Category: Observations

Zen and the Art of Home Repair

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Image courtesy of acousticzen.com

 

I’m trying to be rational here. I’m breathing the three-part breath I learned in yoga class. I’m really pissed off that my little foray into home renovation isn’t working out quite like I planned.

Here was the vision: A couple of coats of eco-friendly paint stripper would reveal the beautiful wood hiding beneath 50 or so years of paint on my stairs. I would replace a few boards on the up- and down- stairs landings. A pass through with the sander would prepare it for a quick day of staining and poly-ing. Three days later it would be finished. There. A week tops, right? Oh, the naivete.
Here is the reality: Spent three entire days of April vacation stripping and scraping. Two super-sized bottles of ‘safe’ and one, uh, unsafe bottle of paint stripper. Fast-forward to say, two or so days before school starts. One night I put up plastic sheeting and tape the upstairs doors shut. I locate all the needed materials and am SET to sand and stain (because yes, I do think it can all happen in one day). Next entire day sanding. I beg Matt for help. I tell him that I have learned my lesson. I won’t begin projects without his explicit agreement. When he tells me I don’t want to do it, I will at least hear him out. I will not, on any condition, do this again if he will just.fucking.help. We sand and sand and are covered in dust all day. We don’t have a bad time, considering. I find endless stains and cracks in the wood we uncover.

Early progress

Now it’s 4 a.m. and I have a day of driving 6 hours to pick up Colby, somehow making it to yoga class, dinner at my parents’, and finishing the sanding and cleaning. Part of me wants to go to Home Depot right now just to get a head start on the day.

Here’s my lesson: No person can truly do it all without help. Making peace with the flaws in the wood is an exercise in making peace with myself. Oh, and I should start a project that simply must be finished by September 4th by, maybe, July or something. Not August 25th. A little lesson in pacing here for me.

 

Adventure Time!

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Do you get it? The pop-culture kiddie show reference? I just knew you would.
Once upon a time, two young women spent their early adulthood adventuring together. At first, most of their time was spent walking a certain un-named someone in the Baby Jogger until he went to sleep – then they would rolllll him into the house and watch Sex and the City re-runs while he slept. Eventually they went back to school and got real jobs. Wouldn’t you know that they managed to find professions with a summer break. They went camping, to Phish shows. They even drank bottles (bottles I tell you) of wine smack in the middle of snow days.

Life was good.
Then life was crazy. They moved and switched jobs and (one of them… ahem) got married.

Finally, they were exhausted and lonely. They missed each other. So they went on an adventure.

oh yeah

You guessed it. I’m talking about myself. And Angie.

We spent last Tuesday exploring Little Wilson Falls in Elliotsville Township. In an unbelievable stroke of luck, we managed to arrive without incident (barring a near-death experience at an intersection in Monson). The area was familiar because My Dear Friend Angie and I, like most who grew up where we did, grew our hiking legs on Borestone Mountain.

Armed with PB & Js, junk food, and bathing suits: we had arrived.

Deceivingly calm, this pool empties into the falls.

It was a textbook August day in Maine: hot, humid and buggy. The climb up was easy enough, and we chose a trail overlooking the falls. Incidentally, we spent a little too much time talking and a little too little time paying attention to our surroundings. We followed a few different trails on the way down (um, which one did we take?).

M.A.T.C. sign-in box

The trail connects with the AT, and we spied a couple of through hikers. One chuckled as we approached a small climb, and I thought he was laughing at our general naivete and school-girl gigglyness. Nope. I have a feeling it was because he knew his buddy was taking a shit in the woods and we were going to come upon him quickly. Just about the time I was ready to ask Angie if she was having some issues, the poor guy emerged from the woods with a tell-tale bag. Question answered.

Lunchtime view

Let me tell you – this is an amazing little hike. I wouldn’t recommend it for most kiddos because of the sheer size of the falls and the very, very long drops. If I had brought Colby with me I would have been picturing traumatic brain injury, broken legs, and potential landing sites for Life Flight.

Snapping a mental picture to get me through a long, January day.

We, Angie and I,  agreed that it had been far too long since we had been on an adventure of any kind. The thing is, what we do tends not to matter. We’ve been stuck in traffic in Hartford for 9 million hours and the time, well, however we spend it, it has the same effect. I think the recipe is something like no husbands + no children + friends who will stop and let you drive if you think you’re going to puke = actually relaxing.  Not a day at the spa relaxing, but relaxing into yourself and a moment without worrying about someone’s health and safety, or worrying whether or not your traveling partner is enjoying the experience. So in February when I’m going out of my mind, will you all remind me of this? K. Thanks.

looking up
looking down 😉
top of the falls
the intrepid Angie gets far closer to the edge than I am comfortable with!

Now. What do you do at the end of a day like this? Well, if you’re me, you get naked in the parking lot because there are no changing rooms in the Maine woods. Then you go swimming.

I was a cheerleader. So what.
I stayed in long enough to numb my entire body.

It was lovely. We meandered home, stopping in Monson at a craft store and in Guilford in search of iced coffee and Dramamine. Funny enough, I arrived home a kinder and gentler mama. Maybe there is a lesson for me here?

I see the deer and the deer see me.

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We burned our brush pile today. Finally. It was sitting in the exact spot where I wanted to place our much-awaited, hand-me-down pool we’ve inherited from my parents. Needless to say – after unrolling the pool and wrestling with the pool and a garden hose in an attempt to clean said pool – I think burning the brush pile is going to be the easiest part.

I love fires. Not the type that leave destruction and broken hearts, of course. But the ones that you inevitably gather around to do nothing but hang out by the fire.  The best part of burning brush is the sitting, the waiting, the endless poking of the fire and grabs for flaming sticks and always, always, nearly incinerating your eyebrows. After everyone else tired of the fire, I was still out there, in the twilight, beer in one hand, a book in the other. Birds were darting overhead, an owl was hooting in the distance, and the intermittent crack of early holiday fireworks rumbled in the distance. I had pulled up a little corner of heaven on the outskirts of Bangor, Maine.  Then the COOLEST thing happened.

I looked up from my book to check on the fire to see the teeniest little deer face I have ever seen staring me down. It was smack in the middle of a patch of red clover and daisies, clearly enjoying itself and clearly not afraid of me. If this is one of the same deer that keeps eating my garden, oh well. It was to damn cute to worry about the tops of my tomato plants. After five or so minutes of grazing, it meandered toward the woods, white tail up, but certainly in no hurry. As sad as I am to not have pictures, I’m so grateful that I was paying attention and realizing that moment without spending my time digitizing an image.

Later on at least five more came out, but it was dark and I was tending the fire. They fled quickly once they realized I was there, but now that I am inside (writing instead of folding the enormous load of laundry sitting next to me), I am sure they’re right back at it. I just hope they leave my cabbage alone.

The Great Facebook Breakup

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Though I’m not one for resolutions and absolute “I’m going to change my life RIGHT now by doing x . . . y . . . z. . . “, I sat down early in January and compiled a list of general and specific goals. Some were big (run a 1/2 marathon) and some were bigger (spend more real time with Colby), and I set small goals for myself along the way – checkpoints that would help me see that I was making progress.

I kept running. I relaxed into conversation with Colby instead of bossing him around. I took the Facebook app off my phone.

The Facebook app removal freed me. I’m a bit low on self-control and high in general nosiness – so it is no surprise to anyone that I was on it ALL the TIME. I checked it first thing in the morning from bed. I hit the app icon as soon as I got in my car, before I even put my keys in the ignition. All the time. I couldn’t keep myself away from the constant stream of pictures and information and conversation. It was like being surrounded by my friends 24/7, kinda, but not really.

Eventually I discovered a quick way to Facebook via my iphone without the app. It started again. So over the last few months, as I’ve wondered how to keep myself on center and present, I’ve realized how frequently I am, well, everywhere. I don’t even want to think about how much time I spent creeping on baby pictures. If I had spent all that time hanging out with my own kid . . .

So we’re breaking up. Soon.

I’ll keep you posted here and via Twitter @ https://twitter.com/#!/frommidnightoil.

While I’ll miss the parts of your lives I’ve come to look forward to (especially baby and dog pictures, political rants, and reports from other time zones), I’m anxious to clear some clutter from my life before the summer begins.Here’s to good books, morning coffee on my porch, and old fashioned emails!

With Love -Heather

Let summer begin! The new issue of Sparrow magazine is up and I’m a contributor!

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“Little piece of spinach! You can’t escape me! Hahaha!”

Once again, I delve into topics both budgetary and gastronomical. Check it out here:

http://www.sparrowmagazine.com/issue04/budget-gourmet-clean-eating-on-a-dirty-budget/

Are you feeding your family (or self) on a budget? How do you do it? What do you eat? Do tell!

Big Love –

Heather

Every Mother Counts

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While I’m sitting comfortably in my bed, drinking decent wine, surrounded by two snoring dogs and one grumpy guy who probably wants me to stop typing so he can just go to sleep, I’m feeling a little sorry for myself. And a little guilty for my little pity party. The people in my house don’t really do holidays, and by holidays I mean anything other than Christmas.

Life is good, truly, but it’s just, well, it’s almost Mother’s Day. Don’t get me wrong. I love my mother, I love my grandmothers and aunts and like-a-mothers and mother-friends and friends-who-have-yet-to-become-mothers, and at the end of the day I love myself too. But, well, fuck you Hallmark. And all jewelers and card companies and Kodak and whoever the fuck else floods the market with oversentimental bullshit. Because you know what is not happening in most households in America? Fathers gently rocking sweet new babies to sleep, telling sweet babies about what  super-great mommies they have and how mommies deserve the best damn necklaces etc. money can buy. Also, I dare say there is little long term planning. Daddies and kiddos haven’t been sneaking around for weeks creating something heartfelt and thoughtful for mommies. Daddies are going to the store. To buy stuff.

Do I sound like the bitter woman who only hates Valentine’s Day because she never gets a gift? I know. But you know I’m right.

On my first “Mother’s Day” as a mother, I made the mistake of asking my ex what he was planning. His response? “Why? You’re not my mother”. It went downhill from there.

Of course every person wants to feel special and appreciated. It’s human nature – at least at this point in the game. But really? Shouldn’t we be doing this every day? I know it’s a bit of an anomaly, but there are partners who treat their respective partners in such a way that their children learn that people are to be respected, appreciated, and cherished. I know this happens because, as a teacher, I see some of these kids. They are easy to pick out in a crowd.

In this spirit, I am sending out a link to Every Mother Counts, a campaign to reduce maternal mortality world-wide. Because as I sit in my comfy bed, picking at my cesarean scar, there is another woman in the same situation I was in who will not have the benefit of modern medicine. On this Mother’s Day, I will still call my family and friends. I will still be sad if the day passes unnoticed in my household. However, I will spend the day thankful that I was able to physically become a mother – to leave the hospital healthy and with a healthy child.

So, friends, what if a fraction of what we spent on cards and flowers and gifts went to help the other mothers? The ones who don’t, like me, entertain fantasies of secret gifts and breakfast-in-bed, but fantasies of survival and health?

My hope for all of you is that you have a wonderful weekend, but that it is one more day that you are acknowledged, respected, and cherished. And that you take all of that goodness and pass it on the those around you.

p.s.

I almost forgot. FUCK you, Time magazine, for so purposely printing yet another piece of inflammatory, mommy-war inciting rhetoric. I am so unbelievably disappointed.

 

 

Camp Dogs

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We’ve been out to camp, in an obscure town full of streams, ponds, and glacially decorated boulders. I have worm guts on the jeans I have been wearing for three days, I smell like wood smoke, and my hair is greasily matted in the strangest places.

I am a happy girl.

While my homebody nature prefers to be at home, surrounded by my most precious and familiar beings and things, camp is a state that exists as an extension of; minus the bills, nagging housework and chores, work, and the responsibility inextricably connected to home.

We set up camp late Friday night, and Matt woke early saturday to make breakfast and coffee while I snuggled with the dogs. Life is so hard sometimes. We didn’t have any luck fishing that morning, but we trailed along the river for a bit, stopped to have a snack on a moss-covered boulder, and headed back to camp. After lunch, camp coffee and a nap we headed out (dogs towing us) to walk a three or four mile loop up and down a hill. We followed the tracks (and scat) of a moose the entire time. Poor Sammie was very excited when we came upon a porcupine crossing the road. Luckily, that was the most excitement we encountered.

Upon return I took my reading spot while Matt made supper (see why I like it out here so much?!). We visited, snuggled with the dogs and…relaxed. It’s a weird feeling for us. I went to bed so early that I was the first one awake!

But now, it’s time to go. We’ve had a dance party, cleaned camp, and watched the dogs swim. I’m sitting in the car charging my phone and talking to you while I watch the sun dance off the pond. And while I’m reluctant to go home, I actually feel rested enough to take on another week. Happy Sunday, friends.

From Osborn,

Heather

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Stuff that makes me happy

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I’ve spent the week embodying that line “every day I’m shufflin”. Two positions have given me comfort; one in which I’m lying propped up on pillows, the other I’m walking around with my right arm tucked up in an invisible sling. While my body has been screaming, my spirit has been buoyed by the unexpected warmth and sunshine. This makes be happy.

Because I am uncharacteristically happy and because I’m sure Oprah has trademarked the phrase “my favorite things”, here is a look at some stuff that makes me happy.

This kid and his shenanigans.
bubble baths - which coincides with actually living in a house with a bath tub
These girls
... even though they act like drunken goats ...
Oh, and this guy and his collection of early- to mid-'80s gems. Hey! I'm an early '80s gem!
Sunny days!
Work/running/life buddy, Jane

Also: Amazon shopping, this book, Central Street Yoga, new running shoes, peanut butter ice cream, and the general feeling that I can thrive in chaos.

Forgetting to Inhale

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 Life is crazy, I’m not going to lie. Last year we were so busy traveling that I never really had a chance to stop and think. This year is still the same busy-ness that so many of you live: work, kids, dog(s), grad school, family, house care… The list goes on and on and on. The biggest change has been moving, of course. I left my single-mama home, a space that Colby and I had to ourselves, with the luxury of not having to accommodate the needs of others. I left my support network of friends and family. I am no big fan of change, and it’s no secret that I would usually prefer to stick with “the Devil I know” than to enter into a new situation.
I wasn’t nice to my kid. I wasn’t nice to my partner. I reserved all my kindness and spent it at school, and some days I didn’t even have enough for them. I stomped through life, demanding that everyone Follow Me! Right now! Hurry up, I’m going to be late! The furrows in my forehead were dangerously close to becoming a permanent fixture on my face. This shit was not good.
 I knew this was not the kind of parent, or person, I had set out to be. I’m the first to embrace the humanity of mistakes, but I needed to make some changes.  Thinking back to my early years of parenting, and how I made peace with the incredibly difficult situation I was in, I remembered. I ran, I cooked, I went to yoga.
 I’ve been running for over a year now. That was a step.
 I moved through three rounds of purposely clean eating to re-center how I needed food and family to converge.
Then, I went to yoga. Which, judging by the length of this post, is another story (Matt says I tend to talk too much, get distracted too easily, but who cannot see that this all is a story about the exact same thing!? Sheesh). But anyway. After a mad dash down Central Street, I finally made it.
Poser
I want to stay there forever. People tell me what to do, when to breathe in, and out. It smells like Nag Champa. It’s sunny and warm. No one cares if have pigtails.
 Do any of you feel like somehow, some way, you resemble one of those dollar-store puzzles where all of the tiles are there, but you have to use your fingernails to pry the tiles apart and move them back into alignment, only to realize that you’re never actually going to be able to finish the puzzle?  That’ where I am. And while I’ll never get the perfect balance, and I’ll probably break a nail along the way, at least I have the edges finished.