Category: friendship

anxiety, friendship, inspiration, life lessons, mindfulness

A Radical Thought

mimijk

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“Our goal should be to live life in radical amazement…get up in the morning and look at the world in a way that takes nothing for granted.  Everything is phenomenal, everything is incredible; never treat life carelessly” — Abraham Joshua Heschel

It’s been a quiet week here, not much excitement when Andy and I keep trying to see if we can do an organic version of “Dueling Banjos” with our respective nose-blowing (trust me, “Dueling Banjos” sounds way better).  So far we haven’t had much success with our syncopation.  And because he’s the one who introduced this little bug into our house, he’s also the one who is eschewing chicken soup sooner  (he would insist that it’s a function of his recuperative powers – do not believe him).  Not the most delightful way to spend a week.  But, in one significant way these have been some really good days.

I’ve been agitating a lot lately about what to do next.  What should this chapter look like?  Does it need to look like anything?  How do I frame the story line?  All good questions; none providing any further clarity or movement just yet.  If this was an existential crisis, I could just leave the page blank and tell myself it’s the best answer.  This is an itching-in-your-heart conundrum.  If you’ve got any ideas, please share them with me.  Maybe I’m too far in the woods to be able to see with the greatest clarity.  Ah, but this is not the point of this post…

I came across Heschel’s quote on Monday and wondered if I was in fact approaching life too carelessly.  Certainly one assumes a certain amount about the moments in a day.  I wonder if we could move forward in any way if we stopped and realized that every single moment, action, word, etc is not to be assumed.  I have always been conscious of some of the smaller nuances that might otherwise go unnoticed – a change in the heft of the air as we move slowly towards spring, the state of the buds on a tree, the morning conversations among the neighborhood of cardinals that check in with each other as the sun considers rising.  I listen to the world as fully as I can.  But could I be missing something?  Oh yeah, I’m missing a lot.

I began thinking about all the delicious moments that I recognize but dismiss too quickly, not allowing them to be savored as is their due.  Slipping under the covers – the feel of cool sheets against my skin.  I burrow into the hug provided by our feather-bed and give myself over to the lusciousness of it all.  There is no better feeling.  Or so I thought.  The next morning with chills and a head more congested than the DC Beltway at 8:45AM, I stepped into the shower with the temperature as hot as I could handle.  The spray stung at first, and then became a steaming, head clearing, soothing haven from my sniffling, eye-tearing, coughing self.  I stood there just marveling at how good it felt and so I remained until the water heater began to hint that it needed a break.  Could anything be better?  Later, when I went outside with the Sirs for one of their daily constitutionals, the wind was delightfully suggestive.  Living in gratitude is an overused expression; as is living consciously.  And I can’t say that I have managed to really do either this week.  I can say I’ve been aware of some of the elements of a day that I may notice, but definitely dismiss too quickly.

Maybe this all has to do with having some of my senses dulled and as a result, others see the chance and clamor for attention.  Maybe it’s the result of this pinball game my head has been playing trying to arrive at my-next-thing.  Perhaps it is my soul’s way of reminding me that I trade each minute of my life for something – and I’d prefer it to be something I appreciate.  Regardless, I discovered that with little effort I could find something in each day that I had not fully noticed before.  Savoring at least one element among the myriad elements that comprise a day, which had merely been assumed and acknowledge it.  It offers some balance to my angst, some delight that offsets a stuffed head and achy cough.  I can’t say that I’m amazed; I can say that I’m awake.  Good morning and Happy Friday everybody.

 

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discretion, friendship, humor, life lessons, love, mindfulness, motivation

Just Another Musing

mimijk

I came across this little sentence this morning (though there was no attribution, so forgive me) – “An ugly personality destroys a pretty face.” Sounds like something my maternal grandmother might have brought with her from the ‘old country’,  packed in the suitcase with the two silver candlesticks.  (There were some great Yiddishisms that don’t necessarily translate too well, but they’re so evocative – “may every tooth in your mouth rot except one, and may that one ache for the rest of your life”.  Who came up with this?)  Sorry – off on a tangent.  Anyway, I never met her, though I was blessed with her name.  I still think I’m too young for the heft of “Miriam”, though it’s a name I have grown to love.  True, in the Bible she saved her brother (which one really can’t dismiss, for it was reflective of love and bravery and selflessness and there wouldn’t be a whole lot to write about if Moses hadn’t made it), but she died from leprosy – not exactly a happifying ending for a really nice girl.

Our family’s Miriam – my grandmother – appears in photos as this beautiful, serious grown-up with incredibly wise eyes and lips that remain fixed in a straight line.  She betrays nothing in those few pictures – not what she has seen, endured, celebrated or lost.  And arguably there wasn’t a lot for her to smile about until my sister was born and I believe that her arrival was her greatest joy, the most affirming, gorgeous, delicious experience she would ever know.  I wish there were pictures of her holding Deb, for I think she would have been breathtaking, revealing far more than a stoic image with beautiful features.

And that really is just it – what distinguishes one lovely structured visage from another?  What echoes in your soul when your memory constructs its image of a person?   The initial description is often cosmetic – the color of a person’s hair and eyes, relative height and overall appearance.  Laws of attraction come into play, I realize, which brings me to another one of my grandmother’s great lines – “an owl to one, is a nightingale to another”.  I realize that some people are physically more attractive than others, and I am definitely vain enough to want to qualify for the more positive adjectives that can be applied to short women (though I really feel that ‘perky’ and ‘cute’ can’t compete with ‘gorgeous’ and ‘stunning’, but whatever).

So with those caveats, life has also been lived long enough for me to see that with a second look, there is nothing that diminishes or enhances a person more than their core.  Some of the most good-looking people I have met are also the least appealing.  Smiles that at best are disingenuous and at worst don’t reach the eyes, callous comments and narcissistic perspectives.  Too much lipstick and too little warmth; six pack abs and an empty ‘can o’ care’ inside.  Eyes that search for the next-thing-that-isn’t-good-enough and never settle upon a magical moment.  Hands that are ridiculously smooth because they haven’t held onto anything for dear life.  The most beautiful people I know are not indifferent to their appearance at all.  They also don’t define beauty too narrowly.   I gravitate to the magnificence of an open heart, the delicate touch of kindness, the warmth of an expansive smile.  I think most of us do.  At a certain point you realize that the reflections of a person’s heart redefine the parameters of attractiveness.

Or as my grandmother used to say “pretty is as pretty does”.  Have a great Sunday everybody.

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friendship, life lessons, love, mindfulness, parenting

Are We There Yet?

mimijk

“I was born very far from where I’m supposed to be, and so I’m on my way home.” – Bob Dylan

‘Home’ – the definition in and of itself is intriguing.  It implies something stationary, yet I think it moves and morphs frequently.  When I was little (until the sixth grade), home was an apartment with a hallway that I thought was a mile long, the dotted linoleum in the bedroom I shared with my sister and the kitchen.  It was the night table I scratched my name into while I was talking on the phone with my dad during one of his trips to California.  It was the elevator button that I couldn’t reach when I was five and decided to run away.   When we moved to a larger apartment,  home became both safe haven and hell – as only home can be when you are an angst-ridden adolescent.

When the boys and I went out on our own, we moved a lot.  So much so that I would assure these two toddlers that home was anywhere we were together – whether we were in the car, at the supermarket, in our beds, taking a walk.  As long as we were together, we were home.  I remember feeling that I was saying this for myself as much as for them;  our various rentals somehow didn’t offer an accurate definition or image of what I wanted our home to be.  I had migrated so far from who I was, I’m not sure any four walls would have felt like a comfortable representation of home.  In a very pure way, the only home was truly where the boys were, for they were really all I was sure of, my touchstone, my heart.

So it should follow that if ‘home is where the heart is’, our address should also change (figuratively) with some frequency as we find our comfort with who we and where we are.  Where our love lies, where our being is at peace, where we can cocoon and soar, happy dance and hold on for dear life.

We’ve lived in our house for twenty-one years.  And I’m not the same person I was when we first moved in.  The walls don’t show the dirty fingerprints from little people who in principle would not use a banister.  There are echoes in some places where voices used to be.  We talk about moving and can’t move ourselves to do so.  For over time, the house was able to adapt itself to whoever I was at any given time, holding me tightly and with safety when at my most vulnerable and unsure,  and willing to open its arms when I needed room to explore and roam.  It has given me different rooms to settle into depending on my mood and greets me with comforting noises that are reflective of our ongoing conversation.  This house knows me well.  I’ve always been a little reluctant about long-term relationships, and our house let me fall in love in my own time.  It kept my children safe-ish (they did some pretty crazy things when they were younger), it held us all together until we could define ourselves as a family.

I get Dylan’s point – and I also realize that I have traveled far to arrive here.  My family is my heart.  My house after all this time, is my home.

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anxiety, friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness, parenting

When There Are No Answers

mimijk

“Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul

And sings the tune without the words

And never stops at all” — Emily Dickinson

Some days need to be subdued.  In the silence you can hear your thoughts – jumbled though they may be, scatological and spontaneous, making sense maybe, perhaps not.  Maybe it’s the mind’s way of trying to integrate contradictory stimuli.

Is it the phases of the moon or just the stages of life that bring four of my cherished friends to the ragged edge of loss this weekend?  Remarkable people who have never met, marking anniversaries of loss, experiencing the passing of a beloved family member, and/or finding themselves staring straight into the sea of frightening inevitability which we deny for as long as we can?  And why does life’s corollary have to be so untenable?  I have no idea.

I don’t know if there’s a heaven; I have a hard time conceiving of hell.  I think I’m very faithful, for I believe in many things that I can’t see – and for me, it is the simplest way to embrace something as indescribably huge as faith.  And love.  And hope.  I know that when we have to let go, we never really do.  One of my friends was relating the conversation she and her brother had with their dad, telling him that they were okay, that they would be okay…My sister and I had similar discussions with our parents when they were arguably between two worlds.  And yesterday I thought to myself that sometimes the idea of leaving is untenable because we don’t want to leave our children with no barrier against mortality.  The thought that they have to assume a different and arguably scarier position when we are no longer physically here.  The mere thought is anathema to me.  Life – that is all that we want our loved ones to embrace.  How dissonant to suggest that our abdication requires their assumption of a new place in line?  Perhaps one of the greatest acts of love is hanging in there if one can, with the invisible, powerful hope that we are still protecting those we love beyond measure.

I believe that some souls come into our life for a brief time, and leave indelible imprints on our hearts, our approach to each day, etc.  Some remind us that we are loved, when we doubt it; others nurture us when we have forgotten how to do this for ourselves; defiantly protect us when we are emotionally over-exposed.  Are they angels?  Their miraculous arrival and elusive departure suggest they could be.  Is there a better way to define a lifeline when it is provided and holds you together with unshakeable confidence and purpose?

I know the canned answer is that the experience of sorrow somehow makes the moments of joy all the lovelier.  Loss underscores our appreciation of that which we have.  It sounds good enough to become a cliché, though like most trite comments, it doesn’t necessarily resonate in the heart.  Hope however, has wings.  Hope that forever is a place, that love remembered is a blessing and love extended is a gift.  I wish it didn’t have to hurt so damn much.  I wish that tears weren’t necessary.  The daffodil shoots are stubbornly insisting on breaking through the frozen ground – indifferent to the reality that greets them when they appear.  They persist – with faith.  They will flourish in the spring – with hope.

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friendship, humor, life lessons, love, mindfulness, motivation, music

The Second Best Part Of A Vacation

mimijk

We had a fantastic week away..the weather couldn’t have been more accommodating (with sincere apologies to my friends up north who had apparently located Nemo while we were hanging out in the sun),  the only required nod to time had to do with Andy’s scheduled tee times (and he shot an 80 the second time he went out!  The first round would have been equally as impressive were it not for the beer after the front nine).  I only listened to the music provided by the environment all around me – the leaves from palm trees as they tickled and teased each other in the wind, the ocean playing tag with the shore.  Occasionally the riff of laughter extending from one end of the beach to the other.  Oh yeah, there also was the occasional, “the drink you requested madam?”  That’s fine – call me Madam (sorry I couldn’t resist).

Tuesday morning we spent with the dolphins.  The pictures I took were awful (note to self, put on glasses before trying to focus), the pictures the conservation folks took were better (the ones below).  Ironically, we hung out with a dolphin named Andy, who apparently took issue with someone else having his name who would not kiss him with a full pucker (he gave a full on Bronx cheer to my conquering hero).  I was mesmerized by his eyes (the dolphin Andy, that is) – believe me, these brilliant mammals size us up in much the same way we assess those around us.  They pick up vibes, tease, play coy and make their share of mischief.  And don’t make the mistake of ticking them off.  I also met three new baby dolphins who are first beginning to explore life away from their moms (dolphins nurse until they are almost three years old).  Did I fall in love?  You betcha.

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I suppose this wouldn’t be a Mimi-post without a musing or two (what can I say?  I muse a lot).  There was one day when the beach was closed.  The ocean, with presence of mind and purpose, felt the need to remind the shore that just as it brought it onto the land, it could take it away.  And it did.  The ferocity of the waves was so intense that the beach chairs, tables and umbrellas were washed out to sea, some returned in pieces and left as the detritus of the ocean’s pique.  It was loud and magnificent, boastful and confident.  I watched for hours, realizing that no two waves were the same, no two sounds exact replicas, no sea foam frothing in circles and eddies that were similar.  If you looked with little sight, you might think it was just a relentless pounding and abatement.  If you looked with your eyes wide open and your ears tuned to the right station, no two notes were alike.

And so it is with our days, our minutes, our seconds.  Regardless of how many we have, no matter how they may seem at times to fold into each other with nothing easily identifiable to distinguish one from another – no two moments in time are the same.  From this perspective, it’s almost impossible to imagine how rich life is – with possibilities, choices, magic.  No two moments that are the same.  What we choose to do – how we look upon our time – that is what it’s all about.  I decided to accept a challenge posted while I was gone by davidkanigan.com at Lead.Learn.Live – to begin with three days of finding the goodness in others, and censoring the less kind thoughts I may have in a moment of impatience…ultimately extending this practice to a year (if I can do it).  I’ll screw it up of course, though I have promised myself  that when I do, I’ll get back on the board.  The truth of the matter is, I don’t really think a lot of nasty stuff about people and there are very few for whom I reserve really unkind thoughts.  I realize that I give them too much of my sacred time by according them much attention.  With that as a backdrop, I think I can do this – and enjoy the waves as I ride them.  It’s probably the closest I’ll ever come to surfing anyway.

And so the second best thing about vacation is absolutely coming home.  Anticipating the delight of seeing my kids, having Sir Teddy share my chair as I write this and Archie asleep on my Ugg slipper, the laundry spinning in the dryer, and the glorious knowledge that on this day, I got to write to you.  It’s good to be home.  I could choose nothing better than this one moment.

friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love

Why Is It Better In The Bahamas?

mimijk

Given that my friends farther up the East Coast are being tantalized and simultaneously harassed by a blizzard, certainly I can say that it’s better in the Bahamas because the weather is pretty close to perfect.  That isn’t to say that I don’t adore the seasons and their idiosyncratic personalities, for I do.  But there’s something to be said for pulling out shorts in the middle of the winter.  There’s a lot to be said for spending your days challenged by such weighty decisions as whether to go to the beach or the pool.  I would imagine that if this was the routine of life, my brain would get a little squishy.  For a week though – bring it on.

I’m reading a lot, alternating chapters with naps induced by the ocean’s music – which trumps anything on my iPhone.  I have somewhat lost all sense of time and I don’t miss it.  Andy and I spend a lot of time behaving with embarrassing immaturity.  It’s ok, there’s no one here who knows us.  Even the seagulls seem to be happy to be here – despite the intrusion of parasailers interrupting their orbits of the sea.  Andy is golfing this afternoon; I am sitting here listening to laughter echoing off the beach and feeling beyond peaceful.

Perhaps it’s better in the Bahamas because it is a moment in time.  There is no doubt that I will be ready to go home when next Wednesday rolls around because I’ll be missing my kids, the Sirs, my home – the life I have made.  It makes today all the sweeter, all the more delicious because it is a treat.  A moment to step outside myself and be inside myself.  And just feel abundantly free.

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friendship, humor, inspiration, leadership, life lessons, love, mindfulness, parenting, Uncategorized, work life

I’m Listening – What Do I Hear?

mimijk

Russ Towne (russtowne.com) who pens the glorious “A Grateful Man” was prompted by a friend to respond to a question that grabbed my attention.  “What do you know for sure?”  His responses were pure Russ, written with candor and beauty, simplicity and reflection.  And I began asking myself the same question – and would submit that it’s a reasonable query to pose to ourselves from time to time.  I will admit that my answers didn’t arrive with the same eloquence or confidence; nor do I know if this represents an all-inclusive list.  Nonetheless here goes..

– I know for sure that I still love loving my husband.  I also know for sure that he drives me crazy sometimes, while I on the other hand, I never affect him in that way.  I know for sure that he is the anchor to my kite and were it not for him I’d probably be getting stuck in the trees like a wayward balloon.

– I know for sure that my adoration of my children knows no bounds and I know for sure that they know it and probably don’t fully get it.  I know for sure that parents screw up all the time, and children grow up in spite of us and not because of us.  To reflect tremendous self-congratulatory aggrandizement for their successes as fantastic people is folly and a little narcissistic.  This is their time.  And I am grateful to be along for the ride.  Let’s remember that I’m the sap who cries when we say good-bye to each other despite living ten minutes apart.

– I know for sure that at different times in my life I have let disappointment and anger have more power over me than I realized at the time.  And the only person who suffered from its toxicity was me.

– I know for sure that my life continues to be enhanced by the people who enter my world  – and also those who exit.  Some people need to stay for a little while, and that’s ok.  Some people will be here forever and that’s a gift.  Last I looked, one can’t suffer from having too much love in their life – for however long.

– I know for sure that I’m at a point in my life where I’m wondering what my next contribution will be.  I need to listen harder to my heart, for it’s definitely speaking.  We don’t spend enough time paying attention to its messages.

– I know for sure that if there hadn’t been a black-out at the Super Bowl last night I wouldn’t have fallen asleep and missed the best part of the game.

– I know for sure that the silence that announces the arrival of snow always makes my eyes fill.  It is one of the most peaceful calming sounds in the world.

– I know for sure that I want another puppy (honey are you reading this?).

– I know each day offers me the chance to say ‘Thank You’ – for the ridiculous number of gifts that are in my life.  And I also know I don’t say ‘thank you’ enough.

– I know for sure that for all the articles about leadership, for all the seminars I’ve led on management, motivation, employee engagement, etc – none of it means a damn thing if a person loses his/her character.  Save the HBR studies for another day – as you shimmy up the food chain, hold tight to your sense of integrity and honor.  You will be remembered for little else.

– I know for sure that I can out-happy dance anyone I know.  Not because I’m such a good dancer, but because I have lost enough, found enough and love enough to know how to celebrate all of it.

And finally, I know for sure that there is nothing I can be sure of – except this moment in time.  And this moment in time – in the quiet soft rhythmic beating of its longing – is perfect.

 

friendship, humor, life lessons, love, Uncategorized

The Returning Conqueror

mimijk

Today the Prince returns – victorious from his infamous weeklong battle against the baseball diamond.  But for a mild muscle pull here and an inexplicable ache there, he emerges unscathed with the loving attention of the locker room trainers still warming his skin.  His feats will soon become the stuff of legend – his remarkable batting and fielding stats, his control of the lands around second base.  There is no need for a moat when the Prince is there to protect the kingdom of baseball.

With a visit to see his parents before camp started, it’s been ten days since I’ve seen the Prince – and it’s time for him to come home.  I need no proof that I enjoy my own company, no test to see whether or not I can manage.  Been there, done that – and it was fine thank you very much.  But in order for this house to feel at peace, it needs the Prince.  This is where he belongs – whether he’s zoning out playing some game on his iPad or napping on the couch.  He needs to be here so I can make him laugh so hard he snorts.  So he can dance with me in the kitchen.  So he can reach the top of the garage door, because it’s stuck.  Because I miss hearing, “Hi doll girl” in the way that only the Prince can say it.  I will not go so far to say that I miss hearing his a cappella “King Of The Road” (but thinking about it makes me smile).

And I want him to go back next year if that’s what he wants to do.  This annual flight of fantasy gives him feelings of delighted anticipation, and the reality has yet to be less than all he imagined.  So go ahead Andy, sign up for 2014 – you are well on your way to being a legend in your own time.

anxiety, friendship, life lessons, love

Coming Full Circle, Sort Of..

mimijk

My sister and brother-in-law are in the midst of moving into their recently renovated house.  It’s been the longest labor and delivery – literally and figuratively.  And now that they have their little parcel of joy (so to speak), I hope they love and enjoy it and make it their own.  Needless to say I can’t wait to see the new addition to the family (I know that was a groaner, but I couldn’t resist).

There is a gentle irony in her move to this house.  Although we didn’t grow up there, it’s proximate to where my parents lived (they bought their house when my sister and I were already in college.  I used to say that had we moved to the suburbs before I finished high school, my graduation gift would have been way better than a Panasonic stereo).  It is where I remember them at their happiest.  And it became home – because it was where they were,  where my children crawled and toddled and ran – where so many memories were made.    My sons always reference this house when remembering their grandparents – the backyard with apple trees as bases and dad throwing pitch after pitch after pitch, looking for shells down at the dock, creating innumerable ways to take indoor soccer to new levels of hilarity.  It’s where Andy and I got married.

I can’t wait to visit my sister and yet, when I think about driving up 95 and getting on the Hutch, my eyes cloud with tears and there are no words.  No words.  Perhaps because my heart is too full.  There are some things that time doesn’t temper.  There are some moments that may  change in hue or shading, but remain the same in form and substance.

This sentimentality is heightened by another serendipitous experience.  My parents had a circle of friends (all European but for our dad)  that was arguably too close, too intimate, too ‘Mad Men’.  They were known as “The Group” – they had their children within months of each other,  summered together in the Catskills, wintered together at each other’s houses.  As their offspring, we identified with each other in so many unspoken ways.  All first generation Americans (again, dad being the exception), all growing up with a European perspective of child-rearing, all connected by an emotional cord tied by our parents.  Until it unraveled when we were young adults.

You know where this is going – Deb and three of these women have picked up that cord once more.  They had dinner together recently, and she described it as warm and loving.  They will see each other again; I’m hoping to join them.  And slowly I feel the ground shift, the angles inherent to any journey smoothing and perhaps unresolved elements coming full circle.  I find myself gravitating to these memories and holding myself back, venturing forward with some reluctance.  I need to protect the little girl who is in my care; she still has hurt along with the delight.  She’s never been very good at self-protection.

So I sit here in the silence that arrives with snowfall, recognizing the wonder in the nexus of these moments, their undeniable connection to the past and their inextricable relevance to the present.  As to the future?  It’s not mine to predict – I just know that it makes me smile, albeit with one tear.

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friendship, inspiration, life lessons, mindfulness, motivation, Uncategorized

Very Sweet And Low In Calorie

mimijk

It’s been a cocooning kind of week.  I’ve only taken the karma truck out to visit friends, read their posts and marvel at their talents.  I was beginning to worry a bit that I had run out of gas (so to speak), but realized that isn’t the case.  Sometimes you just have to idle for a little bit. Perhaps not the most intriguing scene to set, but the most transparent.

super-sweet-blogging-award

So it came as a complete, out-of-the-blue surprise when I received the Super Sweet Blogging Award from Vicky, the author of the absolutely gorgeous ‘This Abundantly Delicious Life’ (abundelic.wordpress.com).  Vicky’s blog successfully meets her intention – she has created a space of gratitude and appreciation.  Her delight with all that surrounds her and her awareness of so much within her, brings me back all the time.  Thank you so much for including me in your thoughts Vicky – I am in rarefied company!

Though I am not known for my ability to follow directions, I will do so now.  The rules are as follows:

1. Thank the person who nominated you. Check.

2. Answer the questions.  Next paragraph

3. Pay it forward to a baker’s dozen and notify them. The paragraph after the next one.

Questions

1.  Cookies or cake?

Yes.

2.  Chocolate or vanilla

Chocolate.  Unless I’m having a soft-serve ice cream cone, in which case I have to have a combination of the two.

3.  What is your favorite sweet treat, cheesecake or frozen yogurt?

I thought frozen  yogurt was just good for you – it’s a treat?  Sigh…

4.  When do you crave sweet things most?

Late afternoon.  When others are pouring a glass of wine, I am looking for M&Ms.

5.  If you had a sweet nickname, what would it be?

I did actually..My dad called me ‘cookie’.  It was easier to say than ‘linzer tart’ or ‘apple turnover’ (the two forbidden treats that we would always get when sent to the bakery to pick up some seedless rye bread).

My baker’s dozen – as you know, I struggle with this, for there are so many bloggers I admire (and Vicky already named quite a few of them!)

makebelieveboutique.com

renardmoreau.wordpress.com

jmgoyder.com

thejolynproject.com

russtowne.com

drbillwooten.com

thehandwrittenlife.wordpress.com

universalmusings.com

almostspring.com

ivonprefontaine.com

life-with-the-topdown.com

throughmylens365.wordpress.com

gotoppm.com

 

Wait – there’s more!!  There really are more – there’s so much talent out there.  It is humbling to part of this community.  Thank you Vicky – your timing was truly karmic.

 

discretion, friendship, humor, life lessons, love, mindfulness, music

The Magic Of This Moment

mimijk

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I’m easily amazed.  Others who know me might suggest that I’m ridiculously gullible (my beloved comes to mind).  When I was little, I would watch my dad pull grapes from my friends’ ears, I believed in Tinkerbell with unshakeable conviction and I knew with certainty that when I went to sleep each night, my toys came to life and had a party.  As I write this, I’m not exactly sure that the last sentence should be written in the past tense.  I’ve not changed much.

I don’t define magic as the mastery of optical illusion, the sleight of hand that can be explained by a slo-mo instant replay.  Magic is bigger than that.  Magic belongs up there with miracles, faith, love…Magic is what allows you to see two cardinals playing tag even though your heart is breaking.  Magic is the sound of a baby’s belly laugh.  Magic is in music that can lift you up and carry you to places you didn’t even know you could create.  There’s magic in the silence of the early hours of morning.  Like no other silence, it is protective and intimate and comforting.

Though I’m no magician, there is a spell that has been woven between us  that draws me to this connection time and time again.  I can’t explain how these friendships have formed, why these conversations are often more enriching than those that occur in face-to-face dialogue.  I leave it to magic – for magic allows for that which should remain inexplicable, fantastic.

How do I define the child that dances in my soul and escapes so I can play air guitar in the kitchen (I am really good at this by the way), use my brush as a microphone and turn my bathroom into a concert venue?  Magic.  Because Dahl was right – there is truly something magical to be felt in each moment that is heeded.  Each connection holds a bit of wonder that defies logic.  So, today I hope you suspend logic for a little while.  Catch a ray of sunshine and hold it close for minute.  Feel the magic.

friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness, music

Never Forget The Little Things

mimijk

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I realize you may be thinking, “Of course, she would say this – she is a little thing”.  True enough, though height isn’t all it’s cracked up to be (bada boom).

I had my quarterly blood-letting this morning and got downtown early enough to stop at Starbucks.  I already took that as a good sign, for there was no traffic, my favorite guy at the parking garage came out to take my keys and we had the chance to catch up for a moment (his wife just had their second child) and the air – the air this morning was so fresh it was begging to be noticed.

When I got into Starbucks,  the woman behind the counter called out to me “Good morning sweetheart, what would make you smile today?”  Some people may not respond well to terms of affection from total strangers – I’m not one of them.  There was something in the way she said “sweetheart” that just tickled my core.  I asked for my venti, non-fat cappuccino, and told her that she had just made my day.  This prompted a conversation between her, the barista and I about the counters in the store (too high for me to reach my coffee, which gave us all a good laugh), how much better it was to greet the day instead of kvetching about its arrival (no one used the word ‘kvetching’, I’m paraphrasing here) and how one small exchange can manifest itself in a thousand ways.  This woman absolutely glowed kindness; she couldn’t hide it if she tried.  I told her and with a clap and a quick step from behind the register, we gave each other the most delicious hug we possibly could.

As I walked out, I held the door for a man trying to finagle himself inside while pulling his briefcase with one hand, texting on his Blackberry and holding The Washington Post with the other.  I wished him a “Good Morning” and clearly startled him (whether by the gesture or the words I don’t know), for I caught his paper as it began to fall to the ground.

In the doctor’s office, the receptionist told me all about her vacation, I listened to the phlebotomist tenderly complain about her new puppy who was still trying to figure out why no one wanted to play with him in the middle of the night.  You get the drift – it’s been a morning of the most sacred little things.  The moments that separate an okay day from a lovely one, the delight in extending one’s self just a tiny bit and receiving so much in return.  This isn’t even about paying it forward – it’s just about choosing warmth over isolation, a smile over an unfocused gaze, the underestimated value of spending one extra moment looking at the world around you and trying to shape it into someplace you want to live.

And as I sit here, the sun casting both warmth on my back and shadows on my keyboard, listening to Enesco’s ‘Roumanian Rhapsody No. 1’, I can’t help but feel that it is the little things that remain the most essential.  The generosity of a stranger, the pictures proudly shown by a new papa, the throw-your-head-back kind of laughter that erupts when you share joy.  Oh yeah, the coffee was extra delicious too.  In fact, that’s the way the whole day is turning out to be.  I wish that for you as well.  Happy Tuesday.