Monday Morning

Hi. It's a good morning.

The weekend was so full, in the best of ways: of friends and family, girls and boys, lots of food and presents and nice, long walks (with enough berries poachedgathered for cobbler). My newly-minted teenager has been sleeping past noon. I figure, that's ok for now. For August. School days will come soon enough.

::

I am off tomorrow on a little adventure with my girls. My tech-director is trying to fix me up with the proper equipment to stay in touch while I'm away, but it might be a little quiet around here for a while. As excited as I am to get up to Maine and start taking pictures, and as much as I know I'll want to share about being there, meeting friends, spending time with my family in a different place, all the things we'll do and see: I'm also looking for a little space from the screen and keyboard. I've been finding that it looms larger than its fifteen inches when I'm at home, and longing for a distraction from chores.

I don't think I'll be longing for any distraction from the now, this week.

::

From here on in, we're in the thick of the things that we wait for all year. Our August of being together, somewhere other than home, is literally what I day-dream about all year long. I know- because it is true every year- that it is different up there. That we are different. A little more relaxed, a little slower, simpler. Dare I say (kids?), a little quieter. More connected.

And every year I vow that I will take a little bit of that back home, and make it stick.

I think, that this past year, I did that more than ever. And I'm looking forward to this August, and what comes after, and hoping I keep even more of the state I'm in, when I'm in Maine, when I come back home.

I wish that you all bring a little bit of your vacation-selves home, too, to hold you over until the next time.

More tomorrow. Thanks for reading.

tt

ps::my tech-guy says that I'll have e-mail up there, for those of you who need to get in touch with me. I might even check it now and then. And I'll be back home for a few days next week. 'Til then!

In it.

Have you had one of those moments lately? The moment you've been waiting for?

And I don't mean the big announcement sort of moment.

I mean one of those tiny little moments that you do all of the other stuff for, just to be ready when it comes.

On the one hand, I had one of those moments yesterday at the beach.
On the other hand, maybe all of it is nothing but a long series of those moments, strung together.
Maybe I just finally sat down and was quiet long enough to notice.

More tomorrow. Thanks for reading.
tt

A post in which she (finally) talks about the gallery (and the beach).

Hi. Remember me?

Not me, the mother of many, lover of flowers and fruit pictures, follower of design*sponge, navel-gazing forty-something.

It's me, the partner in a small, contemporary art gallery, and co-curator of the first issue of a collaborative art journal.

I just thought I'd stop in to update you on what's going on downtown.

Well, we sort of took the summer off. The gallery is still open during the week, for a few hours, when Tim is in there, mostly working on this stuff. We were in-between shows, and when we decided to put off the publication of the book until the Fall, we looked around the back of the gallery and realized we have some pretty exceptional work from our various artists on the shelves.

So, we cleaned the walls and hung a few of them, in a sort of informal retrospective of the work we've shown over the last year. I put out a few of the postcards and posters we've printed in the window, and it struck me: we've shown excellent work. And built a community of artists that we're both proud to show, and eager to promote.

Which is how Public Bookstore began in the first place: wanting to be able to give more artists more exposure than we can in our little space here in Tarrytown alone.

So, while we may have taken a bit of a break as far as gallery hours this summer, we have not been idle. The book is complete and ready to go, and we can not wait to introduce it when we get back to business-as-usual in September.

::

Between then and now, though, we've got a lot of vacationing to do. Turns out I'm going to get to spend nearly four weeks in my beloved Maine in August, with some side trips for us to Ithaca, a friend's house in New Hampshire, and another short camping trip thrown in for good measure.

And today, we're headed off to a nearby beach in Connecticut for an afternoon swim and early picnic dinner. I'm loading the car, and picking Tim up from the gallery...See, I told you he's down there sometimes.

More tomorrow. Thanks for reading.
tt

What I'm thinking about these days.

My girls are home, and things fall pretty much right back to where they were in an instant.
Lindsey is homeschooling Anna, in between locking her out of her room.
Callie looks just a little bit taller, and seems just a little bit older, in the homestretch to thirteen.
Today is Tim's birthday, so we hung the banner at breakfast, made pancakes, and sent him on his way to a meeting, while we plan some surprises.

::

I'm struggling with something, and I think maybe some of you can relate. I feel comfortable with and proud of the homelife we're making here for these kids: a little bit slower than some, maybe; no-tv, good homecooked food, lots of free-time, not so many electronics and plastic and commercial entertainment. Some of these choices are born out of economic necessity, but honestly, we would keep making most of the same ones, even if we won the lottery.

But, I find that I spend so much time on the busy-work of creating that home, that perhaps I end up missing a key element. What's the difference if I'm making their dinner from scratch, if I'm too tied up to sit down on the floor with them and draw? What's the difference if I've made
a pretty, little, cozy house for us to live in, but I'm always after them about making a mess? And as much as our world (all of us parents' world) is child-centered (a term I don't like, but you know what I mean...), I still really need a line to be drawn between parenting-time and parent-time. Balancing their need to be nurtured and cared for, with our need for time to be ourselves and by ourselves, is one of the trickiest feats I've met yet. And then the flip-side to that is: how do you let them go enough to give yourself a break, and still keep them safe and feeling secure?

Anyway, I've just been thinking about things lately, because we live such a strange existence here, in blended-family land, in the summer. Sometimes we have long stretches with just one child, with lots of night-time a deux. Then we're a family of five for a while, then six, then eight. It forces and/or enables me to examine how things work, or don't work, with a fresh pair of eyes, again and again.

I don't really have a point, but I do have a keyboard. So there it is. I'd love to hear what you all think, if you feel this way about things, and how you manage it all.

More tomorrow. Thanks for reading.
tt

ps::I love to hear from you, but if I haven't ever gotten back to you before, please leave me your e-mail address with your comment. Blogger makes it hard to just hit the "reply" button and send an e-mail. Thanks!

Monday Morning

I think that on top of everything else, it's just too much to ask of myself to give up bagels.

And that it's really nice when you forget to close all the windows at night, so it's a little chilly when you come downstairs for breakfast. Too soon, it will be sweltering from the get-go, and that never starts the day off quite right.

I still think it was a good decision to go to the beach club on a Sunday night.

And sometimes, thinking about my kids is so sweet and worrisome at the same time, I feel like I might break open.

Welcome, June. Now, let's get on with it.

More tomorrow. Thanks for reading.
tt

The Tuesday after, during which we're supposed to behave as if all is normal.

I know you are out there, sitting at your desk, thinking about how the stretch of beach was never ending, and how you could think about things on that walk that you can't, when you are driving in your car to the train station. There is more room there. It's summer there on the beach.

I know you are out there, looking at your calendar, trying to get out of the third meeting scheduled for today. Thinking about who you are going up against in doubles later on, after work . It's summer on the tennis court.

I know you are out there, teaching your students about The Colonies, knowing they are looking out the window at the sun, and barely being able to stop yourself from flinging open the window and yelling "Enough! Let's go home!" It's summer on the weekends only now, until the end of June.

I know you are out there, waking up kids who were babies the last time you checked, way too early in the morning, to get to school. Even though they were out with dirty feet, and bicycles, and dessert, way past a school days' proper bedtime. It's summer in theory now, if not in practice.

I know you are out there, dreaming of playing all morning, and splashing in the afternoon, and reading what you want, when you want, and eating watermelon, and going back to the places that mean summer to you. Summer is all you dream about all school year long.

I know you are out there, feeling like I am, that this early taste of summer, this early start of something you are not really ready for until the fourth of July, is bittersweet at best, cruel at worst.

Summer is here. Summer is not here. Summer is easy, but not when you are still living your un-summer life. Your school days work days worrying days not ready days.

Summer is upon us. And it is glorious. But it teases and taunts, while we still can't fully grab it and run.

Summer is almost.

More tomorrow. Thanks for reading.
tt
ps:: two more songs I like right now:
http://www.pandora.com/music/song/chris+bathgate/madison+house
http://www.pandora.com/music/song/iron+wine/jesus+mexican+boy

Friday Happiness

I'm in my kitchen, late afternoon, assembling the elements of another neighborhood Thursday night dinner. My youngest girls-10,11, and 4-are in bathing suits in the back yard, spraying each other and everything else with the garden hose, while they play an iPod on the smallest but loudest speakers.

The words of an absurd post-modern teen-angst love song come out of this small piece of plastic, blare over the sounds of their happy screams, and I am swept along with everything-the song, the squealing, the spraying-and I find myself welling up and choking down the most ridiculous tears I've cried in months.

It is something in between the fact that they sing along with such fierce, ignorant compassion, and the fact that I understand (more than they do) the appeal of the song, that makes me lose it.
::

Later on, I get up from the melee that is dinner with three or four families, and begin to straighten up the kitchen. And then stop. Walk back out, and sit down again with everyone. Pour a fresh glass of wine.

::

Even later, I walk out to the park with grown-ups who are setting up a game for the kids, in the dark. I look back up our driveway to see, backlit by the porch light, some girls in ballet tutus, some girls in bathing suits, still (again?), boys and girls with hockey sticks or flashlights, hear laughter and shouting.

::

In the end, when it was past time to go home, and the kids ended up having more fun playing than we did (a toss up, earlier), and still, we all sat there, young and old, listening to a story we had never heard before...well. I don't think things get any better than that.

::

I am forty two, and I am in love.

With kids, and neighbors, and Spring trees, and summery foods, and letting go, and digging in, and tasting, and laughing and crying, and saying yes, and breaking down, and sucking up, and pushing forward, and growing your own, and making from scratch, and playing games, and finding our way.

If I can do it. You can too.

Enjoy the weekend. Thanks for reading.
tt
ps::and with you, too, sweetie.

Hi.

Hi. Just stopping in to say hi. While I would like to claim that I've been busy laying around in fields of flowers, watching happy children frolic-sadly,no. I've been clocking a few hours (yes, hours) sitting around waiting rooms, and tending to bothersome details like yearly check-ups, and gruesome dental procedures, and trips to the post office.

So.

Things are looking up, though. The long weekend is coming, which around here we've sort of collectively decided to start tomorrow. Some good plans are in the works: parties and other night-time games; a hike or two; definitely some late mornings; and perhaps, even, a drive-in movie.

It's good, I think, to have some things on the horizon to get you through the drudgery. What are you looking forward to?

More tomorrow. Thanks for reading.
tt

Small matters

He talks largely about small matters and smally about great affairs.
James Thurber::My Life and Hard Times, 1933

I've not much to say here, on a grand scale. You...ahem...may have noticed this already.

Our life is very small. We travel a pretty small radius, with a small group of friends, small(ish) children. Small moments, small mercies, small victories. A small house with a small yard, and (luckily) a small park, out front.

But, I think, it is in all of these tiny ways, these not-large gains, these un-grand gestures, that we can begin to make a difference. We in our children's lives, you in yours, all of us in each other's. Our schools, our town, our world.

One.small.step. at a time.

Small matters. I'm putting all my chips on small.

More tomorrow. Thanks for reading.

tt

Tuesday:: some links, and some navel gazing

I don't know what time is going to show on this post, but I'm telling you: again, it's late.

We are both totally overworked, and yet completely under-employed.

Tim wears two or three different hats, jobwise. All with incredibly flexible hours (read: he works all day, until late at night), but very few benefits. Except for the invaluable benefit of being able to go to occasional lacrosse games, walk Anna to school, come home for lunch one day a week, and do what he loves to do. And the boss is very friendly.

I'm working just the one job. Our family is my job. And it's full time.

Again: incredibly flexible hours (see above), no benefits. Except for numerous hugs, the chance to nap, hearing their voices rising up through the windows on the way home from school, and the gift of being around while they are still here.

But...

Sometimes. I suspect I hide behind all this usefulness, busy-ness, neediness. How can I possibly worry about what's next for me to do with my life, while there are lunches to be made? Laundry to be folded. Cheeks to kiss.

Am I kicking up the dirt, so I don't have to look too far down the road?

::

We're up late again, putting together our new baby: Public Bookstore.

I'd like to introduce you to one of our contributors, Stephanie Dennis. I "met" Stephanie through This Joy + Ride, and loved her drawings. They are perfect for our project. But she also has wonderful paintings, which you can see here.

::

Another Stephanie, whom many of us know from 3191, has given us a glimpse into her home, here, and it's wonderful. I hope you like it, too.

::

In the house to our right, a three-week-old grandson is being put to bed, along with his two-year-old brother.

In the house to our left, our neighbors have brought home a baby girl, and a baby boy. When I saw their dad(!) leave to pick them up from the hospital today, I thought: there he goes to get his children. And I couldn't keep from crying. Tim and I just perched by the open window to hear a new-baby-cry.

It's a crazy thing we do, this child-having. This parenting. This hopeful ignoring of the inevitable.

Thankfully, we are rewarded for our stupidity with all of those hugs and kisses.

::

I've been posting all sorts of pictures over here. Go have a look, if you like.

More tomorrow. Thanks for reading.
tt

Monday morning love

I am loving, today,

::walking the kids to school.

::granola with bananas sliced in.

::the neighbors' dogwood, in full bloom outside our bedroom window.

::the neighbors' news-twins! born last night. A girl and a boy. Healthy and happy.

::summer in spring; opening the doors and windows.

::holding classes outdoors, for the middle schoolers.

::Public Bookstore inspiration, in this, and this.

::Laura Veirs; and this perfect Monday song.

More tomorrow. Thanks for reading.

tt

Monday, not even close to morning.

So, the day is gone. I started this post about twelve hours ago.

Before I made pancakes, before I was parent of the day (photo day), before Anna and I collapsed into a fully dressed heap of a nap.

Before I ran around and picked up and dropped off and picked up; before I got to see the piano teacher, and make a date to hang out and drink wine.

Before the wind came up, and the cherry blossoms in the yard kitty-corner came snowing down on our tentatively greening yard.

Before the dinner making-and yes, I need to do a "dinner post"; want to do a dinner post. Tonight, matzoh-ball soup, and meatball sandwiches. Yes. Both. And more to come, for Tim and I. See why dinner around here deserves a whole post? Or three.

Before baths and iTunes downloading and In the Night Kitchen. Before tea, and goodnight hugs and kisses, and Frere Jacques and "Wisemen" (aka, I Can't Help Falling in Love).

So now, here I sit for a minute or two. To say hello. To finish what I started, all those hours ago.

Here I sit, before our own dinner, and a chance to trade stories from the day. Before the trash goes out, and the cat comes in. Before the book-club book gets finished. Before we tuck in, and say our own goodnights.

Before it starts all over again.

More tomorrow. Thanks for reading.
tt

Thursday morning

there is sun and blue and a wild turkey walking slowly, but determinedly, across the park outside my window. I think it's going to be a good day.

I had the kind of day, yesterday, that was full of contradictions.

::I didn't do anything much productive all morning, because I've been sick. But then I kicked into gear and worked steadily in the afternoon, got all sorts of things done. Things I haven't tackled in weeks, seemed urgent and do-able.

::I spent embarrassingly too much time with my head up the computer, but took a long, happy, patient walk with Anna afterwards.

::I had very little stress put upon me, yet still lost it my composure, more than once.

::I had very few groceries in the house (see above, about being sick...), yet managed to assemble quite a few tasty dishes.

::I got all of the laundry done, but even when I realized I had forgotten soap in one load, folded it and put it away, anyway.

::I thought about calling all sorts of friends, but barely spoke to anyone outside of my house.

::I meant to go to bed early, but stayed up late.

Today, I think things are going to be different. I'm going to:

::meet a friend for tea

::get some groceries in the house

::feel better

::keep my cool

::wear something pretty, for it looks like Spring may finally be here

::give birthday presents to my newly-minted teen-aged stepdaughters

::write and mail a thank you note

::ignore the laundry

::give myself a break

Hope you do (some of) the same.

Enjoy the day. Thanks for reading.
tt

ps: I put that Flickr badge over there on the sidebar all by myself. Come visit.

Monday Morning

Good Morning. Things are blooming and growing all over the place. There's hope for us, yet.

Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be.
Abraham Lincoln

More tomorrow. Thanks for reading.

tt

Have you ever been really scared?

We went for an aimless drive. We wandered and got lost, and ended up at a place we've been before. So far from home. What are the odds?

We walked to the lake, we walked over the falls, we stood on a dock which juts out over water.

I was really scared. I don't do well with heights. Nor water. Height over water equals scared.

I held her hand like crazy. I think she was picking up my scared. That's bad.

There was still ice on this lake. That's how far we had driven.

We got back safely, though. Of course. We are all extremely safe in our lives.

Tonight we watched a film made by a man who barely knew his famous father. He was on a journey to find out the truth. To try to get to know his father, his past, his self, through stories people might tell about this man.

It was wrenching for me, for I have a touch of this in my own life. I haven't talked about it here, but I did talk about it, here.

In the middle of this film was an aerial shot of Manhattan in the seventies, the Twin Towers fearlessly pointing the way towards the sky.

I found myself in quick, stinging tears.

There was a day that I was really scared. And, frankly, not a day has passed that I've truly felt the same.

Like height over water.

More tomorrow. Thanks for reading.

tt

Black shoes

In our town(as in yours, I imagine), there are always one or two people whom you see everywhere, but don't know. You see them in line at the drug store, in the market, at school for pick-up and orchestra concerts. In the coffee house. Maybe you nod to each other. Then, after some time passes and you're still running into one another, you may wave, or say "hi," even. But your paths never cross directly, or for long enough, to get to know each other.

Well, in my town there was always one woman in particular whom I saw everywhere. Mostly in our cars, picking up kids, or driving past one another through town.

One day this fall, in a pulmonologist's office on the other side of the county, this woman and I ended up sitting in the waiting room together! We waved, and nodded. Said "hi." Then I introduced myself. She got up and came and sat next to me. We talked about what she was knitting, where we got our hair cut (she had really cute, short hair), which schools our kids are in.

Then Lindsey's name was called, we said goodbye, and went in to the examining room.

I still see her every day in the car pick-up line at the middle school. For the first week or so, I would wave, try to catch her eye. She looked up once and nodded. But that was it. She never waved back, then or now.

I don't wave anymore, but I do occasionally look over as I drive up, to see if we make eye contact. Maybe she's just knitting.

There's another woman I met once, eight years ago, in a friend's kitchen. I see her occasionally, and I always wave and call her by name. At this point, I seem to take her by surprise. Often, I see her on her way out of Coffee Labs, trying to juggle her coffee and her keys, getting into her car as I drive by. She can't really wave back, but she always smiles and lifts her chin, as if to say "Oh, hi there!"

I wonder? Which is the norm?

More tomorrow. Thanks for reading.
tt

Perspective

I've been having a hard time getting out of a funk this week. I've been very productive, actually, crossing things off lists like an efficiency expert. But I've been lacking what I might call inspiration, and my mother would call oomph.

She'd be right.

I was all set to whine here about needing Spring to come. About wanting to throw out all my old stuff and start from scratch. About my discouragement at not fitting any of my clothes, not getting around to doing the things I love. Not moving enough. Not feeling much joy.

It's a temporary condition for me, fortunately. But I was feeling low.

Then I read this post. Then I looked out my window at the kids playing soccer with a neighborhood dad in the park. Then I stood up and started dinner, set the table, folded some laundry.

Later, I started some kids on their baths. Listened to some music. Poured some wine. Heard my husband walk through the door.

Three-year-old, all clean and jammied up, singing beautiful nonsense.

So.

The walls need to be painted. So, I miss friends. So, my jeans don't fit anymore.

They will, again. Spring will come, and I'll start walking. Friends will come out of the woodwork, once the park is bathed in afternoon sun. It will be light out while we're eating dinner.

Soon, even.

All these things are temporary. The season, the mood.

All the bounty we have here, that's here to stay.

More tomorrow. Thanks for reading.

tt

Friday Happiness :: Thirteen things

I'm loving today:

::sun streaming in the windows.

::the dog we're babysitting for the week, sleeping at my feet now.

::sneaking pink and red m&ms from the girls valentines.

::this movie, especially this, and the last four minutes.

::feeling well rested for the first time in weeks.

::listening to Al Green non-stop. All of it the same, all of it great.

::my first ever homemade biscotti, from here, a success.

::little encaustic paintings from tangled sky studio; find them here.

::friends who give wine as payment for babysitting a dog.

::books from the library; this one, The Houses of Greenwich Village, and this one about Georgia Keeffe's cutivated persona in photographs. There's a picture of her at thirty, that I just can't stop looking at.

::sneak peeks at design*sponge. Maybe just a little bit addicted to this, actually.

::little girls (not mine!) in coats and party dresses, playing in the park outside my window.

::loving that spring is coming. Soon-ish.

More tomorrow. Thanks for reading.

tt

Everyone has a story

I was trying to find a quote I'd read recently about how everyone feels sad, or scared, or lonely, or unsure at some time. Or maybe it was that you should be kind to people because we all have the same fears, we all feel low, now and then. Or that we are all (maybe, it's just most of us, though) trying our best, and that we should keep this in mind as we come across each other during the course of the day. The course of our lives. We forget this at our peril.

I couldn't remember exactly what I'd read, though. So instead, I found this long ago post by someone I've never met, and it sounded pretty close to what I was thinking about in the first place.

More tomorrow. Thanks for reading.

tt