On hydrangeas and moving and aging...

It was the hydrangeas that got me first. When we moved into this house on the last day of June, the mophead hydrangeas were in bloom. Every time I walked out the back door, I was struck by the sheer extravagance of them: giant blooms worthy of any flower arrangement right there, ready and waiting for me do whatever I wanted with them. It seemed like something from a beautiful novel, not at all my real life.

The garden was my sanctuary that summer because I was so dismayed and frustrated by the house. The house was dusty and dirty and smelled like someone else’s life. Paint was chipped and peeling and dingy; I could not make it all look clean to save my life and I could not afford to fix it all. So I stayed outside. And I identified and labeled all the plants. And I walked barefoot all the time, willing my very being to connect to this piece of land.

In late July, the limelight hydrangeas began to bloom. They were gorgeous— huge white flowers on hedges outside the back door and literal tree out by the garage. At first tinged with green, they became a pure white. From the window above the washing machine and dryer in our hall bathroom, I could appreciate the grand splendor of the the limelights. Extravagance. The absolute breathtaking generosity of the Creator.

Moving at midlife is so different from moving earlier in life. When we moved to our last house in Virginia, all my children were still under roof. We had barely crept into the teen years with the first one. I had a baby in my arms. Three more babies would be born there. I thought of it as my forever house, and I knew we’d settle in to stay a long, long time.

This new house (which is 250 years old) seemed very temporary right from the beginning. It is a physically demanding piece of property and Connecticut is unrelentingly expensive, so we had no illusions of staying “forever.” At times, I couldn’t really see the point in investing in something temporary. (Even though it’s all temporary, right?) That summer was melancholic, for sure. The big kids came, played for a weekend in the pool and on the porches and then left—off to their “real” lives. No longer was my house home base for their real lives. Even the college-aged ones kept “home” in Virginia.

This was the most unexpected thing of all. This was the reckoning that a certain stage— a long and beautiful stage—was over. I wasn’t a big family mom with a swinging door of my own children and their friends coming and going all the time. I wasn’t living out the legacy of many years invested in community building and watching babies—my own and others—grow. The recognition was abrupt. I didn’t see it coming. And I didn’t really know what to do with it. I liked my old life. There, I was living the life I knew I wanted to live. But here we were, far away from that, and I began to recognize that we’d made an irreversible decision.

I love Connecticut. I love my small town. I love inhaling the smell of this historic village. Our homeschool group is alive and my girls have such good friends. We are incredibly grateful for a lovely community of Catholics committed to raising families in faith. We have truly awesome neighbors. There’s a lot to like here if I just let go of my notions of what I thought life would look like when most of my kids were in their twenties, and if I stop worrying about what this abrupt shift means when they’re mostly in their thirties…

In late August, the limelights began to fade. Not fade exactly, but change. They began to turn a lovely shade of antiqued blush. I looked at them in wonder every single time I passed by. And that was all day every day. This beautiful rosy hue—my favorite color, really—this was what happened to the crisp, glorious flowers as they shifted to the new season. To be sure, they were most definitely heading into a harsh New England winter. They were on their way to dying. But first, they’d have an extended season of exquisite beauty, a season longer than their white season, in reality.

An extended season of exquisite beauty.

I’ll take it.

Hi, friends! This blog is free. You don’t have to pay a thing to be here, of course, but it’s also free of annoying blinking ads and popups that make it hard to just read in peace and are incredibly ugly. The plan is to never do that. I just can’t with the ugly…

So, this is the only “ad.” Beautycounter pays the bills. If you want to support the blog here and over at Take UP and Read, please treat yourself to some really great cleaning oil and a new lipgloss. When you treat you, you support me. Right now, if you’re new to Beautycounter, you can use the code CLEANFORALL30 to get 30% off your first order. And you can get free shipping on orders over $50 if you buy between now and Sunday, August 14. Free shipping is open to all clients, not just new ones! So this is how you keep this blog going: you buy something good for your face and keep yourself glowing:-). It’s all a win. And truly—thank you so much for considering a purchase.

First Daybook in a Decade?

Outside My Window

There is a Mary garden outside the window over my sink that is truly in its glory now. I love watching it change throughout the summer. Phlox is showing particularly strong this morning. Some bare spots remind me that I was going to add lavender this year. I wonder if it’s too late.

I am Listening to

The washing machine do its thing. I’ve gotten into a good habit of washing early and hanging as much as I can to dry outside. Our “laundry room” is not air conditioned and it’s also our hall bathroom upstairs. It gets outrageously hot in there when we run the dryer. Because our house is so old, none of the appliances that were here when we got here are energy efficient. I used to think “energy efficient” was a marketing ploy. Now I understand otherwise.

I am Wearing

A T-shirt from Revelation Wellness and denim shorts. My hair is in braids pulled back with a headband. These are hot days that call for much hair taming… Somehow, braids have become my default. when I catch my reflection, I either think to myself Laura Ingalls Wilder or Hippie Grandmother depending on how far I am from the mirror.

I am so Grateful for

all the care and effort and hard work my husband has put into our backyard this summer. Goodness! It’s a labor of love!

I'm Pondering

The second problem I see is overscheduling. Most mothers I see allow their kids' schedules to get completely out of control. Evenings and weekends are spent racing from one music or athletic event to another. I know because I made the same mistake when my kids were young. If this is a struggle for you, simplify life for everyone by adopting the "One Rule." Tell each child he may choose one after-school activity per grading period. This sounds outrageous to some parents who want their kids to excel in many different areas and who most certainly don't want to deprive opportunities. But remember one thing: Whenever your child is on the soccer field, he's deprived of time with you and the family. And which does he really need more time with in order to grow up emotionally and mentally sound?

Cutting activities from a child's schedule seems heretical for a modern-day parent. Let's face it, we are competitive with the parents in our child's class and it's hard to be home watching the other kids' parents pulling out of the driveway on their way to ski practice while you and your kids are sitting down at the kitchen table to tuna noodle casserole. But whenever you neighbor takes off with a car full of kids at dinnertime, remember that you and your kids are the real winners. You aren't doing nothing with them; you are building stronger relationships with them. And kids need better relationships more than they need more practice at any sport or extracurricular activity. They will never regret time at home

 10 Habits of Happy Mothers

Really taking this to heart as I look at the season ahead. We generally adhere to the One Rule, but it's nice to see it in print. The first year we were here was The Year the World Shut Down. We were always home, and it was good in many ways as we adapted to the huge change in our lives. Then, we found people! And those people are good and life-giving. I’m beyond grateful for them.

But I’m cautious. I can see the tug back towards over-busyness. I can see how now that we don’t have a One Thing to which we are committed the way we were previously committed to soccer and dance (a Very Big Way), there is the real possibility of being sucked away by half a dozen little things of good intent. I’m guarding against that.

I am Reading

I just finished listening through the entire Mitford series over again on Audible. The link is to the first in the series. What wonderful characters and lovely stories! I miss those folks already. Mitford is comfort reading for me. It’s entertaining and it doesn’t stress me out with plots that cause anxiety. I am at ease when I read because there’s enough predictability that I’m allowed to relax. I love how faith is woven throughout every ordinary day. … Also, John McDonough, who narrates most of them, is absolutely magnificent!

I am Creating

a pillow for a ring bearer. I have my doubts about said ring bearer actually carrying it down the aisle when Paddy gets married at the end of August, but it will coordinate nicely with the flower girl dresses, and someone will no doubt get the rings where they need to go;-)

Coming through my AirPods:

After my Mitford blitz, I started bingeing on sourdough baking podcasts. It’s not as abrupt a shift as it might seem. Mitford is a small town and people there grow gardens and cook from scratch and share with their neighbors. I’m inspired by living, breathing, growing hospitality as a way of life. Given my choice, I’d live on a few acres and have chickens and a milk cow and share from a giant vegetable garden. In reality, I mostly just share flowers. But sourdough is a living breathing thing and it will produce food we can both eat and share. So I’m starting there.

Towards a Real Education

We have begun to plan. News forthcoming. 

To Live the Liturgy...

The simplest way I know to live the liturgy is to go to daily Mass. It’s that simple, but I know it’s not always easy. Sometimes simple things are actually quite difficult to pull off. These days I am grateful for the great gift of walking to daily Mass. It has transformed my life.

I’m praying

For Patrick and Lexi in this final month before their wedding. They get married on the Feast of St. Monica. Mike and I have been asking especially for her intercession. We’re joyfully looking forward to a happy celebration in Charlottesville.

Also: For a boy I’ve loved his whole life. Please pray for comfort and consolation and the compassion of those close to him.

 In the Garden

We saw our first dahlia bloom two days ago. I’m a little reserved this year. Nothing seems to be blooming as prolifically as last year. Last year was super wet—too wet, I think. We had so many mosquitoes! This year is very dry and quite hot for New England. I don’t think the flowers are as happy as last year’s flowers were.

Around the House

Last winter and spring, we renovated our kitchen. Well, I had big ideas and made some substrate and paint choices. Other people actually renovated. It was a huge job. The walls and floors were peeled back to the studs. All the knob and tube wiring (original electricity from when electricity in homes first became available) was replaced. Floors were leveled. Ceilings were squared. The space was opened up. We added working outlets all around and a range that actually cooks! It’s amazing and I’m so incredibly happy with it.

It’s not air conditioned, however, so I am having to exercise some restraint when it comes to the oven. With 18th-century low ceilings and without any climate control in the room, that oven can make kitchen work pretty unbearable. So I’m adapting recipes and curtailing my enthusiasm for baking all the things!

From the Kitchen 

Speaking of the kitchen, we’ve taken a deep dive into the world of sourdough. Katie has spearheaded our experience and our education. She’s had some moderate successes with bread. She knocked it out of the park with homemade sourdough pasta topped with a light crab sauce. It was outrageously good and has earned itself a place on the Christmas Eve menu already. Bonus: no oven needed.

I’ve also been really loving creating tiny skillet breakfasts. We have a small oven next to our large oven on the range. It only takes a few moments to bake a couple eggs on a skillet, and they’re so darn cute they make me happy. I got the skillets here.

One of My Favorite Things

First light. I love the very early morning in my backyard with my puppy. It’s just such a good way to begin the day. .

A Few Plans for the Week

We are looking forward to a neighborhood gathering that has been two years in the making. Mike and I absolutely love our next door neighbors. They’ve been hoping to host an informal gathering at their house for old neighbors to get to know new neighbors. Covid circumvented neighborliness for a long time. We got to those folks right next to us really well. This weekend, they are going to introduce us to the rest of the neighborhood.

Then, next week, I”m hoping for several days of getting back on track after a bumpy July that was disrupted by illnesses and anaphylaxis. At the end of the week, I think maybe the bride and groom will be here for a brief weekend. Everything has to fall in to place, though, so we shall see.

Beautycounter right now

 As I revive my blog and make this newsletter a regular occurrence, I have had some decisions to make. Instagram keeps changing its algorithm. Every time it twists in the wind, I am reminded of how I don’t want to be held captive to its capriciousness. I also don’t want a blog that is full of pop-ups and blinking ads and recipes that require you to read my life story before you know how much meat to defrost.

So, the plan is for my Beautycounter business to be the sole sponsor here. I ask you to consider that writing is a livelihood and it’s a ministry. It takes some money to create content. I can do this here if you treat yourself to some pretty great lip balm and a new way to take care of your face. Please be patient with these thoughtful “ads” for a self-care line that truly brings beauty to life. If you’re new to Beautycounter, please use the code CLEANFORALL30 on your first order for 30% off. And check out these minis as a great way to try some good products without buying a full-size item. I’m so grateful for your support as I write and create and encourage.

Responding to World on Fire

I have lost count of how many times in the last couple days I’ve read the words, "the world is on fire." We pivoted quickly from discussing COVID-19 vaccines and the delta variant to grieving and despairing and crying out over Afghanistan. One thing remains constant, though. An awful lot of energy is being expended judging how other people are responding to the grave issues of the day.

As the school year begins, I have to stop and ask myself: Do I really have time to spend evaluating other people? Do I really have time to read all the things and to respond in quick order?

I don’t. These are heavy days. I want to meet them with grace and strength. I want to discern what my role is in managing crises with maturity and peace, regardless of whether that crisis is global or under my own roof. To do that, I need to nurture my physical, emotional and spiritual health. Judging how other people respond robs me of the precious margin I need for my own well-being.

I need to slow down, to refuse to rush to judgment, to decide not to enter into the fray. I don’t need to consume or produce a constant bombardment of information in order to be an informed and responsible citizen of this world and, more importantly, a co-laborer with the Lord in the kingdom of heaven on earth.

In order for me to respond well to a crisis, I have to give myself time and space to acknowledge that it exists. Sometimes, I think this first step gets lost in a cry of indignant anger that the problem is a problem. Sometimes, it gets lost because I want to just pretend it’s not there and hope it goes away. But what I really need to do is look the problem in the face, see it for what it is and maybe notice that it breaks my heart. This is a quiet, private movement.

Then, it is critical to lay that brokenness at the foot of the cross and wait for God’s response. There is a certain pouring out involved here, an unburdening, if you will. That is good and holy; God wants to hear. When I am finished saying it all in the presence of the Lord, I am called again to the quiet. I ask to hear his wisdom, and then I still myself and listen intently.

What is he guiding me to do specifically? How does he want the Holy Spirit to work through me in response to this crisis? How can I bring God’s peace to my life and to the lives of the people within my sphere of influence? This is a critical step in the process. What is within my control, and what is not mine but solely God’s or God’s call to someone other than me?

We are all called to service. In troubled times, we all have places where we can serve by bringing peace. Where are your places? Where are mine? I want to heighten my sensitivity to the needs of the people God has placed in my life — the people who are obviously "mine" and the people I may have missed at first glance because they are in places that might be a little (or a lot) uncomfortable for me at first. What are the stories of the people who hurt? How can I listen more intently to understand their pain? How can I serve them?

Can I serve without judging or comparing or condemning? Judging people does not often persuade them. People do not change their minds — about COVID-19, about Afghanistan, about abortion, about much of anything — when they are scorned or shamed. Contempt is the surest way to end communication.

Finally, when it feels as though the world is burning, it isn’t a cliche to take the time to give thanks. Not for the burning, of course, but for the grace. It is helpful to truly have a gratitude practice. That is, practice noticing the presence of God. It helps to intentionally articulate how good God is and to give thanks for him — all of him. Gratitude nurtures humility. Humility makes us sensitive to the fragility of the human condition and the needs of the people with whom we walk this earth.

We were put on this earth to know, love and serve God even when — especially when — it feels like the world is on fire. The kingdom of heaven is not burning out of control. It is here, now. Live in it, and let the Lord direct the pace and purpose of life here on the earth that he keeps spinning.

Life Lessons in the Garden

My garden holds countless life lessons; I’m sure of it. We first saw our house in February. New England in February is beautiful, actually, but it’s beautiful in a shades-of-gray-brown kind of way. The only thing I knew about my garden was its pruned-back landscape that I considered while holding an out-of-season real estate picture. When we moved into the house in early July, the garden had unfurled in all its splendor, and we were surprised by joy.

Then I quickly learned that you cannot leave an acre of cottage garden perennials to fend for themselves for a month in the summertime while you negotiate real estate transactions and moving logistics. The month it lingered here alone was one of rapid growth. Once I arrived, I was a necessarily quick study. The tasks were to discriminate between intentional plants and weeds, and to ruthlessly pull the latter. I pulled plants from the dirt, but I also weeded so much from my life that summer; so much changed and so much was suddenly still. Gone was the constant activity of a home full of kids and their friends. In its place, there were three bereft girls trying to make sense of life in a different house with far fewer siblings under roof.

At a friend’s insistence and with the gift of her tulip selections, we planted intentionally, sinking bulbs into the autumn ground, staking a claim on hope that spring would be beautiful. In the winter we started seeds. Together, we learned more than I ever imagined about perennial gardens and about annual cutting gardens. We also learned to chat over the backyard fence and across the strip of asphalt between houses. Roots began to spread into the ground ever so slowly, even in the winter.

But not much of what we learned in books made sense until we had our hands in the dirt and we saw how the light lands on our little piece of earth. The bulbs burst forth more stunning than I ever imagined. My heart leapt to see all the daffodils the previous owner had left for us — happy, cheerful faces turned to the soft northern spring sun. What a gift those blooms were. Maybe I could find genuine joy in a place long cultivated by someone else. Soon, our tulips took their places alongside, and I was feeling like gardens were my jam.

We put all sorts of plants into the ground last spring. Some did stunningly well. Others went the way of the sunflower: sturdy little starts that died once, twice, all three times we planted them. The garden beds are stages to well-orchestrated dances of many acts. The daffodils and tulips give way to the irises and peonies and roses. The Shasta daisies pop up as the ranunculus wanes. We are snipping buckets full of zinnias right now, and dahlias are beginning to burst into the light.

And I’m finding that I’m not at all who I thought I was. I thought peonies were my favorite, but the double tulips were actually the ones I loved best in the spring. I’ve never been a huge fan of zinnias. But I’m astonished by my zinnia bed every day. We are growing very loyal to one another. Despite the fact that every floor in this house is slanted so we have no flat surfaces for our seed starter trays, they adapted and thrived. Now, even under the apple tree that is throwing far too much shade, they have bloomed prolifically. They have long, strong, sturdy stems and last forever in a vase. The more we delight in them — and cut them to enjoy and give away — the more they bloom. It’s a lot like love, actually.

It’s been a year in the garden. We know just a little more than we did last year, and there is so much more to learn. But the zinnias and their buddies? They make me want to get up in the morning and run barefoot out the back door just to see what the day’s lessons will be. We’re just getting started in the school that is my cottage garden.

Rest in Christ

My friend Mrs. Berry used to say that a change is as good as a rest. In hindsight, I think this was her way of convincing herself that a vacation was restful despite the fact that every mother knows that family vacations (let’s just call them “family trips” instead) are usually a whole lot of the same work as at home, only in a different location with a bunch of people who are disoriented by changes in schedule and environment. A change is rarely anything like a rest.

My family has had a whole year of change. Like most of the world, our work and school rhythms changed. Our social patterns changed. And, for us, our entire home was packed up and shipped out to another state where we found ourselves feeling very much like we’d landed in Oz, bewildered by the strange newness of it all. 

It was a lot of things. A rest it wasn’t.

Whether your challenge is a move, or a new season of parenting, or an unexpected job change, or a “vacation” that is full of challenges and disappointments, maybe you’re finding it difficult to be loving and patient — and holy — right now. Maybe you’re discouraged because you recognize your sin even as it’s happening, but you’ve reached the end of yourself and you just can’t seem to love people the way you truly want to love them.

Here’s the thing: you don’t have to conjure love up all on your own. You are not the creator of love. When you reach the end of yourself and you whisper the faintest of prayers heavenward, they are heard by the God who is love himself. You don’t have to try harder to love better. You don’t have to make loving your family a project to be mastered. You don’t — you can’t — manufacture love.

Try to remember that. The next time you’re feeling intense shame because you fell short of the glory of God, try to remember that you have never been charged with creating love. You can reject those feelings of failure and shame. You can repent and know that you are forgiven. And then you can take action based on God’s truth. God tells us he loves us enough to lay down his life for us. God says we are heirs to his kingdom, reflections of his glory and his dearly beloved children. We are cherished and chosen.

It is up to us to accept that love. It’s up to us to recognize that shame is a lie and the father of lies often whispers into our doubts and our failures and blows them up larger than life. But we can reject the shame and ask the Holy Spirit to shed light on dark places and to let holy love heal. We don’t have to strive for love. God loved us first. We don’t have to be lovely to be loved by him. He’ll willingly come into the dark places and light them with love that purifies and sanctifies.

To love well, we need to have a true relationship with Christ — not a “try harder” relationship: an “I surrender” relationship. When we abide in the God who loved us first and we let the Holy Spirit teach us how to love as he does, love flows from there. We don’t have the innate ability to love well, but he always will, and we can love through him. We can access the power, and love, and sound mind that is Christ’s.

The real rest we need? It’s the rest of surrender, the rest of abiding in the God who loved us first. No matter how much change swirls around you, there is rest in Christ, and then there is love in rest.