The dance of every day life

I was leaving Panera this morning, my glass of half-iced-tea-and-half-seltzer in hand (yes, it is strange, I know!), when someone in front of me held the door for just an instant until I could reach out at hold it myself.  A common gesture.  One we do, or experience every day.

But today, the movement and the grace of that single act caught my eye.  Un -choreographed, unplanned.  It was a pas de deux between two strangers, but in its own way, as elegant and graceful as a moment in any ballet.

That instant, I realized that there is a dance of every day life.

I started to think about other examples....the cars moving among one another on the highway.  The way a family works together in the kitchen moving around one another, as they prepare dinner or do the washing up.  We move in and out, step around, turn and reach.  There is a beauty in that interaction, that interweaving of motion that we (or at least I) have missed until now.

When you go about your day tomorrow, pay attention to the dance.  It's there.  Notice the effortless way in which we move around one another, the ways our movements connect and separate.

See the dance.

Oh no, a Nook is NOT the same as a REAL book!

Call me a ludite.  Say I'm hanging on to the past.  But I will not give up my old-fashioned, paper and print books.


I looked at the Nook with my 13 year old the other day... 

She went on and on about how wonderful it would be.  I thought about how I couldn't risk tossing it in the beach bag along with my sunscreen, a still -slightly sandy towel and a cold water bottle.

She talked about how great it would be to be able to put so many books on one reader.  I thought about how it would be impossible for those "books" to ever acquire that wonderful "old book smell" that makes used bookstores so enticing.

She showed me how she could change the font and the amount of back light.  I thought about how it would mean the end of stumbling upon that old once-upon-a-time favourite book that got wedged in the back of the bookshelf, and just begs you to put your feet up and re-read a book that feels like an old friend...again.

She showed me how she can even go on Facebook, right from the Nook.  But all I could think about was how a good book, a glass of lemonade and a long summer afternoon alone under a tree would never be the same if you had to worry about the charge on your "book's" battery running out.

I am not a computer novice, nor an Internet neophyte. My career is online.  I use every social network there is, and some that are still in Beta releases.  I write, code and link for hours every day.

But when it comes time to read the latest mystery by my favourite author, give me a paperback, a patch of grass on which to stretch out, and a cool drink close at hand.

In the end, we left the bookstore without a Nook.  Our family will have to remain Nook-less for awhile longer.  But we did have 3 new, REAL paper and print books. I have held off the electron tide for another day...happily.

The end of year one. The start of something deeper.

My husband and I are coming to the end of our first year of marriage (although we've decided to continue to calling ourselves newlyweds indefinitely!  It's just too much fun to give up!)

We have not had the typical first year of marriage.  Instead of just two of us, my new husband went from a lifetime of being single to suddenly having a wife...and kids...and a dog...and two cats. And then there are the scrapbook supplies and the books...Especially the books (Hi, I'm Lindsay, and I'm a biblioholic...) I know he didn't count on the books! (Although to be fair, if he had just counted the bookcases in my old place before we got married....)

The economy and jobs meant that we didn't go from the wedding to a honeymoon.  In fact, we are still waiting for that...maybe later this year.   And then in January, my husband had to move to another state to take a job so we are temporarily living in separate states and only see each other for about one weekend a month.  THAT sucks...seriously.

In other ways, we are typical.  We've spent time this year getting to know what it's like to live with each other.  We've started learning how to meet each other needs, and balance that with our own wants and needs.

We've negotiated the important issues like how to load glasses in the dishwasher, and exactly how long it really takes to get everyone out the door and into the van.  We've talked about the house we want, the trips we hope to take, and the things we want to do together in the years ahead. And it has been getting better and better all year.

But the other day, something big happened.  

My husband is home for one of our all-too-brief visits, and we were talking.  The subject doesn't matter.  But I was so certain I was just plain correct about something.  You know that feeling, right?  You are just absolutely sure that you have all the facts lined up, and that there is NO WAY you could be wrong.  Yeah.

And then he started to talk about the subject from his point of view  And I was stunned into silence.  I heard the words, but I heard something else that meant so much more....I HEARD his love.  The subject wasn't love.  But the words were.  The ideas he was sharing came from a place of love.  His ideas were different than mine to start.  And then he brought in what I had been saying, and pointed out how we were BOTH right.  And BOTH wrong.  Suddenly, being right didn't matter at all.

At that moment, when I sat there listening to his words, and the meaning behind them, the love I felt grew infinitely deeper. I actually felt the the connection between us strengthen.

In that moment, my love for him went from what I THOUGHT was a lot to something I never even imagined.  

Something so small...the discussion wasn't about anything life-shattering.  Something so big...the words my husband lovingly chose shifted everything so dramatically.

Monday will be our First Wedding Anniversary.  But you know what?  I already got the very best gift.

Texture...close up

Barbed wire, Odessa , Texas 

I LOVE texture...I love surfaces that show something about their age, or their experience with the elements.

Fishing net and sea shells, Fort Lauderdale, FL

I love things that have different textures, the smooth, with the rough, the natural with the man-made, like the net and the sea shells...

....or when it's unexpected like this flower I spotted on the 200+ year old porch of an old Pennsylvania house.

Flower on the wooden porch of Rockford Plantation, Lancaster, PA

The cool, fluid contrast of rain drops on a metal chair was enough to make me reach for my camera, even if it means getting soaked and having to go back to work looking like a drowned rat....like I did when I took this shot.

Rain-adorned chair, Sunrise, FL

I know, there are some who appreciate the pristine smoothness of a modern table top, or a Scandinavian dresser.  But for me, it's the surface that begs to be touched, to be experienced with my fingertips...or my camera...that gets me to stop and look.

How about you?  Textured or smooth?  New or old?  Freshly minted, or well-aged?

Pink memories of a baby doll -- and a lesson

I am camera-less for now, so my Pink Saturday post has to rely on words and other people's images.  But the memories are all mine.

I was thinking the other day about a doll I used to carry around with me, a pretty little doll with a pink outfit I loved...Baby Cuddles.  (I'm amazed that I actually found a picture of her online!)

Lots of little girls have memories of a special doll that they loved.  But this was different.

Cuddles taught me a lesson I've never forgotten...you see, I really wanted that doll.

I REALLY wanted that doll.

And then a few days before my third birthday, I saw a box on the dining room table that looked like the doll box (At almost 3, I couldn't yet read the cursive writing on the box, but I remember it looked as pink and pretty as the doll box in the store) ... and so I peeked.  I lifted up the bottom corner of the box, and looked inside. It was the doll!

But instead of feeling good, I felt awful!  At 3, I knew I had cheated, and on my birthday morning when I had to pretend to be surprised, I felt even worse. 

I had the exact doll I had wanted, but my peeking had stolen some of the joy.  I loved that doll (I still have her, in our storage for now) -- but I never forgot the lesson.  On that spring day, I learned that some things are better left for the right time and place. And over and over, throughout my life, I've stopped myself from "looking ahead" or trying things that were best left for later...all because of Cuddles.

It's funny how a small event early in life can teach us so much.  I've met so many people who have equally memorable -- and meaningful -- early memories.Events or words that shaped them for years after.

But this was such a little thing.

If it was a major event, I could understand the lasting impact.  But this was small.  And my parents never knew, so there was no punishment or scolding to make worse. So how could that small action have so much impact?

Maybe it's because we are a tabula rasa at that point, and in our uncluttered state, the little things mean more. Or maybe it's because we are still so fresh from G-d, and open to the lessons.

What lessons from childhood have you kept in your heart?

Happy Pink Saturday!

Remembering a letter...

Maybe it's because I'm watching "A Room with a View", where letters fly back and forth across Europe and England.  Or maybe it's because I've just written some Valentines to mail instead of sending electronic hearts and flowers.  But I am thinking about letters...real letters, not e-mails or text messages or IM conversations.

No, I mean a real paper letter in an envelope, that arrives in the mail, amid the ads and bills.  A letter awaited, and checked for day after day, or a letter that arrives unexpectedly.

A letter can be tucked in a purse or pocket, and taken somewhere to read later...or ripped open and read on the spot, and then re-read again and again. Yes, there are a few letters one dreads to open...a note that's sure to be a "Dear John", or a letter that is sure to hold bad news or anger. But most letters, even short ones, are wonderful to find amid the otherwise dull mail.

Upstairs in my bedroom, there's a large binder filled with letters -- letters from friends while I was in high school and college.  They pretty much stop at that point...e-mail took the place of letters.  But there are wonderful treasures there...descriptions of new adventures, new boyfriends (or the dumping of old ones!), letters from two friends who were living in Europe and sent me descriptions so vivid I felt that I was there, exploring old streets and new works of art. Each letter carries the writer's handwriting, many are decorated with little drawings and last-minute added thoughts around the edges, with arrows pointing to where they would have gone. Had those letters been e-mails, they would have been long since deleted, or at very best (and even this is so rare) printed out and stored as impersonal print on a page. 

I miss letters.  I miss writing them, and I miss receiving them. I miss holding them, and re-reading them for details missed the first time around -- or the second. In the movie, at this moment, one of the characters, is reading a letter -- she's tucked in bed, pillows piled up high behind her, the lamp lit. She opens the envelope and with a wonderful sound of paper cracking, smiles and settles back to read.  No Netbook or iPad on the planet can match that moment.

Getting back into the game

I haven't posted on this blog since late December.  Since then, a lot has happened in my life. 

My new husband had to take an out-of-state job, so we are to be apart for several months of this precious first year.

My car developed serious electrical problems, and I am still trying to get them fixed because buying a new car isn't in the cards right now.

My daughter is still struggling with daily health issues, and we still don't know why or what is causing them.

And in mid January, my mom passed away. 

So with all of that, just keeping up with the blogs and other things I write for work took every ounce of energy I had.  I opened this page a dozen times, but no words came out...until now.

I am tired. Stressed.  Sometimes scared.  Bruised. But I can feel that there is life beneath the surface, like a river that is starting to move again beneath its winter skin of ice.  It's hard to see the change -- in fact, some days a cold, hard freeze seems to put me right back where I was. It could be a sleepless night, or a hard day at work, or something like today when I went to get my car, and found that it was not yet fixed...again.

But the freezes aren't lasting as long now.  Even when they hit, I am feeling that trickle of movement underneath the icy surface...that hint of springtime.  Not yet visible, and yet something I can sense in the air.

Spring is coming.  Maybe not today or tomorrow or even next week.  But it is heading this way. And then the words will flow again.