Good times

It's Word of the Year time, people!!

Apparently, this is also one of the few times a year I can muster the discipline to sit down and write anything for this erratic, ever-diminishing blog. But the New Year is not the time to quibble over details or fixate on failures! Let's be hopeful, and optimistic, and believe that this is the year I will write at least five blog posts!

Or, at least one more than last year...which was one.

So, let's go for TWO!!!! 

You can tell I am filled with all of the hopes and dreams that a new year and a NEW DECADE inevitably bring. I am positively Pollyanna!

This year my Word of the Year (henceforth to be known as WOTY), came to me well before the close of 2019. I wasn't even trying to think of one, and my train of thought was really somewhere entirely different, but I've found my WOTY can be tricky that way. It likes to sneak into my subconscious when I least suspect it.

It's like a ninja WOTY.

But let's back up for a minute...

My WOTY came to me on a day when I was feeling a bit melancholy (it happens) and was fixating a bit too much on unknowns, things that are a-changing, and just generally stuff I can't really control. That's always a good recipe for melancholy.

There are good things happening all around me. I'm watching my children, especially my older two, step into new opportunities and live their lives more and more independently. That's always been the goal, right? That whole "Preparing to Launch" thing means...one day they launch. And one of my main goals as a mom has always been to allow my kids to grow up free from feeling that they owe me a certain amount of time, attention, or gratitude. I want very much to have relationships with them for as long as I am on this earth, but I don't want relationships that are coerced or borne of out of guilt. I want them to be free and to know that I am always right here...their #1 fan.

I love all the ways they are forging their own paths and making their way in the world.

But I do miss them.

2020 also brings a milestone birthday for me.

Yep, all of us 1970 babies are turning 50 this year!

For the most part, I'm fine with every new age that comes along. I tend to not get too focused on birthdays, even the biggies. But this one carries some extra...stuff.

I rarely do parties or even much else in the way of celebrating my birthdays. (Although I do refuse to ever cook dinner on my birthday. That's my bare minimum.) I'm just not that into them. But the two big-ish parties I did have, for my 30th and my 40th, were both orchestrated, directed, and insisted upon by Tracy. Now SHE was a party girl, in the very best way.

There is no doubt in my mind she would not have allowed my 50th to pass quietly.

It is also always on my heart that our favorite party girl never had the chance to celebrate her 50th.

So, on this melancholy day, I was thinking about all these good things, hard things, things that have been, things that never will be, and all of the things I'm hoping for and wishing for... and it came to me...

It was so obvious.

My 2020 Word of the Year is....

CELEBRATE.

(And if you just heard Kool and the Gang start singing in your head, well, you are my people.)

Celebrate the little things.

Celebrate the big things.

Celebrate the everyday.

Celebrate the extraordinary.

Celebrate all we have been given.

Celebrate all that lies ahead.

Find something to celebrate every. single. day.

In many ways celebrating is both natural and foreign to me. I'm looking forward to celebrating in ways that come easily to me, and also stretching myself to celebrate those things that might challenge me.

I want to celebrate for myself and for others. I really want to celebrate for others.

2020 is the year I find my inner cheerleader (a cheerleader who can't even touch her toes and never in her life could do the splits). An inflexible but enthusiastic cheerleader!! 

I'm still not going to have a big party for my 50th, but I do promise not to let the day pass without some sort of celebration, however small. It may not be entirely Tracy-approved, but she knows me and I believe she will understand.

Mostly, I intend to focus on the everyday and celebrating all the small, good things that make up a life.

An unexpected text message from a friend.
A meme that makes me laugh.
Sleeping in.
Good news shared by my adult children.
Couch and TV time with Annie.
Dog snuggles.
A husband who snowblows in winter, gathers leaves in the fall, and cuts the grass in the summer. And a million other ways he takes such good care of us.
Chips and salsa.
After school visits from my niece and nephew.
Sister time.
A good book.
Watching the cousins swimming at the lake.
Snowy winters and hot summers. (Although the snow gets harder and harder to celebrate the older I get...)
French fries.
Fresh baked cookies.
Champagne. (!!!) (TONIGHT!)

The list goes on and on.

So, off I go into this year of Celebration. If you have any good news to share in 2020, large or small, be sure to let me know and I will be the first to give you a big, "WOOHOO!!!!" (I can and will do the 'Woohoo", but do not expect splits or cartwheels. I am 50, after all. Almost.) 

And, because no WOTY is complete without a VOTY:

Happy New Year, friends!

I celebrate each and every one of you!

XO

Soup and Bread

Last night I made a soup that I haven't made in over 3 years.

The last time I made this particular soup recipe was on Friday, December 4, 2015.

I know this not because I have some incredibly organized system for recording every meal I have ever made, but because I made that soup for a special lunch, with some special friends, that turned out to be even more special than we knew in the moment we were living it.

We had planned the lunch because for the first time in over 10+ years our little Dinner Group, which we had organized when our kids were still in preschool and some were not yet even born, was not going to have its annual Santa Party.

It was a tradition we all enjoyed and loved but that particular year life was getting in the way. The kids had gotten older and had wildly varied college Christmas break schedules. There were private health issues creating concern and complication. The kids still at home had winter sports tournaments and performances. For the first time in well over a decade we all reluctantly agreed to forego the party.

This doesn't mean it's the end. We can do it next year! We will figure it out!

And a million other assurances flew back and forth on that email thread.

But I really do think, looking back, we all did kind of know it was the end.

As the Brad Paisley song says, "There's a last time for everything."

(Because there is a country music song for every occasion.)

Not wanting to let the Christmas season pass without any opportunity for connection, we decided to meet for lunch, just as gals, early in December- before everything got TOO crazy.

Again, life got in the way. In the end it turned out that only 4 of the 6 of us could meet. Tracy, myself, and two of our old, dear friends.

It always kind of surprises me when I realize I have "old friends" in Seattle. Since I didn't grow up there, there were so many years I felt like everything and everyone was new.  But I think it's fair to say that when you have been friends for 20 years, you now qualify as "old friends."

And, of course, Tracy and I were the very oldest and dearest of friends.

As we sat around the table someone suddenly noticed and remarked, "Well, this is kind of perfect. Here we are, the original four who decided to start the Dinner Group."

We started reminiscing about that day, many years before, when we were all together watching our kids play and Tracy floated this idea (of course it was Tracy's idea) of gathering together with our spouses, every couple of months, just to eat a meal and talk. That simple idea launched both many fun, lively dinner gatherings, and an annual Christmas party that our grown kids still talk about. From preschoolers to college graduates, we watched each other's kid's grow and talked about everything under the sun.

I don't remember anyone saying it this way, but I think the four of us sitting there felt like that lunch together validated something.

It was a marker of some sort in which we said silently to one another, Thank you.

Thank you for giving me connection and community and support during those busy, sleepless, uncertain years of raising little ones.

Thank you for making me laugh more times than I can count.

Thank you for bringing me food when I was sad.

Thank you for babysitting my kids.

Thank you for commiserating about sleep schedules, school choices, picky eaters, diet and exercise, discipline, homework battles, health concerns, family dynamics, fashion trends, and a million other life issues both mundane and significant.

(And, on a personal level, I hope my heart remembered to offer a special thank you to Tracy, because I'm pretty sure she came up with this idea in large part for my benefit. She was always working her magic to help me put down roots in a city that was not my own.)

The four of us ate a cozy meal of soup and bread on a cold, December day, celebrating what had been and perhaps quietly acknowledging the future would not look quite the same, even if we didn't yet know how or why or in what way.

One week later Tracy passed away.

That was the last meal she and I shared together. That was the last meal we as four old friends shared together. I guess you could say it was the last meal of our little Dinner Group.

And for over three years I have not been able to bring myself to make that soup again.

But last night I did.

It was just for my little family of three. It was cozy and warm and Annie declared it to be, "Sooooo good."

I made it giving thanks for good memories and good friends. I made it feeling grateful that even as life sometimes brings unexpected change and loss, I have known what it is to be held and lifted up by community and friends. I made it as a promise to myself to seek, nurture, and celebrate the important relationships in my life. I made it with hope that this year is going to bring a deeper sense of community and home. I made it to remember.

It made me happy to make that soup.

I think I will officially rename that soup in my own mind: Friendship Soup.

Easy.

Not at all fussy.

Simple ingredients.

Consistent.

Comfort with a capital C.

All it takes is a little time to get the flavors just right.

Just like old friends.

Thanks to all of mine. 😘

P.S.

Okay, here's the recipe. It's a total 1970's dump in the crockpot type recipe with the modern addition of quinoa. 😄 I have found it works better to prepare the quinoa separately and then add it to the soup. When it cooks with the soup it just keeps soaking up all the liquid and it gets really, really thick. If it is prepared on its own, even if you still then add it at the beginning and let it cook for 4 hours, it doesn't seem to do that. For SUPER convenience, I used the frozen Trader Joes quinoa packets. I cooked two in the microwave and then added them to the crockpot. Everything else, I did as written. Couldn't be easier.

https://mixandmatchmama.com/2015/10/chicken-quinoa-soup/

Who says?

Yesterday, I took a little drive.

I didn't mean to take a drive. It really all started because there is a bunch of construction going on in my neck of the woods and the only way I can leave my house is by way of one of several different detours. There is literally no direct route from my house to anywhere right now. It's fine. It's all fine. Everything is FINE.

Ahem.

Anyway, as I approached the detour, I had a sudden urge to detour from my detour.

I took a left and began a long, meandering drive through the south-iest roads of the South Hill. These are country roads I know like the back of my hand. They are the roads on which I learned to drive. Roads where even now you might drive your entire route and not pass a single other car. What a blessedly wonderful way to dip your toe into the world of gas and brake pedals, turn signals, and windshield wipers. And they are the very best roads for turning up the Billy Joel station and singing Scenes from an Italian Restaurant at the top of your lungs. Both when you are 16 and when you are 48....

I found myself getting a little giddy thinking about teaching Annie to drive on these very same roads. Not giddy in the sense that I am ready for that to happen. Sweet fancy Moses, no. Thank heaven we are still a couple of years away from that. But giddy knowing that she will get a chance to master some fundamental driving basics while being surrounded by nothing more than fields and the occasional deer before having to do anything INSANE like merge onto the Ballard Bridge. (Sorry, Seattle flashback.)

Seattle peeps, can I get an AMEN?!

Speaking of Amen....while on my detour of the detour I passed the Catholic Retreat center that has been there as long as I can remember. A little further up the road I saw a Sister out for a brisk morning walk. I slowed and made sure to veer as far over to the other side of the road as I could so as to give her plenty of space and not kick up any dust on her. As I approached her she gave me the brightest smile and a friendly wave.

I know my smile was equally bright because she made my day.

In that moment, I knew for sure my detour from the detour was a great idea.

Two years ago, my most fervent prayer was simply that this place would become Home. It seems strange now and even did then that Home was so elusive. I had been born and raised here. All of my immediate family is here. I didn't even have to learn my way around. There was so much that was familiar.

And yet.... My entire adult life had been spent somewhere else. A place that had become Home. I began my married life there, raised my kids there, had friends there, survived multiple remodeling projects there....

Sometimes I'm still not sure what made us hear and listen to the whisper that said, "It's time to go."

But we did. And we did. It was time to go.

I remember I kept hearing that line in the Rascal Flatts song:

I never dreamed home would end up where I don't belong.

Even so, I miss it sometimes. And of course there are people I miss. (Home is always really about the people, right?)

But when I drive these country roads I've been driving for over thirty years... When I pick my daughter up from her bus, which happens to be at my sister's house, and tell her that "I'm just going to go in and talk to Aunt Val for a minute" (a minute, riiiiight....)... When I drive past the McDonalds in Lincoln Heights where I spent a ridiculous number of Friday nights hanging out with my high school friends... When I just "pop downtown" not worrying about time of day or traffic... When I am able to see nieces and nephews on their birthdays, or just because.... When I realize that my own daughter is herself becoming a "Spokane girl".... And when those first snowflakes fall and we are reminded once again that we won't be traveling for Christmas because Christmas is here, and we are here, and...well.....honestly....

I marvel to myself... literally marvel.... I. Live. HERE. 

Who says you can't go Home again?

A Spokane childhood was nothing if not fancy. 

Dancing in the rain

I have been fortunate to have a few friends in my life that go way, way, way back with me.

I have one friend who I have known since we were born. Well, since she was born...I arrived a month ahead of her. I have another friend who I have known since we were about three years old. And another friend who I have known since I was five or so.

It is without a doubt a blessing to have people in your life who have traveled that long and far with you.

It is also a curse since they remember every hairstyle, every boyfriend, every fashion incident, and no matter how much you think you've got it together, you always know there are a handful of people in the world who know beyond a shadow of a doubt that underneath it all you are really a great big weirdo.

I love that.

In beginning my quest for TRUST, I have been trying to conjure up times in my life where I remember feeling completely and utterly at peace. Times when I felt so completely safe that I wasn't giving a second thought as to whether what I was doing was right, or wrong, or acceptable, or enough. Times when the world's gifts and my intentions all aligned and together we glimpsed...paradise.

As unlikely as it might seem, one fuzzy memory that keeps popping up for me involves these two cherubs right here.

My buddy Christie and me.

Don't those two little nuggets look just chock full of sugar and spice?

Mother of Pearl...don't let them fool you. 

One day, when we were about exactly the age of this picture here....(so, babies, basically) we had a sleepover at my friend Christie's house. I have no recollection as to why since it seems to me we were kind of young for sleepovers, but our moms did a lot of swapping of childcare and babysitting, so who knows what lead to such an exciting adventure for two little friends.

You would think the sleepover would have been adventure enough.

But, no, in the wee hours of the morning, long before anyone else in the house was stirring, Christie and I woke up and made our way to the family room. Looking out the big glass doors, we noticed it had rained in the night. In fact, it had rained a lot in the night.

As we peered outside we could see large puddles covering the ground and water pouring from gutters. 

It was like the world had become a magical land of waterfalls and wading pools perfectly sized for two pint sized fairies.

So, what else were we to do but to go exploring?

We. Left. The. House.

I'm sure we started out in Christie's own front yard but at some point we ventured down the street to where it took a slight dip and a large amount of water had accumulated. It probably wasn't all that much water really, but to us it felt like a swimming pool.

A swimming pool that was in the middle of the street. 

In our pajamas we waded in that oversized puddle, splashed in it, stomped and danced. 

I don't remember feeling cold. I don't remember feeling afraid. I don't remember feeling at all that we were doing something naughty or dangerous. 

We felt glorious.

Eventually, it probably did start to get cold so we made our way back to her house but we couldn't let the opportunity to shower in a waterfall pass us by, so we finished up by standing underneath the downspout "washing" our hair and making sure that not one square inch of our little bodies remained dry.

It was at this point we were finally discovered.

You can imagine that Christie's mother was not nearly so enchanted by our Wonderful World of Water. Or the fact that two tiny girls were wandering around in the street at dawn.

I clearly remember seeing her mouth moving and arms waving as she rushed us inside and thinking, "What's wrong?!"

I know Christie thought the same thing because she and I have remembered and retold and regaled each other with this memory over and over for the past 40+ years. 

As mothers now, we find it equal parts horrifying and hilarious, but in general the hilarity wins out.

But in all the times I have recalled this story, I've never thought about it in terms of TRUST before.

Without question though, that's what we felt.

We trusted the world was safe.

We trusted each other.

We trusted our intuition and our instincts.

We trusted ourselves.

We trusted that when we were ready to go back home, it would be there.

And maybe, there was a small part of us deep down that knew we might get in a little bit of trouble for this...but we also had complete trust that we would be loved anyway.

It's never a surprise to me that Jesus says if we really want to enter the Kingdom of Heaven we have to become like children.

Dancing in the rain doesn't hurt either. 

The Happy List v.3.0: The Birthday Edition!

HAPPY birthday to me!!

😃

Yes, today is my birthday.

My 47th birthday. On a Tuesday. So..... not anything to get too revved up about.

BUT the sun is shining which is a welcome change and we should always be grateful for another year to try and get this whole life thing right. God knows I'm still working on it.

Exhibit A: Last night I had a terrible night's sleep in that "sleeping" was not what I was doing at all, and then the scale decided to gift me a number this morning that I was in no mood to see (Do not even ask me why I opted to weigh in ON MY BIRTHDAY! I never claimed to be mentally stable.), and then I found out that Snow Miser was going to foil my sweet husband's attempts to get home for my birthday, and then I decided that all of that meant I should eat some seriously crap food for lunch which really only served to make me feel gross (WHEN WILL I LEARN??)...

....and so then I decided I better make a Happy List and quick!!!!

1. Birthday Memories

My 40th Birthday with two of my best girls.
Feels like yesterday and a lifetime ago.

Any actual birthday celebration I have ever had as an adult- meaning celebrating with some sort of party and people other than my husband and kids- was because Tracy made me. She was the perpetual Birthday Girl who not only loved to celebrate her own birthday but everyone else's as well.

One of my most special happy/sad birthday memories that I've been thinking about a lot lately is the one I celebrated after we lost our babies. It had been four months and I was still mostly spending my days alone at home, but I think Tracy knew that with the right people, in a familiar environment, it would be good for me to be with friends. She gently floated the idea of a small dinner at her house with just a handful of close friends. I still have the picture we took that night and I can see in my eyes so clearly what that gathering meant to me. I look tired, and a little sad, but also hopeful. I was smiling and for one of the first times in those four months, the smile was real. 

She was a big part of so many of my best birthday moments and while I miss her desperately, I'm trying to cherish the memories and keep smiling- just as she would want me to.

2. Sweet friends & family

I have gotten so many nice messages today that it's impossible to remain in a funk for too long. I especially appreciate everyone who has encouraged me to partake in as many sweet things as possible without guilt or regret. 

My people get me.

One of my favorite birthday messages came from one of my oldest and dearest friends (We have literally known each other since birth. Well, her birth since I was born a month earlier than her.). This friend has always rivaled Tracy in her ability to NEVER forget an occasion and to always send a card on time. 

(Sigh...she really puts her postally challenged lifelong friend to serious shame. But not really because she's the nicest person ever so therefore has never shamed anyone in her life.)

Anywhooooo.... Lucky for me in addition to being incredibly nice she also has a just-the-right-amount-of-spicy sense of humor and totally gets me.

This card made me laugh and laugh...

Oh, I do love a good purse.

3. Sunshine

Did I mention the sun is shining today?

Cold. Still snow on the ground. We will take what we can get.

4. Messages for the Moment

I don't know about you but sometimes it's just plain WEIRD how certain messages can come through at just the right time. 

One of my favorite books of daily readings had this thought for my birthday (why it doesn't actually say "Lori's Birthday" I do not know.)

"I want that spirit or force of happiness that is so much deeper than happy- peace that comes from you toes..."

Love that. 

5. After School Snacks

Annie has the best after school snack ideas. 

When I wondered if we really should have ice cream at 3:00, Annie wisely said, "Mom. Treat yo' self!"

And so we did.

Happy Fat Tuesday, Friends! 

Tomorrow...we fast. 

For sure.

😳

Mind over matter

Folks are usually about as happy as they make up their mind to be.

~attributed to Abraham Lincoln

I have a loooong memory. 

I'm one of those people who has bizarrely early memories of their childhood and a particularly uncanny ability to remember the seemingly unimportant and insignificant details of life. In fact, I tend to specialize in childhood memories that would appear to have no memorable qualities at all. 

Random things we ate in places that don't matter. What someone was wearing. The book I was reading at the time. Snippets of conversations that served no purpose beyond the moment in which they existed. 

I can hardly tell you any of the names of the cities or historic places my cousin Tracy and I visited on our trip to Germany with our grandparents, but I can sure tell you about the 99 different things we laughed about during those 10 days. If she were here and I suddenly barked out, "PURE VASSAR!" she would collapse in a fit of laughter, I guarantee it.

One such small moment has been bubbling up in my memory bank these past weeks. Ever since choosing my Word of the Year, I've been replaying a scene from Lori: The Early Years over and over.

I was about 9 or 10 years old.

(If my sister is reading this she is laughing right now because I almost always think I was about 9 or 10 years old when recalling memories from childhood. Must have been a big year for me. 😉  )

My dad had just come home from work and I could hear the door from the garage to the house slam shut. 

(For years and years after he died, I still associated that sound with him coming home. It took a long time for the disappointment to fade, hearing that door close and having it still not be him.)

His heavy steps went from the mud room, to the TV room, to the front hallway. I came running up from the basement to say hello to him.

I was probably in the basement because after around the age of 10 (!) that's where my bedroom was to be found. And I would have been running because there was a space between my bedroom door and the bottom of the stairs where it was still possible for the basement monsters to grab me if I didn't move fast enough. 

Oh, you don't believe me?

Ha. Well, I'd have liked to see you try casually walking from my childhood bedroom to the stairs. I'm 100% certain we would have never seen you again. 

I, myself, was taking no chances and always, always made a mad dash from the threshold of my bedroom to that first bottom stair. Once you hit the staircase you were safe but I always ran up the rest of them as well, because you can never be too careful when dealing with basement monsters. 

As I careened up those final stairs and made the hairpin turn into the front hallway my dad stopped his trek from the garage-to-mud-room-to-tv-room-to-hallway-to-kitchen, his final destination, and smiled at me. 

Most likely, he said something like, "Well, Lorinda! (One of his many nicknames for me.) How ya doin'?"

And I must have said, "Great!" Or, "Good!" Or, "Super Duper!" Because the part I remember most is what he said next.

He gave me a squeeze and issued what became a prophecy over my life. 

Oh, I don't think he knew that's what he was doing for one second. I think he was just saying what came to mind in that moment. But sometimes the things we say without thinking too hard about them are the very truest things that we really mean the most.

At least, that's the way I took it.

He gave me one of his famous hugs, squeezing my face into that barrel chest and said, "That's what I love about you. You're always happy. You're a happy person, Lorinda. That's a good thing to be."

And off he went to sort through the mail he had carried in, and to talk to my mom about his day and what was for dinner, and to probably lie down on his bed and read one of the 18 magazines he subscribed to.

And I went slowly back downstairs-until I got to the bottom and then had to sprint to my bedroom- thinking to myself all the way.... "I am? I'm a happy person?"

I wasn't always a happy kid. I could be brooding, and emotional, and WAY too dramatic at times. No one is always a happy person. My dad knew that. This wasn't about setting up some expectation for my life that I could never attain. This was about a general quality he saw in me, or maybe it's just what he saw in me in that moment.

But it stuck with me. 

And whether it was something that was always there and he just gave it life, or it was something that grew out of his words, but from that day forward I strived to be the person my father saw in me. I believed myself to be at my core...a happy person. 

Which is why I'm still here believing in the pursuit of happiness. Even in my moments of deepest sorrow, there has always been a part of me deep down that believed I would feel happy again. And when those happy moments come, however fleeting, I try to grab them. I try to remember to close my eyes and add them to my stockpile of memories so they can be used as band-aids when the wounds of life break open again. 

I'm a happy person.

I always have been.

My Dad told me so.

"Children will not remember you for the material things you provided,
but for the feeling that you cherished them."
~Gail Grenier Sweet

Keeping watch

When my brothers and sister and I were growing up, Christmastime meant cousins. Oh sure, grandparents, aunts and uncles, too...but truth be told, the cousins were the highlight. I'm not sure when and where it all began but at some point my mom and her sister must have made the decision that neither snow, nor rain, nor gloom of night would keep them from celebrating Christmas together. So even as they settled into different states, a day's drive apart, we never missed a Christmas with one another. 

For the most part we alternated houses each year, so the only thing we ever needed to know was if it was a "Portland year" or a "Spokane year" because everything else was just details. We never questioned this arrangement, or balked during the years when it was our turn to cram ourselves into the car and make the long winter drive over-the-mountains-and-through-the-gorge-to-our-cousin's-house-we-go.  It was just the way Christmas was. And we loved it.

I think sometimes it was almost more torturous to be the ones doing the waiting rather than the traveling. At least when you were on the road you had some sense of forward progress. You knew how much longer it would be (because you asked every 10 minutes), and you had the thrill of feeling yourself inching ever closer with each passing mile sign (and you shouted out every single one).

To be the ones waiting at home was agonizing.

This was long before cell phones and the ability to stay in constant contact with loved ones on the road. While we were waiting for our Portland family to arrive, we might get a single call all day updating us on their travel schedule IF we were lucky. And that was only if they were lucky enough to find a stop with a pay phone and Uncle Dave was willing to spring for the call. (Not always a sure thing. His kids still love to talk about having to share a small fry growing up.) But other than that, all we could do was wait. And wait. And wait. And asking mom how much longer it would be was useless because she didn't know either.

So, she'd do what she always did when all other attempts at distraction failed. She told us to go watch out the window.

And we did...for what felt like hours. It might have been minutes though. I'll be the first to admit that childhood recollections of time are seldom accurate. But it felt like we hung over the back of that living room couch staring down at the highway for close to a lifetime.

My childhood home, the home in which my mother still lives and where we all still spend Christmas every year, sits atop a small, pastoral hill. When we were kids, all of the trees surrounding the house were not nearly so tall and full as they are now and we could see all the way from our big living room windows down to the sleepy highway that lead to our gravel country road. Back in the day, the number of cars that came down that highway was not substantial, so great excitement would ensue each time one appeared. Inevitably though, my older brother would quickly tell us why that couldn't be their car because it was the wrong color, or too big, or had the wrong shaped headlights.

(Okay, I'm not really sure he commented on the headlights, but he was always much wiser than either my sister or I about which cars were actual prospects and which ones didn't deserve a second glance. We were foolish enough to get excited about delivery trucks.) 

But just when we would start to fear that they really never would arrive, a set of properly shaped headlights, belonging to a car of the right color and size, would turn onto our gravel road.

Pan-de-monium. 

We would fly off the couch and race to the front hallway screaming, "THEY'RE COMING!! THEY'RE COMING!!"

And at long last, when that same set of appropriate headlights would finally make its way up our long, sometimes icy, snowy road and swing into our carefully shoveled driveway, the hysteria would give way to...

THEY'RE HERE!! THEY'RE HERE!!!

Let the festivities begin!!

I think maybe I see Santa?

Singing "Up On the Housetop".
We were practically The Osmonds.

I feel like Valerie is about to go all "Junkyard Dog" on someone here.
Don't Tracy and I look a little frightened?
P.S. We LOVED The Sunshine Family!!

Inevitably someone (me) ended up mortally wounded/deathly ill and in need of medical attention.
Christmas can be a dangerous time.
Thankfully, I had a doctor with a terrific bedside manner. 

Yep, that's a turtleneck with a Fa La La La sweatshirt.
I've always been festive.

Matching footed pajamas?
I think we were drunk on eggnog.
I kid.

Okay, so maybe that matching jammies thing wasn't a one time deal.
Or ended in childhood.

And that cousin Christmas only grew....
How did we get so lucky?

The next generation.
Pure love.

This year, as we string lights, decorate trees, sing Christmas songs, and wrap presents... sometimes I find myself asking, "How do we do this? How?"

What do we do with an absence so great?

And the only answer I can come up with is this...

We celebrate all that she loved. We remember that there is a Light no darkness can overcome. We share memories and make new ones. We carry the past into the present, and have faith in the future.

On the days it feels hard to celebrate and carry on with the traditions she loved so much, I picture her keeping watch.

I think of her giddy with excitement, anxious to share with us the incredible gift of perfect joy that she now knows. Always the hostess, I imagine her waiting with happy anticipation to usher us in and give us the grand tour.

And I believe that, for her, the waiting will be but a minute. It isn't agonizing or endless because she now lives in that beautiful space outside of time. She is both happy in the now, and in all that is to come.

For us, the waiting is longer. And I'd be lying if I didn't say that as much as the distance stings, I do hope for the wait to be very long. I feel okay saying that because I know she hopes that, too.

But when that day does come, I take comfort in knowing that one of the first voices I will hear will be hers. She will throw her head back and laugh in that way that only she can, and then proclaim for all to hear....

She's here!! She's here!!

Forever and for always.

Planting seeds

Today I had lunch with one of my oldest and best friends. I'm not exactly sure how old we were when we met, but it was before grade school. It was our older brothers who became friends first and being a mom myself now I can totally imagine how that played out when our respective mothers were drawn together by their young son's growing friendship.

How wonderful that our boys like each other so much! Wait. You have a little girl, too? Exactly the same age as my little girl? And you live just over the hill from us? Well, welcome to my life New Best Friend! 

Because that's what you do when your whole life is about keeping little people alive and entertained. You find fellow travelers with similar age munchkins and say, giddy up, let's do this together!

There's safety in numbers after all.

So, perhaps we were destined to be buddies or maybe it was really just our good fortune (and our mother's). Either way, she's been one of my best friends ever since.

While we were at lunch sorting out major life issues like why I would like Nordstrom sales people to stop talking to me, and the unexpected delight of being served a "baguette" that was really like a half a loaf of bread- we got to talking about our daughters, and girls in general, and the unpredictable roller coaster ride of girl friendships.

At some point as we were chronicling the good, the bad, the funny, and the ugly of it all, I looked at my friend and said quietly, "What I pray most for in our move, is that at some point in all of this change and new schools and new places, Annie will find a best friend. She's had a few lovely, sweet little friends along the way, but she hasn't had that go-to, consistent, loyal best friend. She hasn't had...us."

My friend nodded seriously and shared that her daughter hadn't found that friend yet either.

I thought about that for a minute and said, "I don't know. Maybe you don't have to have a best friend."

My friend agreed, but then smiled wistfully and said, "But it's kinda nice."

Yes. Yes it is.

Recently I had a thought that came to me and I haven't been able to get it out of my head.

I was thinking about other times when I had made big transitions and what had been helpful in those times. I thought a lot about when we had to make a change with the boy's school and moved them from a school right in our neighborhood, to a school in an entirely different area with a community that was full of strangers for all of us. Everything and everyone was an unknown for us except for one big, shiny gold ticket we carried with us into that place. Our cousins. Family. And not just family, my cousin Tracy who was pretty much the Queen of that school (in the best way) and friends with EVERYONE (that is not an exaggeration).

And I got to thinking about how when you are already walking around with an overflowing dance card it can be really easy to decide your life is full enough. You have your people and there are no seats left at the table. But that wasn't how Tracy was and she certainly wasn't going to allow me to skulk in corners and slip in and out without making eye contact with anyone.

(I'm not sure I really skulk. But I can be pretty skilled at avoiding conversation when needed.)

So, she did what she what she was so good at. She brought me to the table. She encouraged me to join her groups and she introduced me to everyone she knew. And those who knew Tracy know that an introduction with her was never as simple as exchanging names. No, she would introduce you AND tell you exactly why you were going to LOVE that person and that she just KNEW you would become the very best of friends. And you believed her.

I often told Tracy she really needed to tone it down when singing my praises to other people because her view of me without question far exceeded anything I actually had to deliver.

And in thinking back on all of that and her particular set of skills, it occurred to me that Tracy was not only inclusive, she was radically inclusive. 

Wait, what? What does it mean to be radically inclusive, you ask? I shall tell you.

I can tell you because I made it up myself. When it ends up in the Urban Dictionary my name better be next to it.

Inclusive is being very intentional when making plans or deciding on invitations to make sure that all of the people in your respective circle are made to feel welcome. (As the situation warrants. Obviously there is a time and place for smaller groups and solo activities as well.)

Radically inclusive is looking beyond your circle and asking yourself, who else do I know who might enjoy this? Is there someone new in my life who might jump at the chance to meet some new people? Do I have any friends who don't know each other but really should because I think they would have so much in common?

To be radically inclusive is to decide that your dance card is never full and there is always more room at the table. It's like hanging a sign on the door of your life that says WELCOME.

So, in the spirit of my 2016 word of the year ("new" in case you haven't been following along), this is going to be one of my new goals moving forward into this next adventure. I am going to seek to be not only inclusive in my interactions but to be radically inclusive.

For an introvert like myself, this will be a challenge. I'm not always a great initiator. I like other people to take the lead and I'll just happily follow along. But as part of this new radically inclusive lifestyle I will be living, that will also include me being open and accepting toward the invitations and opportunities that come my way as well. (No skulking).

I've already been touched by ways people in my world (cough... cough... my sister) have gone out of their way to start helping us put down roots. And the thing about inclusiveness is that it's wonderfully catching. Twice now my sister has extended to me invitations to activities organized by her friends, whom I either don't know or barely know, because they simply insisted, "Bring your sister! We are so excited she's moving here! Tell her she has to come!" 

And the hermit in me just marvels and thinks to myself, "Who does that?"

I'll tell you who does. Radically inclusive people do, that's who.

I won't lie, some of my determination to be more radically inclusive is self-serving. I do believe that in some measure in this life we reap what we sow. And much more so than even for myself I am praying mightily that my daughter is going to encounter some radically inclusive 6th grade girls in the coming months.

These are some uncertain times ahead.

But we plant the seeds we want to see grow, so I'm going to be planting a whole bunch of friendly, smiling, "yes, I'd love to!", "so nice to meet you!' kinds of seeds and maybe some of them will sprout in her garden, too.

I'm also hoping we have a heavenly matchmaker who will be working overtime to help us find our people as well.

In fact, I'm sure we do.

"Friendship....is born at the moment one person says to another, "What? You too?!"
~ C. S. Lewis

Two hands

This morning I started my day with a green smoothie and BBQ Popchips.

Let me try to explain.

I think we all know that Monday mornings are like New Years Day except there are fifty-two of them instead of just one. It's the day of good intentions and starting fresh and getting back on the wagon and drinking green smoothies.

Don't get me wrong, I love my green smoothie. I make a darn good green smoothie- although it actually looks more like a grayish-purple smoothie because of the berries I put in there. But I still call it a green smoothie because that sounds healthier than saying I made myself a grayish-purple smoothie. Also, I'm not sure the word 'gray' belongs anywhere near any food related item? It sort of has an immediate effect of robbing it of any appetizing qualities whatsoever.

BUT....(You knew there was some sort of digression coming, right? I mean, how do we get to the POPCHIPS?! I know you are dying to know.)

The problem is, as much as I loooove my green (grayish-purple) smoothie, most mornings I just can't leave breakfast behind until I have chewed or crunched something. As tasty as it is, sipping my breakfast through a straw only leaves me 80% satisfied. My teeth feel totally left out and start clamoring for a job to do.

I don't need much. Just a little something. You know...like something that almost resembles air...except crunchy...with a little zing?

TA DA!!!

BBQ Popchips.

Was there really any other alternative? If there was, obviously I couldn't think of it.

Luckily, today I'm not in an either/or kind of mood.

This morning I shared with someone close to me the one thought that has helped me most when rebounding from loss.

We have two hands.

We can hold more than one thing, one experience, one emotion, one hope...all at the same time.

We can be both happy and sad.

We can be both angry and grateful.

We can wish things were different and still accept things as they are.

We can look forward and backward.

We can hold doubt and faith.

We can carry the past in our hearts while still looking to the future with hope.

We don't have to choose. We never have to choose.

We can hold both.

This weekend I took Annie on a special mother-daughter birthday shopping trip. As we were driving downtown I was heaping love on my birthday girl and told her, "I'm the luckiest mom in the world. I had my two wonderful boys and then I was given this beautiful little girl. I don't know how I got soooo lucky, but I am thankful every single day."

I meant every word, but there was a little voice in my head that piped up even as I was speaking. "Now that's an odd thing to say, given what you lost? The luckiest mom in the world? Really?!"

But I looked down at my two hands and let those words float away.

It's not all or nothing. I can hold both. I can quietly wish for the two little ones who slipped away, and still feel whole-hearted gratitude for the three who got to stay.

Don't ever let anyone tell you that you have to choose.

You have two hands. You can hold so much. But only what you want to hold.

Drink the green smoothie. Eat the BBQ Popchips.

Hold what you need to hold and let go of what needs to go.

That's what I'm doing today. I'm holding it all. The tears and the laughter. The joy and regrets. The yesterdays, todays, and tomorrows.

It's all right here in these two hands.

All things new

It's that time again. A New Year, a new One Word.

I'm a bit late posting my word not because I haven't settled on a word, but because my mind has been full of so many words, and thoughts, and to-do's, and feelings lately...that I have been too scattered to put them down into any organized form.

You: So, what you're saying is that you write best when your mind is empty?

Me: Yes. Don't ask questions.

You: But, wouldn't having no thoughts imply having nothing to say?

Me: Shhhh..... It's complicated. 

If you want a more detailed explanation of my whole One Word approach to the New Year, you can read about it here and here. I simply do not have the mental bandwidth to re-hash all of that so links are going to have to do.

If you are really bored (or are trapped under something heavy and are looking for ways to pass the time) and actually clicked on those links, you will learn that in past years coming up with my One Word took a bit of effort. There was a sort of process, if you will, that I went through to arrive at my all-important, annual One Word.

This year, my One Word came to me in early December and never left.

The fact that it was so effortless makes me wonder if I am subconsciously cheating and just opted to settle for the first reasonable word that came to mind, (As opposed to the many unreasonable words that come to mind for me all the time like: Doritos, pizza, cookie dough, margaritas...yes, I'm hungry...and no, none of those would make a good One Word....or...would they??) 

Anywhoooo....as I was saying, my One Word came to me in early December and decided to stick around for the long haul.

Since then, there have been some seismic changes in my life, but oddly enough, I feel like my word still fits. So, maybe I wasn't cheating after all? Maybe this is truly the word I need in 2016?

So, without further ado... my One Word for 2016 is...

NEW

A tiny word but one that is just chock full of promise and potential. It's almost shiny in its aura of hopefulness and optimism. Except when it isn't...

See, I'm not always a person who enjoys new things. I can be pretty content to have everyday play out with the predictability of Groundhog Day, slightly tweaking things here and there until I can finally get things right.

New can be exciting! But new can also be scary.

New opportunities can open doors to blessings you never imagined! And sometimes you have to find your way to a new normal that you never dreamed of or wanted.

In 2016, my intention is to be more open to change. To embrace the NEW and not cling to the old out of fear or intimidation.

Don't get me wrong, I am well aware that new is not always better. In fact, my more conservative nature tends to lead me more toward the end of the spectrum that says new is rarely better (can we bring back the Betamax and cassette tapes?). I'm not throwing out anything of value in my life, regardless of how well seasoned. I'm keeping my marriage, my family, my friends, my faith... Nothing crazy is happening here. I'm just going to work on not having knee-jerk reactions to new possibilities in the year ahead.

This might mean saying yes to things when I would normally say no, or no to things when I would normally say yes.

It means allowing myself to be different and not getting trapped in an unyielding mindset of who I am. More and more I am realizing that we are always changing, always growing. In fact, I believe that we are created to change! So, who I have been does not dictate who I might be tomorrow, or next week, or next year.

I often catch myself giving myself labels- "introvert", "homebody", "someone who doesn't like change" (for example)- but these are all just mindsets for the most part. Sure, we all have God-given traits that make us different and unique, but I don't think God meant for any of those traits to resemble handprints pressed into concrete- frozen and unchanging for all of time.

Sometimes it's just a matter of stretching ourselves in the smallest ways, a little bit each day.

2016 is already giving me opportunities to live out my One Word- in ways that are both exciting and sad, scary and hopeful.

In the category of new things that I never dreamed of or wanted...

2016 will be the very first year of my entire life that I will spend without this beautiful soul's physical presence. My cousin, my playmate, my inspiration, my soul-sister, my buddy, my lifetime companion...

I know, I look very suspicious here. But trust me, I loved her right from the start.

Tracy taught me the art of vacationing and the importance of a beach beverage from a young age.

I met my husband thanks to these two.
Friends forever.

We raised this mob of boys together, and then the little Princess who tagged along later.

A million small moments and good times.
And, of course, only those two were ready for the pic.
Always camera ready!

No one has ever made me laugh harder.
(Try to ignore that my hair looks like David Cassidy.)
(Windblown is not my best look.)

Our whole family is missing this girl.

We called ourselves the A Team (silly, inside joke).
The A Team will never be the same...

"...and all the trumpets sounded for her on the other side."
~John Bunyan
I miss you every minute of every day.

There aren't enough pictures or words to convey what Tracy meant to me and the hole that has been left in my life (although we gave it a good try with the photos-we have A LOT). We already spent a new Christmas without Tracy and 2016 will be full of so many other new firsts. I pray I find a way to live them well, honoring her and all the people she loved so very much.

In the category of scary but hopeful new things...

The Sawyers are taking their road show east of the mountains.

I really honestly never thought I'd say these words.

We are moving.

Not until the end of the school year so it isn't imminent, but it's happening.

I don't know what to say about that quite yet, except to say to all of our friends and neighbors who we have spent our lives with for the past 24 years, we love you. We love this city. We love this neighborhood. We love this home.

And we will still be around. I promise.

And that's all I have to say about that right now (as I channel Forrest Gump) but I imagine there will be lots more words on this subject forthcoming.

And there will be whole bunches of NEW that will go along with it.

For now, I will leave you with my 2016 verse of the year:

Let it be so. 

Happy New Year, friends.

Let's make it a good one.