Memory

Many Mirco-Accomplishments

“Never underestimate the power of a girl with a book.” – Ruth Bader Ginsburg

I pulled out my journal this morning to try and recount what exactly we did this year where many days felt the same. I surprised myself, sitting in the sun, as I scrawled twenty pages of reflection on what we did accomplish.

Nothing grand. No big adventures.

Instead, many micro-accomplishments. Harvests of cucumbers. Tiny reaches out of our comfort zones. A new job. Adjusting again to forces outside of ourselves. A basil plant taking in sun from cold winter windows. Witnessing pain. A new vitamin regimen. Striving for beauty. Ten gallons of paint.

2020 wasn’t a grand year. We were alone. Connected through screens, we grew closer to one another in ways I likely won’t understand for awhile. Isn’t it amazing how every human on earth now has this pandemic in common? How many other life experiences will stitch us together like this? The individual living of this year is different in kaleidoscope ways, yes. The tube, the crystals, the spinning disorientation – all the same.

I wonder how long it will take for the scapegoat disaster of 2020 to be reclaimed with something different. The ticking of time tonight can not erase what still lurks. 2021 may hold better. It may hold different. I know it will require processing, patience, and tending to pain.

Back in January I wrote I wasn’t going to be so bold to predict what would unfold on this year’s pages. I couldn’t have fathomed what actually was written in ink. I feel much the same about tomorrow. A new January. A new calendar. Pages to be ripped and discarded from organizational systems and goals to be scratched onto chalkboards in white. How many will be smeared in waiting in June?

This year, I read. A lot. On the floor, in the corner, tucked into my bed with cold bowls of vanilla ice cream. I got new glasses and my squinching face relaxed just a tiny bit as I escaped into story. Words comforted me. Challenged me. Seemed to be a constant companion.

As they lay Ruth Bader Ginsburg to rest, I welcomed with appreciation, all the work she accomplished to make the world a better place for my mother, for me, for women around the world longing for something different.

Never underestimate the power of words. How we absorb them, shape them, use them to search for beautiful things.

On this, the last day of a year we will never forget, I leave the list of books I read with you.

Bridge of Clay – Markus Zusak

Little Women – Louisa May Alcott

Red at the Bone – Jacqueline Woodson

Nine Perfect Strangers – Liane Moriarty

There, There – Tommy Orange

Dumplin’ – Julie Murphy

Counting by 7’s – Holly Goldberg Sloan

Still Me – JoJo Moyes

Little House on the Prairie – Laura Ingalls Wilder

Kitchen Yarns: Notes on Life, Love, and Food – Ann Hood

Turtles All the way Down – John Greene

In Pieces – Sally Field

The Year of Living Danishly: Uncovering the Secrets of the World’s Happiest Country – Helen Russell

Harry Potter & the Sorcerer’s Stone – J.K. Rowling

The Year of Less: How I Stopped Shopping, Gave Away my Belongings, and Discovered Life is Worth More Than Anything You Can Buy in a Store – Cait Flanders

Inheritance: A Memoir of Genealogy, Paternity & Love – Dani Shapiro

Such a Fun Age – Kiley Reid

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn – Betty Smith

The Cactus – Sarah Haywood

Little Wierds – Jenny Slate

Wine Girl: The Trials and Triumphs of America’s Youngest Sommelier – Victoria James
The Gown – Jennifer Robson

Magic Hour – Kristen Hannah

The Hypnotist’s Love Story – Liane Moriarty

The Year of Magical Thinking – Joan Didion

The Scent Keeper – Erica Bauermeister

Maid: Hard Work, Low Pay, and a Mother’s Will to Survive – Stephanie Land

The Secrets We Kept – Lara Prescott

The Night Tiger – Yangsze Choo

Redwall – Brian Jacques

Mountains Beyond Mountains – Tracy Kidder

The Library Book – Susan Orlean

The Alice Network – Kate Quinn

The Light We Lost – Jill Santopolo

Neverwhere – Neil Gaiman

The Henna Artist – Alka Joshi

The Velveteen Rabbit – Margery Williams

More Than Words – Jill Santopolo

When Books Went to War: The Stories that Helped Us Win World War II – Molly Guptill Manning

Fortune’s Rocks – Anita Shreve

The Vanishing Half – Brit Bennett

Liturgy of the Ordinary: Sacred Practices in Ordinary Life – Tish Harrison Warren

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue – V.E. Schwab

The Practice: Shipping Creative Work – Seth Godin

The AfterGrief: Finding Your Way Along the Long Arc of Loss – Hope Edelman

Finding Freedom: Harry & Meghan and the Making of a Modern Royal Family – Omid Scobie & Carolyn Durand

Goodbye to All That – Writers on Loving & Leaving New York – Edited by Sari Botton

Angel Falls – Kristen Hannah

The Family Fang – Kevin Wilson

Bel Canto – Ann Patchett

Tomorrow Will Be Better – Betty Smith

In Denial

I got an email from Nordstrom Rack this week. A classic promotion and the subject line read, “Which type is your dad?”

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A dead one – I thought to myself.

Oy

I wanted to send of a snarky reply but I didn’t.

Sometimes it’s easier to keep those little remarks to yourself. Advertisers are not often in the business of being sensitive to these kind of pain points.

Here we are. Another calendar year rolled by and I find myself clicking delete on promotions in my email, in the accounts I manage, and ignoring blatant ads on social media.

These Father’s Day triggers are everywhere.

After reading some of the pieces I published last year on the holiday I realized I’m at year number four, not three, of this holiday without him.

Four seems so much bigger than three.

You can ask the toddlers who have become bigger children in his absence.

I’m in Father’s Day denial. I was hoping to keep it at an arms distance.

But Nordstrom and Macy’s and Apple and even Starbucks are telling me I better prepare.

Sigh. Deeeeeeeeep sighs.

I’m missing him and breathing in his scent found in the hot popcorn popped fresh at the hardware store. I finger his sweatshirts hanging in my closet, next to my work blazers reminding me of how his fibers felt when brushed against him as I rushed out the door.

I’m in denial this year and so I turn my attention here. To the …

White walls painted fresh in a completed basement.

Slices of crisp dill pickle on dry crumbly bread.

Ham spread with mayo, no Minnesota butter to be found.

Small floating bubbles in spritzer.

Peas sprouting up in the garden.

Translucent squirts of lemon juice easing their way down into glasses full of cool water.

Coffee beans grinding.

Fitness instructors reminding me to tend to my back.

Encouragement from bosses.

Kisses on the cheek with an old friend. The ones who knew him too.

Red lipstick marks on coffee cups.

Baby Opal just one miraculous week old.

Maintained eye brows.

Dinners with grandmas and aunts and mother-in-laws.

Lottery tickets scratched clean.

These are the beautiful things this week is made of. And I’m focusing on them instead.

 

As Eeyore Says

IMG_4152As I was walking this afternoon, this thistle literally stopped me in my tracks. Stepping along, lost in my thoughts, the vibrant purple caught my eye and pulled me out of my spiraling fears.

Look at this living being, reaching up to the sky, yet covered in spikes to protect itself. Magnificently reflecting its own color at the top, despite its tough stem.

I don’t know about the science of thistles, nor the purpose of their evolutionary protection, but I do know this: this little plant reminded me to keep going, and hold my place in this world, thorns and all.

I know my posts have had a heavy tone lately, and for that I do not apologize. They reflect where I am at in life. This week, however, this damn thistle reminded me to be magnificently colorful despite the tough stuff. Look for levity, remember to search for the good, step outside of my own mind, and focus on the beauty that grows on top of the spiky thorns.

Here are a few beautiful things that brought a smile to my face this week.

  1. The Beatles cover bands. I so admire, well maybe admire is a strong word….. Appreciate. I appreciate grown men who are able to dress up like The Beatles and IMG_4154wear wigs, and practice hilarious Liverpool accents and play music to audiences in small towns. Watching people of many generations sing along to these classic songs while the performers wholeheartedly committed to the music of a previous generation warmed my heart. It was funny. They weren’t great, but their commitment to their performance made me laugh. Made me… appreciate.
  2. Playing Memory. I babysat my friends two kiddos – age 5 and age 6 – and I got to play Memory with them. Little toes on concrete floors, extreme joy at the match of character cards. It reminded me to get on the floor, get dirty, play and remember. PS – matching Captain Hook cards is much harder than it used to be. They refused to go to sleep, and giggled their way into their dreams. How long has it been since we have giggled into our dreams? Why, as adults, do we stop doing this?
  3. Chipotle Burritos. First thing – these burritos are delicious. Despite the fact that the owner gave the worst commencement speech I’ve ever heard at my own college graduation, they seem to have mastered the massive burrito. And when cooking feels like a chore, and the refrigerator is still empty from coming back from vacation, eating at Chipotle is a beautiful thing.

Keep looking for the beauty, feel what you feel, and honor those thorns.

But remember, as Eeyore says, “Thistles are flowers too.”