Sunday Scribblings – Big Dreams

I’ve been going around the house whistling and humming all evening – mostly tunes from South Pacific, because I’ll be playing keyboards for the show when it goes up at Franklin High School later on this month.  The songs from this show are all familiar, and catchy – the kind that lodge in your inner ear and keep repeating in your mind like a computer on endless loop.

But Rodgers and Hammerstein’s composing skills aren’t the main reason I’ve been singing around the house tonight. 

Mostly, it’s because I’m happy. 

I’m happy because I got to spend some time pursuing my dream this afternoon.  Well, one of them, anyway.  They one that let’s me play the piano and make music with other people.

Its not really a big dream, at least not anymore.  Oh, I suppose I might once have harbored fairy tale like visions of walking onto the world’s famous stages and pounding away at Beethoven’s Emperor concerto on a nine foot Bosendörfer grand.  Nowadays, I’m satisfied to sit down for a few hours at my own beloved Kimball and play away.  I’m even happier if I have something to work toward – like a choral competition to accompany, or a musical performance.  This month I have both, an embarrassment of riches for someone who has curtailed her musical ‘”gigs” in favor of more hours behind the other keyboard (the computer!) in her office.  The one that actually earns real money.

I’ve come to the conclusion that dreams don’t necessarily need to be huge to be satisfying.   If you become fixated on some magnificent big dream, you might miss out on the opportunity to savor a very rewarding portion of it in real life.  Chances are, I’ll never play a nine foot Bosendorfer on the stage at Carnegie Hall.  But  I can still sink my ten fingers into the sweet resistance of 88 ivories, still hear the melody and harmony that issues forth, still race up and down the keyboard with reckless abandon.

So I’m living the dream after all.

How about you? Are you living any of your dreams, in a big or small way?

 ~ for Sunday Scribblings

Little Bit Sparkly

Sometimes at work we order lunch from The House of Ing, the Chinese restaurant across the street.  The other day my bosses daughter went to pick up our order, and the little Chinese lady who runs the place was admiring Erin’s diamond engagement ring.  “Pretty nice,” she admitted, flashing quite a bit of bling herself.  “Little bit sparkly…”

We all laughed because Erin’s ring is more than just a little bit sparkly.  It’s quite a stunner actually.  And I’m a pretty good judge of sparkly.

I like jewelry – in fact, one of my most cherished possessions is a tiny birthstone ring my uncle bought for me on my 6th birthday.  I have it still, although the band is bent and scratched from playing outside and riding bikes while wearing it.  I especially love jewelry that’s meaningful, which is why right now I’m wearing my mother in law and my aunt’s wedding bands on my right hand,  my grandmother’s engagement ring atop the eternity band Jim gave me when Brian was born, and a pendant necklance made from my mother’s engagment ring.  All these pieces connect me to women who were important in my life, and wearing them reminds me all day long of their love and their lives.

But sometimes, jewelry is just fun.  And that’s what these little sparklers are.  I got them from LuShae, an Austrailian based jewelry design company.  They have some wonderful pieces, unique designs and beautifully made.  Not just earrings, but pendants and rings as well. 

Check them out and get yourself something that sparkles – a little bit, or a lot.

Back to the Grind

Two days have whizzed by since we returned from Florida.  The trip home was itself a small slice of hell.  Our plane was four hours late leaving the airport, meaning we didn’t arrive home until 2:00 a.m.  To add insult to injury, we had to dig the Charger out from under eight inches of snow that had fallen in our absence.   Jim’s peronalized license plate on the car was the only thing visible, and it’s message (In Chrg) was an ironic reminder of how little we really are- in charge, that is.

Not of the weather, certainly, for it has continued it’s snowy, blustery, murkiness ever since we got home.  The snow was swirling like a dervish this morning and there were cars spun out all over the road as I made my way to the office.

Not of our jobs, either, for mine has continued on it’s perilous spin out of control.  Work, work, work…and never get caught up.  A control freak’s nightmare.

But enough of all that.  It’s Friday night, I’m home safe and sound with lots of recorded stuff on the TiVo.  Who watchs Big Love out there?  Did you see last Sunday’s episode?  I was riveted to my chair – what will happen to those Henrickson’s next, I ask you? 

I had two books waiting for me in the mail delivery – copies for review later on this month over at Bookstack.  As well as a shipment of my favorite coffee, to keep me warm and caffienated while I read.

Small and simple pleasures, but all part of the daily grind of which I am at least a little bit in charge.

Write On Wednesday – Hard Labor

I haven’t been loving my work lately, so it has indeed been hard labor.  Of course I know that’s all relative, and my Puritan genes have been pinching me in displeasure for even begrudging one moment of having a relatively good paying job in this economy.

But.

I’m as human as the next girl, and I would really like to find my work at least moderately rewarding.  For the past several months, it’s been just a big pain in the you know where.  And I mean that quite literally too, because for most of my day I’m stuck in a chair staring at a computer screen and clicking my way through infinite varieties of electronic files and folders.

Part of my dissatisfaction stems from changes that were thrust on me willy nilly without any warning.  I was upset enough at the time to raise a mini ruckus about the whole thing.  Alas, my foot stomping was mostly in vain, because my boss (like the benevolent dictator she is) listened politely and then effectively said, “Well, that’s all very nice dear, but we’re doing it my way anyway.”

Right.

On our way out to dinner last night, we found ourselves quoting lines from an old movie that’s quite a favorite in our family.  Office Space is one of those satirical, sort of frat-house takes on life as an office worker.  Anyone who’s ever spent their days ensconced in a cubicle can’t help but laugh out loud at the incessant memos about the cover sheets on TPS reports, Melvin’s mission to hang on to his Swingline stapler, and (the classic) line from Lumberg, the boss, who ends all his edicts with the phrase, “That would be greaaaat.”   When we got home, we popped the DVD in the player and relived a few of our favorite moments.  At least it’s comforting to know I”m not alone.

Working in American has taken a whole new twist, hasn’t it?  Used to be we thought we could have it all – a good paying job,  security for the future, even something called personal fulfillment.    But the rules have all changed, and sometimes it’s hard to play along without feeling as if you’re being taken advantage of.   I was raised to work hard and be honest, to fulfill my responsibilities, to make personal sacrifices if necessary in order to get the job done.  My dad owned  a small business for almost 30 years, and I watched him working nights and weekends, rarely taking vacations, doing whatever it took to make sure his customers were satisfied.

So while I’ve been here in Florida enjoying some sunshine and celebrating my son’s birthday, I’ve also been working, doing my equivalent of putting cover sheets on TPS reports.  My husband looks askance at me, as he takes his lemonade out to the lanai and I sit here typing furiously away.  Right now, he’s feeling (understandably) less than loyal to the idea of working all out for the good of the company.  “It gets you nowhere,” he says somewhat bitterly.  “I’m here to tell you, nobody appreciates it in the end.” 

One of the hardest things about labor for me is finding the right balance.  I know I tend to go overboard with my work – whether it’s music or writing or stupid “TPS” reports, I toil away past the point where others would throw in the towel and take some time for themselves.  Maybe I do work too hard for my own good, and so the feelings of oppression I end up feeling are largely of my own making.  Keeping a balance between work, family, and personal time to do the things I love – that’s the key to staying sane in the modern world.

It’s hard work, but I’m trying to make that happen in my life.

How about you?  What’s your work life like these days?  Has it changed in the current economy? 

Love-liest of Days

The penultimate thing I love about February is today -my son’s birthday.  It’s nearly impossible to imagine that 30 years have gone by since the morning I awoke a naive 23 -year old and went to bed 14 hours later a mother.

Wow.

Becoming a mother isn’t just about giving birth or changing diapers or toilet training or packing lunches or helping with homework or tying neckties or furnishing the dorm room or making the list for wedding invitations.  It’s about loving someone more than you’ve ever loved anything on earth, about being willing to throw down the gauntlet before anyone or anything who might hurt them, about putting aside all your own fears and misgivings to support their hopes and dreams.  It’s about turning your life upside down every single day if you have to for the rest of your life.

But it’s also about feeling the deepest love and the most wonderful pride, it’s about laughing the hardest you’ve ever laughed, and crying the most you’ve ever cried.  It’s about a heart that bursts with joy one minute and pain the next.  It’s about life in all its miraculous glory and deepest despair.

In short – it’s amazing.

I was a young and stupid mother, wasn’t prepared in any way, shape, or form to take on the responsibility of a child.  I was nothing like most young women today, who plan their pregnancy and childbirth to the hilt, who research all the latest gadgets and gizmo’s, who arrange playdates and choose pre-schools before the ink on the birth certificate is even dry.  I didn’t “register” for baby gifts, didn’t interview my obstetrician, didn’t choose environmentally friendly or safe substances for the nursery linens. 

My son was the first infant I’d ever held in my arms. 

But in spite of my ignorance, he grew- physically and mentally.  He was strong and healthy and smart and amazingly beautiful, with clear blue eyes and a stunning ability to think and create and imagine.

Thirty years later, he’s all that and more.

Amazing.

So I count today as the love-li-est of all February days.  I wish I had been better prepared, had been smarter, stronger. I still wish for wisdom I don’t always have to give.  But I’m more thankful than I can say for the end result, and for all the days in between.

Happy Birthday to my love-ly boy.

Nesting

Thirty years ago about this time I was experiencing a phenomenon known as “nesting”…that period before a woman gives birth when she succumbs to a flurry of housekeeping chores.  Cleaning, arranging, preparing the perfect safe and beautiful space to shelter a new life. 

Oddly enough,  I find myself  with the urge to nest once again, to draw my feathers close around me and settling into a safe and cozy corner.  I’m not sure what’s responsible for this feeling, but there’s a clear and definite desire to be home these days, to stay inside with my family and my things around me, to remove myself from the rest of the world with all its demands. 

If I’m honest, this isn’t a new feeling.  I’ve noticed this tendency to withdraw from society for quite some time, and in fact, I’ve found being out in the world increasingly exhausting for the better part of a year.  I think it stems from a generalized dissatisfaction with my life – at least the one I live in the outside world.  The one that involves work and errands and traffic and cold.

But when I’m snuggled in my little nest, I’m happy as the proverbial clam.

Perhaps my need to nest  is a way of preparing me for something big, some wonderful new change that’s about to occur in my own small corner of the world.

Let’s hope it’s love-ly.

Love-ly February

How could I dedicate a month to writing about love and lovely things without writing about these two?  At the risk of sounding like the Barney song, I love them, they love me, and they love each other.  What could be more love-ly?

I hope you’ve all had a delightful Valentine’s Day!

Write On Wednesday – True Love

I saw the most amazing movie yesterday – The Young Victoria, a cinematic portrait of Queen Victoria’s ascension to the throne and her courtship with Prince Albert.  It’s a small slice in the life of this long-lived and quite respected monarch, but it’s a potent one.  For unlike many royal’s Victoria did indeed marry for love, and the growing relationship between the two young people, their clear and obvious delight in each other’s company, respect for each other’s intelligence, and genuine concern and care for each other’s needs, was not only beautifully romantic, but inspiring.

The film ended as their first (of nine!) children was born.  And as I walked out of the theater, I couldn’t help but think that their love story was only just beginning at that moment, and wish the film could go on and on into the rest of their lives together.  For as exciting and enchanting as fresh love is, it truly does become sweeter when it stands the tests of time.

Watching Victoria and Albert, still just teenagers when they first become acquainted and fall in love, I couldn’t help but recall the early days of my own first love, when every moment together was charged with heady excitement, when each day held the anticipation of new discoveries, when each touch was electrified with meaning and desire.   It’s not realistic to expect human beings to retain those kinds of feelings about the same person for decades and decades, and after 33 years of marriage, it’s not always easy to reconnect with those feelings. 

While realistically one cannot return to those exciting moments of young love, I think you can reconnect with those feelings by coming to a deeper appreciation of what true love does become over time.  Being together for decades means surviving so many things – happiness’ certainly, but also trials and tribulations.   Life changes, for good or ill, can test true love, but also strengthen and sweeten it.  Recalling all the times my husband has stood by me when I was sad, or lonely, or frightened, reflecting on the ways he has supported me emotionally and practically – these memories are just as sweet those of the times we’ve laughed together, or shared the pleasure of watching our son grow up, or savored moments on foreign hillsides or simple walks in the park.  Having this good and gentle man beside me for every moment of life, even when it (and I!) are at our most unlovable, still makes my heart flutter with excitement.

Standing the test of time is one of true love’s greatest gifts.  It’s easy to forget how rare and important that is, easy to let the day to day routine usurp the small, sturdy gestures that keep love alive.  I was touched by  Eternal Celebration, Blue Mist’s story for Write On Wednesday this week, and the words of her character who says “Who remembers Valentines Day when you’ve spent 40 years in the marriage?”  But really, isn’t 40 years of togetherness all the more reason to celebrate?  For love that lasts so long, through the roller coaster ride of modern life, is the truest kind of love indeed.

Friendship

 It’s become a tradition in February, one almost as sacred as chocolates and hearts, this week I spend in Florida with my friend M.  We loll around the house here, sleep later than normal, talk, drink coffee in our pajamas as long as we like, go for walks, talk, sit in the sun, read, eat, talk, shop, drink, get facials and pedicures…well, you get the picture. 

This week is one of the things that makes February lovely.

But I’ll let you in on a secret. 

It’s not always easy for me to share this much of myself.

It’s my nature to be a very private person, rather introverted actually, and perfectly happy being on my own with only me, myself, and I for company.  I was never one of those kids who liked having friends over all the time, and sometimes would just throw lots of my toys out the backdoor and say, “Here, you play with them, and I”m going inside to read.”   I weaseled my way out of invitations to birthday parties and sleep overs whenever I could.   I had no intention of going away to college, because I couldn’t imagine myself in a communal living situation like a dorm.  (I still get cold chills down my spine just thinking about it.)

I’ve had some adult friendships over the years that were close enough to involve lengthy periods of time together, even traveling together (the true test of a friendship, I think).  But it’s always been a strain for me, and I always find myself yearning just a little bit, no matter how much fun we were having, to be on my own.

Now, M. and I get on very well and have very similar tastes in the things we like to do.  We became friends first through church, and our friendship was cemented during the years we played bells together and traveled around performing.  Our husband’s are friends too, and the four of us have done some rather extensive traveling together.  M. and her husband have a world of friends from all walks of life, and they have graciously included us in their inner circle, providing us with social opportunities we would never had had otherwise.  Through our friendship, I’ve learned how to do all the group things that I never allowed myself to do when I was younger.  And I’ve learned to enjoy them very much. 

But I think there’s a part of me that  I always keep to myself, and when I’m with another person for an extended period of time  it gets tiring to keep that secret part hidden away.  It’s almost like holding your breath, this feeling of keeping watch over that inner being, of not letting it escape into the light of day.  It’s not really about being on my best behavior, or trying to impress with my knowledge or wit…it’s just about being truly and completely me. 

How about you?  Are you a people person, or do you prefer being on your own?  Are your times with friends love-ly?

 

The Love-ly Month of February

About 5:30 this afternoon, the automatic timer on my reading lamp switched on, and guess what?  I didn’t even notice.

That’s right.  I didn’t notice, because the SUN WAS STILL SHINING!

Amazing.  Just yesterday it seems I readjusted the timer because the house was pitch black at 5: 30.  Now, this love-ly month of February gives us the gift of just a pinch more daylight, a baby step closer to those long, light filled evenings when I can sit on the porch until bedtime and watch the fireflies flicker in the orchard.

There is a tiny movement afoot in blog-land to celebrate love in all its forms and fashions this February.  I first read about it here, and then found out more about it here.

So my paean to lengthening days is my way of saying I Love You to February.

More posts about things I love in the days ahead.

What are you loving this February?