Beautiful Olive

Category: Welcome

  • On Crosswalks and Street Signs

    “Every human community will disappoint us, regardless of how well-intentioned or inclusive.” – Nadia Bolz-Weber

    It’s Sunday and I just returned from Canada. I had a meeting up there, eh. (Sorry about that. I took my husband and my son and it was literally five days of quotes from “Strange Brew.” Our dog has been renamed Hoser and they have not yet lost their adopted accents, nor do they intend to). We flew out on Election night. It was snowing when we took off. The beginning of a 5-day snowpocalypse in Denver that we completely missed, because we went to Canada. The irony is not lost.

    Last night, I wrote the agenda for today:

    Sleep in. Read the paper. Clean out the refrigerator and freezer, restock with appropriate groceries. Catch up on emails and bills. Prepare my mind for Monday.

    The first interruption to this well-played schedule was all of the lights coming on and the alarm going off in the middle of the night. The electricity apparently went out and when it came back online, the Phillips HUE system went crazy. Also, the ADT panel went crazy, even though we don’t use ADT and never have. I am told that the thing is hard-wired to the inner workings of our house and to disconnect it would require that we tear it down (the whole house). Fine, ADT has to stay. I asked my husband “Is there not a way to program the HUE so it remembers its setting BEFORE the electricity is lost (like “OFF”, hello)?” “Nope. That’s the downside to the HUE. Can’t do that.” If you know anybody that works for HUE and controls the APP, please fix this. This is dumb. Bottom line: My schedule was disrupted before it even started.

    I did manage to go back to sleep. I woke up at 8. For me, that is sleeping in. Box checked. Next, I read the paper. It was filled with all of the things a paper is filled with. Still, I love to read a paper and I always try to filter out stories that will change my life from ones that will shorten it. Box checked. I walked into the kitchen for a second cup of coffee and began the clean-out task. The refrigerator was easy – mold, bye-bye. I moved onto the freezer, where I incessantly add pieces of meat in freezer bags. Sometimes I am wise and engrave a date, but mostly it’s a game of meat roulette: Choose-A-Bag. It might be freezer-burnt, it might not be chicken, it probably won’t kill you but will taste like it will. I vow to STOP putting extra meat in the freezer. This is not a process that works for me and my household. I probably shouldn’t even own a freezer. Note to self, get rid of freezer and ADT. I guess the house has to go for the ADT to go, so that will also take care of the freezer by default. Box checked.

    I got all of those things done. But, I kept thinking about this past week and how it felt to be in Canada and then return to the U.S. And two words popped into my head: Peace and Inclusivity. I have no idea why. When you like to write, things like this pop up all of the time and you are supposed to honor that. A favorite author of mine, Anne Lamott, tells writers to carry index cards for just this reason. Ideas pop in and if you don’t record them, they float right back out to the next person who is ready to receive them. Well, I don’t want my idea stolen by a person who just happens to be more ready to receive it, so when Peace and Inclusivity pop into my head, I abandon the grocery list and come here.

    “You find peace not by rearranging the circumstances of your life, but by realizing who you are at the deepest level” – Eckhart Tolle

    Canada was nice. I haven’t travelled a lot, but I have been to Denmark and it reminded me of Denmark. The drivers were unaggressive. They drove in the right lane(s) and meandered into the left only to pass. Speeding didn’t appear to be a thing. I love their crosswalks. All lanes of traffic stop and pedestrians can cross any which way they want. Seems safer, although I haven’t studied the data. I also love their signs – the “Slippery when Wet” sign is a person literally falling to their death with an “Oh, Shit!” expression on their face. Their exit signs don’t say “Exit”, but instead show a person running really fast toward the stairs. I don’t know why, but I find their signs simpler, more entertaining and less verbose. Plus, it’s just fun to laugh over signs. We all need more levity in our lives. We take ourselves too seriously in the U.S.

    So, coming back from Canada with an election hangover (for just under 50% of us – the other just over 50% are coming off an election high) begs some questions. For as long as humans have lived on this earth, we have been nomadic. We don’t relate to it much here in America, because for the past 150 years we have mostly stayed put. “I’m from Kansas, so…well, I’m from Kansas.” But humans have been moving around the globe for all time. They seek better food, water, weather, caves. They seek people, environments, landscapes and hardscapes that will sustain their lives to their end, with a minimal amount of hardship. Let’s not lose sight of the big picture. We can pretty much move anywhere we want. We are not stuck. But, remember what Nadia warned us about: Every human community will disappoint us, regardless of how well-intentioned or inclusive. And then Eckhart reminded us that we won’t find peace by rearranging the circumstances in our life.

    Peace and inclusivity. Who can argue against them? They are boundless and infinite and positive and loving. Like crosswalks at intersections that allow you to cross any which way you like. I support your journey to wherever it is you are headed, as long as it is filled with a path toward peace. I’ll be here for awhile, fighting for funnier, more universal signs and for crosswalks that allow people to cross whichever way they need to go. Also, if you can fix that HUE thing? You will be my hero, complete with a cape and everything.

  • Where do we go from here, now that all of the children are growin’ up?

    The Alan Parsons Project has always been a favorite of mine. Any time a song of theirs streams across Sirius, it’s shut-the-heck-up-in-the-cabin, people. Just listen. The “Eye in the Sky” alone bequeaths respect. But, also, is it weird that they have a song called “Sirius” that was released way back in 1982? You figure that out. Maybe ask your friend on your wrist. She’s likely to interject, but more than that, she’s likely to listen. She’ll weigh in on Tuesday, when you’re in the middle of something more important than her. She doesn’t care.

    I really wasn’t sure I was going to return here. To this blog. I made this space. I worked hard to coordinate the blog name to the content. “Little Miss Sunshine” is a classic. Watch the movie if you haven’t. Many of my closest friends and relatives have followed my blog for the past 4 years. But, in spite of the support, Beautiful Olive really hasn’t kept up with the rush of society. Honestly, there’s probably a way to speak a blog into existence these days that would catapult Beautiful Olive into a space I can only imagine in my mind. Typing is yesterday. So is the written word. Same:Same. Better to video it. Tik Tok and ‘Gram go more places, faster. I really think I might be the last blogger to use real words. But you heard it here, last. LOL. Olive, stay the course, girlfriend.

    Every year I get an email from BlueHost reminding me of my annual payment to reserve this blog space. This little corner of the interweb that nobody else can take from us. Unless I let it go. So, do you think I’m going to let somebody else take BeautifulOlive by not making my payment?! Nope. I paid up and I will continue to pay up. She is good for another year. And all the years until she isn’t. Nobody else will type words onto this space but me. Kinda scary. And it’s a triangle of the most inauspicious triangles. Hardly anybody knows we are here. But we are. In this little tiny corner.

    Pause.

    Like I said. I wasn’t sure I was going to return here. But, now that the children are growin’ up, where do we go from here??? I mainly came here today to tell you a few things that popped up in the last few days. And then, we will figure out where we go from here, now that the children are growin’ up.

    1: As a 51-year old, I asked my therapist (I’m not sure she is actually my therapist…but she is delivering therapy to me, so…) well, where do I go from here? “Kerri. Anxiety and Excitement can be very similar in their presentation. It’s important to tease them out. For a long time, decisions were anxiety-provoking for you. Now, we will reframe them as Exciting.” Hmmm. That is something. And then she went on to delineate how Anxiety and Excitement elicit the same biological response in our bodies. It’s how we intercept the biology and respond to it that decides whether we label it Anxiety-Provoking or Exciting. Hmmm…psychology comes back around. I majored in her before I went to dental school.

    2: Also, my therapist said “Kerri, for twenty years, you and your husband were responsible for your 3 little people. Your decisions affected them more than anyone else. But, guess what? They are almost all gone. Flown. On their own. 9 short months and ALL flown. Then, it’s just you and your husband again.” THAT gave me PAUSE. In a good way. (Cue the inset dialogue box – I don’t know how it got here on my blog and I don’t know how to get rid of it. Neither do the children)

    Where do we go from here, now that all of the children are growin’ up?

    Before I became a dentist, I was a writer, a lawyer-in-training, a philosopher, a statistician. I took stats, philosophy, biology, psychology of the brain, chemistry and western civ in undergrad. I was 19-21 years old.

    All of the children are growin’ up. Where do we go from here?

    I found a writing group online last week. Apparently, November is National Novel Writing Month. They have a challenge every November. I joined it. I will write 50,000 words and make a novel.

    How long does it take to write 50,000 words if a person has another full-time job and other obligations? Who the heck knows? Nobody can tell me this. I just chose excitement over anxiety. I might write 80,000 words instead of 50,000. Or even 100,000. 80,000 is the average number of words in a novel these days. So, 50,000 might not do the trick. Or it will. Or 100,000 will be the Opus. or 150,000. Limits are annoying. Why would we want them? Bye-bye, Limits.

    This writing challenge is not for anyone else but me. It’s not for the blog, vlog, tik tok, facebook, friends, family, sign post, convenience store, library book shelf or “Welcome to our State” sign or whatever other medium I forgot to list here. The words go out, but not in. I get to change, tweak, tear down and rebuild, before anyone else gets in there to do the same. THAT is a sandbox I haven’t built in before and I’m looking forward to that. That playground deserves my attention. #mysandbox

    My therapist-not-a-therapist asked me WHERE I would write, now that the children are grown. I said “Well, I have a laptop, so, you know, I just go all over!” She said “NO. If you are going to be a writer, it’s time to act like, portray, behave like a writer. Where do you write? Where is your space?” And she smiled at me over the sorry-ass zoom camera on that fall Friday in October. To which I answered “Well, when you put it like that, our living room is a space we have named The Salon. We discuss things, talk, take care of each other and observe there. It’s a space where important ideas are exchanged. We don’t have TVs there. I have a desk in there and, right now, it houses the vinyl player and boxes. There is a random couch in our Salon that needs to move on, but I can change that.” She said “Yes. I want you to create that. You need it.” And I moved that Vinyl player. And the boxes and all that didn’t serve this writer. And I told that couch-owner to come get that couch or it was going to be donated. He should show up on Thursday or the couch will go to a new home. Because Thursday is trash day. I’m taking back a space I never knew existed. To sit down and embody someplace you never felt was purposeful is something. I’m not sure it has a name. It’s just a corner with a plant and a chair. In the Salon.

    Where do we go from here, now that all of the children are growin’ up? (Look at that, I got rid of the inset…)

    I wish I could tell you. But, I saw some things this week that broke my heart and moved me more to my center that has always been there, but was just ignored. Why are some called at 28, 38, 48, 58, away to the eye in the sky? Why do some get all the time in the world to build a thousand temples in the sand and others of us get just enough time to build a widget that sticks up a centimeter above the dirt before we are called back home? Why was I called to work on teeth – a concrete medium, with a relatively uniform roadmap – in an increasingly disjointed world? There aren’t even joints in teeth – did you know that? Nope.

    I’ll see you in January. I’ll bring you an update. In the meantime, read back issues of Beautiful Olive. She has some things to say that are still relevant. The children are growin’ up. It’s time we did, too.

  • Change Lanes.

    I never know when I’m going to write. I go months sometimes. If I try to force it, it never goes well. It’s as though there is a giant, stuffed hand in my face waving back and forth with a message: “This is not your day job, girlfriend. Let it UNFOLD. Go do root canals and come back tomorrow.” I’m never sure if that’s good advice or bad, but it seems counterproductive to argue with that damn hand, so I never do. But, today I heard these lyrics and then the words just showed up.

    “I’m pretty sure
    I don’t got a lot of time left now
    If I want more
    Then I’m gonna have to figure this out…

    Change lanes
    Change this game quick
    Or remain in the same place
    Fighting all the same shit”

    These lyrics are from “Right Now” by the artist Nathan. I’ve never heard of Nathan before, but his song was in my “Riding Mix by Spotify” and I loved it when I heard it today. This song has got a great beat. You should give it a listen. The lyrics are a bit repetitive, but they’re powerful nonetheless.

    It’s imperative that you note, I heard this song on my “Riding Mix“. I was riding a bike! For real! Which is what I want to talk to you about. I’ll get serious for a minute, then I’ll lighten it back up.

    I’ve had a growing unease lately with my physical and mental self. It was so gradual, I didn’t even notice it at first. I’m 52. Everything is weird in your 50’s. It’s like being a teenager all over again, only in middle age. It’s so awkward. Some of the parts aren’t sure what they’re supposed to be doing and some of them are ready to give up (looking at you, knees and hips). Other parts are still 16 and wholesomely play that part until they land the entire body in the ER (um, shoulders…). Aging is a gradual thing and that is why Age is such a sneaky bastard.

    More often than not, I wake at some point in the middle of the night. Sometimes, I go right back to sleep. Other times, deep conversations play out in my mind. One conversation plays on repeat. To put it bluntly, my liver and my heart have been sending smoke signals to my daytime self. The organs themselves have been talking to me at 3 a.m. They tell me they are not alright. Their incessant chatter keeps me awake in the middle of the night, because that’s the only time they have my undivided attention.

    My liver and my heart have said, on multiple occasions, “We’re gassing out here. We just want to let you know. If you want to do something about it, you should start now.” The words were oh-so subtle at first, but gradually became more verbose. And always in the middle of the night. I would lie there at 3 a.m. with one hand on my heart and the other on my abdomen, certain I heard the words in physical form, coursing through my body. I’ll tell you, it’s terrifying when your organs tell you things that are solid. Inarguably solid.

    So during the day, I started to move. I just moved. The first weekend, I went into the mountains with my son. I walked over 10 miles and closed those Apple rings several times over. Then I rode my indoor trainer, blowing off piles of accumulated dust. (It was my smoke signal answer back to my liver and heart. Lol.) I lifted weights. I boxed. The next weekend, I hiked again, this time with another son and his girlfriend.

    Since those first few weeks, I’ve walked the golf course several times. I’ve been on the bike so many times that my saddle soreness is not a thing anymore. There are no more smoke signals because all of the dust is gone. The majority of my laundry consists of workout clothes. I move almost every day.

    To be clear, I’ve also failed. I don’t move every day. I eat crap I shouldn’t. I drink crap I shouldn’t. My liver and my heart are still holding conference with me at 3 a.m. But, they’re also showing signs of healing. As I lie there in the middle of the night and listen to my organs lecture me, I can hear their worry transition into hope and their remorse morph into forgiveness. It’s not perfect, but we don’t go there. The only thing I’ve really done differently in the past 6 weeks is move. I just started moving every chance I could. I found people who would move with me. I found music I could move to. I just simply moved.

    Nathan’s line “I’m pretty sure I don’t got a lot of time left now” pierced my gut today and made me want to write. I can’t tell you how many times, at 3 a.m., this has been the dominating thought. When you hear your body talk so frankly to you in the stillness of the night, when the whole world is asleep, it resonates with all your parts. Even the parts that think they’re still 16. They all sit up and listen. And I’ve learned that the only way to corral them is to move. Move your whole body in your awake hours, in whatever way you are capable. It releases feel-good hormones, it makes you remember you are still very much alive, it moves the rings and it makes you smile because you did something physical for your bones and muscles and pieces and parts. Remember, Age is a sneaky bastard, but his nemesis is movement.

    “I’m pretty sure
    I don’t got a lot of time left now
    If I want more
    Then I’m gonna have to figure this out…

    Change lanes
    Change this game quick
    Or remain in the same place”

    AGE IS A SNEAKY BASTARD, BUT HIS NEMESIS IS MOVEMENT.

  • Temper Thyself!

    TEMPER : verb

    tempered; tempering ˈtem-p(ə-)riŋ 

    transitive verb

    To dilute, qualify, or soften by the addition or influence of something else : MODERATE

    Each time I study a painting, I wonder how much it differs from the novel idea the artist first had.  Did he or she paint the entire scene in their imagination first, only to deconstruct and overhaul it on canvas a multitude of times?  Were there layers upon layers of paint on that canvas?  Or was it just right?  Did they perfect it all in the mind first, the only subsequent job being to transfer the image to canvas?

    I write in my head for days before my fingers ever touch a keyboard.  The ideas are born from daily life.  My kids, my husband, my business, my dog, things I read online and things I witness as I wander about the earth.  Same as you – I look around, I make observations and then I say something about them.  This past Friday morning, I woke to the news of women behaving badly in congress.  And, poof, there was my original idea for a post.  Women Behaving Badly in Congress.    

    That was Friday morning.  It’s now Saturday evening.  The Invisible Pencil in my Brain (where all first drafts are written) has been making notes for two days about Women Behaving Badly in Congress, but the keystrokes just started a half an hour ago.  How much does this final, written product differ from my original idea that swam in my head?  Read on.

    The Invisible Pencil in the Brain, Friday morning 10:37 a.m.:

    What in the actual hell is happening up there in Washington???  I can’t believe what I am reading.  One grownup adult woman actually said to another grown-up adult woman, WHILE THEY WERE BOTH DOING THEIR ADULT JOBS THAT THEY ARE PAID TO DO (albeit not paid much, I do appreciate that):  I think your fake eyelashes are messing up what you’re reading.  Again…I THINK YOUR FAKE EYELASHES ARE MESSING UP WHAT YOU’RE READING.

    I read on to understand more about how this unfolded and where it went from there.  It didn’t get better.  It got worse.  There is no reason to replay it here.  Google has a purpose, you can look it up if you’re unfamiliar.  Throughout the day on Friday, the Invisible Pencil in my Brain was furiously writing.  There was so much to say, really.  Women in Afghanistan just want to go to a store or a school without a male escort and we are over here tearing each other down over eyelashes???  I was hopping mad and the Invisible Pencil was mad at work.  The ideas were building and forming and molding.  

    I woke up the next day ready to get it all down on paper.  I asked some of my women friends and family for their thoughts on what had transpired in Washington.  I emphasized to them that my post would not be political, but would instead focus on what it means to be a woman and the ways in which we treat other women.  Here are their thoughts:  

    “Oh boy!  I’ll have to give that some consideration.  I’m not sure my thoughts on how it made me feel should be published!”

    “You mean beyond my first reaction?”

    “I need to look into more about the catty congresswomen argument, I saw a brief clip and was disgusted!!”

    “It was like a Jerry Springer episode omg I was so embarrassed to be an American watching that.  How pathetic.”

    “Hellooo!  I have a different take on it.  I don’t like to see it described as cat fight or whatever other terms to make it a fight between women.  Many of the men and women in that Congress behave shamelessly every single day.  To tag the women with this creates yet another double standard.”

    “I actually didn’t follow that.  I don’t really pay much attention to the news and some of the things that go on in politics.  I do, but not as much as others.  I just kind of focus on the platforms and what people stand for enough that I can vote and feel good about it.  All that background noise and everything I kind of stay away from…I just try to stay away from all that negative BS because it distracts me from the main point of trying to decide which way I wanna vote and where my beliefs are.”

    “I just watched it this am and my first comment was that it made women look so bad and catty.  I’m sure even the congressmen in the room were like omg…It was embarrassing – on both sides.  The eyelash comment was childish, but Crockett could’ve/should’ve responded/addressed it in a more mature, grown-up manner…not how representatives should behave.”

    I let their texts roll in throughout the day and by evening, I was ready to write.

    My first words:

    What in the actual hell is happening up there in Washington???  I can’t believe what I am reading.  One grown-up adult woman actually said to another grown-up adult woman, WHILE THEY WERE…………

    And then, much like the painter and his painting, this piece began to evolve and change.  Type, erase.  Type, erase.  As I read and reread the comments my girlfriends shared with me, my heat started to dissipate and I realized I was no longer coming in hot.  I wasn’t even lukewarm anymore. Their words were varied and thoughtful and truthful and I felt a responsibility to be the same with my words.  It was no longer about Women Behaving Badly in Congress. It was about Women Living Above the Bar. Way Above the Bar.

    To Temper something is to Moderate it, according to Merriam-Webster.  But to Temper something is to also Mature it.  To Mature the thought, the idea, the prospect, the delivery, the spirit.  These paragraphs you’re reading have been Tempered over the past 48 hours.  And why?  Because I asked some of my dearest friends and family to share their thoughts with me.  It caused me to pause and consider what message I would deliver using their words as backup.  I had to change my tone.  

    What’d I learn?  To pause.  To think.  To consider.  To allow a thought, an idea, a brainstorm to ebb and flow for a minute.  48 hours ago, I had a bullhorn and was ready to use it.  I had to get the word out that women were destroying women and were being catty and immature.  And it WAS catty and petty and immature.  But, it’s also other things besides that.  Were their actions Jerry Springer-ish?  Yep.  Were they embarrassing?  Yep.  Were they unique?  Nope.  Why?  Because none of us are good at tempering ourselves.  None of us.  Men AND women.  

    I was ready to throw down about how women backstab and belittle and create scenarios where one wins and the other loses.  But over the course of 48 hours, because of the comments from my supremely awesome women friends, I changed my tone.

    We often don’t witness the creation of something from its inception.  We don’t see the layer upon layer of paint that exists under the surface layer of brushstrokes.  We don’t even get to know which brushstroke was the first or the last.  In writing, we don’t see the words that were there, and then weren’t, wiped out forever with the ‘Backspace’ key.  We only get to see the final product.  And I would argue it’s 1000% better than the first-born idea.

  • Seats Available.

    A few amazing things happened recently that I need to talk to you about.

    1. My youngest turned 17. Birthdays do not happen in a vacuum and in our family they require loud noise, tons of people, colors and flavors. It can vary in intensity but they are all still required. Basically, whatever it takes to let the world know that someone in our midst turned another year around the globe – that’s how we celebrate. We monumentize it. It’s a thing. So we did that yesterday. We made the reservations, texted the appropriate people, bought the stuff. We gathered together. But…***About 6 days ago, I got this text: Can …….. come to the birthday dinner? (insert girlfriend)

    2. Well, first of all, of course!!! That son brought that perfect girl. Is it a thing to have an additional person at the birthday table? Yep. We never actually did that before. We have 3 teen/twenty-something boys, but for some foreign/unexplained reason the GF thing hasn’t been a thing for our family. Until now. But I am here to tell you, if she makes your son smile and is a deep part of his life, then yes. It’s an additional thing. And you add the seat at the table. And it’s as natural as butter and lemon cake.

    Let me tell you all about it. I promise this will be short. Why? Because applauding the worth of a person requires so fewer words than lamenting them. And I applaud her. So, there. Short and sweet.

    Numero Uno: She complimented and thanked every person that waited on our table. Water? Thank you so much. Appetizer? Thank you so much. Napkin arrangement? Beautiful! Entree? Delicious, thank you. Dessert? I love it, thank you. You can tell a lot about a person by how they treat people that treat them. She treated every person that tended to her with gratitude. What a beautiful thing. ✔

    Numero Deux: I listened in on my son’s conversation with her during dinner, because that is also how we learn. What did I overhear? “When you went with me to my brother’s performance at his school…” Well, her brother is 10. 10!!! My son went to a 10 year-old’s school performance?? A 10-year old who is unrelated to said son?? Yep. Well, my legs fell off. Children will shock you and amaze you and bring you to the seat of your soul. Let them. That’s what they are supposed to do. I don’t know when this performance was or when he went, but he did that. WOWZA. ✔

    So that just does it, doesn’t it? Our children will surprise us and amaze us and shoot us right out of orbit. Let them. It’s amazeballs. I’m going to ride my spaceship around the globe today and I’ll let you know when I’m grounded again. This particular kid has worked so hard to navigate the world he lives in. I’m so proud and happy and honored that we are a part of his universe. We would not be the same without him and neither would all the other people in his sphere. I’m so excited that other people have found his awesomeness. Let the girlfriends in. They are fine. There are plenty of seats at the table. And they bring things out of our sons that we can’t. What a beautiful thing!

  • Snow Day!

    My favorite part of a big snow day? The unplowed street on that first evening. The storm has wound down. The snow plows haven’t yet come by – they have bigger roads to plow and the neighborhoods must be patient. But, a snow day never stops people’s needs and the people have to move. And so they have. All day long. The movement has created a mish-mash of snowy mess on my street that is absolutely stunning. The ruts and the clods and the tire treads, the footprints, the melty parts. For the first 24 hours, the neighborhood streets fend for themselves in a snowstorm and they tell a story.

    Tonight, about 3 a.m., the snowplow is going to come through my ‘hood. It will make a distinct, coarse, scraping sound as it carves a central line down the middle of my street. Clods of snow will be shoved indiscriminately to the left and to the right. There will be no witnesses – it will be 3 a.m. And just like that, the DNA of my neighborhood will be wiped clean. Ready to start anew with a uniform path back out into the world, furrowed by that piece of metal backed by a motor. Routine will start again because we can’t stop time.

    Snow imprints parts of your LIFE for just a short bit. And then it melts to create room for something new. How beautiful is that???

  • It’s Hard to Be Imperfect.

    8.14.2021.

    That was the date of my last blog post.

    It was about buying a kayak and floating around by myself with my thoughts.

    My modus operandi is to start anew whenever something doesn’t go perfectly. Drop a stitch on the knitting project? Tear it all out and start over. Even better, find a different pattern and move on – that pattern was clearly and inherently FLAWED. Stuck on a crossword puzzle? Turn the page and start with a clean slate. That fresh, white page with all of those empty boxes? There is so much potential there. Letters are dying to be cast into the right spaces and not a single mistake has been made. Stepped away from your blog for a bit too long? Start a new one. No one will know the difference as the internet goes on forever and will swallow whole and without apology whatever you put there. New name, new page, fresh start.

    Wait. What?

    Have you ever stepped away from something for so long that the thought of going back to it was ludicrous? In October of 2021, I thought “Look at the calendar. It’s time to create a new blog post.” But, in October of 2021, I was in an emotional free-fall and I didn’t care to share. “Later,” I said to myself…

    At the end of December, 2021, we were still stuck fixing the broken axles and tie rods of life and, honestly, we were slogging. Did anybody really want to read about that? At the start of a new year??? Nope. “Later,” I said to myself…

    In February of 2022, the wind changed and we got some much-needed relief. By that point, I was so tired of treading water that I just wanted to sit in my transient cocoon of peace and stare at the blue sky. “Later,” I said to myself…

    In April of 2022, big changes were coming to our household and we had to prepare. College, moving out, road trips, and summers spent away from home were all looming. The family body was getting ready to split across the country in ways it never had before. I had to get ready for that. “Later,” I said to myself…

    I guess now, it’s “Later.” I don’t like yarn repairs or eraser marks or blogs that aren’t updated according to the calendar. I am the queen of “Get it right from the start or start fresh. Does anybody have to know about the previous starts that never saw the light of completion? Bury the evidence and slap on a new smile, girlfriend!”

    302 days have elapsed between 8.14.21 and 6.12.22. That’s too many days. Have you read any of the “How To Blog?” guides? 302 days between posts breaks all the rules and it is exactly how blogs die. Whatever the last page of the internet search is, that is where you will find this blog right now. I’m sure she already died in the water.

    But, I still love “Beautiful Olive.” On November 14, 2020, I breathed life into her and it became a thing that I created that had never been. It’s imperfect. It’s definitely not my best work. I don’t even know what my best work is. But, I do think I have to stop covertly tossing out all of my work in the interest of “starting fresh.” Beautiful Olive” isn’t as easily trashed as a pile of yarn or a book of puzzles. Apparently, there is an electronic footprint on the internet. Ergo, she can’t be trashed. My modus operandi hit a snag.

    I need to tell you that I still don’t have my kayak. Therein lies another reason I hesitated to return to this page. How embarrassing is that? 302 days ago I announced to you and the whole internet, that I was going to get a kayak. I still have not. I want the kayak. I have a vision for it and exactly how it’s going to help me power through life problems with force. But the kayak is not a part of my life yet, other than in my mind. It’s so hard to circle back to what hasn’t yet been completed, isn’t it? It’s like your unchecked to-do list grows a stadium-size index finger and follows you around, poking you in the shoulder.

    So, I don’t have my kayak yet and I waited 302 days to update my blog post. I’m pretty sure my scarf has a dropped stitch or seven, but it’s been in the closet for nine years, so who really knows? It’s hard to be imperfect. Much harder than being perfect, I think. But, I was at REI with my son yesterday and the kayaks are on sale. Here’s to circling back. Have a beautiful week.

  • Mid-Life Crisis: The Kayak Project

    I’ve been struggling lately. Have you? Struggling. Isn’t that the phrase du jour? Covid. Wild Fires. Floods. Climate Change. Murderous Insects. Something called an Army Ant that literally took my friend’s yard from lush green grass to dead, dead, dead in just 3 short days. Yep. I’ve been struggling.

    As I am firmly planted in middle age, I feel like I am watching my life from outside my body. And it’s full of judgment:

    • I thought I would be further along by this point in my life (insert retirement savings, college savings, savings in general, health and wellness, travel, business, friendships, spirituality, enlightenment)
    • I thought “this…” was what I wanted (insert clothes, shoes, house, car, massage, bike, fancy makeup brushes), so why am I still dissatisfied?
    • I thought I would “be…” by now (insert “here, there, anywhere”)

    I believe the mid-life crisis for women is slow and drawn-out. It’s a gradual feeling of unease that creeps in around the edges and blurs our sense of self. In our twenties, we take risks. We are full of confidence. Our bodies will still do exactly what we ask of them and our brains are whip-sharp. We just go and do and drive that bus wherever we need it to go. Life is so full of potential and the horizon is barely visible.

    In our thirties, we are so busy. Our careers are solidly moving forward. Our kids are young – they make us smile and laugh and give hugs and sloppy kisses freely. Our bodies still do what we ask of them because what choice does it have? We are BUSY. But, it’s a GOOD busy. The horizon is beautiful, but still so far away.

    In our forties, our kids have grown older and more independent. We are glad to do all of that taxi-driving because we are spending precious time with them. We are still BUSY, so we barely notice that the body is getting a little more defiant about things we ask it to do. We start to hold our book or our phone or our mail an inch farther away from our eyes. And then another inch and another inch still. Finally, we are holding all required reading at arms-length before we trudge into Costco to buy the 6 pack of readers. The horizon is not so far away now, but we are busy with teens and careers and everyone knows “We are in our PRIME because we can go to dinner or a movie or even a night away because our kids are old enough to be home alone for more than 30 seconds” so who cares about a horizon??? And we don’t mind the readers, they come in tons of fashionable styles!”

    I’m on the precipice of turning fifty. I can’t yet write about what the fifties will be like because I’m not there. But, the latter part of the forties has been admittedly uncomfortable. They’ve made me question everything I’ve done up to this point and everything I’ll do in the latter half of my life. This is why it’s a Mid-Life Crisis. MID-LIFE. See? You look behind and you look ahead and you tell yourself all sorts of ridiculous stories about how your life is turning out now that you’re in the middle of it (see above “I thought by now…..). And I hate to generalize, but I will anyway. I believe that for men in Mid-Life Crisis, the realization that they are within it comes fast and furious. And then the decision about what to do about it also comes fast and furious. They buy the sports car. They jump careers or jump out of an airplane or put in a pool and a backyard kitchen. They turn 180 degrees and everyone nods and says “Mm-hmm. See? Mid-Life Crisis.”

    This is not the case for women. Remember, it’s a gradual unease. We start to question ourselves and our station, but it’s so subtle. We are a little heavier than we were in our twenties and thirties and early forties. We are noticing our skin is more wrinkly and worn and tired. Our bodies are getting more belligerent when asked to do certain things. Our kids are growing into adulthood and we are seeing that we most definitely made some mistakes in parenting. Ouch. That’s a blow to the mom-ego.

    The Merriam-Webster definition of a crisis: An unstable or crucial time or state of affairs in which a decisive change is impending. This is where I am. It is an unstable and crucial time. I can’t, nor do I want to, live in this state of unease indefinitely. And I think I’ve been here for several years. It’s making me tired and scared and despondent. I want out of the Mid-Life Crisis. Because when we live in this state too long, it causes us to withhold all of our gifts and talents and goodness from the world around us. The world needs each of us as we are, not as we think we should be.

    So, how to climb out? We are told by all of the professionals to take baby steps. Incorporate small changes daily. Walk twice a week for just twenty minutes. Add one piece of fruit a day. Wake up ten minutes earlier. Get your coffee at home, save $$$. Drink one more glass of water a day. Start small and the change will become a habit. Right? Here’s the thing. We think too small. The reason we are uneasy at this stage in our life is that the world NEEDS us to be our big, beautiful selves and instead we are over here in the corner being small. That’s why we are STRUGGLING. We are grappling with a horizon that is now clearly approaching and we gave up our coffee and drank more water and ate the banana and NOTHING HAPPENED. We still feel uneasy and restless and inadequate.

    The Mid-Life Crisis requires a bold response. The other day I came across this in Jen Sincero’s book “You Are a Badass at Making Money”:

    If you want to change your life, change your life.

    Well, there you go. That’s really all there is to it. But, instead, we women are over here overanalyzing, overthinking, overstressing. If we want to change our lives, let’s change our lives!

    There is a saying “Spend twenty minutes a day in nature unless you are too busy, then spend an hour.” I am one of those “too busy” people. I multi-task and juggle 18 things at once. I am a “doer”. And I am pretty sure I wear it as a badge of honor. But, I’ve always been intrigued by this saying because it is the antithesis of the way I live my life. I don’t know how to “not” do. As I pondered the Mid-Life Crisis and how to get out of it, I realized that what we all need to do is something dramatically different, completely out of our comfort zones. Something that will make us terribly uncomfortable for a little bit.

    Enter The Kayak Project. To begin emerging from my Mid-Life Crisis I plan to get a kayak, take it to the lake several evenings a week and float around in nature for an hour all by myself. I’m not going to be on my phone or talk to people or read or listen to podcasts. I’m just going to be in that kayak all by myself for an hour. I am going to do this MOST ESPECIALLY when I don’t have the time. As a Type-A person who really doesn’t know how not to be busy, this is going to be HARD for me. I don’t yet know how to be alone, skimming around aimlessly in nature when there are so many things that need to get done on the homefront. It gives me anxiety just considering it. I don’t even own a kayak! I have only actually been in a kayak one time in my 48 years of life! But, all of this is solvable and I am going to solve it. I realize many of you already kayak and go do all kinds of things on weekday evenings and stay up late all the time, opposite of me. That’s not the point. The point is, I DO NOT. But, now I am going to. So, yes, your Kayak Project will probably look different than mine – just make sure it’s out of your comfort zone and makes you nervous and makes your heart skip a bit. Go take a class, open a business, write a book, bake a souffle, climb a mountain, take a solo trip. Just get it going.

    Eckhart Tolle says “You cannot find yourself by going into the past. You find yourself by coming into the present.” We need to think bigger, ladies. We are restless and uneasy and watching our life from outside of ourselves because we are not being bold enough. Pick something that scares you and gives you some anxiety and do that. Just one thing. If it just so happens that eating another piece of fruit every day or drinking that extra glass of water is what it takes to make your heart skip a beat and scare you, then maybe that’s your thing. But, I’ll venture a guess that it’s not. We can take a lesson from how men deal with the Mid-Life Crisis and think BIGGER. Small thinking is holding us back. Grab your readers, it’s time to go! Xoxo

  • Look Me in the Eye and Tell Me How You Are

    25 years. My husband and I have been married 25 years today! I don’t know how we got here. I mean, I do but I don’t.

    In our newlywed years, we never doubted our “together foreverness.” We were young and in love. We couldn’t imagine anything derailing that. We were a love-at-first-sight couple and our wedding was one fun party. So, we just figured we were one of those couples with a bullet-proof marriage. But, as our marriage grew in age, we began to witness the separations and subsequent divorces of friends. A few of them were not surprises – to them or us. However, more often than not one of the two spouses was completely blindsided by the split. You’ve heard it, too. Cue a random Tuesday in July. She comes home from work like she always does, tells him that she isn’t happy, that she hasn’t been happy in years and that she is leaving. They had just spent the weekend together having dinner with friends, doing yard work, watching a movie. Everything seemed fine. She seemed fine. He is completely blindsided. And this is a terrible situation because the spouse that has been unhappy for years has been molding this moment in her mind for a long time. She is prepared. But for the spouse that is blindsided, this is devastating. He’s had no preparation, no chance to see it coming and now he’s desperate to work on saving his marriage and she’s already long gone – literally and figuratively. How’s that going to work in marriage counseling? It isn’t and it doesn’t.

    As these marriages were falling like cards around us, Matt and I would continue to be shocked by the couples that were dissolving. We started to look at each other and acknowledge “If it could happen to them, then it could certainly happen to us.” I’m not talking infidelity, lawlessness, drug use, or some other “well, obviously” marriage dagger. Many of these couples were so like us. I understand that we can never really know what goes on behind closed doors, but several couples were as similar to us as I could ever imagine. So, yes, if it could happen to them, then it could certainly happen to us. Scary.

    So, how did we get so lucky to be here together, 25 years later? The truth is, I don’t know! Seriously, I don’t have an answer. But, as I replayed those 25 years in my head, I kept returning to something that Matt and I have been practicing since we realized that divorce doesn’t discriminate. We check in with each other. It goes like this:

    Hey, we’re good, right? We’re still good? Remember, we always say that if we are not good, we will say it and we will start the work to fix it. So, look me in the eye and tell me how you are.

    This is not on a schedule. It doesn’t happen every Sunday at 4. It just happens every few weeks or months. If there’s been another heartbreak on a marriage train, then it’s going to happen more often because that’s scary. If life is flowing like a river, then it’s going to happen less often because that’s bliss. We just check in with each other. And we’ve been doing it ever since our first friend was blindsided.

    Does this bulletproof our marriage? Nope. But, do you know what it does do? It allows us to live in a tiny fraction of uncertainty, comfortably. Marriage is uncertain. It might only be a very tiny bit of uncertainty, but it’s uncertain. And this is because no matter what vows we take, words we say, or acts we do for the other, we can never, ever be 100% certain that our marriage will last until death. We can’t. And the reason we can’t is that we can never know for certain what is actually happening inside of our spouse’s heart and mind. So no matter how much my husband does for me, says to me, or showers onto me, there will always be a small space of uncertainty because I can’t be in his mind and know his thoughts. It is in this space of uncertainty that I have to trust in us. I have to trust that his actions and words are true. Marriage is uncertain but uncertainty doesn’t have to equate to doubt.

    We are currently raising teenagers. This has been our marriage’s greatest test and is the hardest thing we’ve ever done. By this point, we have been on our knees countless times. We have even been flat on the floor. And when there is as serious of an issue as a teen’s life at stake and the two of us are at odds as to the right plan of action, fissures form quickly in the marriage. We have had some terrifying marriage moments in the last five years. Checking in has been crucial. Because when one of us spoke these words “I’m actually not okay. We are not okay right now” for the very first time, we both cried a river. It was so, so painful. We had never answered the “Hey, we’re good, right?” question that way before. We were already struggling at parenting and now, one of us had pointed out that the marriage was in a brutal hailstorm. We almost didn’t know what to do. I think we looked at each other and said “Does this mean it’s over? Did we not make it??” I can laugh about it now, but we truly weren’t sure of the next steps or what it meant for our future.

    Marriage is some hard, hard work. You have to check its pulse every so often. Give it some oxygen, or a nap, or a vacation. I think that’s how we got to these 25 years. We started asking “how are we doing?” and we learned to not fear the answers, however painful they might be.

    Happy 25th Anniversary to my husband, Matt, who really does make my life sparkle like the sunshine. May we never be afraid to ask, and answer, the hard questions.

    “Look me in the eye and tell me how you are.”

  • Saturdays.

    Last weekend, my youngest and I spent two big, fat, glorious days together. The other people that live here were occupied in various ways so we went wherever the day carried us. Saturday was a gorgeous day – 65 and sunny. We did some work in the backyard. We weeded and trimmed. He hammered some wayward deck boards. We ran the dog in crazy circles. Then, we climbed into my husband’s truck, rolled down the windows and sunroof, and set off to Boulder. He was in charge of the music. We sang, tapping the steering wheel and the armrest to every beat. We discussed the song lyrics, the state of the nation, the state of the world, the state of our minds. We hiked. We shopped. We ate. We laughed. We let Saturday circulate all around us and it was good.

    Yesterday was Saturday, again. I texted my son “Hey, Trader Joe’s, Costco, Dick’s…Come with?” An hour later, we’re cruising around town again, playing more tunes, carrying on more conversation. We bought all the unnecessary things at Trader Joe’s, commented to each other on the inordinate amount of people who seemed to be in a hurry at Costco (we decided those people would be better served if they shopped on a Tuesday evening) and, let Saturday settle all around us once again. On the way home, Journey’s “Who’s Crying Now?” came on Sirius and we really cranked it. It was so good.

    At one point, I asked him if it bothered him that I sang along to the music. He said “No. You don’t really sing loud or anything.” And then he went on to say, and I’m paraphrasing, that he enjoys hanging out with me, he enjoys listening to music with me, he enjoys having conversations with me, and that he likes having fun with me. Did you hear that?? He said I was a cool mom, even if he didn’t say that exactly. The rest of yesterday, I was strutting in my coolness. I was like “I’m that mom. I have his ear and his heart. I am so smart and so wise and I know how to parent. All you have to do is drive with the windows down and listen to Journey, people!”

    This morning, I was alone with my thoughts, sipping coffee in the quiet house. A nagging thought started coursing through me and it wouldn’t leave. I sat with it for a while. Then, I went and found that 14-year old, youngest son and said “Do you remember yesterday when you said you enjoy being around me? That I’m a good mom to hang out with, that you’re glad we like many of the same things? Well, I want you to know that you won’t always feel that way. In the next few years, you are going to like things that I don’t. You are going to have opinions opposite of mine and feelings that are contrary to mine. You are going to do this because part of growing up is cleaving away from your parents – both literally and figuratively. In order to grow up, you’re going to seek out things that your parents don’t like and you’re going to do this all ON PURPOSE. You’re going to become contrary and it’s going to cause some friction between us. You’re going to find a way to be different than us. I know that doesn’t seem possible right now, but it will take place. So, right now while I have your ear, I want to tell you that this will be completely normal. And all I ask is that, when you are going through this growing-up necessity of life, you pause often enough and listen to your soul guide you on what is wrong and what is right. When that time comes, you won’t want my compass but you can use your own – it will be reliable and you will be ready. And, finally, while I still have your ear, if you want to rebel in something, don’t pick music. I like just about every kind of musical style there is and I will keep up.”

    I so wish these thoughts of mine would have appeared in my conscience when I was younger. I wish I would have said these same things to my oldest, who is now 19. How much easier would entry into adulthood have been for him if he’d been warned about what to expect and reassured that it was normal? If he’d been told that he had a fine compass and that we couldn’t wait for him to use it, all by himself? Hindsight is always so crystal-clear. For some reason, our eldest children are parented more from a place of fear than from a place of assurance. Fear is the “emotion experienced in the presence or threat of danger” whereas, assurance is “a state of mind in which one is free from doubt.” (Merriam-Webster) By design, we become better parents through age, experience, trials, errors, misjudgments, good judgments, and sometimes, total and complete flub-ups. As we become more seasoned parents, we become more assured and less fearful. The good thing is, it’s never too late. We can always roll the windows down, play some music and ride around with our kids as sidekicks. We can keep connecting with them in whatever way they will let us. And that is truly a good thing.