Dear Mom

harrypottershop.com

 My mom passed away nine years ago this June, and I still miss her. I see her occasionally in my dreams where she is oddly quiet -- oddly because, in life, my mom was about as quiet as I am. 

Talking to her is what I miss most. I loved coming home from an adventure -- or even just a shopping trip -- and telling her all about it over the phone. We'd swap stories about sales and bargains (my mom always loved a good bargain), along with rationalizations about the things we just had to have. Fortunately, this is. a tradition my daughter and I have carried on, which I think would make my mom happy.

Last week, my husband, my daughter, and I spent a few days in New York City. We haven't been there together in a while (oddly enough, my daughter and I were both there -- separately -- last month) and we managed to cram a lot in. And, when I came home, I wanted to call my mom and tell her all about it. 

Except I couldn't. So I wrote her a letter instead.

While in New York, I splurged on a leather-bound journal at the Harry Potter store. I say "splurged" not only because it was more expensive than I think a notebook should be, but also because the last thing I needed was another notebook. In a recent re-organization of my office, I discovered even more blank notebooks than the embarrassingly large collection that I already knew I had, and I decided I definitely didn't need to purchase any more until I used some of what I had.

Oops.

I didn't know what I was going to do with the journal when I bought it but, shortly after I got home, I knew exactly what I wanted to use it for. I gathered some of my New York souvenirs and used them to create collages on the first several pages. And the next day, when I decided to write to my mom, I knew exactly where that letter had to go.

Ironically, the letter bears an uncanny resemblance to another project I'm working on. I didn't realize this when I decided to write to my mom instead of just writing a journal entry, and I'm not yet sure whether it means something or is simply my mind working overtime and then cluing me in later.

I still don't know what I'll use the rest of the notebook for. More travel notes? More letters to Mom? But right now that doesn't matter. Right now, having shared my trip with my mom made it even sweeter.

Love you, Mom. 

Grace

 Lately, I've been thinking a lot about grace. Part of that has to do with Lent and the spiritual definition of grace, but some of it is a lot closer to home. I've been thinking about what grace looks like in a more secular sense, as in doing things graciously, or giving each other grace. 

It's that last part I've been trying to zoom in on. I even jotted down a few thoughts last week as I was going about my daily business. And then, over the weekend, I discovered that this week's homily from Fr. Justin Lopina, a priest I follow on YouTube, was called "Saved by Grace." 

Hmm. Divine intervention, perhaps?

I follow Fr. Justin because he's down to earth, clearly passionate about what he does, and very relatable and this week's homily didn't disappoint. In fact, it pulled together the miasma of thoughts I've been trying to sort through in one simple sentence: Salvation is grace, which results in faith, which leads to works.

When we think of giving one another grace, part of it ties back to forgiveness. It's through God's grace, after all, that our sins are forgiven and we're promised that this earthly life is just the beginning. When we extend forgiveness to others, that's grace, too, albeit a less divine version. There is something kind of nice about imitating the divine, though, especially given the fact that it can be a major challenge for us mere mortals.

But what about grace in the secular sense? What else does that look like?

Grace is a smile. An offer. Picking up the slack without complaint or snark. To go back to Fr. Justin's terminology, it's reflected in our "works." When we pay forward the spirit of the grace we've been given because we have faith in humanity, or because we see someone else as a child of God, or just because, that's grace.

I've also been thinking about what grace isn't. It isn't overstepping, doing things things the way we think they should be done, or always putting ourselves last. That last one, in fact, sounds a lot more like martyrdom than grace. 

Grace, like so many other things, is one of those words that transcends its own definitions on the page. God's grace is very different from carrying oneself with grace or treating others with grace. Grace is something we recognize when we see it, something we feel when it's extended to us, and (we hope) something we strive to share with others in whatever imperfect way we can.

I'm intrigued by this seemingly simple word (in case you couldn't tell), and it's something I want to keep thinking about. I'm hardly an authority on the subject but it's something I want to keep contemplating and learning about, especially in this season of Lent.

What do you think? What is grace to you?

ISO: An Age-Appropriate Makeover

 One day, I woke up and my face was old. Seriously, that’s how it felt. It hadn't been old the day before, but it was old when I looked in the mirror that morning. Fine lines in places that had been smooth. Changes in the texture of my skin. Observations that knocked me flat.

Interestingly, I made this discovery around the same time that my 20-something daughter was seeking out the right make up routine for herself. This gave me an accessible 21st century consultant who could translate the current product lines, something that not only came in handy but was fun as well. 

Although I don’t want to look like the many, many young women on Instagram who clearly devote a lot of time to their look – partly because I don’t want to devote a lot of time to my look – I did draw initial influences from social media. That, coupled with an Internet search for best foundations for women over 50 led me in the direction of some of the products I’ve been trying.

It wasn't just the look in the mirror that influenced my need for a change. A former student whom I first knew as a Starbucks barista has her own business doing make up for brides and following her on Instagram piqued my interest in the possibilities and products that are so much different from what was available when I was her age. Being cast in my first show in almost a decade was an eye-opener as well. There’s nothing like doing stage make up to remind me how lazy my day-to-day routine is. And, couple that with a photo shoot that led to photos of me that I absolutely hated being posted on social media, and

I knew a change was in order.

My most recent searches have been for a better foundation and a better lipstick. These searches solidified my certainty that I could never be a brand ambassador (not that anyone's asking -- LOL!) Though I'm usually brand loyal, I couldn’t seem to find one brand that offered everything I want. 

The ubiquity of social media ads led me to a few websites touting makeup for women of a certain age, with spokespeople older than I am looking fabulous wearing the product. The first kit I tried was an epic fail in terms of the foundation (which was, sadly, the main reason I purchased it) – despite the many, many women hawking it on social media. The lipstick was good, though, as was another product that I had to have my daughter identify and that I'm still not sure I'm using properly.

Another brand similarly provided a lipstick that I liked – among my current favorites, as a matter of fact. I think I bought something else from them, too, but the simple fact that I can’t remember leads me to believe that it wasn’t a hit either. I do plan to re-order the lipstick in another color though.

Being onstage again also pushed me to pay attention to my neglected eyebrows. After making an appointment to get them shaped, I started playing with some cosmetics to make them stand out a little more. Having made a nice connection with the aesthetician, I asked about non-surgical options that could improve the texture and fine lines on my face. The price tag was hefty but, a couple of weeks in, I think it’s providing some of the results I was hoping for.

Which brings me to my latest foray. (I should also note that, typically, a couple of months pass between each of these forays because I get frustrated after spending money on something that ends up being disappointing). I don’t love the smell or the feel of the foundation I just ordered, but I love the look that it creates. It’s not that it smells like sweaty feet or anything, but it's also not fragrance-free. And the lipstick from the same company, while also a contender, is still in second place. It'll due for now, but it's likely not a permanent addition to my collection but, rather, a foray-to-be.

All of this has me thinking about my favorite movie, When Harry Met Sally. In one scene, Billy Crystal, as Harry, tells Meg Ryan's Sally about high maintenance and low maintenance women. When Sally asks which she is, Harry tells her she's the worst kind: she thinks she's low maintenance, but she's actually high maintenance. Sally retorts that she just knows what she wants.

I've always identified with Sally, although I'm pretty sure my days of even thinking I'm low
maintenance are behind me. I do, however, still know what I want, even if finding it is sometimes a bit of a challenge. And, I'm officially old enough that I no longer feel that I need to apologize for being high maintenance, at least in some areas of my life. As a woman of a certain age, I've earned the right to not only know what I want, but to pursue it as well -- even when the answer is a little bit of this and a little bit of that.

Life's too short to settle -- at least when not settling is an option.

Image credits: Bill Ferngren (mirror); dong soo park (cosmetics), 

both from Pixabay

Friday Feature: Memoir, Humor and The Joy of Other People's Stories

 When I was in elementary school, I used to love reading biographies. As a matter of fact, there was a series in the library that I was particularly fond of. I can still envision those covers – monochromatic with a stripe on the spine about two-thirds of the way down from the top, telling me who the book was about. 

These days, I still enjoy biographies, often those written by or about celebrities. Although I first got into this by listening to memoirs read by the author on Audible, I also blame my subscription to People magazine. 

Last week, at a local independent bookstore, I picked up Michael J. Fox’s latest book, Future Boy. Having grown up in the era of Family Ties, Back to the Future and Spin City, I developed a particular interest in this man who is basically my age, battling battles I hope never to face. I've either read or listened to all of his other books, so this purchase was a no-brainer. The book grabbed me immediately, and I look forward to reading a little more every night.

Meanwhile, in the same visit, I purchased a book I'm using to begin my days. Less memoir than inspiration This Beautiful Day is a collection of "Daily Wisdom from Mister Rogers." Growing up, I was less a fan of Fred Rogers than Michael J. Fox; Mister Rogers' Neighborhood didn't capture my attention in quite the same way as time-traveling DeLoreans, I suppose. It was only as an adult that I truly began to appreciate the beauty inherent in the simplicity of Mister Rogers. 

Rather than reading This Beautiful Day cover to cover, I'm using the subtitle as my guide, reading one or two of the entries each day. I'm a little less than 30 entries in but already these messages have provided information I needed to hear or be reminded of. As a result, I've begun a morning ritual of tearing off yesterday's page on the New Yorker calendar my daughter gave me for Christmas and reading a bit of Mister Rogers. 

It's a pretty nice way to start the day.

.

Work

 Every semester, it takes me a little while to adjust to my schedule. This semester is a weird one. I'm teaching only one class, something that hasn't happened in quite some time, and my schedule, such as it is, feels a little surreal. I'm not complaining, mind you -- the extra time to myself is nice, but I haven't quite figured out what to do with it. I also haven't decided whether I want to impose some structure on my days off, or establish some sort of routine (e.g. some days are for teaching and related pursuits and others are for writing) or to keep things flexible. 

I've started out with the flexible route but, lately, I've been feeling rather unsatisfied at the ends of my days, as though I haven't accomplished anything. Over the weekend, it hit me that I tend to equate schoolwork (and, to a lesser extent, writing) with productivity and when I end a day having done neither, I seem to feel as though I've wasted time.

So, the answer is to work more, right?

Um, no.

Heading into this semester, I knew I needed a reset. I was running on fumes and needed some space to create, whether it was writing, course content, or creative endeavors pursued just for fun. And yet, when I take the time to do things just for fun, I end up berating myself for not spending my time more productively.

Where, oh where, is that magical middle ground? 

I'll let you know when I find it.

Last week, I did a presentation on the concept of WIN (What's Important Now?), taken from the book Essentialism by Greg McKeown. This week, I need to practice what I preach. When I catch myself "wasting time," I need to ask myself, "what's important now?" Sometimes, this question will cut short my procrastination and lead me to the thing(s) I need to do. Other times, WIN will be the thing I'm actually doing, and I need to acknowledge that. Just because something isn't work in the way I've come to define it doesn't detract from the meaning and enjoyment I derive from it. Down time is, after all, a key part of a balanced schedule.

This semester, I'm learning that needing a reset and actually figuring out what that looks like are two very different things. And, with retirement on the horizon, I'm paying special attention to the lessons I'm learning now about how I want to spend my time, particularly what makes me feel satisfied at the end of a day. When work in the traditional sense is no longer part of my day, I'll need to concentrate on the value of other things.

And so, I've decided to consider what I'm doing now "research" -- information gathering that will build a bridge from this quiet semester to the other side of the busy semesters that will follow before I finally land in the quiet space of retirement. So, at the end of a day where no "work" was done, maybe I need to ask myself what else I did that gave me a sense of meaning and accomplishment.

One thing's for sure: I can't imagine that I'll be bored in retirement. But my current research is teaching me that maybe, just maybe, I need to lighten up a little bit, too.

Saying Goodbye

 A few months ago, I lost someone significant. He meant the world to me a long time ago, and though our paths diverged, due in no small part to my choices, he'll always have a piece of my heart. It wasn't until tragedy struck that I realized just how big of a piece of my heart he still owned. Songs on the radio that had once made me smile suddenly sparked a profound sense of loss. I felt helpless and adrift, but a part of me also felt as though I didn't have the right to those feelings. I'd made a choice to walk away and missing him was part of the consequences.

But it never crossed my mind that I'd be missing him in this way.

He was a good man -- one of the best I've known. The kind of guy who showed up at my mom's visitation despite the fact that our only interactions in years were on Facebook and at the occasional class reunion. 

I had every intention of going to his funeral, but it had been so long that making the trip felt both exactly right and perfectly wrong. Going felt so complicated, and a part of me felt as though I had no right to be there. In the end, I let the awkwardness win, soothing my own grief with the certainty that he knew what he had meant to me -- and still meant, after all these years -- and choosing the easier, private path in case the more public one made someone else's mourning more painful. 

There are things I'll never forget, and his smile is one of them. His voice still echoes, too, and I hope I never lose that. 

There are friends we have forever, and friends we have just for a season, and friendship itself takes many forms. Colleagues. Acquaintances. Mom friends. Romantic partners. Some relationships end mutually or gradually, while others cease abruptly and much too soon, leaving us wondering what happened or what might have been.

I know what happened here, and yet I ache at the injustice of it. A moment, an injury, a decline, an end. The anguish that ensues when a good person leaves behind the people he loves much too soon.

I've been cleaning out closets and, in doing so, I came across a "School Days" book that held my old report cards and a few mementos. I flipped through it quickly, intending to share it with my daughter, who has recently developed an interest in our family history. When she was paging through it the other day, she pulled out some things I'd saved from high school and among them was a Polaroid photo of Peter and me. I don't know who took it or when. I don't remember having it taken, or, for that matter, tucking it away. But now, in the wake of his loss, I'm incredibly grateful for it and for its ability to freeze time for just a moment, to allow me to remember him now as I knew him then, and to keep that memory in the face of this unfair and untimely loss. 

Rest well, sweet friend. And know that all the memories I have, though insufficient in number are abundant in affection. 

Photo credit: Pasja 1000 via Pixabay

Age is a State of Mind

 Yesterday, I found out that I'm eligible to apply for Medicare in four months. Despite the fact that this information is readily available online and that pre-planning for retirement (for real this time) is on my radar, I was in shock. I know my age, but...really? 

After making a New Year's resolution best summed up by the graphic at left, I was completely unprepared for a crash landing at the intersection of "someday" and "in a few months." (Hooray for successfully buying into my own resolution?) I sat in my chair for a few moments, stunned by this sudden revelation of reality.

Today I was scheduled to attend two meetings: a webinar on Medicare and a session with our financial planner, two meetings that kicked off my screeching halt at the intersection at the corner of "Someday"and "May." The first one (the webinar) was incredibly informative and left me feeling a lot less dazed and oddly optimistic -- so much so that I dashed off a quick email to HR to thank them for making the webinar available. 

Age is a funny thing. Most of us spend a good chunk of time dissatisfied with the age we are. First, we're too young to do the things that look so appealing, then we're too old to do those same things (along with a few others) and finally, we begin to feel as though age has not only caught up with us, but it's breathing down our necks in a most uncomfortable way.

That last feeling kicked off my New Year's resolution (one among several, for the record). I had caught myself using age as an excuse, or making snide remarks about my own age -- things that would make me angry if other people said them. A role in a recent theatre production included some of those cracks, and was, in fact, part of the impetus for the resolution. Sure, I'm older than I ever was (that's pretty much how it works), but I'm also younger than I'll ever be again. And wasting that second perspective by hastening my interpretation of the math just seemed silly.

I'm old enough to know what I like and what I don't like, what I wish for and what I no longer care about. I don't need an excuse to not do the stuff I don't want to do, and I certainly don't need a number to keep me from doing the things I've dreamed of doing. 

And suddenly, somewhere between yesterday's stunned realization and the end of today's webinar, a glimmer of hope about new possibilities began to emerge. Yesterday, I felt old and headed for an ending. But what if that ending is really a new beginning?

Definitely something worth thinking about.