that's mrs. mediocrity to you

Today I am over at Vision & Verb

talking to the animals…

but not this one, because she’s asleep.

Today is my birthday. Most of the time I don’t make a big deal out of this day, I see it simply as the day after yesterday and the day before tomorrow. But this year it is bugging me, a little.

Bugging me because I am now 48 and my son is 24 and that makes me exactly twice his age.

Why is that bugging me? Part of it is simply the implication of aging that comes along with it, but I think the other part is me, thinking back to when I was 24.

Back then, being 24 was so much different than being 24 is now. And I wonder about that, too.

I got married (the first time) the day after I turned nineteen. And then a few years later I went to college, and while I was in college I got pregnant with my son, (you know about green m&ms, right?) and he was conveniently born during January break, and I went back to finish my last semester when he was just a few weeks old.

Thank goodness that my mom was able to care for him while I was at school, and then later, at work.

And at the end of that semester, when I had a photo in the student art show and my husband and my tiny baby son came to see me there, at the opening, he threw up all down the front of my brand new suit. But now that I think about, it was a really ugly suit.

In that year, the year my son was born, I had a baby, graduated college, bought a car, got my first job and bought a house. It was a big year, a year filled with change, the year I turned 24.

And this year, while he was 24, my son graduated from college and got his first job. But he’s not married and he didn’t just have a baby and he still needs to buy a car and buying a house will probably come much, much later.

Times change and I look back at myself and I say, “how did we do it?” Times change and I look at my kids now as they embark on their lives and I say, “how will they do it?”

But it will be the same for them and for their children and on and on and on.

We all do it, we get through this life and we walk through all these milestones and we make our mistakes and one day, we are twice our children’s age.

So on this day as I turn 48, I am thinking about 24 years worth of life. His and mine, all bound up together, the parts of mine that started when he was born, the parts of his he has yet to experience. 24 years of laughter and tears, hope and disappointments, love and joy and so much wonder. All that growth, for both of us, marked by the endless, uncaring passage of time.

The spring after we moved to this house, when he was one, we planted a row of trees along one edge of the property, tiny little twigs that would grow up to be pines. Over the past couple of years, for unknown reasons, they have all died.

But I am thinking that this might be the year to plant new ones.

Originally, there were 12.

But this time, we might have to go for 24.

on a good day it’s easy to be grateful. for everything.
on a bad day, it’s hard to be grateful for anything.

i’m working hard at on staying on the good side.

of course it doesn’t always work, some days, no matter what, i grouse and complain and cry woe is me. and some days i even have good reason to.

some nights i sit on the couch just before i go to bed and feel like crying, because i’m tired and i’m worried about my business and about money and about my kids and my parents and usually a whole long list of other things that i really shouldn’t be worried about.

some nights.

other nights i sit on my couch just before i go to bed and i add up all the things i have to be grateful for. i start with the fact that i have a couch, i have a house, i have a fire to sit in front of, food in my cupboard, a roof over my head. i have a soft bed to get into, a husband lying there next to me, three wonderful children.

one dog. six cats. (here i waiver between gratitude and disbelief).

for now, i still get to work from home. i have a garden. birds at my feeders. tea every morning. books to read. seasons to monitor. good shoes. flowers in a vase. words in my pocket. chocolate. warm quilts. wool socks. love.

yes, i whine when there is too much work and not enough money. there are days when i feel like i am running in place on a treadmill of my own design. i cry when i am hurt, i fume when i am angry, i pout when i am depressed.

but really, i have nothing to complain about. it isn’t perfect, my life. it isn’t easy.

but it’s my life.

life.

that in itself is enough to be grateful for when you think about it. and i think about it. a lot.

i’ve learned a lot this year. about myself, about the world, about life. i’ve relearned things i had forgotten, i’ve discovered things i never knew. i’ve made more friends than i can count, i’ve expanded my horizons. through it all, i found the gratitude. i said my thanks. i embraced so many moments.

life is hard. life is good. life is life.

nothing is perfect. nobody’s perfect. life is life.

i sit here on my couch in front of my fire and i think about all these things and when there are tears i let them fall and when there are smiles i let them shine and when i remember to be grateful to be alive and it all starts to make sense again and the shadows on the wall make me stop what i am doing just to stare them, well, then i know just exactly where i am.

i am there.

five degrees south of hope.

two degrees north of thankful.

in this place called life.

Today I am over at Inspiration Studio

with “my heroes have always been poets.”

Won’t you join me?

that shadow on the wall is dylan

as i saw him two weeks ago

a shadow of who he once was, perhaps

but he owns that shadow

there, on that wall

and anytime he is here

i am there.

always tell people how you really feel. they’ll respect you more,
and they’ll love you for it.

in the end, it’s all about food.

unconditional love and wet sloppy kisses are the best.

a nice long walk can change your outlook on life.

it’s normal to feel jealous sometimes, but you have to learn
how to control it.

you should greet the ones you love at the door, tail a’wagging.

your first instincts are usually correct.

it’s good to get excited about the little things.

sometimes all you have to do is bark, but every once in a while,
you have to bite.

loyalty is the foundation of the best relationships.

upside down naps are one of life’s great pleasures.

bacon is the best.

every so often, you should run around at full speed
and with complete abandon, for no reason whatsoever.

it’s your job to protect the people you love.

sometimes, to be the best kind of friend, you just have to sit there.

always make your bed and fluff your pillows before lying down.

and if you ever want to make your mom laugh really, really hard,
just show up at the back door with a slug on your forehead.

most nights, once cold weather sets in, this is where you’ll find me.

i never get tired of sitting in front of the fire.

in my house, i am known as the firemaster. after twenty-three years of starting fires every night, all winter, i’ve become pretty good at it.

sometimes i let my husband pretend that he is better at it than i am.

sometimes.

and sometimes i let him have the couch, which offers the best view.

but after he goes to bed, it is just me and the couch and my fire. and if i’m lucky and i don’t have anything else i have to do, a good book will join us.

i am such a hermit, such a homebody. so not dynamic.

but hey, opposites attract, right?

see more dynamic for one word wednesday over at Sally G’s place

geese that fly over my house on their way to warmer places.

my mind on its way to someplace quiet, craving silence.

happy after days of socializing and selling, but drained, as well.

wishing i could fly because my feet hurt.

ready to hibernate at home, at least for a day or two.

i miss running, it has been too long, i have been grounded.

i want to be airborne.

glide through the clouds and look down on my house.

find my life, there, where it lives.

i get lost in the crowd sometimes, lost in the noise.

but i always make my way back to myself, to solitude,

to the place where i can hear myself think.

that’s me right there, last one on the left,

looking down, homing in, smiling.

the other night i was on the couch and my daughter,

who lives three hours away, sent me a text.

“can you see the moon?”

it was the moon in this picture but about three hours later.

and that moon, the one that she sent me the text about,

hanging low in the sky like a perfect golden pendant,

was so worth getting up off the couch to see.

but mostly, i loved that she knew that,

and thought of me.

Oh my. I made it. I am there. There as in ready for my last two jewelry shows of the year, but in a bigger and better sense, there without the usual nervous breakdown that comes with getting ready for a show, which in this case is two shows, back to back weekends, three days each.

I keep asking myself why I’m not freaking out more, why I’m not in tears they way I was for our last show, why I feel so calm, so centered.

Maybe it’s not such a good idea to ask too many questions. Maybe it would be better to just say thank you and smile and feel the serenity that is resting at my core. And I’m doing that, I am. Really.

But I can’t help but wonder. I’m curious, that has always been the case, I am always questioning this or that or trying to figure out the why or the how or the what if. I think that’s a good thing.

And I’m glad, so glad that there are no tears and no frenzied mind and no complaining. This time, it all feels okay.

And I’m just going to let my mind sit there in this okay place, because it’s a much better place than before.

I’m going to enjoy this feeling of balance, I’m going to linger here in this light, this calm.

I know it won’t last, don’t think I am silly. Tomorrow, or the next day, or the next, I will be hounded by my list and by overwhelm and by life.

But today, there is just this frost on a dry hydrangea blossom left on a bush in my garden.

Today that is all I need to make me smile.

That’s where I am right now.

I like that.