G and Lauren get up by 5, leave for seminary (early morning religious class for high schoolers) at 5:30.  G drops her off at 6 and goes on in to work.  Because she's the only one at seminary who attends her high school, I leave at 6:30 and go pick her up and take her to school, arriving home around 7:20.  (Are you with me?  Is this the most exciting paragraph you've ever read?)

Now I'm no early bird. But in spite of the crack-of-dawnness, that hour or so is one of my favorites in the day. The sunrise is usually stunning. And it's great chat time with my eldest child, just the two of us (as long as I'm not driving to seminary and all in a dither about punctuality).  Don't you love how driving in a car opens up kids to all kinds of topics and reflections? 

In addition to deepest thoughts and shallowest observations, we share music. Today Journey's Don't Stop Believing came on, a tune which always brings up memories of jr. high afternoon dances and the confusion about whether it was a slow song or a fast one.  We were singing along and I belted out the words.

"Mom, those aren't the right lyrics."

"What?! I think I know my own era songs, thankyouverymuch."

"Mom, really, listen when that line comes up again."

I did. 

She was right.

It's not "born and raised and self-destroyed" which is how I've been singing it. All. These. Years. Apparently (as I'm sure you all know) it's "born and raised in South Detroit." Whatever. I think my lyrics make more sense.  And more universal, for those of us non-Michiganites.

Turnabout is fair play, though; Lauren was just getting me back from this time.  

. . .

grateful for: the boost I feel after exercising, our 8 p.m. nightly gathering as a family, and keeping in touch with longtime friends (just had a great phone chat with my college roommate this afternoon)

Sticky situation

Over the summer we replaced our hardy old minivan Ruby (~200,000 miles!) with a brand new family mobile.  This was a long-awaited event and, as we cleared out the flotsam and jetsam from the trusty but stained Ruby, G extracted a promise from each of us:

No food in the new car.

The kids tried different techniques to test the paternal rule resolve.  They sneaked snacks aboard in their pockets, for one.  Oh, the folly of youth. These things are always discovered and woe!WOE! unto the child who sneakily munches in the back seat.  By their crumbs they are judged.

Eventually we all got used to the new reign of foodlessness and all was well.  We took 6-hour summer trips where water was the only allowed substance to touch our lips while inside the new vehicle.  If sometimes I brought a therapeutic can of Diet Coke into the car, I claimed parental exemption and crossed my fingers.

So imagine my horror when I got into the car recently and found that the gear shift between the two front seats was verrrry difficult to move.  It stuck and was almost impossible to shift into reverse or drive, especially first thing in the morning.  Like something had been spilled nearby.  I was pretty sure I hadn't spilled my soda. Had I? HAD I?!  Looking closer, I noticed several sticky spots on and around and in(!) the shifter.

I scrambled into the house to get something to wipe up the evidence.  

G: (casually) What are you doing? 

A: (slamming cupboards and rushing around) oh...I just noticed something needed to be wiped up in the car

G: (his interest piqued) Oh? What?

A: Um.  Well.  I just tried to shift the car into reverse and--I don't know how this happened--it seems like there's something spilled and sticky.

G: What?!

A: Yeah. I can't figure it out because we really haven't had anything in the car like that.

G: (Silence)

A: And it's REALLY sticky.  So, you know, I don't even think it would be...a drink...or anything.

G: Hmm.

A: (still getting towels and water)

G: So...it is sticky like honey?

A: Yeah! That's exactly what it's like.  I even tasted it and it's sweet. Why?

G: Hmm.

A: What?

G: I had a peanut butter and honey sandwich in the car.

A: (laughing) YOU did?

G: (meekly laughing) Yes...I didn't have time to eat before soccer practice so I grabbed a sandwich. 

A: (still laughing) Okay Mr. No Food in the Car!  A peanut butter and honey sandwich?!

And so it is that every morning when I get in the car, I wrestle the somewhat sticky gearshift into reverse and chuckle a little that it was G who was the first to usher the new car into "broken in" status.

. . .

Thankful for: my funny (+ honest!) G, the 10 a.m. schedule at church, great car conversations with my kids.