Miscellany

{anything goes}

Kicking it off in style

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I’ll be heading to the office today. Seems a bit melancholy, that.

You see, last Friday my love and I played hooky (I feel compelled to add that we did so quite legally, in full, grow-up fashion, with approved time off) . . .

We slept in; we sipped coffee and tea and nibbled freshly baked biscuits; we played a rousing game (or two) of cribbage; we meandered a museum;
we read a bit, lounged a bit; we discussed story ideas, and holiday ideas; we ate by candlelight, with music to soothe the soul.

Of course, right on the heels of such delightful nothingness came the usual flurry of activity. We finally took down the tree (all other Christmas decorations had been safely tucked away, mind you, but the tree remained). There were chores to do, clothes to wash, meals to plan, groceries to buy–another hurried week for which to prepare.

But Friday? Pure bliss.

Needless to say, I highly recommend. Even if you’re unable to take a workday, find time that’s all your own; no plans: nothing you have to do, nowhere you have to be . . . just wide open hours with which to kick back, relax, catch your breath, dream, maybe stumble upon an adventure or two . . .

You just never know where it will lead you.

xo

PS. I don’t do well with electronic organizers (I’m sure that comes as a shock). This year, I’m trying something new: a Day Designer. One, it’s adorable; two, it has a full-month calendar + a day-by-day breakdown for the week (including Today’s Top Three). I don’t know; the year’s but a babe, but so far I think it a brilliant idea.

Happy New Year!

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Nothing quite says ‘Happy New Year’ like a dashing fellow sporting a finely kept mustache, leaning ever so gingerly upon a vase of brightly hued blooms, holding a piglet.

Ah, vintage postcards . . .

The older I get the more I find solace in their quirkiness. It’s as if those of the past whisper, “Never fear, love–we had crazy, too.”

Speaking of which, if I had to choose a word for 2018, that would be it: crazy. From headlines to all manner of “offense,” it seemed positively batty. And rather than ignore it (as I’m wont to do), I chose to spiral down the rabbit hole . . . reading articles and posts from both sides of debate; scratching my head, shaking my head, and, occasionally, bursting forth in nervous laughter.

Here’s what I learned from the whole experience: that will never do.

So my goal for 2019 is quite simple. I intend to step off the crazy train.

To start, we’ve cancelled cable. We intend to fill those hours reading and writing, maybe partaking in a rousing game of cribbage, or hand and foot.

And I plan to be more intentional. To do what I can, where I am: to shake off excess; organize; have faith; keep in touch.

Do wish me luck. It certainly won’t be smooth sailing; after all, I spent a good year being appalled into inaction; and therefore, something of a flake. . . . also, I’ve already lost the address book I purchased.

But I’m nothing if not determined.

With that, I return the favor. Happy New Year, my friend–and best of luck to you!

Future’s so bright

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The weather seems to have finally made a turn for the better. Of course, it also seems to have skipped right over spring, and planted its toes firmly in the warm grass of summer. Still, it’s glorious. And everyone seems to be taking full advantage by digging weeds and planting flowers, packing picnics and taking long walks in the park.

After months holed up in of doors, you just never know what you might see.

Take work, for instance. The windows outside our cubicles overlook the bus depot. There’s usually not much to report; but yesterday, the view afforded a plethora of free entertainment.

Our personal favorite: the lady dedicated to getting her groove on. She began right outside the depot. After tripping the light fantastic (and falling off the curb) she collected herself, sashayed her way across the street, and continued to dance in front of the funeral home. Her repertoire was vast, and she didn’t miss a beat: she bobbed and boogied, jumped and jived; she swayed and shimmied. At one point, she even grabbed hold of the bus stop marker and did a wee (yet relatively impressive) pole dance.

I’m hard pressed to think of a more entertaining fifteen minutes of my career.

With that, I hope the days ahead provide you revelry all your own: may you put on some good music and dance like no one is watching; may your heart feel light, and may you spread nothing but joy to those around you.

Happy weekend, my friends.

xo

P.S. I’m fairly certain I need these shades from Warby Parker. Supposedly, they’ve a narrow fit; yet I remain dubious.

From me to you

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Ah, would you look at these beauties? 

They’re Peruvian lilies. If you want to get technical, you can call them by their genus name: Alstroemeria. They’re named in honor of Swedish botanist Baron Von Alstroemer who returned from a trip to South America in the late eighteenth century, Peruvian lily seeds in tow. Thanks to his introduction, they gained popularity in Europe and around the world.

It’s understandable, really. They’re such cheery fellows. My home is rarely bereft of a banquet or two. They boast a myriad of colors; and since they stick around for two weeks or more, I feel nary an ounce of guilt.

They also symbolize friendship and devotion.

Seriously, what’s not to love?

So consider this my gift to you. May you feel the warmth of friendship in the days ahead; and may you find the hours bright and lively–even if winter has yet to give in.

xo

My one and only

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Quite out of the blue, whilst sitting in my car in the Albertsons parking lot, I casually mentioned to God that I would like to meet my husband at church.

It’s not as if I had been pining away for marriage, mind you. As a matter of fact, I had quite made peace with the fact I’d never marry. And church? For years I scoffed at the thought of meeting a guy at church. We’re small in number and eclectic in personality. There’s no way.

Little did I know . . .

A few months earlier a fellow started attending our church, simply because it shared the name of his hometown congregation. Of course, I paid him no mind until he stood directly in my line of sight, playing the guitar. Even then, my thoughts did not stray from the strength of his talent.

Even when my mom, ever hopeful, suggested he was kinda cute–I wrinkled my nose and shook my head. “He’s much too serious,” I said.

And when he called a few weeks later, asking if I’d be interested in joining him for dinner, I agreed–fully expecting to chalk it up as yet another first date on my ever expanding list.

Then I sat next to him, and everything changed.

We chatted about a myriad of things: how we come from vastly different backgrounds (he was the jock in high school, I was the nerd; he played in a rock band in his twenties, I toyed with the idea of becoming an ordained minister); how we share a love of books and travel; how we don’t have it all figured out, but we’d certainly like to try.

Now here we are, husband and wife. His presence is as natural as breath. His touch is soothing. His insatiable curiosity, inspires me. He makes me laugh, everyday; he displays his love in a thousand little ways.

And he’s my first (and only) sweetheart for Valentine’s Day.

Forty-three years I celebrated with nary a date. I may have called it quits with a fellow right before, or started dating him right after, but I never managed to have one around for the actual day. It served as annoyance in my younger years; now I see it as perfection for my sentimental heart.

So you see, sometimes you think you’re offering God a brilliant idea; when really, He’s had it planned all along. Sometimes He pens a love story greater than anything you could have hoped or imagined; and sometimes, the one you love, proves worth the wait . . .