March 31: Secret Journal of a Would-Be-Kid-Turned-Mama

Today started with a very tired 10 year-old. Aria was exhausted this morning (growing at an insane rate sometimes means the need for a whole lotta sleep). She was petulant in her demands for a 4 day weekend and 3 day school week. (Dream big, baby.)

Here is my evolution of interaction: 
I sympathized: “You are so tired, I can understand you wouldn’t want to go today.”
I empathized: “Sometimes Mondays are hard for me also.”
I reasoned: “We are getting close to summer break and you will get 7 day weekends then!”
I encouraged: “You got this!”
I threatened: “Get out of bed. Right. Now.”

Here’s the funny thing: It’s during these little meltdowns that I feel most like a kid playing the role of an adult. I want to throw the alarm clock across the room, stomp my foot, put my jammies back on, crawl into my couch fort and watch trash tv all day while eating Cool Ranch Doritos.

They don’t tell you that these feelings will linger once you are an adult. It’s like you are magically supposed to transcend reality to live at a higher consciousness. Not so much. You just have to set it aside while you coerce your child out the door for school. Then you can stomp your foot like you mean it. And go to work.

Jack Johnson - Upside Down

March 30: Patio

Today was another gorgeous offering spent mostly outdoors. After hours of manual labor (and proof of life in the garden - my alpine strawberries are awakening!) I cleaned off my table on my patio so that I could relax for a spell in the faint sunlight. 

My book? F. Scott Fitzgerald's This Side of Paradise - romantic hedonism at its best. In my glass? A crisp California savignon blanc. On my iPod? Jazz.

Diana Krall - Peel Me a Grape

March 29: Dirt Therapy

Today was bliss-filled in my world. I bought a few pansies and succulents. Signed up for a fairy garden class for next weekend with my little song. Raked leaves I ignored last autumn. Spent most of the day outside without a coat on and soaked it all in. 

Spring is beckoning us, that seductive minx. I will answer her call.

Aria spent the day monitoring the neighbor's cat who is a terror to our neighborhood birds and chipmunks. She managed to save a baby bird from its jaws by the breadth of a feathered wing. She stayed out on patrol until the cat went in for the evening. She plans to resume her watch in the morning. I think it's a valiant effort.

Fleetwood Mac - Songbird

March 28: 47 years in the blink of an eye

Recorded 47 years ago, no soundtrack would be complete without this track:

Van Morrison - Brown Eyed Girl

March 27: Sentimental

Aria and I dined with a dear co-worker/friend tonight at HuHot. I started working with this friend when Aria was 9 months old. We were on a project where we worked insane hours. 

We'd often end our day (or break from our work before going back) at HuHot, along with two other wonderful co-worker/friends who were on the project with us. It's a place of happy memories.

We'd make tiny rice balls for Aria to nibble on. Share a meal. Unwind from our day. Talk and laugh. They were the kind of co-workers that made work a delight.

Aria adores HuHot. I don't know if it's pasta love, crafting your own dish, or sheer comfort from routine that she likes best. I simply know that it makes her happy to eat there. And I know that when Aria's happy, odds are pretty great I'm happy.

Warm evening bringing to the present warm memories. 

John Coltrane - In a Sentimental Mood

March 26: Tin Roof? Rusted!

If you were of a certain age in the late 80s / early 90s, most certainly at one point you were found cruising around with this tune cranked up. Some of my very best car dancing was perfected to this song.

It's such a feel good song! You know you want to sing along...and dance!

The B-52's - Love Shack

March 25: A Girl Named Trixie

OK, who has read the Trixie Belden books? Crabapple Farm. Bob-Whites of the Glen. The jalopy. A girl named Honey and a boy named Mart? I had an addiction to these books in my youth. Trixie was a more believable Nancy Drew. More down to Earth - she had to babysit younger siblings and hated chores too. She jumped to conclusions but was often right. She loved to find answers to questions and found mystery everywhere around her. She delighted me as a girl.

Maybe it's the name Trixie that makes me love Trixie Whitley. Maybe it's that she shares a sound and has soul so much like her dad's. Chris Whitley is a strong favorite.

Whatever the reason, she is amazing. I'm happy to add her and all of Black Dub to the mix and hope you enjoy also!

Black Dub - I Believe In You

March 24: Catch a Snowflake on Your Tongue

Looking out my window at snowflakes lilting down.

I was reflecting on a March several years ago when my back patio (a stamped concrete affair) was put in. The winter was so tepid that year that early March brought a new patio, garden beds tilled, edged and ready for planting fruits, veggies and flowers, and a new lifestyle of reading books and sipping wine in the out of doors. Heaven. In retrospect, it was the mildest, easiest winter I can recall. Today it is remembered as tropical in comparison to this year’s offering.

I have this walnut tree in my backyard that rivals the Whomping Willow from Harry Potter. When the walnuts begin falling, it’s a bit dicey out back. There are a few branches that extend over my patio. My squirrels are absolute hooligans and like to perch on those branches and throw walnut shells at me while I attempt to lounge.

This past autumn, the tree had an absolute plethora of walnuts on it. I have been here 7 years and had never seen it so covered in bounty. Now, I’ve never really been a country girl. Small town? Yes. Country? No. I don’t subscribe to the Farmers’ Almanac. If I did, however, I would have watched that walnut tree’s production levels and my incredibly plush squirrels and inferred that March 24 would find flakes falling from the sky. I could have budgeted a vacation that included sand, all-inclusive drinks, and more sunshine than I’ve seen in months. I could have bought an industrial shovel, a snow blower, a hearty man, a shorter driveway. Something.

I didn’t do that. Sniff.

My fingers want to dig in the dirt. I want to bring forward bounty from the earth. Farrow is so last season.

I spent a portion of yesterday lovingly caressing my spring dresses in the back of the closet. My soul begs for spring. The skies deliver more winter.

Stevie, I need you. I need you like I’ve never needed you before.

Stevie Wonder - Superstition

March 23: Yeats

I have had this poem rattling around in my head the past week. Generally, it's a song that gets stuck in my thoughts. This week it's been this poem. It's a favorite.

I used to have this Enya CD that I played on repeat. If romance had a sound (to my young ear), it was Enya. Yearning. Spring. Love. 

My pilgrim's soul is ready to welcome all of these in. 

Enya - Storms in Africa

When You Are Old

BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

March 22: Equations

I am incredibly lucky to have a foodie daughter. Our eating adventures rarely bring us to fast food. She would never think to ask for McDonald’s. Her hands down favorite is HuHot – a spot where you pick out your own noodles and toppings, blend sauces to create your own mix, and then your meal is stir fried on a grill in front of you. Other favorites include Thai and a variety of Italian. This delights me to no end. She is always willing to try new restaurants and tastes. It makes being a single mama a delight.

I took Aria out for curry this evening. In the restaurant, I was looking around at our fellow diners. Everyone was paired, either on dates or married couples. There were no other families there. 

This song drifted across the restaurant’s soundtrack. It is a rare moment where I feel alone. Unpartnered. Like a half. Less than whole. Equations that didn't please me.

It passed quickly as a food induced coma set in and Aria’s banter about her next birthday bash (in October, mind you), filled our table with more animated conversation than any other in the restaurant. We rarely eat in silence. We dine. We talk. We dream up our next adventure or discuss our last success. There were no cell phones dividing us. No distractions. It was a rare restaurant without a TV over the bar. Thank the heavens.

An aside – I am incredibly saddened at the shift in our society in regard to electronics. Cell phones in particular. In the restaurant, everyone had their phones on the table. Most couples were texting and looking at Twitter/Facebook, etc, rather than interacting with the person they were with at the restaurant. We are losing our ability to connect in person. To make eye contact and deep dive into each other in meaningful ways. That is a vast loss. Connection is priceless, and I feel it’s weakening amongst us.

Keep your phone in your purse or pocket. I’m sure it will all be fine. Ask the person in front of you about the best part of their day. Or their favorite book. Or to tell you a joke. A warm memory. A dream. A secret. Truth or dare. Converse. Deep dive. Connect. Pretty please.

Back to the table. Curry. Noodles. Rice. Me. Aria. No electronics in sight. Joy. A moment of feeling half but a lifetime of wholly felt love.  

The Civil Wars - To Whom It May Concern

March 21: Dinner Theater

I spent my afternoon and evening in Amana celebrating two friendships that have grown over the years. One friend from high school. One from my radio station days. Coffee, conversations, giggles, joy. 

Dinner was at the Ox Yoke Inn noshing with one friend while watching another perform in a murder/mystery dinner theater. I adore community theater on any level. Watching a friend in his glory was bliss.

This song played during the show, and it was just perfect. It's a Cornell song filled with sass for me, and it blended perfectly into our evening to create a memory I'll treasure always.

Salt-N-Peppa with En Vogue - Whatta Man

March 20: Unsent

I spent part of today reflecting on revolving doors. Wanting to peek around corners and envision journeys never taken. Wanting to craft journeys yet to be.

My what ifs are rarely men, although I do love the reflective nature of this song. Especially Marcus. Everyone needs a Marcus to rock their world.

My what ifs are mostly about where I'd be if I'd said no to the guy and said yes more often to myself. Finished college. Indulged in travel. Lived more self-focused passions. Dated many amazing men, but waited to marry just the right guy (who conveniently would have a flashing neon sign over his head, a heart only for me, and who could have delivered Aria to me in all her lovely entirety on a silver platter). You know. The basics.

I love my world. I love my today more than any today I've ever had. It doesn't stop me from time to time from pondering what if...

Alanis Morissette - Unsent

March 19: The Boss

Bruce Springsteen. The 80s would not be complete without him. This song played over and over in my little world growing up.

Do you remember the video to this song? I used to watch it on Friday Night Videos while babysitting in Pomeroy. 

Did you know Courtney Cox was actually cast for the video to dance on stage with Bruce? Lucky dog.

Aria and I danced to this one in the Mirror Maze at Mall of America. 

She loves to find a corner where two mirrors meet in a V and dance. It is so worth the price of admission to see the sheer joy of dancing with a few Arias at once.

Happy Wednesday, all!

March 18: Seven Veils

One of my favorite Sinéad songs is Mandinka. I sang it for years without knowing what it meant.

The Mandinkas are a West African ethnic group. Sinead wrote the song inspired based upon Alex Haley’s Roots.  

The lyrics refer to dancing the seven veils. The song melds tribal reference with Sinead’s coming of age / come hither lyrics.

I found all of that much more enticing before reading up on the Mandinkas, who still practice female genital mutilation.

It's a great song regardless.

Sinéad O'Connor - Mandinka

March 17: Joy

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

We brunched at American Girl today. Aria was singing this song (with gusto). I love how diverse our soundtrack is! It always surprises me when songs that shuffle through my iPod as I bake or watch birds in my kitchen nook are sung by Aria. It makes me smile that Van Morrison or Ella Fitzgerald are in her mix, along with Taylor Swift and that darned "Call Me Maybe" song. 

I saw Lucinda at Hoyt Sherman in Des Moines a few years ago. She was raw, gritty and purely fantastic. She's the kind of woman that would be fun to have a beer with, and talk trash about politics and life. I am rather certain her stories would be colorful to hear. 

Lucinda Williams - Joy

March 16: Spring Break!

What does an Iowan do when it snows on March 15? Wakes up and heads north on March 16. Spring break finds us visiting Minneapolis

We saw dinosaurs at Science Museum, bought a few books at Wild Rumpus (my favorite bookstore, complete with chinchillas and chickens), ate amazing Thai at Naviyas, and then hit the water park at our hotel. We are snuggled in bed and ready for another day of adventure.

Guess what I'm not doing tonight? Packing lunch for Aria's school day and prepping myself for another work week. It's late. We're still up. I'm great with that.

Guess what else? It's a beautiful life. If I were a cat, I'd be purring tonight.

This morning, with my world covered in snow again, was a mess. Blissful to escape that reality for a bit and explore new horizons for a bit. 

I adore Tristan Prettyman. I hope you enjoy her also.

Tristan Prettyman - Mess

March 15: New Shoes

Today found Aria and I doing our best to stimulate the economy.  We popped by a shoe shop to pick out a few pairs of shoes for the changing season and Aria's changing shoe size.

10 year-olds seem to sprint through growing. At least mine is. She's nearly 5'5", towering over most of her classmates. She doesn't seem to be bothered by this, and often appears proud. I'm glad angst hasn't set in over being different. 

I was an early bloomer also. I think I was 5'10" by 12 or 13. I was taller than my 5th grade teacher. I remember going to summer camp one year. When I entered the cabin, the girls all hushed, whispering, "The counselor is here" to which I proclaimed, "I'm a kid!". I wasn't as comfortable with it all as Aria appears to be. My shoulders were more rounded than pulled by proudly. 

Aria's always been over the 100% percentile on the height charts. I have often wanted to put a sticker or sign on her that says, "I'm only 3" or similar. Now as she nears adolescence, I want to put other signs around her. Things like, "Behave or lose an arm." "I can't date until I'm 30." Stuff like that.

We bought size 9 shoes for her today. Officially, we can share shoes. Heaven save me, and my budget...

Paolo Nutini - New Shoes

March 14: The Littlest Birds

So...my March 14 post just didn't decide to play nice. No matter. 

I was praising the chirping of birds heard around my neighborhood. Their song heralds the rapid approach of Spring. 

I encourage everyone to put a bird feeder out and encourage nature to come play. Bird song is glorious. So are the Be Good Tanyas. 

The Littlest Birds - The Be Good Tanyas

March 13: Swelling Hearts and Temps

The temperature is in the 60s today. 60s, people. This morning it was in the 20s. What a surprise to walk out of work and be greeted with such beauty! 

There is crisp sunshine and a blustering breeze. No clouds in the blue, blue sky. It's the sort of day where you begin it in a jacket and end it with layers removed. Scandalous to find the elements touching bare flesh!!  

I scooped through the car wash to emerge with a car that is blue. Who knew? There was quite a line-up at the wash. While waiting my turn, this ditty came across my radio. I had my window down and sang it for all I'm worth. I noted a man a few rows over looking bemusedly at me. You are welcome, sir. You are welcome.

This is one of those great songs that starts quiet and ends with a fervor you just can't help but join. 

Rod Stewart - You're In My Heart

March 12: Knock on Wood

Today was purported to be the last day in the 30s Iowa will face this winter. Everyone, please knock on wood.

And dance! It beats the winter blues any ol' day.

Michael Franti & Spearhead - Say Hey (I Love You)

March 11: U2

U2 hung out with me at every volleyball practice I ever sweat through in high school. They cruised around town with me in my lovely Mercury Lynx (her name was Lola). I saw them in a gorgeous outdoor concert in Ames during my freshman year of college.

They have been a part of my soundtrack for much of my life. 2014 couldn’t pass without them in the mix.  

PS – the Ames concert was during the One tour. I remember when the belly dancer came up from the stage floor and all I could think was that she had the best job in the world. She hid for a few songs. Emerged to dance one song. Got to tour with U2. Not a bad gig.

U2 - Bad

March 10: A Little Bowie

This little ditty drifted across my iPod shuffle today. If a soundtrack is a recipe, I'm adding a little hep cat today to our mix.

I once owned a silverish blue micro mini dress trimmed with a marabou feather edge. I wore it with powder blue 5" wedges and mirror ball earrings. I had these big white sunglasses that completed the look. 

This outfit was seen dancing in bars, and a few years later at Halloween. It never occurred to me to be chagrined that one outfit could carry me from club to costume party within a few years of purchase. It was a hot look. I would have fit in beautifully at Studio 54.

That outfit danced to this song more than once.

David Bowie - Golden Years

March 9: Roots

I wanted to take at least one day this year to introduce you to McGregor. Yesterday I spoke of my family’s roots there. I have often wondered if those roots account for my love of the place, or if it holds such love because it was a place of reunions in my youth. No matter the reason, for someone who has moved around a good bit in her life, McGregor has always been the home of my heart.

I’ve lived in Iowa most of my life. People often think of Iowa as flat. I would challenge that they haven’t been on RAGBRAI. But overall, our state ebbs and flows more than rises and falls.

My Iowa has bluffs where bald eagles soar over the Mississippi. Where Indian burial mounds are shaped like animals and remind us of the history of our land. It has an historic main street that transports you to an era before suspension bridges when the steam boat connected Iowa and Wisconsin, when river towns flourished.

If you have never heard of the The Great River Road, it is worth checking it. It spans over 3,000 miles from the Gulf of Mexico through Canada. In Iowa, it brings you through scenery that defies your ideas of my state. If you are in or close to Iowa, the River Bluffs Scenic Byway covers just over 100 miles in Clayton and Fayette counties. Drive it in autumn for a visual feast.

McGregor is home to Pikes Peak State Park. Like the Colorado Pikes Peak, it was named for Zebulon Pike. In my youth, the park had dirt trails that we ran along. Today, there are wooden paths built throughout the park. You can sit on an overlook and observe the confluence of the Mississippi and Wisconsin rivers. My dad married my step-mom on one such overlook at sunrise on the 4^th of July.

 You can hike a mile or so to Bridal Veil Falls, a small but charming waterfall. If you summit the hill following the Falls, you can walk amongst the majesty of several of my favorite burial mounds. 

I recommend lying down on one for a spell. Listen to the breeze whispering through the leaves. The sunlight dancing and playing with you. It's one of my favorite spots on Earth.

Beyond Pikes Peak, there is Effigy Mounds. Yellow River Forest. Spook Cave (Iowa's longest underground cave where you get to take a boat ride through the cave). Nearby Decorah has my very favorite spot to kayak or canoe – the Upper Iowa River. If you are a mountain biker, Decorah is paradise. The area has cabins, B&Bs, great restaurants and dives. 

Tiny Triangle Park in McGregor (my family have literally held jobs as tourist guides there) hosts an art festival twice per year. You can rent a houseboat or go fish on the Mississippi. Tool down Lovers Lane. Catch a catfish. You need to get out on the water if you visit. It's well worth it.

My childhood has treasured memories of boat rides with my grandpa and grandma. We didn't fish. They liked to take it slow along the river, tooling around to check out the various islands. Then we'd get an ice cream. The boat represented an island of sorts. A small place where everyone was "in" and you got to spend time focused on each other and the beauty of the scenery. Sometimes my grandpa would let me take the wheel. Everything about it was special.

My dad has a boat there today. His boat is for fishing, although the pace is the same. Slow and steady. I suspect Aria would say much the same thing I did of my grandpa's boat. She loves her Grandpa Mustache's boat because it's an island. She gets to fish. She gets to spend special time with Grandpa. And she gets to tell big fish stories.

It feels nearly impossible to imbue this post with enough love for this place. I want to describe the depth of my feeling as we'd descend into the valley of McGregor via Highway 76. Ears popping with altitude adjustment, heart soaring as I anticipated seeing grandparents or my dad. Heart breaking as I left my dad again. 

It was home. As I have grown and created my own home, it is less so. Home is me and Aria. I will always treasure the natural beauty of the place though, and the memories I planted in that soil.

There used to be this restaurant called the White Springs in McGregor. It was a very popular local spot that served fried chicken, catfish, steaks, drinks in tiny PBR glass cups. The White Springs had a jukebox. Sometimes I was blessed enough to score a quarter to spin a tune. It played this. 

Linda Ronstandt - When Will I Be Loved

March 8: From Whence I Come

Have you ever gotten into genealogy? It intrigues me greatly.

I can trace my father’s paternal side back to Germany prior to our Revolutionary War. I had relatives fighting for independence (and buried) in Bucks County, Pennsylvania.

In the 1800s, they made their way to NE Iowa. They became masons building churches around the region. They farmed.  They settled. My cousin lives on their homestead outside McGregor and farms to this day.

My father’s mom had parents from Bern, Switzerland who were Swiss and Italian. I attribute my complexion to my Grandma Troester. She was a beauty, inside and out. Her name was Alta, and she was tall (about 5’10” I believe). A regal woman who lived a hard working and incredibly humble life on the farm. Alta Anderegg married Louis Troester. Here is a blurry version of their wedding photo (note she is sitting - she was a good 3 or 4 inches taller than her husband):

She died when I was only 3. What amazes me about that is how vividly I remember her. Grandma loved me dearly, I could feel it viscerally. She made pies when we would visit. She had the warmest hugs I’ve ever received. I still remember her funeral because it was the first time I saw my dad cry. She had 7 children and many grandchildren. She created a legacy of love. I wish I could hug her again.

On my mother’s side, it’s rumored family our came over on the Mayflower. I have never traced that lineage so I cannot confirm that. There are a whole lot of English and Irish roots within the Moore clan. That I know.

I also know the brief story of how my maternal great-grandma Zelma (I called her Nana) came to McGregor.

Curious about the name Zelma? I was. My Nana was named after a minister who inspired her parents with her fiery prose. Imagine how rare a female minister must have been in the late 1800s. Both my Nana and my gram carry the name. I’ve never met another soul named Zelma. It’s a special name to me. It brings baked goods to my hands, hugs to my arms, and smiles to my heart just hearing it.

Nana grew up within a Quaker family in Ohio. I don’t think it was an easy life, although she didn’t complain about it. She had a brother who served in WWI. She asked him to give her the name of a fella serving on the ship with him and she’d write to him. He gave her Percy Freeman’s name.

Nana wrote. (Nana also was a flapper in Cincinnati at this time, according to her tale and the jewelry she kept to remember a younger, more carefree girl). Percy answered from somewhere around the Philippines. After the war, Percy came to Ohio and scooped my little Nana up in his arms to marry him.

They had great plans to homestead in Wyoming. Imagine living in the era of homesteading... They planned to pass through McGregor on the way, to visit Percy’s family. Percy’s grandfather was a riverboat captain on the Mississippi, ferrying cars from Iowa to Wisconsin. His name was Rob Roy Freeman. How fantastic is that?

Well, Rob Roy was quite a salesman. He convinced Percy to stay in McGregor and help on the River. My mom’s family has been there since. I don’t think it was the grand vision Nana held when she was a young girl in what she called Cincinnatah. But they bought a beautiful farm and made a life.

I lived on this farm from age 3 until 5 when my parents divorced. It was a magical place with an apple orchard, a babbling brook, morels in the spring, and a feeling of home I’ve never had anywhere else. It has an incredibly special place in my heart. My mom rented it for years after the divorce and then sold it when I was 19(ish). I will always regret the loss of it.

Zelma and Percy raised three girls, calling the oldest Zelma after her mother. Percy died the month I was born, and so I never met him. When you are kid, you accept things as is. With today’s perspective, I see that my Nana was alone three decades. It makes me wish I would have made my visits with her longer. That is a lot of alone for one little lady to bare.

Nana lived until I was nearly 30. She always had a crystal dish of candied orange slices on the buffet when we visited McGregor. That buffet is in my dining room today. She taught me to love Louisa May Alcott. She was a tiny woman with understated ways.

My parents hail from McGregor, where they met in high school. I had intended to write about McGregor today. It is such a hidden gem. I guess it feels like in order for you to understand my connection with this little town, first you must understand my soul’s connection with the soil. I am a part of it. I come from it in the basest sense.

Tomorrow I’ll take you to the soaring bluffs and down the mighty Miss. Today, just know that Iowa isn’t all flat, filled with farm land and pigs. It holds beauty. It holds deep roots. 

Sarah McLachlan - I Will Remember You

March 7: Complete

Facebook always tells me that my profile is almost complete. It wants me to define my relationship status. The irony is not lost on me. 

In truth, I feel just fine on my own - happier than I've ever been, in fact. I guess "complete" is defined differently by us all.

Pearl Jam - Love, Reign O'er Me

March 6: Sugar

Much of life is ritual, routine. We've spoken of my daily bread. I love it, truly. But sometimes a girl needs a fancy meal. A little something to provide some much needed zing. 

I got a text today that was a feast for my soul. What buoyant bliss to have something to anticipate...

Nina Simone - I Want a Little Sugar in My Bowl

March 5: Constellations

I was reflecting with a friend today how various people can bring out special traits within us. How others can be a mirror for things within us that we lose touch of within ourselves in the hum drum duty of our lives. 

I can be playful, deep dark chocolate serious, refined intellect personified, grass roots granola girl, empathetic assurance, womb of the Earth mama, small town girl, Erin Brockovich: a veritable myriad of Andreas. Each person brings out facets in me. Each Andrea is genuine. Or very much tries to be.

When I was younger, I used to fear I didn’t know myself because I had so many true selves. Some people have a deep rooted understanding of their personality. They aren’t the utility players of the world. They have a grounded home. I also suspect they more often feel they “belong” than us utility players.

When everywhere and nowhere is your home or your people, you are more Ally Sheedy than Molly Ringwald in the Breakfast Club arena. That has been my life experience anyway.

My friend spoke of these people that bring out our various selves - the light they bring and how it reflects a piece of us. Those people come together to form the constellation that is the culmination of all our true selves. Points of light that merge to create beauty. I love that intensely.

“There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.” - Edith Wharton

Jack Johnson - Constellations

March 4: Live You

My phone (via auto correct) prefers to live rather than love. For me, there can be no living without love. I cannot seem to explain this to my phone. 

If you get a text from me saying I live you, I do. As best as I can.

Something else I live/love is Rachael. This is a favorite.

Rachael Yamagata - Meet Me By The Water

March 3: Shenandoah

I’ve been reading Bill Bryson’s A Walk In The Woods. I have always thought I’d love to walk portions of the Appalachian Trail. I do not fool myself that I could endeavor the entire 2,000+ miles. As with most of life, my dreams involve cherry picking the very best of the trail for traversing. My dreams also entail no run-ins with bears. And air mattresses I don't have to carry in a backpack...

The closest I’ve been physically to the trail was also during an era where I was the furthest from a lifestyle that would have imagined a hike in the woods. I was with Jalal, my college love, on my 21^st birthday.

I don’t think I’ve written of Jalal before. Allow me to introduce you to a memory or two of him.

I met Jalal the first day of my freshman year at Cornell. He was…I have about a dozen thoughts at once when I remember him. There is a big space in my heart where his name lingers. I still think “beloved” when I remember him.

He was from Gaza – half Lebanese, half Palestinian. He had a thick accent and a huge heart. My culture-starved soul drowned gloriously in the exotic way he said my name. He was larger than life. The guy who was twirling his jacket over his head while dancing (and could care less who was looking). Yelling “Drinks for everyone” in the bar. Calling me a dozen endearments that translated to “little duck” and other sweet nothings. 

He had a heart bigger than the Atlantic. He had a family that embraced me, and whom I adored. My family never could properly pronounce his name, but loved him anyway. He was charismatic beyond description. What I loved most was the private man that I felt I got to know whom no one else ever met. He had a tendernous that would have surprised strangers but was my home during those years.

I was a few years younger than Jalal, and ended up leaving Cornell to follow his star when he graduated. We stayed a year in Iowa City before moving to D.C. Our paths parted after several years there. He has a wonderful wife and two beautiful children now. There will be no more chapters for us. I’ll always feel grateful for those we wrote together.

Back to Andrea turning 21. Luray, Virginia. A delightful B&B. A stunning and romantic meal. A little Honda Civic that could barely drive the Blue Ridge swells of Skyline Drive. Stops along the roadside to absorb lush swelling vistas. A heart full of memories made during a long weekend.

Luray is close to the Appalachian Trail. It would never have occurred to me to hike that trail back then. My eyes and heart were upon this man I loved. He was not a nature-type guy. The trip was a total gift to an Iowan missing nature while living in the urban jungle of DC.

I have more independence of spirit (and eyes free to roam the horizon) today that I didn’t have then. The Appalachian Trail sounds like delicious possibility today.

Trampled By Turtles - Shenandoah

March 2: Goldilocks

A note: Today’s blog is just a collection of random musings from my world. It’s cold. It’s winter. My Facebook feed reads like a tale of disenchantment. I am happy anyway.

It’s bitterly cold today. -6F according to the weatherman - the poor bloke. I would hate to be associated with the weather in any way in Iowa. It’s either too hot or too cold for the residents – the Goldilocks of climates.

We have two kitties: little Naomi (Baby Nay - whom I introduced you to in January and Pixie Pye, our adopted pixie bobcat. Pixie is almost 10, and has the attitude of a cranky old woman. She chooses to ignore winter by sleeping her way through it. 

I would tell you she is plush because she’s stored up for winter. The fact is she’s always plush. Always cranky. Always sleeping. Pixie is a professional sleeper.

Nay has been found snuggling in front of every heat register she can discover. Living room:

Bathroom:

Dining room (this is Nay’s version of “talk to the butt”):

Today finds me busy in a few kitchens.

In a little while, Aria and I will be departing to help my book club make a meal for a local homeless shelter (Hawthorn Hill). It could not be a more perfect day to be reminded of blessings (Goldilocks can control her climate via heat and air conditioning, while noshing from locally grown Honey Crisps and capon/swiss sausages - also locally sourced). Aria had chocolate chip waffles, also. She can afford the carbs.

It is such a small thing to provide one meal for 30 or so people (mostly children). It is something, though.

This morning is all about baking. After our food drop-off at the shelter, we are heading to hang out with some friends and watch the Academy Awards together. We’ll dress to the 9s (ok – maybe to the 7s since it’s snow covered and treacherously cold out there). We’ll bring food. We’ll share magical time with magical friends.

I’m bringing twice baked potatoes topped with heaps of cheese (locally made cheddar) and bacon (you guessed it - local). No photo - I'm not putting it into the oven until later. 

Decadent chocolate cake (we had extra batter so I made a few cupcakes for kicks) 

Caramel corn (I threw it into an angel food cake pan – no idea why but seemed fun). You can’t go to the movies without some form of popcorn, right?

Today is quiet contentment and huge blessings. If I were Goldilocks, I’d say it was just right.

Ryan Adams - Oh My Sweet Carolina

March 1: In Like a Lion

I’m in Iowa. It’s snowing. It’s bitterly cold. I need a tropical vacation, if only a mental one. Care to come along and share this memory with me?

The place? Moon Palace, Cancun. The year? 2006. Thanksgiving. I’m a young mama with a little girl who just turned 3.

Here’s Aria building sand castles on the beach:

I’m vacationing with my soon to be ex-husband and ex-in-laws. The resort is paradise. It is the kind of place where your towels are shaped like swans with flowers in their mouths. Where you don’t shower – you opt for the in-room hot tub. The kind of all-inclusive resort where daiquiris are on tap and somehow always present in your hand, as served by some enticing young man with a sparkling smile who refuses your tip every time. A place where a complimentary massage is provided, along with a mani/pedi. Heaven. It was heaven.

Aria still took a daily nap. This was actually a blessing on this vacation because it gave me much needed alone time and quiet time with her. Our room had a balcony that overlooked the ocean. You could smell the salt and hear the surf hitting the sand. It was warm but not too hot. There was a balcony. On it, my very favorite thing about this resort: a hammock.

Every day for 5 blessed days, I rocked Aria in that hammock. She slept on my chest. I used one foot to keep a smooth flowing motion. We had 2 or 3 hours every day together in that hammock.

I don’t have a photo of this memory, but it’s more deeply ingrained in my heart than any other.

Aria was little bitty. This was her soundtrack back then. It still brings me back to those beaches and that magical hammock when I hear it today. 

The Little Mermaid - Under the Sea