Embracing the Mundane as Sacred

I hear the sounds of yelling, uproarious laughter and thudding upstairs as the boys are wrestling...again. There will very likely be an injury; such an event is nearly a daily occurrence. Such is the life with boys. And such joy and abandon these kids still have that we adults have lost. I’m trying to learn to see the sacred in the mundane and be mindful in the midst of parenting chaos. Being “present” sounds so monastic, whether Buddhist or Christian or Hindu, but I aspire to progressing in that mental discipline. A very counterculture concept; there don’t seem to be many constructs in our western society that support and encourage this discipline.

So often I hear arguing and squabbling amongst my children, and what parent is motivated day after day to be “present” for that…again? I’d just as soon escape in some fashion. Live through enough of those repeated experiences and the escapism fantasy begins to kick in. I want to shut my bedroom door and lock it. I get on the computer and surf the web. I delve into a book or magazines. Or just lie down and close my eyes. Typical introvert. Worse still, I dive into the argument and try to “fix” it; that strategy doesn’t always end well as I’ve gone into battle already charged, hardly neutral.

Pausing to breathe through each event helps me stop short of reacting.

Rainy days – rain has become sacred in Atlanta. I can see rain as a beautiful gift from God now. The larger challenge is to be thankful in (notice I said “in”, not “for”) muggy, humid heat that I’m so totally over.

It’s tempting to just get “stuff done” when the children are occupied, but I wanted to capture the little person lost in the world of the game. More often it’s the world of Calvin and Hobbs.

Speaking of which, in this solitary game of Bananagrams my little guy was playing to keep himself occupied while everyone else in the house was busy with “older people work”, he spelled out ridiculously long words he’d read in his Calvin and Hobbs collection. Doesn’t even know what half of them mean.

The “transmogrifier” – a Calvin classic creation. Good for hiding, morphing, planning, eating breakfast, or becoming “a 500-story Gastropod – a slug the size of the Chrysler Building”.

Simple natural foods. A holy experience. I forgot the bowl of chocolate.

And on the subject of food, our middle guy is our chef, a true foodie. Baking with his apprentice.

Laundry and dishes? Harder to reconcile this work as sacred…but can I be mindful while doing it? I am reminded of how thankful I am to at least have my own washer, dryer and dishwasher. Recalling trips to the Laundromat in my singlehood brings gratefulness to my heart. Touching the children’s towels and clothes helps prompts me to smile at simple things like my youngest boy’s squishy little body, how my oldest is growing so tall. The slow, multi-step and sometimes plodding nature of this mundane domestic duty, when done mindfully, helps me slow down.

My teenager. ‘Nuff said. Gotta love him.

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Gardening – whether pruning, planting or watering – can never be done in a rush. It’s just not possible, neither is it healthy. It does however connect me with the earth. A great reminder of God’s creation.

Photographing these events, cataloguing their history. Do I want to be so “productive” with my tasks and achievements that I miss these sacred moments?

Many have gone before me who have learned to slow down, be intentional and celebrate the simple. Thankful to God for the gift of serenity.



Skip Forward to Fall

I suppose I’m restless enough at the close of any season to happily anticipate the next one with all it can bring. Having grown up in New England though means that by mid-August, I’m totally over summer. I have an unconscious, internal itching to dig up my wool sweaters and jeans, always forgetting that those clothes will feel torturous until late September or early October, and then only in the mornings and evenings.

Up north back in the late 1960’s, we didn’t ride our bikes off to the first day of school until after Labor Day, and I remember wearing a sweater as mornings were quite chilly. Here in Atlanta, kids could ride the bus home naked and not be cool enough. I wait with cups of ice water to greet red cheeks and sweaty bodies from a long, sweltering bus ride. I walk to the mailbox and returning dripping as though I’ve stepped into an oven. Autumn can’t come soon enough for me.

Honestly, I’m always more excited about fall fashions than spring ones. My boots are waiting to be worn and fun layers and textures are calling. I mean, a good turtleneck, a chunky knit sweater, a smokin’ pair of jeans, some Frye boots – what could be better?  I want to build fires in the fireplace and make hearty stews. And who doesn’t relish stepping outside with a steaming cup of coffee to the gentle bite of dry, cool air that doesn’t hang in walls of humidity but blows lightly through one’s hair?

From the start of school, I’m sniffing about like a rabbit for the smell of fall. At the first cool breeze and scent of leaves in metamorphosis, their true colors emerging, and that je ne sais quoi, this girl is getting’ happy.

Saying Goodbye to the Garden

Look at this humongo zucchini! Eighteen inches of pure summer squash, baby. Size is everything, right?

Just kidding. Did you know that botanically, the zucchini is an immature fruit, being the swollen ovary of the female zucchini flower? That’s a bit gross and clinical-sounding …and I digress. 

Now that I’ve got zucchinizilla and more to harvest from my plot in the organic community garden in which I’ve been a member for three years, I’m bowing out and no more will have summer harvest to proudly bring home. Due to the increasing scheduling complications of having three kids in three different schools this year and moving toward reentry into the workforce, I need to cut extra outside activities and memberships to create more margin in my life.

I’ve had mixed feelings about this garden plot. I sat on the waiting list for at least a year before the plot became available and I couldn’t wait to get started. Vegetable gardening efforts in my back yard had been fruitless (pardon the pun) and discouraging due to the wildlife that consider any of my gardening experiments to be their personal tasting privilege. The yard descends in a 1/3 acre woodland area to a small creek, home to wildlife that eventually find their way up to my deck to partake of the goodies growing in my containers. Consisting of mainly squirrels and chipmunks (and I’m sure the occasional nocturnal rat or possum), veggies are not safe even with chicken wire around them. Somehow the varmints found their way in. Or the soil wasn’t right, or something... because my harvest at each season’s end was pathetic. Yet the small deck area on the south side was the only place that receives full sun for growing edible plants.

But in this wonderful community garden of 32 plots surrounded by a split rail wood fence in the middle of a field on a nature preserve – yes here in a city of nearly 6 million -- there was ample sunlight, open space, and excellent soil. Plus I had the benefit of fellow gardeners whose experience and wisdom I could learn from and with whom I could commune. I got great ideas from just walking around and observing their garden layouts and plant choices. Often, I’d go to water and check on the progress of my plants and someone would be there tending their plants. We’d confer on how to treat certain problems or discuss our current crop. In the back there was a special garden called the “Garden for the Hungry” dedicated to serving a downtown homeless shelter so the participants could have some healthy fresh produce in their minimal diets. I wrote an piece about it in a local newspaper (see "My Articles").

I’ve enjoyed my time in this group working out in the open air with wild birds flying around, a nearby gazebo, an apiary site, home to several hives of honeybees, and the rest of the preserve behind. Gardening so doesn’t fit our contemporary cultural penchant for utilizing technology, speed-based services (like FedEx, ATMs, and instant messaging) and of course -- multitasking. Such business and lifestyle methods of being and working disconnect with the earth and don’t usually require a more unhurried, measured mindfulness, yet they produce instant results that only perpetuate our need for instant gratification.

Gardening slows everything down. It requires a methodical approach and lots of patience. Sometimes, the work can feel very plodding and tedious, but there’s nothing as wonderful as arriving at one’s garden to see colors and shapes emerging out of the ground like a baby pushing out a budding belly -- expectant life growing and ripening each day. It's almost miraculous. And of course, biting into that succulent cherry tomato or tasting the rich flavors of that grilled summer squash -- knowing exactly from whence it came -- brings a simple, organic satisfaction that can’t compare with drawing up the Quicken report or sending the email proposal.

Life choices are a series of trade offs. A sad goodbye to the garden but hello to a little more time.

Good Honest "Boy Fun"

Testosterone on vacation isn’t really any different than at home, just a bit more amped up.

The conversation, whether in the car or in the family room, goes something like this: “Hey, you’re navel cheese!” “Be quiet, Earwax!” “Your Mom!”… (“Is someone using my name in vain?” I respond). Being the Queen – the only family member without an extra appendage – I listen to and endure the endless boy humor and interaction. On a daily basis, there must be at least one wrestling engagement, usually on one of the beds in the beach condo and then one out in the water. What is it with the male need to have a regular bodily struggle 99% of the time? It’s all in fun though a good percentage of that ends up in an injury of varying levels. We women don’t understand or relate to this at all.

Contrary to reports, the weather has turned out to be just wonderful – hot and sunny during the day, cool breezes in the evening. Parasailors periodically fly by my window, the white sand is warm and soft under my feet, the ocean water feels like a bath. Seems rather ethereal and serene doesn’t it? Three boys keep it real. Seldom are there under-the-breath snide remarks or gossip behind backs (the female’s tactic); it’s all out there. God probably knew what He was doing by giving me all boys. If there’s disagreement, you know about it…and the neighbors likely do too.

After one of those loud spats this afternoon, I overheard Matthew (14) say to Wesley (7), “Hey, even if we argue, I still love you”. I gave him a knuckle bump for that one. A rare but appreciated effort to keep the connection lines open.

It's raining again but all the males are out in the water, both surf and pool. Why not? Wesley made a hat out of sand for his hair. Why not?

Soon, my junior barbarians will be tromping in from the beach, wet and sandy, weather-worn but happy. And hungry. Do they ever run out of energy? I’m usually out at the beach or pool but this time I’m the chef, enjoying the quiet with my glass of red wine preparing food and tapping out thoughts on the keyboard.

Counting my blessings.

Rainy Beach Vacation?

It rained on and off during the entire drive down to Florida making my seven-year old concerned that the weather would impede at best, ruin at worst, his plans for fun in the waves. It sort of began to dawn on all three boys that we might not have the proverbial hot, dry, sunny beach vacation we’ve had all their lives. They did end up going in the water in the drizzle and had a blast. The rain fell even harder today and they went in again… and had even more fun, pretending they were on the planet Kamino (the perpetually watery world in “Star Wars: Attack of the Clones”). Fortunately there was no lightening so it was much safer than at home in Atlanta where it seems that when there is rain, there’s nearly always lightening. Followed by inconvenient power outages in our neighborhood…(but I digress).

            The older man bagging groceries at the local supermarket here told me the weather forecast shows a 60% chance of rain each day for the next 10 days. I think I’ll not share that bit of information with the children as that might crush their expectations, though I think they might learn a different perspective as their two experiences thus far with choppy waves from rainy weather are ideal for body surfing. I, for one, have already accepted that we could be spending a large portion of this vacation indoors.

            And quite frankly, I’m just fine with that. Being enough if an introvert, a tired mom in need of relaxation, and a lover solitude and quiet time – even quiet time with the kids playing board games or watching movie dvd’s – eating good food... I could see myself having a simply fabulous time on this vacation, despite rainy, “gloomy” weather every single day. Even as I write, the sliding window in our condo’s master bedroom is open enough to let in the ocean sounds with the misty spray blowing in; and out on the water there is so much grey fog that the horizon is obscured, disappearing into the blur like a film special effect. The rain drops are gently splashing against the window panes and dripping down like great tear drops and there is no hint of blue sky anywhere. I’m absolutely delighted. I’ve got my books, my journal, and my girlie fashion and design magazines. Just found a program on tv (cable of course -- which we don't have at home) about the royal weddings and another on the magical special effects of the Harry Potter films. What could be better?

Reality Show Burnout

Are we becoming ancient Rome? Or as one writer put it, is the “law of the jungle" taking over?

We, the formerly intelligent viewing public are morphing into “the great unwashed”, as we dumb ourselves down while voyeuristically watching intimate, private conversations, outright fights, awkward situations, and people generally making asses of themselves on reality tv. Okay, I said it. "Unscripted documentation of human events in which ordinary people instead of actors are taped on film" – is a hilariously dignifying description for the trash that now dominates the television airwaves. My kids even love it.

Not that it’s all trash – there’s a place for unscripted documentation of ordinary people -- but the trend to frame situations to incite conflict and up the ante of sensationalism is definitely the mode du jour... but is it healthy?? Do we need that much escape from our boring lives? A few shows are simply good entertainment (“America’s Funniest Home Videos”) and don’t pretend to be anything more. Some aim to be heartwarming acts of community and corporate giving (“Extreme Makeover: Home Edition” and “The Secret Millionaire”) – and generally they are, though one sometimes wonders if things need to be so totally over the top when so many in the world are starving and homeless. A few shows actually bring out the best in people. But so many more reveal less-than-virtuous human qualities. Audiences seem to be okay, if not totally thrilled, with watching others feel unsure of themselves, scared, exhausted, embarrassed, humiliated, infuriated, deceived, and deeply disappointed, while either doing the best they can (“The Greatest Loser”) or downright drunk and tacky (“Jersey Shore”).  Do we just want to feel normal compared with the freaks on the screen? And then there’s the issue of participants who magically turn into celebrities despite having no talent whatsoever, i.e. Jessica Simpson “Newlyweds: Nick and Jessica”, Paris Hilton “The Simple Life”, and Kim Kardashian (“Keeping Up with the Kardashians”) among many, many others.

We grew up on sitcoms (“The Brady Bunch), evening dramas (Hawaii Five-O”) and some games shows (“The Dating Game”) – lame though they were by today’s standards. But at least the first two had real storylines with a plot, blessedly uninterrupted by participant interviews. I was interested to learn that “Candid Camera” actually began as early as 1948, which means we’ve had lots of time to develop this genre into what it has become today. Japanese variety shows and European dancing contests have influenced our tv culture too, leading to shows like “Wipout” and “Dancing with the Stars”. There’s certainly a buzz in being the fly on the wall as events unfold, either unbeknownst to the one experiencing it or actually enhanced by the knowledge that a huge viewing audience is right there. The voyeuristic desire and sense of justice is fulfilled with surveillance-type programs like “COPS”. Are we glad someone else got the ticket? “Survivor” – the runaway success story that kicked off the reality programming trend – gave us the excitement of the proverbial desert island experience (a primal scenario?) Using sensation to generate profit is the name of the game, and sadly, it works. But, true to Hollywood’s exploitative mantra: just make money, damn it, it’s not all just spontaneous life happening. The networks put forth the directive to create entertaining stories, then the producers and editors go to work shaping storylines, picking a “cast” who will create drama, even coaching them behind the scenes. The creators are professionals even if the participants are not. It’s the propensity to appeal to the lowest common denominator of viewing interests –escapism, morbid curiosity, excitement, entertainment and peeping. We’ve descended into celebutante cheese (“Real Housewives” faux socialites), fantasy renovation cheese (“Pimp My Ride”  -- take a look at the fabulous and hilarious spoof “Mom My Ride”), romance-related cheese (“Bachelor/Bachelorette”), seriously weird cheese (“Hoarding: Buried Alive”) and job angst cheese (“Shark Tank”). Perhaps the latter takes the edge of the stress off our current market woes and worries?

What’s next – a virtual reality show in which we experience what the participants do via headsets and simulators? Oy, I’m just glad we don’t have cable.

The Myth of Relaxing Summers

‘Scuse me but what happened to the proverbial “lazy days of summer”? When I was growing up (late 1960’s/early ‘70’s), summers were spent playing outside, engaging in play dates with friends, trips to a neighborhood pool, some time at the beach, and the annual trek down South and Southwest (we lived in New England) to visit relatives. Occasionally my siblings and I would participate in a week-long day camp. As a teenager, I journeyed up to Martha’s Vineyard Island for a week or two of the absolute best Christian camp ever (haven’t found one like it since), first as a camper and later as a counselor. Picnics could be enjoyed as cold air was gone for a few precious months, and our crabapple tree moved on from fragrant blossoms to crabby little fruits that fell and rotted in our yard. I loved finding and tasting them though. Perhaps our parents found summers tiring; I don’t know.

My summers seem quite a bit busier than those of my childhood. Is it simply because I’m a parent and have traded school-related responsibilities for summer-related ones? Or is our generation decidedly busier than that of generations past? My three kids are doing several weeks of camps (two different ones which means driving in different directions), the older two are counselors. There was the youth group “away camp”, play dates with friends (who I must help transport), swim team – ah, there’s one huge difference. Neither my siblings nor I made that big of a commitment, and if we had, would meets have lasted 6 hours long? Surely not. Then there are the grown up activities for we parents. I’m certainly busier with writing deadlines, blogging, and other things.

Just seems so much busier. I do love sleeping in later than on school mornings but at day’s end, there still seems like an endless list of unfinished items that spill over to the next day, then the next, then the next…

Does anyone relate to this?