Launch Code It seems so very odd and even counter-intuitive that in one of the most important relationships of our lives the goal is to say good bye. That doesn’t even cover what that actually means. Think of it this way: you have a cellular connection with this little human that came from your body. You nurture them, protect them (yes, to some degree we protect them) and try to teach or at least inform them. You follow closely even when they are experimenting with distance and freedom. You listen and watch and try to learn from them – who they are, where they say they want to go. You try to foster and maintain a connection so that as they pull away and if by some miracle they ask for help, you’ll actually be there and poised to offer it. Or, at least to know what’s going on enough to provide comfort, if not a miraculous “fixit” solution. So, you’ve done all this work, you’ve crafted and maintained a flawed but intricate connection to this beautiful human who’s only just begi...
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The Wild Woman I’ve been thinking a lot about my Grandmother recently. While I’m grateful for the many inspiring women in my world, one of the qualities I admired most about my Mother’s Mother was her ability to have fun. Of course, I know my Grandmother endured all manner of life-altering challenges – she was not immune from life’s weathering ways. But she was made of an especially tough mettle. In fact, I wonder if her mettle wasn’t forged from her ability to enjoy life when the opportunities for doing so emerged. For as many sad times as she survived, boy did she also enjoy some awesome wild times. My Grandmother was, in fact, a Wild Woman. When my Grandmother and her best friend went to Europe together in the summer of 1929 they based themselves in Paris. In the fall, they made their way to Italy, where they ditched the chaperone and went to Algiers. During this excursion, news of the American stock market crash finally reached them and in response they made their way to ...
Little Big Adventures The kids used to give me a hard time about how I defined an “adventure.” An adventure was to me the lens through which even an everyday event might be seen as extraordinary. But they would cut their eyes at me, shake their heads and assure me “No, Mom – getting lost on the way to a new grocery store does not constitute an adventure.” I beg to differ. So, last week when we endeavored to do our own thing during spring break, I had what I would call an adventure. While the older of the two young’uns took off on her own journey, we remaining three headed to the foothills of the North Carolina mountains for a week of camping. Our first afternoon there, The Boy and I decided to get a feel for our surroundings with a walk on one of the trails that originates not far from our camp site. We picked our way through the woods, making note of where we were in relation to the lake, weaving back and forth on the well-worn footpath that traced the undulating shoreline. I...
Stepping into the Circle, Stepping into the Ring I find that I’m turning these days to the internet for a view of what’s going on in the big, wide world. I can choose to read great, long articles laced with links and gorgeous photographs. Or, I can get my news in petite, digestible bites. One of my recent internet finds was a primer on how online authors and commenters should engage on issues of equity when they write from a position of privilege. I am a woman of many layers of privilege: I’m white, I’m the 4 th generation of college-educated women, I get to do work that’s meaningful to me, and I have enough money to purchase exactly the brand of shampoo that makes my super-short, coarsening, red hair stand at age-defying attention. So when I stumbled on this internet gem it seemed important to me that I try to do a better job of reaching around my privilege to address equity in online exchanges. The writer of this article provided useful vocabulary, what a...
The Beginning I am a mother of “big” chirrens (as we say in the South). Our boy started high school this year and his big sister is a Senior. I have discovered that I am largely vestigial as a care-giver, entertaining questions about how much parenting is “enough” and whether I’m asking too much when I look for a hug, or company at the grocery store or information about plans. Mom and Dad are neighbors just 6 miles down the road. They are beginning a new chapter of their own. They grapple with aging in place, how to manage changes in physical capacities and maintain a healthy independence. They are a true love story. As different as Mom and I might be in some ways, I’m taking mental notes and learning her particular gift for loving fiercely. And no one has more grit than my mother. She’s a marvel. Dad is a man who for decades would “sweeten” his coffee with the very tip of my mother’s finger, kissing it afterwards as if to lift lingering drops of either coffee or sugar. H...