Falling apart

That mailbox? The one attached to the post via electrical tape?

That's my mailbox.

This long, cold, snowy winter sucker punched it. Seems a snow plow took it out while scraping our road. The mail carrier was kind enough to hand deliver our mail to the front door and inform us of the assault. My husband fished the battered box out of a snowy ditch.

It was cold. It was icy. Hand delivery of our bills, my Entertainment Weekly and the occasional American Girl catalog was a one-time thing (side note: no one - no one - in this house is in the market for American Girl dolls and yet we have received that catalog for more than 10 years, despite repeated unsubscribes).

So hubs did what any middle class, educated man would do in front of his suburban home: he got a roll of tape and stuck that dented beast back on the post with a promise to fix it in the spring thaw.

It's not embarrassing at all.

[it's possible I am lying]

This?

Now this embarrassed me.

You see, our 15-year-old washer would thump and jiggle like a tiny nightclub each time the load was unbalanced - which was every. single. time. we ran it. Eventually, the thumping shook the front panel loose, adding a percussive element as it moved away from its set placement, much a like Stevie Nicks twirling on stage with a tambourine.

Hubs would balance the feet, tighten the panel ... until the next load. Eventually, it would rattle and shake into a boot scooting line dance of sorts.

Then one day, it made like a stripper on dollar beer night and dropped the front panel completely.

You might say, "Who cares? It's just the laundry room. You're the only ones who will see it."

Naturally, this happened the week we had a guest who needed to use our laundry facilities. Our dirty shame (literally dirty - the inside of a 15-year-old washer is nasty) was not hidden; it had a witness. And I was embarrassed by it.

My husband is a handy guy. He can fix stuff. He's good at it and I am not going to lie: I dig this quality in a man. It's downright sexy. He fought this machine for more than a week and let me tell you: there was some unusually foul language flying about from my normally sweet, polite guy. I thought it might best him. I had duct tape anxiety, knowing he might choose to tape it shut or worse yet, just leave it open. Buying a new washer is not an option financially.

But he conquered it. Tape free. Our shame concealed ... at least until the next unbalanced load.

Life is like that. Sometimes it seems our world is falling apart physically, mentally, spiritually, literally. We get knocked down, rattled loose. We swear, we fight to keep it together, to hold on and stay useful. We peel back the layers of fear, anxiety, embarrassment. Sometimes we conquer it, and sometimes we need to patch ourselves together a little while longer and hope for a better day; a better way.

"Our greatest weakness lies in giving up. The most certain way to succeed is always to try one more time." - Thomas Edison

  

Becoming Mom

Last week my son turned 15.

It was a low-key birthday for him. He had school all day and indoor percussion group rehearsal all evening. He had homework. His dinner was one of time-constrained convenience. His main birthday gift (sweet vintage hi-hat and ride cymbals for his drumset!) arrived a couple of days afterward.

Even though there wasn't even a proper cake in this house, I whipped up a batch of chocolate chip brownies, per his request. The three of us grabbed a few minutes to light a candle, sing and nosh before the day was over.

Though it doesn't sound like all that much fun, he managed to carve out a great day. After all, it was his day. Like all teens, he digs the mystique of getting older. Family and friends wished him well and paid attention to him for that very reason. Cards arrived via post, many included a little something special in the form of gift cards or cash - both his favorites right now. It was a special day for him.

That day last week was not about me  - my own birthday is just a couple of weeks away - and yet, I mark the day as significant.

It's the anniversary of the most important day of my life.

As much as I love my husband - and I truly do - on that day 15 years ago, I was introduced to love as I'd never known it. It's the kind of attachment born of sacrifice, blood, pain and fear. I will spare you the details of my delivery day, but I will say that it was medically complicated for me and took a rapid turn toward serious just after my son's arrival. The quick actions of the medical staff and my doctor in those moments ensured that I am sitting here at this keyboard today and I am forever grateful for that.

But there would be no more pregnancies or deliveries; no more children in this house. This was enough.

Giving birth to that boy 15 years ago didn't automatically give me purpose or grant me patience or make me wiser. It did, however, set me on the path to those things with a less-than-self-serving motivation I hadn't previously known.

[Aside: I have not yet arrived at those destinations]

I was forever changed for the better 15 years ago.

Of course, I was not the only one changed that day. My husband found the role he was meant to play as hands-on partner and loving dad. I never had a loving father figure in my life and one of my greatest joys has been to bear witness to the great relationship and friendship between the two people I love most.

My husband never forgets what the day means for me. Every year on our son's birthday, he gives me a small bouquet of flowers.

Men: give your wives flowers on your children's birthdays. And teach your sons to do this for their mothers and, eventually, their own wives.

But like I said, the day was not about me. It came and went in a blink, much like the years themselves. The baby born that day is now a teen. The earliest days of his life are ones he will never remember.

And they are the days I will never forget.

The save

 

While waiting at the allergist's office today for my weekly allergy shots, I noticed a curly-haired little boy of about 4 or so staring at me.

His mother was reading a magazine and oblivious. I didn't think much of it, as sometimes kids just zero in on stuff when they're bored, so I continued reading a very important article on People.com on my cell about how grown up the kid from Modern Family has gotten (here it is if you're dying to know). That piece of literature now properly store in my brain, I glanced up to see the little guy still agaze in my direction.

I smiled one of my adorable dimple-laden beauties.

He smiled back.

"You're pretty," he said.

Heart = melted.

"Thank you," I replied, all aw-shucks. "I think you're very handsome."

Blank stare.

Followed by scrunchy-nosed confusion.

A head tilt.

Then a frown.

"I'm a girl."

Oh.

Yep, I was having one of those days.

It's been one of those days for several days now, actually. I am off my game.

My week has included two cancelled school events for my son: one cancelled because of heavy snow and the other cancelled a few days later because of the threat of tornadoes. Welcome to the Midwest. We've gone from super busy on those days to ... well, nothing ... in a blink. Schedule = chucked

I've had a  Bob Costas-level case of pink eye. Because at nearly 45 years old, I have the immune system of a toddler in daycare.

Twice while I was composing a text containing the word slushy - as in, the roads are slushy - my cellphone autocorrected my typo to slutty ... which is way more interesting, but not at all accurate.

I put my bra on inside out yesterday and even managed to close it (don't ask).

In addition to offending the little girl in the doctor's office - whose mother might want to consider tossing a bow in that mess of curls or at least not glare at strangers making an honest mistake - my day also included near theft in the form of nail polish that fell into an outer purse pocket instead of the cart at Target. The misdemeanor was averted when I found it while checking out - though again with the glaring, this time from the cashier.

I blame the season. We're in that in-between time of the year when you can sense spring is coming. It's in the buds on the trees, daytime highs that pop up into the low 60s for a moment, and ever-lingering evening sun. And then like a rubber band to the wrist, winter snaps back and reminds us it ain't over. The senses are unsettled, bouncing about, trying to land in a happy, familiar place.

Or maybe I'm just a middle-aged spaz.

Anyway, I've had some lucky saves this week: messages received in time to reset plans, keeping conjunctivitis limited, catching autocorrect errors, making like Houdini in a straitjacket to fix undergarment errors, and even pulling unpaid merch out of my purse like a rabbit out of a hat.

Except, of course, for the little girl in the waiting room today.

I stammered, realizing my error, and babbled something like, "Did I say handsome? That's not what I meant. I was looking at a picture of my handsome son," gesturing at my phone.

Liar.

"I meant to say beautiful."

Not buying it.

Finally, resolved to the fact there was no excusing me, I sighed, and said in all sincerity, "You know, you really are adorable."

And with that, I got a smile from her.

And the day was saved.

A little love

Love.

It's a thing, ya know. Pop culture is full of it and we let it shape our behavior beyond our own amorous feelings. We sing about it. Delight at its depiction in art and poetry.  Watch dumb comedies about it. Weep at the end of tragic dramas when its all gone horribly wrong. Fill bookshelf after bookshelf with it in paperback form.

And then there's Valentine's Day.

Its roots go way, way back as a fertility rite, then saint day, then general day celebrating love. And by celebrating, I mean submitting couples and singles alike to tortuous commercial-generated pressure to buy this, go here, do that ... all in the name of love.

It's a thing, all right.

It's such a thing that a lot of single people tend to get down about Valentine's Day. Even married or otherwise coupled people feel the pressure to have the perfect V-Day and less-than-stellar efforts come across as hurtful or thoughtless.

I saw this article the other day on HuffingtonPost.com, The 5 Healthiest Ways to Spend a Single Valentine's Day.  Basically, the article's message is to avoid Valentine's Day and stay busy doing other, though certainly positive, things. That is one way to cope - is cope even the right word here? - with a holiday (real or Hallmark) you may not wish to participate in.

May I offer some insight? Even though I have been married forever?

Love's about a lot of things. Yes, there is romantic love ranging from sweet, simple expressions of affection to hot, sweaty passion.

But love is also about how we connect to one another. Take out the romantic aspect and love can be about appreciation, admiration, (non-lusty) affection, attention, friendship, kinship. In that light, I feel a lot of love for a lot of people.

I've told you how I feel about the truest romantic love here. My husband and I have our wedding anniversary to be all swoony about our life together as a couple. I like to treat Valentine's Day, not as a day for lovers, so much as a day for love - all kinds of love.


 

A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. - John 13:34.

If Feb. 14 gets you down, don't shun it. Embrace it and make it about being a blessing to others. Whether you are married, single, coupled ... use the holiday to share simple kindnesses - a smile or compliment - to a stranger, a special treat for a friend, lunch with a co-worker, a grocery store-bought bouquet to a neighbor.

God's love: it's right there in how we treat one another.

And you don't have to buy it dinner. Or shave your legs for it.

"God loves each of us as if there were only one of us." - Saint Augustine.

Friendship

"If friends were flowers, I'd pick you." - Albert Camus

I've seen that phrase on coffee mugs, embroidered pillows, greeting cards, plaques, paper weights ... the list goes on. It certainly lends itself to the adornment of gift items and it is difficult to fault savvy marketers who capitalize on an upbeat, appreciative, timeless sentiment.

Though I haven't ever purchased an item with this quotation for a bestie, I can say without hesitation that my many friendships over the years have enriched and enlivened my life.

We tend to compartmentalize our friendships: best friends, work friends, childhood friends, neighborhood friends, school friends, guy friends. Doing so in no way diminishes their importance in our lives; it merely enhances our many facets.

My girlfriends, especially my closest circle of friends, are my support group, my therapists, my secret keepers, and companions. They are a truth-banner-waving focus group for hair styles, fashions and home decor. "Um ... no. Just no. That looks terrible on you," one girlfriend said bluntly in the dressing room when I tried on a poorly executed pair of skinny jeans.

[Note to denim designers: You can call them what you want, but if they come in my size, they are not skinny jeans.]

And while my girlfriends might - upon request - judge my fashion choices, they never judge me as a person. They are my audience for rousing tales and rants. My back-up singers. My diet crashers. My cheering section. They are my taste testers for new recipes, which can be a thankless, gag-inducing job.

They make me feel needed and appreciated in their lives - for carpool, opinions, evening walks, lunch dates, shopping, craft projects, perspective, a hug, a laugh. Their needs are not a burden, but an honor. My life is made more purposeful in giving.

Friendship is essential to our happiness, but we must never forget that it is optional. Like any kinship based on love, trust and respect, it requires give and take; a balance. We've all had those life-sucking relationships, so let me give you permission to put a stake in it: vampires quickly move on to other, more willing, givers. Sincerity is the hallmark of the bond, so if you ain't feelin' it, let go.

And sometimes friendships run their course. They fade because of time, distance, changing interests and shifting priorities. Those lost relationships, however melancholy, are part of the ebb and flow of life.

Some complain the meaning of "friend" has diminished in this Facebook age, when all your contacts are labeled "friends." After all, you can now be "friends" with hundreds - thousands - of people, including that guy you haven't seen since elementary school who is apparently still sporting a mullet (and not ironically), and that bitch who bullied you in middle school ... you know, now she can see how awesome your life is via post after post after post.

Social media hasn't taken anything away from my view of friendship. I readily profess my love and admiration to those I call friend. I offer my heart, my attention and my time to them. In return, they get one of the most sacred gifts I have to give: the unfiltered version of me.

"It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

A life we're not living

Parked my car in the garage last night.

Gonna park it there again tonight.

Big deal, right? After all, it's mortgaged square footage set aside for that very reason. And while I'm not a huge fan of having my car so close to my kitchen - I'd much rather re-purpose the space to use for entertaining instead - I do appreciate not having to scrape frost from windshields at 7 a.m. on cold January mornings.

The big deal for me in all this is that I used to not be able to park in the garage at all, thanks to heaps of clutter: stuff, junk, collections, jumble.

Whatever you want to call it, it was once in the way.

A dark and narrow path.

It's much better now, but not great. As I've said before, we've lived in this little house for more than 10 years now and a complete re-do, clean-up and organization of the garage has never happened. It has become one of those projects that gets put off ... and off ... and off ...

But it needs to be done.

And so in the spirit of this new year, when so much motivation gets hefted toward organizing our lives, we do plan to finally give this space the attention it desperately deserves.

And that means some stuff's gotta go.

I wonder sometimes, How can three people accumulate so much junk?

The fact is, I know darn good and well how: by not clearing out old things as new things come in. It's a habit begun years ago, back in the early days of our first home together, a big, old house with lots of rooms and spaces. My husband and I (mostly me) set about filling it with antiques and collections. The house that had been so empty and echo-y evolved into a fun, eclectic home.

And then we moved ... to a much, much smaller space.

All those cherished items we (mostly I) had lovingly collected moved right along with us and into garage storage. I couldn't bear to part with anything just in case. Just in case we bought a bigger house. Just in case the items proved to be of value. Just in case I ever needed to use them again. Just in case I might regret letting go.

I was holding on to the material possessions of a life we were no longer living. By doing so, I was depriving myself of full immersion into the life I was currently living.

And scraping a lot of winter windshields.

That gorgeous red suit I used to wear to job interviews? About three sizes too small. I held on to that suit for 10 years just in case. Just in case I ever lost enough weight for it to fit again. Just in case I ever needed to confidently dazzle a la 2001.

In reality, it was taking up precious closet real estate my current suits needed - you know, the ones I actually wear to the job I now have in the life I actually live. And so the red suit was donated so another confident woman with a great figure could dazzle the world.

Letting go of stuff means we have to do some self-reflection. It requires we take a look at the life we are living and ask ourselves, does this thing have a place ... a place of use, function, sentiment? Does it keep me from making room for other, more pertinent necessities? Am I holding on to the past? Do I still want that life, that dress size, these things - or am I ready to embrace this life, this body, this present?

That's some pretty heavy discernment.

Or, hell, you could just blindly toss it in the donation stack and haul it away.

After all, it's only stuff.

Some day there will be room to store deck furniture out of the harsh winter elements. Today is not that day. 

A new year

I finally bought a 2014 calendar today. Two days in and the pickin's were slim, but I found one for 50% off and the small size I like for its designated spot in the kitchen, so it worked out.

Plus, it has inspirational sayings each month.

Which means I kind of already want to punch it.

Having a mood?

Yep. I am.

It's just the winter blahs. I'll get over it soon enough. Each day, the light will stretch a little longer, reminding us the darkness is fleeting. Until then, we slather on lotion and lip balm, sport soft socks, and slip into flannel PJs at 6 p.m. while binge watching season one of Arrow on Netflix.

See? Life ain't so bad in the wintertime.

After all, there's a brand new year upon us and while I'm late to the party as far as marking off the days with a calendar, I am glad to welcome 2014.

The new year holds so much promise. I like watching it unfold in front of me.

[... like season one of Arrow ...]

I don't make resolutions in January. I tend to reflect on my life and its meaning in the world more so around my birthday in the spring than this time of year.

I don't set goals because of a date on the calendar. Instead, I am generally more task centered, conquering what needs to be when/as it needs to be done. December 31 can roll around and I'm not one to be very sentimental or thoughtful about it all.

It usually just marks the need to buy a new calendar.

But, that said, there are some things I have tried to do with more purpose the last few months and want to continue. As I mentioned earlier, the winter blahs have set in and I don't want to lose momentum, allowing temporary meh to distract me and pull me into a full-on wallow.

This is what I am talking about:

Kindness. I can be a real ass sometimes; unintentionally thoughtless. I would find myself thinking, "I really should ..." and then leave it at that. I've been able to ask, "God, what do I need to do?" and then have the courage to do it. Sometimes, it's just a kind word - a compliment - or a gesture, a smile; other times it is more sacrificial. But it is done with an intention of being a help.

Appreciation. I am over being shy about this and now I just say how I feel to whomever, whenever. Thank you. Love you. Accept you. Appreciate you. You rock. My life is better because of you.

[Yes, it can sometimes be awkward for the recipient, but that becomes his or her thing to work on; not mine.]

Asking. Gah. This one is tough. Sometimes, I need help and asking for it comes with great difficulty. I will do better.

Forgiveness. It's the super power we share with God. Letting go of past hurts is a gift we grant to others, but is is also one we give ourselves. And it can be a struggle.

So perhaps I do have a resolution - a goal - after all: to live a life with purpose. It's not just a 2014 thing that began yesterday and will end later this year. It's my life, my gift.

And I want to make it worthy of sharing.

Today is Going to be a Great Day calendar published by Workman Publishing Company. Art by Emily McDowell.