Archives for September 2011

Where I’m From

I am from homemade Playdoh in blue and green, from the endless possibilities of Brio trains, and multi-coloured afghans hand knit with love.

I am from beach houses, suburban houses, and the house of many trees, each one a home complete with dogs and dance recitals.

I am from my mother’s mountain, a freshwater spring spilling on to the sand, and a John Denver soundtrack on long drives between the two.

I am from summers at the pool and advent calendars at Christmas, from Rileys and Birds and the traits of the Nelsons.

I am from Calvin and Hobbes quoted at the dinner table and laughing so hard milk comes out your nose.

From you have your mother’s eyes and I’m going to drive with my eyes closed so tell me if we’re going to hit something.

I am from a belief system that knows kids and clothes can be washed and that little girls are more valuable than family treasures accidentally broken.

I’m from a hospital nestled in the foothills, tourtière on Christmas Eve and school lunches that were the envy of classmates, they who wore kilts and blazers and heard pull your socks up and dangly earrings aren’t allowed. (I wore them anyway.)

From boats and salt water oceans, a mother’s hand warm from her tea, and the man who summoned emergency personnel with a practical joke, prompting a fondly-recalled story in the newspaper 25 years later.

I am from fat, brown photo albums, artwork and photos above computers  and a do-anything-for-you kind of love reflected in a lifetime of knowing what it is to have a family.

family photo of children playing in the sand

The beach house where the spring water flowed into the ocean. (That's me on the left. The 4th sibling came later.)

 

Linked up with:

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Let's BEE Friends

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Mama’s Losin’ It

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With thanks to Mama Kat for the prompt using this template based on this original work, which I’d seen before but had not yet been inspired to try. 

And with sincere apologies to my mother if I’ve made her cry (again). 

On the Move: Sharing a Letter at Letters for Lucas

One day many months ago, I saw a Twitter conversation between two bloggers I sort of knew. They were talking about wanting more comments on their posts, so I barged in and said I’d be happy to give them some comment love. One of those people was Tonya from Letters for Lucas.

I was pretty much a total newbie at the time, so I didn’t realize how awesome Tonya is. I’d read (and liked) her blog before but when we made a sort of bloggers’ pact to leave comments for each other I started reading every one of her posts. I quickly discovered just what a beautiful soul she is (especially considering she was a more popular blogger than I but was nothing but nice to me!).

When I went to BlogHer ’11 in August, Tonya and I shared a room for one night. I would gladly spend much more time with this dear friend, but am grateful for that night, a very long conversation, and the opportunity to get to know her better.

Tonya has a new series on her blog called Letters for You, and I was incredibly flattered when she asked me to contribute to it. That’s where I am today, writing a letter to my daughter.

Yes, my daughter.

Intrigued? Come and visit me there.

Letters for You series button

 

Comments closed. Please come talk to me at Tonya’s!

 

When Your Blog Goes Kaput

UPDATE: My husband rocks! He fixed the big problem. Go on…click something. See? Yay! I knew I married him for a reason… (Still sorting out a few other things, but at least now it’s no longer dead.)

Thank you, honey. xo

You will find that if you try to click on anything on this site, you’ll get a lovely error message (complete with lovely blue crocodile).

Yes, my blog is kaput.

No, I haven’t figured out what it is. I’ve been praying to the WordPress gods but apparently they’re busy.

I’m hoping my latest call for help might get the problem solved, but if you’re a WordPress genius and want to come to my rescue, please let me know. It’s mamarobinj at farewellstranger dot com (since you can’t reach my contact page to find my email address).

 

Expect Your Toddler to Tell the World You’re Naked

[Update: the post referenced here seems to have disappeared. Search me (but you won’t find it).]

I’ve got a post up on What To Expect’s Word of Mom blog.

We all know toddlers like to be naked, but I sure wish I had known to expect him to announce to the world (okay, Old Navy) when I was naked (or wasn’t, as the case may be).

You can read my post here [link removed]. (And please tell me I’m not the only one.)

 

Word of Mom blog badge

Genius, Power and Magic: Commitment and a Leap of Faith

I refuse to spend all my time doing something I’m not totally passionate about.

Bold statement, I know. One of those easier-said-than-done things. Ah, but there’s a gap in that expression. The continuum is not merely “say” or “do”. Not at all. It’s actually much simpler than that.

Let me explain.

You’ve probably heard this quote by Goethe:

Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it.
Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.

I love this couplet – it is language dressed to the nines, glittering diamonds draping the dots and dashes of otherwise everyday words making them beautiful.

But these words, to me, are missing something. They’re the destination, not the journey. They suggest one must know the ultimate end as though it were a painting – visualized, sketched and shaped, then painstakingly created with deliberate brushstrokes until the last drop of paint is in place and the picture is revealed.

But life doesn’t work that way.

It can’t work that way.

We just can’t know.

Enter W.H. Murray.

Mr. Murray lived centuries after Goethe and spent three years as a prisoner of war, during which time he wrote the first draft of his first book – which was subsequently destroyed by the Gestapo – on toilet paper. His was a decidedly less poetic life, though not short on boldness.

One of Murray’s books contains the following passage, often written in the form of a poem and misattributed to Goethe:

Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then providence moves too. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents, meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamt would have come his way.

Murray’s original work is clear: “I learned a deep respect for one of Goethe’s couplets,” he wrote at the end of that paragraph, and then quoted the more well-known genius/power/magic couplet, forever linking them and causing his words to be credited to another.

In any case, I think what he’s basically saying is this:

Sometimes you just have to take the leap and build your wings on the way down

That’s what I believe, too. Sometimes we just have to place our faith in the universe (or God or Allah or whatever you believe in) and take that leap, knowing that each of us has within us what it takes to get where we want to be. It doesn’t even really matter if we don’t know exactly where that is.

Sometimes you just have to take the leap and build your wings on the way down.

I have leaped before, into the unknown, knowing nothing except where I wanted not to be. And I’ve found what Murray suggests to be true: Upon committing to something, things start to happen. Sometimes the path goes sideways for a bit, or even backwards, but if you stick with it you will end up where you’re supposed to be. It might not be where you wanted to end up, mind you, but it is where you’re supposed to be. I believe that to be true.

That’s why I have, again, taken the leap. I have decided to be bold and have committed to something big – something that will ultimately require change, not only for me but for my family. I did it in my usual, dramatic way (which is another post entirely) but in doing so I have allowed providence to move, and I’m already seeing the results of that in ways I never could have predicted.

I did it because I don’t want to be stuck in a life I know isn’t right.

I don’t know what the end state is, what the dream looks like, but I have begun it anyway. I have invited genius, power, and magic into my life by taking a leap.

I am building my wings as I go, and once they start to take shape I will share with you the journey they will carry me on. I don’t know what that journey is right now.

I just know what it isn’t.

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writers' week

Prompt: “I refuse to spend all of my time…”