Walking the dog

It's a beautiful day.

It's sunny, there's no humidity and the temperature barely reached the high 70s.

And it's July.

July.

So my son and I decided to take advantage of the glorious day to take our dog, Jax, for a walk. But not just any walk: we took him to a nearby monastery that is situated on lovely grounds. The best thing about it?

We go there by car.

And so we asked our dog the world's most rhetorical question:

Do you wanna go bye-bye?

Yes. Yes, I do wanna go bye-bye. Really, I do.

Mount Saint Francis is a spiritual center and sacred place of worship and welcome operated by Franciscan friars. It's an absolutely beautiful place full of winding trails and paths. A serene lake glimmers in the summer sun. Wooded trails wind the miles of acreage, while flowers and native grasses grow freely in the adjoining fields. Man made bird and bat houses offer shelter to the creatures that call the space home, in keeping with the Franciscan tradition of stewardship of Earth and its creatures. Sculptures are everywhere - hidden among the woods, jutting just off the trails - blurring the line between nature and art.

And it's just a few miles from our house.

We walk there often in the spring and fall, but not so much in the summer as the usual heat and humidity tend to drive us indoors this time of year. But today is a different kind of summer day; a perfect kind of summer day.

And the best part? We had to walk slowly. Really take our time. My son injured his foot a few days ago and needed to slow his usual pace with Jax on the leash. That didn't bother Jax one bit, as it gave him time to sniff and explore. And it gave me a chance to snap a few pics of this gorgeous day.

I am not a photographer by any means, and this is not a photography blog. But I do want to share the pictures I took on our walk today with you as a reminder to slow down and savor the precious days granted to us.

Spend time with a friend.

Take a look around you.

Consider your path.

Seek beauty.

Take a break.

Laugh.

Reflect.

Be still.

Share.

Take a moment.

Look past the darkness.

Show kindness.

Cross bridges when you come to them.

Seek serenity.

Love.

Be a good example.

Seek peace.

Remember, we never walk our paths alone.

And, whenever possible, enjoy a cup of ice cream on the trip back home.

 

"It is no use walking anywhere to preach, unless our walking is our preaching." - Saint Francis of Assisi

Christmas in July

Happy Christmas in July!

No, seriously ... Christmas in July. We celebrate this. It's a real thing at our house.

Now, don't get me wrong: I hate Christmas creep - the way retailers act like Thanksgiving doesn't exist and inundate me with Christmas the day after Halloween (if even that long). Last year, a local radio station started playing Christmas songs 24/7 the week after Halloween. I adore Christmas music and appreciate it outside of the holiday ... but not 24/7 while I've still got a jack-o-lantern rotting on my doorstep.

[Note: craft stores are exempt from my wrath because people who make Christmas crafts, gifts and decor items can't start that stuff on Black Friday. It takes time, and so I get why those retailers have holiday stuff out already. And I admire crafty people who give gifts from their hearts and hands.]

No, our Christmas in July (or CiJ) is just an evening - a couple of hours really - carved out on July 25, not so much because of its coincidence with December 25, but because we wanted to do something in July, yet not tread upon the observation of Independence Day (the way marketers force real Christmas to do to Thanksgiving).

And so, several years ago, when our son was little, we started celebrating CiJ.

Why?

"I will honor Christmas in my heart and try to keep it all year," - Charles Dickens' Scrooge, from A Christmas Carol.

• We wanted to revisit the lessons of hope, renewal and forgiveness that Christ brought to the world.
• We wanted to remind our child to practice good cheer, charity and benevolence all the year through.
• We wanted to celebrate without the pressure, stress, materialism and expense of the big holiday. 
• Christmas can be fun and we wanted to have fun more than once a year.

Here's what we do to celebrate:

We don't deck our halls, per say, but we do bring out a small artificial tree that has seen many Christmases and dress it up a bit for the (off) season..

 The treats seem so much sweeter when savored without the deluge of so many other Christmas candies and cookies competing for the right to shrink my jeans before Jan. 1.

Mint chocolate chip cookies. They are yummy, yummy. Recipe here.

We watch a favorite holiday movie for CiJ. Instead of sitting around the house during the real Christmas season watching films where the characters are celebrating Christmas, we try to switch off the TV as much as we can and get out and actually make some holiday memories of our own. Still, you gotta love a good Christmas movie, no matter what time of year.

Cotton-headed ninny-muggins.

We do give gifts. This is not a retail frenzy, folks. We wrap up modest gifts in Christmas paper and get to tear it off. It's fun and I am not going to get all high-horse and act like it's not. Lest you think me terribly materialist, I will say that tonight we gave our son a gift card, two new shirts and school supplies (school starts next week). So, it's fun ... but not that fun.

A mini tree adorned with sunflowers and skirted in a beach towel, candle glow instead of a roaring fire, and modest gifts of little necessities wrapped in festive paper strike the right balance of Christmas ... but in July.

We'll often prep a CiJ feast of grilled burgers and corn on the cob with a garden tomato or two, and dine to holiday music. Our busy back-to-school activities tonight prevented that. But it's okay. Because even though CiJ is coming to an end, it doesn't mean we can't toss in Michael Buble's Christmas any other day and sing along to his adorably peppy little ditty Holly Jolly Christmas.

Because, as Buddy the Elf says, "The best way to spread Christmas cheer is signing loud for all to hear" ... even in July.

The under-achieving makeover

Oompa Loompa.

The Gene Wilder version, not Johnny Depp.

That's the best way to describe it. My face looked like that of an old-school Oompa Loompa. Actually, my face was the color of an Oompa Loompa.

Let me explain.

I've been in the mood to punch up my personal style a bit because I've been in a rut. My hair has been as stylish as a bird's nest and my make-up - or lack of it - reflects an un-me meh attitude.

So I got a haircut early yesterday morning with a new stylist at a salon I'd never been to before. Yes, I cheated on my regular stylist. It's not her, it's me. I haven't been communicating well with her. I haven't been trying to keep the magic alive. I put my personal needs above our shared needs. And I hate to admit it, but I liked the allure of someone new. I wanted to see what it was like.

... ahem ... Anyway ...

I brought in a picture of what I had in mind: I wanted to go short. My hair was a drab medium-length I-don't-know-what-I-want-so-let's-do-this boring middle-aged mom cut. And I was ready to be bold; to pull back the curtain that my hair was allowing me to hide behind and put this face front and center.

I kind of look like a boy now.

Okay, not really, but it was shorter than I had expected. But I like it. As does my husband, judging by the way he keeps kissing my neck.

Too much? Sorry.

Anyway, part 2 of sprucing up my look was to involve some make-up upgrades. So yesterday afternoon, I approached the make-up counter at a retailer and asked the saleslady if she could recommend a neutral-ish eye shadow for me, explaining that I don't wear much make-up, but would like an everyday shadow.

An hour and a half later, I looked like a native of Loompaland.

And I had spent $113.

Ouch.

Though I never mentioned being in the market for foundation, she immediately asked, "Is your face always so red?"

Um, no.

I suddenly felt self-conscious and I let her cake a thick coat of dark spackling paste all over my face. And the thing is, it looked good in the mirror ... in that lighting. So I let her work her magic.

But as soon as I joined my husband in the car - in normal daylight - and saw the what-the-heck-happened-to-you look on his face, I snapped down the passenger-side mirror and was horrified. Orange. I was orange.

Oompa Loompa. Except they actually have longer hair than I do now.

I should have known something was terribly wrong when I tried to smile and felt my face crack.

So, I am taking back the unused make-up I bought and getting a big chunk of money refunded. But I am keeping the eye shadow and the blush because they work at about one-quarter the amount she had painted on me. Considering how very little I actually need to use and the quality of the product, I will come out ahead financially in the long run.

The third leg of my spruce-me-up/treat-myself weekend was to involve the purchase of a new outfit. But I thought I would just quit while I was ahead, for fear of what my good intentions might end up costing me, both in cash and in appearance.

Because, while there is nothing wrong with wanting to improve oneself, sometimes we have to know when to leave well enough alone and just be happy. Just as we are.

"A woman whose smile is open and whose expression is glad has a kind of beauty no matter what she wears," - Anne Roiphe.

My only child

It started as soon as we started dating.

"When are you two going to get married?"

Family, friends, strangers all wanted to know when my now-husband/then-new-boyfriend would be ready for that next step. We felt the pressure. We gave in. ... five years later.

So of course, the next question was, "When are you two going to start a family?"

Feeling pinched, we succumbed to societal pressure on that expectation ... yep, five years later.

As soon as we brought our healthy newborn home, the questions rained down upon us. "So when is he getting a little brother or sister?"

Are you freaking kidding me?

Obviously we never gave in to the pressures from others to live our lives on their schedules. We have set our own pace and made our way as we agreed. Just the two of us. And then just the three of us.

And it has remained at three.

That's right: we are the parents of an only child.

An old friend I never see anymore once remarked that, "It's just cruel to only have one child."

Are you freaking kidding me? 

You know what's cruel? A lot of stuff. Stretch marks. Under eye crags. That they made a sequel to the movie Grown Ups. The lack of M&Ms at the bottom of an M&M Blizzard. That Paris Hilton seems classy compared to any one of the Kardashians. That new episodes of The Walking Dead don't come back on until October.

But being the parents to just one child is not one of those things.

Here's the thing: We're not writing The Official Field Guide to the Breeding Habits of Middle Aged Middle Class Mammals and so we don't owe anyone an explanation of our seemingly curious mating patterns. And now that I've gotten old, well, we don't get that question much any more anyway.

"If your parents never had children, chances are you won't either," Dick Cavett, who was being a smartass. Maybe that's why they named him Dick.

Anyway ...

People mean well. I'm being generous there. Because their "good intentions" imply that we are bad parents because we (me) didn't birth a daycare's worth of perpetual playmates for our son. That we are selfish in not adopting children in need. That we are not fulfilling our biblical duty to be fruitful and multiply. That we have denied our child his request for a sibling. (Please note: we do not allow children to dictate the family planning of the grown-ups. Plus, he never asked anyway.) There's a lot of assumption and judgement in there.

Defensive much?

Yes. Yes, I am.

Not only do they question my husband and me, but they ask my kid about it. That. Is. Not. Cool.

"Aren't you sad being an only child?" A woman I had just met asked my son this at a wedding reception recently. I was horrified that he had been put on the spot like that by this nosy stranger.

"Being an only child is awesome," was his not-missing-a-beat answer. "There's nothing sad about it." And that matter-of-factly and convincingly ended the conversation.

Smart one, that boy.

There are those who assume that he has only child syndrome ... you know, "spoiled and bratty." He's not. We are too poor to spoil him and we don't tolerate brattiness. He's articulate and well mannered. If he were an ass, I'd tell you.

He's not. He's cool.

A blogger I follow, Liz Owen, recently blogged about this herself. She is younger than I am and is just starting to field these intrusive questions. Bless her heart.

For us, the quick answer to "Are you going to have more children?" was always no, but it seemed to beg the follow-up, but why? The fact is, we don't need to detail the miscarriage, the high-risk pregnancy, the devastating postpartum depression, the conflicting medical advice, the long-term economic consequences of repeated job losses. Some things are just personal.

What I will say with all sincerity and to anyone who feels utterly compelled to ask is that when we brought that baby home more than 14 years ago, my husband and I both agreed:

This family is complete.

Just a little house

 

Our house is just a little house. 

There's just not much to it, really. It's three bedrooms, two baths, two stories. Lots of closets and a garage. Big yard. All in all, it's about 1,800 square feet of basic living space.

It doesn't have a basement. It doesn't have a large family room. It doesn't have a pool-sized master bathtub. It doesn't have fancy countertops.

It doesn't have fancy anything.

It doesn't have wood floors throughout. It doesn't have a mudroom. It doesn't have a formal dining room.

It doesn't have a formal anything.

But for all it doesn't have, it'll do just fine.

We moved here nearly 10 years ago, attracted by the beauty of the area and its excellent schools. We told ourselves we would either add on or move when our son, who was starting preschool at the time, hit middle school and the elementary school district was no longer a consideration.

He starts high school soon and we have neither added on nor moved.

You've heard about the economy, right? Well, that's one of the reasons we haven't made major changes. But I've also been ... happy ... here. Actually, content might be the better word for it. We've made this little place a real home over the years.

I admit I didn't always feel that way.

I used to write home decor and design stories for a magazine. I would see lovely homes, put together by the region's top designers. It was a running joke that each time I would walk in the door from these assignments, I'd toss my keys down and say, "It's official: we live like crap." My husband would just nod in agreement.

Of course, magazines present the ideal. Yet even though I wrote articles touting this ideal myself, I would still get caught up in the dream of ... well, a dream home. We live in a rather affluent area and large, beautiful homes surround us, filled with upscale features and furnishings.

I have felt the sting of jealousy. I have tasted bitter frustration. It's not fair to compare; it's materialistic and petty. I was guilty of those things.

"Envy is the art of counting the other fellow's blessings instead of your own," - Harold Coffin

But when it comes down to it, I have learned that a dream home should have less to do with what fills the house and instead focus on what fills your heart.

Turns out my dream home is just a little house after all.

All my favorite people live there. There's plenty of room for this family to be together and still have space to just ... be.

We entertain. We host barbecues and parties. Our house is not big enough to hold all our friends. Wow - what a blessing that is.

It's cozy. Just ask the occupants.

Callie in the morning sun.

Santa, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy have all been to my little house. Birthdays candles have been blown out. Holiday feasts prepared and shared. All our best memories have taken place under this roof.

It has a beauty all its own. There are some features that you simply cannot install; cannot purchase; cannot pull from Pinterest boards. They are the feelings you have when you are in a space: joy, peace and tranquility. And they are the most beautiful features of a home.

It's practical.Our little house uses fewer resources and costs less to maintain than a large home. That has mattered to us for practical, as well as philosophical, reasons. We are blessed beyond measure to have safe shelter.

So, for all the gee-whiz features this little house doesn't have, it boasts the most important things of all: hope, love, happiness, contentment and gratitude.

And God knows where we live.

Summer serendipity

"I'm having a good summer."

My son just said that to me. I'm glad for him. It's important that a kid have a good summer, after all. It's a culturally sanctioned break. He gets to sleep in, play video games, read, play golf, hang out with friends, swim, and just kind of bum around if he wants. He has structured things to do, like band rehearsals, chores, music lessons and such. But for the most part, his time is his to spend as he wishes.

All too soon his summers will be about earning money for a car and then for college ... and then his summers will become just another season in a busy, grown-up year.

Like mine.

There is no summer break for me or my husband. We both work and our jobs are year-round. We do take vacation days, but not for months - or a season - at a time. And besides, if given the option, I wouldn't go with a summer break anyway. I'm a fall kind of girl. I love, love, love everything about autumn.

Truth be told, I usually kinda hate summer.

Yes, I said it: Hate. Summer. Me.

I want to like summer - barbecues, flowers, fireflies. But it usually turns on me in a cruel way.

"Ah summer. what power you have to make us suffer and like it," - Russell Baker.

For example:

Summer burns my skin. I don't tan. Nor do I care to. (In fact, it's not 1977 anymore and you shouldn't care about tanning either. You're going to look like a leather purse if you don't stop tanning. For real.) No matter how much sunscreen I apply, my freckles glow after only moments in the summer sun. They're like icicle-style holiday lights left hanging on the gutter of a trailer: they're there all year long, but really light up for the season.

Summer makes me sweat. It gets unreasonably hot and humid here in the summer. As I recall from a meteorologist I talked to in college (which was approximately 110 years ago), the part of southern Indiana I live in, the Ohio River Valley, is part of a subtropical band of weather. Meaning it's crazy hot and humid here in the summer even though it's technically the Midwest. An example: each of the three times I've been to Miami, Fla., it's been hotter and more humid at home than in Miami. Than in Miami.

The oppressive heat pushes me indoors much the same way winter cold does. And so cabin fever sets in twice a year. The crunch of drought-addled grass and prematurely withered flowers is just as soul-crushing as the leafless tree branches of winter.

Summer brings bugs ... and other stuff. Little bugs. Big bugs. Lots and lots of bugs. I don't like bugs. Or snakes. Or lizards. Or spiders ... which I know are bugs, but I'm just reiterating that I'm not a fan.

A front porch visitor from a few summers ago. He was about 3.5 inches in length. Pic was snapped by a shrieking me just before my friend's husband "relocated" the visitor.

I know these critters serve their purpose on this earth. And apparently that purpose is making a run for the inside of my house. Currently there is a lizard that is so big I am pretty sure it's actually a baby dinosaur (the kind that eats meat) that darts in and out of my garage, making for some hurried, horrified encounters as I take trash out through the Jurassic Park section of my mortgaged square footage.

Summer fashions are not my fave. I love Capri pants, but other than that, I prefer the color palette - and layered coverage - of fall fashions. Maybe it's because summer clothes can be generally less than flattering. In the last week, I've been to a water park and a beach. There's not enough bleach in the world to scrub the fleshy images that have been seared into my mind's eye. Look, I'm all about comfort in your own skin - I've said as much - but there comes a time when you have to put the bikini away. That time is sooner than a lot of women realize.

So basically I tolerate summer, much the same way others tolerate winter. Just as they pine for spring each winter, I wish away the summer days for the relief of fall.

Except this year.

Much like my son, I have to admit I'm having a good summer. It's winning me over.

It's not been as horribly hot so far. In fact it's been downright tolerable. I've actually been able to enjoy the outdoors. Even if it blazes in the next few weeks, it still will have been noticeably cooler than the 100-plus-degree temps of this time last year.

It has rained. The last couple of years, we suffered terrible droughts, and this year, not so much. The grass is lush, flowers are thriving and I know farmers are happy.

Nighttime view of the cornfield across from my house.

I went to my happy place. That place is north. For the second year in a row, we went to Michigan and enjoyed the beauty of Lake Michigan. So many people I know head to southern beaches this time of year, but me? I have found my bliss on the soft, cool sands of the great lake. Yes, the water is cold this time of year, but I do not go there to swim (my business does not dip where the fish do their business). I go there to relax, to feel cool air on my skin, to hear the crash of the waves, and dig into a good book.

It only takes us a little more than six hours to get there, and I love knowing it's so close in case I just need to break away and catch my breath.

Wear a hoodie to the beach? Yes, please!

This was a quick trip - just three days - but we had a blast together as a family. And we made a point of watching the sun set on the lake each evening.

Sunset on Lake Michigan from the beach in Holland, Mich.

Because for all its faults, summer always comes through with its long days. Days that greet us with an early glow and stretch out, lingering past the onset glitter of fireflies ... days too often spent in the rush and hubbub of everyday, grown-up life. Maybe I've been too hard on summer all along, just focusing on the negative.

All this time, it has offered a fabulous show every evening - over lakes, cornfields, highways, backyards - if only I take the time to stop and watch.