weddings

Tomorrow my little sister is getting married. The little sister I shared a room with and read bedtime stories to and did ponytails in her hair. The sister who would come over to our (David's and my) house and play with my little kids and lay on the sofa while we each read our own book on hot summer afternoons and I still braided her hair. The sister I sewed with and talked to and shopped with and cooked with and worried about and loved. Still love. We are very different in many ways but sisters for sure. 

Today marks the 5 year anniversary of Merin and Mike's wedding. Shan's wedding is also a garden affair - just like Merin's was. That, the timing (to say nothing of the fact that I am of course, sewing - again at the last minute!) and my being the person in charge of making things beautiful for the wedding tomorrow means that Merin is at the front of my mind. The memories are so sweet and I welcome them. The memory I have of her laughing, happy face July 19, 2008 just makes me happy. Of course I wish I could see her beautiful face in reality but I am honestly at peace and grateful for every single moment that I did.

I look at this picture of Mike and Merin and remember their happiness that day - and hope for the same love to fill my sister's life.

Time is precious, love is more so. I want my actions as well as my thoughts to express my commitment to that truth. Here's to a beautiful day!

'doing'

The other day I made one of those super-simple but utterly adorable no-sew tutus for Ysa. It was a fun and easy project made more fun by the prospect of the delight I was anticipating she would feel when she opened the gift. She is such a sweet-tiny-ballerina-dancing-girl that I was pretty certain the simple gift would be a hit. I finished the tutu, wrapped it in some very pretty soft pink paper tied with a pink bow and figured that was that. Finished. But there was a flicker of a thought in my head. Just there, not articulated. That thought simmered and waited for me to have the quiet to tease the thread of it, to follow it and see where it went. So quiet that I hardly knew it was waiting.

What I did know was that I felt happy. A particular flavour of happy that is unique to having done something, no matter how small and simple, for someone I love. 'Doing' is my best language for expressing love. So I finished the day in the glow of my little project - happy that Ysa would be happy and that I could contribute. As I was winding down and preparing for bed I understood something that had eluded me and it was this: 

I have always found a great deal of joy in doing things for my children. I love them to the moon and back, more than the whole earth, forever and ever. I tell them so (and have always told them so) in as many ways as I can find - words included - but doing little things to delight them or make their lives easier has been an important part of the way I live each day. Since Merin's death I miss doing those small things for her that I used to find joy in doing, but when I do something for her daughter it feels like doing for her and that feels just right. As I followed that thought I understood in a very visceral way that when I am kind to another, when I sacrifice in even a small way for another's happiness I am certainly doing something for my Heavenly Father. In the same way that I cannot 'do' something directly for Merin, I cannot do something directly for him but when I serve his children, I show my love for him.

And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me. 
- Matthew 25:40

Certainly not a new doctrine. Not even one that I didn't understand in my mind. But now I feel it in a new and personal way. I understand it in my heart. Another layer of love to wrap my small gifts of love in.

Photo courtesy of Merin's (and our) very dear friend Natasha Van Dierendonck. Thanks so much!

clarification

I have thought and rethought what I wrote yesterday - about the fun we had on our evacuation sleepover. It was fun but I know that many reading that may find the expression cavalier, thoughtless, or flip. It was fun because we were safe, secure, and with loved ones. It was pointless to stress and worry - no amount of fretting would halt the flood waters or turn back the clock. For many others who have been evacuated the experience was very different. Watching the flood coverage on channel after channel all they could do was hope and pray that the damage would not be too great, knowing that the homes they loved were certainly flooded.

This morning I had an errand to take supplies to a crew of volunteers involved in cleanup. As I slowly made my way through streets clogged with vehicles, debris, dumpsters, and workers to the home of our friends I felt like weeping. The devastation was awful, the cleanup overwhelming. House after house with muddy household goods and ruined furniture and carpets piled in the yard. People covered in mud to their armpits as they worked to repair the damage. 

Many have lost much (or most) of their worldly goods. Things that they treasure, that are the accumulation of a lifetime. It is all too easy to respond that these things they have lost are only things - that at least they have one another, that things can be replaced. But the truth is that some things cannot be replaced and these are the things that will be mourned. Of course everyone acknowledges that things are not people - not loved ones - but the things that we cannot replace are often closely tied to memories of those loved ones. Other things that we cannot replace may be our concrete proof of accomplishments, that we were here or went there. They hold memory for us much like a photo does. To lose those things can feel a bit like losing the loved one or the memory.

For each of us what we collect is an intimate and personal reflection. From the books we read to the clothes we wear and the furniture we sit on they tell a tale to any who care to notice of who we really are. The collections of some are (sadly) only an assortment of items directed by the whims of fashion and media, while the collections of others are unique and wonderful catalogues of a life well-lived. 

I know that this flood we are cleaning up after has brought sorrow and loss to many. I know that they will recover from that with time and help - we are after all, hardwired to adapt by a loving Father in Heaven. The beauty of the devastation around us lies in the selfless service and sincere concern of one neighbour for another. There is so much love offered and accepted as we work our way back to order and security. We do live in a wonderful world.

I have just returned from seven perfect days in Vancouver. Perfect because I got to spend the entire long weekend with Jonathon all to myself. Perfect because although the forecast was for rain, rain, and more rain, we had mostly dry days with only a bit of drizzle and even some clear sky and sun from time to time. Perfect because I love Vancouver. And perfect because I shared the rest of the week (after the weekend) with Janet. 

Janet and I have been friends our entire lives - since before our memories begin. Janet is in the pictures of my earliest birthday parties, was my constant companion and best friend, my sleepover buddy, my confidante - the Diana to my Anne Shirley. As we grew into our teens I admired her verve and confidence, the way she drew people to her, the fun she always made, her great style, and wished I looked just like her. When we started high school we attended the same school for the first time. Every day during Grade 10 we walked the short distance to her family home for lunch - delicious hot lunches I still think of from time to time. We agonized over the boys we had crushes on, shared dreams and clothes, got our ears pierced, listened to LP vinyl records, and had sleepovers every time we could get parental agreement. Then Janet's family moved, taking her with them. We were sad and promised it wouldn't change a thing but I think we knew it would and of course, it did. That and the inevitable busyness that accompanies the last two years of high school - studies, dating, planning, growing up, figuring out who you are. When David and I were married Janet was my bridesmaid. She married. We had babies - her Bradley and my Jonathon were born 10 days apart. We had loose contact for years and years but as our children have grown and we have matured we have found our way back to a close friendship I think we both treasure.

There is a special and unique quality to a friendship of such longstanding. Janet knows me in a way no other person on earth does and laughs and loves me anyway. She isn't offended that I fall asleep when she is talking to me - she wasn't when we were girls and she teased me when I did it again after a long and fun day of shopping in Gastown. 

It was a wonderful luxury to reconnect with the leisure of several days - to be reminded of how much we have in common and to enjoy all that we don't in one another. What a happy thing our mothers were friends so we could share a long and rich friendship. Best friends then, dear friends for always.

And I have to say ... Janet can still talk all night long. We had So Much Fun!

all things in moderation

It is not my regular modus operandi to do this but there is a post over on Healthy Green Kitchen that so perfectly says what I have been thinking (and to be honest - talking about as well) about how and what we chose to eat. All I can say is "amen". I think it is well worth reading. 

When we were in Japan (March) it was impossible NOT to notice the absence of craziness regarding food. Nobody even knows what 'paleo' is! (Not saying paleo is crazy, just an example of a pretty restrictive eating program.) Chia seed is an unknown and just try to buy coconut oil! People simply eat - for the most part - whole food, simply prepared, when they are hungry. Most people are well within a healthy weight, walking a lot keeps them reasonably fit. Being there I reflected on our North American obsession and had to admit that I felt a lot more relaxed and happy without that pressure. Making wise food choices is incredibly important but it shouldn't be the primary focus of one's life. Loving, serving, laughing, sharing, working - these are things that fulfill and ultimately bring health and joy.

I know that many people have very real health issues. I also know that very careful food choices make a huge difference for them and don't mean to suggest otherwise. I totally support their efforts and feel for them in their pain. But for the vast majority of us making wise choices to eat a wide variety of whole foods prepared in interesting and healthful ways is the good choice. 

distractions

I had absolutely planned to sit down this evening and write a post to share a lemon tart that I have been consumed with this week. I was going to do that but there was a sweet distraction this afternoon and in keeping with the "so fly away cobwebs and dust go to sleep, I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep" line of thought I have shelved the lemon tart for another day. Some things are simply more important than even delicious lemon tarts.

I was sewing again today - creating a skirt for Eden from a beautiful piece of wool we bought on our trip to Vancouver. Of course, that meant Eden and Ysa were here for the process. Often when I sew Eden sits on the floor of the 'atelier' and we enjoy the time together; collaborating on creative ideas, solving problems of epic proportions (like what to make for dinner or how to referee siblings), discussing issues that are of current interest to us and listening to our favourite tunes. Today Ysa was snuggled on her momma's lap for a sweet minute, relaxed as Eden played idly with her hair. In that quiet moment Eden realized that Ysa's hair was long enough to be braided into a "crown".  

I remember so clearly the day Eden's hair was long enough to braid. She was about Ysa's age and I was shocked that she would sit patiently while I fumbled through learning but she did and I did learn. She loved to wear it braided into a crown. A few years later I had two heads of long hair to take care of in the mornings; I added braiding Merin's long platinum blonde hair every day - it was the only way to keep the silky strands from becoming an impossible tangle. In my mind and in my heart there are so many pictures and memories of braiding their beautiful hair - for ballet classes and exams, for school days and special days, and sometimes just because it felt good to be together getting pretty.

These days I love to braid Aubrie's, Jane's, and Ysa's hair - to see their moms do the same. It is a small link in the generations but every link is precious. We need to be bound together as girls, as women. To make memories together, to know that some things stay the same even as others change.

Ysa is so sweet and soft and round - no longer a baby but only just not, aware enough to feel special and pretty. I found a bag of hairpins that had been Merin's and she chose one for her hair and one for Aubrie's. Eden used my camera to snap some pictures - because this sweet soft roundness will be gone next time we look. I was tempted to post the lot. lol. Wisdom prevailed.

I do love my girls. Every one of them. With an intensity that fills my bones. I am very, very blessed.

a comment on comments

Jonathon griped to me a bit ago that he avoided making a comment because he had a hard time decoding the whatever it is one had to decode to post a comment. He asked me to remove it, suggesting that perhaps it contributed to the embarrassingly few comments. I thought about it and decided to give it a try. I certainly get more comments now but I suspect that most of them are generated by those 'robots' we are urged to prove we are not and many of them make little or no sense at all. 

I love to get feedback - I feel less like I am talking to the wall that way. I have been tempted to close this book when I evaluate the "success" of the enterprise based on comments and then I remember why I write or I get a comment written from someone's heart and I know that the number of comments does not really equal success.

Thank you for reading and for any comments. I hope it doesn't put too many off but I am going to add the annoying word verification feature back to the comments - most of the new wave of comments kind of freak me out. lol

where to from here?

I have been thinking about the last post. About having nothing to say - which was not quite true. A more complete truth would be that I had so much tossing around in my head that I was simply too tired and lazy to work it out, to make it at all comprehensible to myself let alone anyone else. Not worn out tired but deliciously limp, satisfied, and happy. It was a very good season of joy for us. Noisy, busy, quiet, full. Everything I needed. So thinking was a bit of a stretch.

One of the things I have been thinking about it is where to go from here. When I started the blog I had (of course) no idea what the future held. We never do but what was in store for us was not something I would have ever imagined. I had wanted to share all kinds of things on this blog and the last thing I intended was a cooking/food blog. I have always enjoyed showing and sharing love with food but I don't consider myself to be a foodie - I just like good, healthy food and get bored with the same old every day so I cook. I have a lot of fun with it and more fun when I share. After Merin died cooking was one of the things I found I had energy for. 

But I want to share other things as well. There are stories that I want to record. Not because I think they will change the world but because they matter to the people that matter to me. I think about the stories my grandfather told me when I was a child about when he was a boy, that if he hadn't told me I wouldn't know, and if I don't retell them perhaps they will be lost. I think about how those stories connect me to him and that I am so lucky to know them. That many people don't have stories that connect them to their forbearers. There are stories about things that connect us to our past. Again, if those stories are not told they will be lost. Will it change the world? No but it might make the world a little poorer for someone I love. 

In this new year I commit to writing the stories of some of the things that I have collected. Many of those things are not of great worth in and of themselves but their story is part of our story. I am fortunate to have some lovely things that came to me with history that is part of my story, others that have histories hidden in unknown pasts, and still others with stories that originate with me. I think what we collect matters and helps us to be known to others. When we are thoughtful and careful about what we choose to surround ourselves with we can arrive at a curated collection that is meaningful. One that tells a story - one that has a story - beyond style, taste, or trends.

While I had not intended writing a blog full of recipes that is where I have mostly gone. Fun for me to share those and I hope good for others. I don't plan to abandon that direction - just to go a bit further and do a bit more of what I wanted when I started. It is good to start, to have a direction. And sometimes it is lovely to follow serendipity into unanticipated paths. 

God is good. I am grateful for every wonderful blessing. For every chance and second chance. I pray for blessings along lovely paths for all of us and the ability to see those blessings and paths every day. Here's to a New Year!

One of the many beautiful and special gifts I was so indulged with on Christmas morning was a collection of photos that Eden took of David and I. In the note she tucked in with them she wrote that she tries to express her love with photography. My response? I feel loved when I see myself through her lens, her eyes. Eden makes everything beautiful. 

I love this photo from that shoot - an early morning, frosty, last minute idea that was perfect. Thanks Eden. You are more dear to me than you can know. I love you.

In my misguided and greedy childhood the days of December were carefully counted down to  the magical December 25th on a hand-drawn grid, each square marked off with a decided X. I spent hours with the Sear's "Wish Book" and other catalogues imagining how wonderful my world would be if I was the lucky recipient of every item on my list for Santa. By the time Christmas Eve rolled around - about a thousand years after December began - I had worked myself into such a frenzy that I could not sleep. (I learned to stock up on reading material at the library so that the long night would be bearable - reading several books each year.) I thought the excitement of Christmas was that final moment, the big reveal. All that getting! I had so much to learn.

Getting is pretty fun. I have to admit that. I love presents. I love to get them, I love to give them. I think one of the big drivers of my joy in receiving is the joy I find in giving. The planning and preparing I pour into each gift results (I hope) in a tangible evidence of the love that I have for the recipient. So as I receive I anticipate the same. It is not the actual gift, as perfect as it may be, that fills me with delight but the awareness that I am known and loved.

We try hard to teach the concept that it is more blessed to give than to receive and I think that often that precept is interpreted not as intended but as the concept that if giving is 'better' then getting must be less worthy, maybe even a bit shameful. And we become ungracious receivers. How sad..... it seems to me when we are inhibited in receiving gifts we rob the giver of so much joy - and ourselves as well. Gifts are intended to enrich but that doesn't happen when we don't receive them with open hearts and delight.

I watched a dear friends at a party a few weeks ago and thought she has mastered the art of getting. Her delight was abundant and contagious. She delighted as much in the gifts of others as her own. It was childlike and open. Delightful to others because it was absolutely generous. Unselfish and un-self conscious. 

Watching her I knew getting is as much an art as giving. Art takes time and effort to develop. Watching her I realized it is not less good to receive because if it were, if none of us were able to receive with joy, giving would be a chore; perhaps still an act of love but sucked of much of the joy. I resolved to give joy by receiving with delight; to find the love, thought, and effort behind the gift and so realize that although it may not be a perfectly hoped for item it is without a doubt the perfect gift. It is not (after all) what is wrapped up in the box that fills our hearts on Christmas morning but the love.

It has been many years since I counted the days to opening my own gifts having long since learned to find real joy and honest excitement in giving. I know too that receiving with sincere delight is gracious, honest, and kind. Loving. It enhances relationships and opens our eyes helping us see in one another's heart. May we each give and get with delight. The best gifts just don't wrap.

The beginning of December marks the legitimate start of the festive frenzy. Magazines and blogs have been encouraging us for weeks in order that we can be 'ready'. Decorating, baking, gifting, entertaining, dressing - the guides abound for every area. It is easy to get totally sucked in and whirled around, then spit out the other side .... exhausted and unfulfilled, wondering what happened and why.

A good friend suggested that it would be a good exercise to think back to last year - to remember how we felt at the end of the season and on what we wish we had spent our precious resource of effort. The thought really resonated with me and has been constantly at the back of my mind ever since. I know that I don't wish I had baked more cookies or wrapped a few more presents. I don't regret that I didn't buy new Christmas decorations or have Christmas in Hawaii. I am not sure that I do have any significant regrets but the things that I remember and treasure are snuggling with a child and a book in a quiet corner, the mess (and satisfaction) of baking simple cookies with my daughters and grandkids, the joys of being together.

The beautiful trimmings are just that - beautiful trimmings. And I like them. But they are not what make Christmas work for me. All the trimming in the world - be that trimming food, or a pile of gifts beautifully wrapped (or not), or an exquisitely decorated home - doesn't create the love and warmth that happy memories are made of. It is the mindful living of each moment. The knowledge that those moments cannot be recalled and lived again but are precious motivates me to take the time to really connect with the people I love. To snuggle a little longer with a sweet two year old. To take the minutes it takes to teach a six year old to crochet. To listen to a wish list or not mind that things aren't perfectly arranged but are perfectly perfect because we are happy and warm and there is love.

Our Christmas tree is decorated and prettily so but it was not until this evening when our grandchildren looked at it with shining eyes that it became magical. It is that sharing that makes the whole of December so blessed. Perfect doesn't matter - doesn't even exist. Together does.

So I will bake cookies and make candies, sew pajamas and Christmas dresses, shop and primp and wrap. But under and over it all I want to be very careful and sure that at the end of the day the people I love really feel the love I have for them. That I am not so busy with the unimportant that I am drained of the important. No one will be aware of the gift I don't make or the cookie not baked but the memory of warmth and love and closeness will never be forgotten. To make those memories is my Christmas wish.

cygnets

Backstage before performance. Stretching. Made up. In costume. Ready to dance. This image was captured early in Eden's career as a photographer, well before the ten thousand hour mark that is reputedly the magic point at which mastery occurs in any field of endeavor. I loved the photo when it was taken and it remains a favourite out of all the beautiful work that Eden has done over the years. It hangs, blown up to poster size in our home. The graphic quality, the subject, the mood - it touches me in a way that I find difficult to articulate.

Merin was 13 and totally in love with classical ballet. I wasn't in the audience the night that she danced the pas de quatre from Swan Lake. I have always wished I had been. I don't know where I was or why I wasn't there but I  love these images from that night - I can feel like I was almost there.

They were such adorable little cygnets and good friends. I have lost track of two of the girls but Merin and Alex were close friends always. Never ugly ducklings - although perhaps coltish - they grew into beautiful women. Talented, confident, and happy. Elegant even. Both of them swans in the very best way.

Eden, Merin, and Alex have met and surpassed the ten thousand hours - each of them true artists. I am proud of them and feel it a privilege to have been there for at least some of those hours. We seldom see where the road ends when we set out on it and motherhood is no different than any other occupation in that. Many hours were committed to nurturing this talent and love. I am content with the destination.


Alexandra MacDonald is currently dancing as second soloist with The National Ballet of Canada. Eden's photography speaks for itself and her talent. Merin achieved her desires.

where I am now

Two years ago, deep in the misery of loss, I wished for some kind of how-to. I wanted to know how long, how hard, what to do. I felt so      lost.     The task of recovering, or regaining my balance seemed entirely out of reach. Sometimes even just breathing was simply, very hard. Life hurt. I didn't know how to manage myself let alone how to help my husband, my children, my friends. 


For the last few months I have debated this post. I write it not in a bid for attention or sympathy but because of that wish for guidance. Perhaps someone, somewhere, sometime, will need to know. A little bit. And find some hope.

Summer is full of Merin for me. Perhaps that is because the last precious memories of her are summertime - a July bride, a first home, a sweet baby, family time at the lake, learning to be a mom. And then of course, the accident. And a funeral.

Merin was our youngest child. My last offering. Not more loved than any of the other four but the last and so we spent a different kind of time together. She was a daughter after two sons - the distance between Merin and her sibs seemed greater than the 2 1/2 years that separated her from her next older brother because Mark and Thomas were always a pair. She was simply always with me. We liked being together - a good thing as she homeschooled for grades 8 - 12 to accommodate her ballet training. We worked well together - most of the time. I knew her. She knew me. When she died we were having so much fun. The same fun that I had learned to love with Eden. Relating in a different kind of mother/daughter stage - as adults, friends, mothers together. The three of us (Eden, Merin, and I) were having such a good time. Hannah (Thomas's wife) made the mix even sweeter. 

I miss the particular mix. I miss Merin's voice each morning on the phone when she would call. I miss her. When I drive by the street they lived on I feel a tug of sadness. One day not long ago I realized, as I drove by that street and felt that tug, that I was missing the fulfillment of so many plans that Merin and I had made together. Some of those plans were explicit (finishing their kitchen renovation for example) and others were simply expected - summer afternoons watching kids play in the sprinkler, shopping trips, Christmas baking afternoons - all that and more. I wasn't finished having fun.


Even though two years have now passed I find it hard to believe that although I know she is gone I still have a hard time really believing it. It remains surreal. I dreamed of her again a few weeks ago. It was kind of fun - she was just playing with me, laughing and teasing in her sweet, gentle way that made me feel loved. I miss her. I wasn't ready to stop playing with her. And like a two year old that is called to bed when in the middle of fun play, I could dissolve into frustrated tears over it.

So where am I now? And how could this help anyone? Realizing that every journey through grief is intensely personal and that there really is no timetable, no plan, and therefore no how-to I would like to offer that it does get better. As I write this with tears on my cheeks and a lump in my throat, I know that it is so much better than it was. There is still sorrow but no longer the raw, tearing pain that took my breath away. It is more an ache. No longer a constant presence, it is like an injury that manifests when probed - I feel it when something reminds me. At other times just because. Memories are sweeter and so welcome. I can honestly say that I have been blessed with peace and I have hope for even greater peace as more years pass.

I am intensely grateful for my loving and strong husband, for my incredible children, for the concern we have for one another and the fun we have together. The prayers that have been offered on our behalf have taught me much about faith and the real, tangible effect it has - I want never to forget. The comfort of the blessings of the atonement of Jesus Christ. The grace of my Father in Heaven. Friends. Service. Work. All of these things have helped me. But what helps and has helped me is for another day, separate from where I am.

The joys in life are now a little sweeter in contrast.

picking cherries

Yesterday was the Day to pick the Nanking Cherries. For most of my life picking Nankings has been a yearly event. When I was a child we had a long hedge of Nanking Cherry bushes and my mom made jelly from the juice of the cherries. It was our job to pick the cherries and we couldn't swim or play until the daily quota was reached. I know there were days that I griped and moaned about the chore. It felt like I had to pick cherries every day of the summer. Now I know that it could only have been a week or ten days - at the most! - and probably only an hour or so of each day at that. But I also remember that it was pretty fun sometimes. Cousins came to pick for their moms, or neighbourhood friends joined us at times (there were plenty of cherries for all). Of course, there were spiders and scratches, spilled buckets and tears; but there were also picking contests, laughing and talking while we picked, and the simple satisfaction of filling the bucket and being done for the day. 

Now we have a Nanking Cherry hedge that grows at the back of our garden - this year the cherry crop is heavy. I started picking early, when the morning was fresh and quiet. Just the birds, the squirrels, the spiders and me. Thomas, Jane, and Theo joined me partway through the morning and were a very welcome distraction. (I must admit that when Jane walked into the garden in her perfectly adorable black and white dress I felt totally under-dressed at my own cherry picking party - my perfectly comfortable and grubby grey knit shorts just don't have the same cachet.) Theo announced that he was going to pick 200 cherries .... I think he probably did! 

I am grateful that I had to pick cherries - that my parents were wise enough to teach me the value and satisfaction of doing a chore and doing it well. It is a joy to see my children teach the same lessons to their sweet children, even though it is no easier than it was for my parents to teach me. I love that we have a family culture of working together - and that working together is fun.

Post script - wow! father and son... not just a little alike!! And (excuse me, please) but sooooo swoon-worthy handsome. Love them, I do :)

collecting silver

Long ago a 15 year old me vowed that I would never color my hair. (I was thinking more in terms of covering grey than of simply having fun with color.) I have more or less stuck with that commitment. When the first white hair showed up I succumbed to peer pressure, tried an at-home color - and shocked myself every time I passed a mirror. Was that me?! Deciding that it didn't feel like it was 'me' I embraced my earlier determination to love my natural color, even if that color was grey.

Sometimes when I see a photo of myself taken when I was younger and my hair was still dark, I am surprised by just how dark it was. And I miss that version of me - just for a minute. More salt and pepper than silver yet, I am working on my collection. Like most personal collections, it is a reflection of the bits of my life - some inherited, some chosen, some happened upon - but uniquely mine.

I am comfortable with my silvering hair. I look forward to when it is completely, beautifully so. When I see examples of women - beautiful, confident, amazing, interesting, and silver-haired - I am inspired with a desire to be the same to whatever degree I am able.

The other day I stumbled across this site - portraits of graceful, classy, cool women. Incredible images. Inspiring. Helping me see what silver can be.

weeds

One of the better parts of summer is working in my garden and perhaps my favorite garden chore is weeding. Solitary, quiet, simple - it is both rewarding and soothing. Requiring no tremendous mental focus on the task at hand it allows for mind-wandering and reflection, and results in beauty and order. Often and often it occurs to me that there are wonderful life lessons to be learned in the garden. Simple little analogies and metaphors occur to me as I work away - thoughts that I find meaningful. So today ... a few life lessons from my garden:


Every garden has weeds. Every life has problems, everyone does things they shouldn't. Some gardens are neglected and the weeds overtake the beauty. Other gardens are tended and the weeds are small but every garden has weeds. 


It is a lot easier to pull weeds right after a good hard rain. Wait for the hot sun and the ground is so hard, the weeds so strong and firmly rooted that removing them is hard, hard work. Overwhelming. Almost defeating.


It is a lot easier to pull small weeds than large ones.


Procrastinating is usually not the best option when dealing with weeds. Things tend to get out of hand quickly.


Although rain is essential for a healthy garden most of us - even gardeners - would prefer a forecast of eternal sunshine (or maybe only Camelot-like nightly rains that don't impact our personal plans for pleasure). Who wants a picnic in the rain anyway? But a good rain makes the weeds grow as well as the flowers - often making them not only easier to pull but easier to find.


In my life as in all lives, there have been periods with heavy rain. Times when the sunshine of life seems a distant memory and I have wondered if it would shine again. But at those times if my heart is right, I can see the 'weeds' and they are so much easier to pull. When the sun comes out again - as it always does - my 'garden' is more beautiful and I love it more. If there were no weeds, no rain, no effort, would there be joy and satisfaction? Would I even recognize that there was beauty?

free

I'm free!!! Unchained. Finished the dress. And I can breath. It feels so good to have that project complete. Although I have made other wedding dresses, with the exception of the first  (made when I was a tender 19 and pretty clueless about how important an item it was) they have all been for for near and dear. Someone that I have loved to the moon and back. Although I think the world of the bride for whom I made this last wedding dress, she is a friend not family. Strangely that made the creation of this dress considerably more stressful - intimidating even. As I worked on the other dresses I imagined them as heirlooms, something to be a reminder of the relationship, the hope, and the love - not only of the wedding couple but between myself and the bride. Those thoughts made the tediously careful work that I consider an essential part of such a special garment seem light work. Ridiculously this time I fretted over what others would think of my effort - was it good enough, should I have done this or that in a different way? - and fretted enough that I spent several night dreaming uncomfortably about the silly thing. In many ways I ventured well beyond my comfort zone and often had to spin the mental wheels pretty hard to figure out what or how to do. In the end, the dress is beautiful and the bride thrilled. The wedding was yesterday. The atelier is in order once more. All is well. 


I meant to take some pics of the finished 'creation' but didn't. Bah! Wishing I had.

in my atelier

My sewing room has been temporarily elevated to 'atelier' status. On account of the wedding dresses. One down and one to go, I should be firmly entrenched in creative mode. I should be and I think I want to be but I have been dragging my feet. Next week, come hell or high water I no longer have even a tiny bit of choice if I don't want to disappoint a lovely bride and  reveal myself to be a heel of large proportion. I like the whole wedding dress creation thing - the fabrics, the design possibilities, getting lost in the creative moment, and of course the romance. I enjoy the challenge of the "how" as well as the "what".  


I should be firmly entrenched, happy as a pig in mud but I get distracted and side-tracked by new babies, and school concerts, and trips, and weeding gardens, and planting, and books to be read, and recipes to be tried. I am happy to be distracted because as happy as I am in my atelier ....weddings and new babies are all tangled up in my heart with Merin and sometimes those memories are still very tender. Tender but not painful, fresh but - thankfully - no longer raw, cherished. I work in my little room and take out memories of other dresses as I listen to the playlist I started when I made Hannah's dress and added to as I made Merin's. I remember Eden's insistence that I make her dress - and I am so glad she won the day. I was afraid of the project - emotionally laden and with the potential for terrible disappointment on both our parts. Her faith in me gave me faith in myself, the dress was beautiful and she in the dress, and we have yet another bond. When I made Hannah's dress I knew her so little - it became the start of a cherished friendship and mutual respect. And Merin's dress relieved and delighted both of us.


I have made five wedding dresses and altered several more. I have felt honoured and privileged to be involved with each. A wedding dress is more than just a beautiful garment, more than a special dress worn to the party of a lifetime. It represents a full and trusting heart given with faith, joy, and love, looking forward with hope to a wonderful shared future. It is what a woman wears on the day her marriage begins not just at her wedding. It is a unique symbol.


My nose will be pressed to the grindstone next week and the threads will fly. Fingers crossed the next creation will be all that someone hopes it will be. 

photo courtesy of eden lang pictures. Looking through the bridal shoot again, so many dear, dear memories - of Merin, of the morning of the shoot, of my girls laughing together. So rich.

always, always...

Always, always, always I wanted to be a mother. When I was a little girl I loved my dollies. When I played with my cousins and friends, we more often than not played ‘house’, making elaborate messes with the doll clothes, play furniture and dishes. As I grew and those same friends started to talk about what they wanted to be when they grew up, I never wondered. I played along like I was exploring the different possibilities but it was never very real for me. Because I knew I wanted to be a mother. When I did in fact reach the age of attending university the decision to study Education was easily made. I wanted to take something that would be practical in my chosen career. There were other options that appealed to me as being interesting but I knew that if I could pursue my first choice (motherhood) that would be best served by studying how children learn and how to teach them. So I declared a major in Early Childhood Education. I didn’t teach professionally (aside from some interesting/alarming experiences as a substitute teacher) but I have never regretted that or my decision to prepare to teach my own sweet children.

Deciding to be a Professional Mother has been (and will continue to be) a joy and a blessing to me. I recognize that I have been very blessed to be able to follow that path - to have welcomed children into my life, to be at home with them and to make a home for our family. It wasn’t particularly fashionable to have five children but I didn’t care - I felt so lucky and so happy as we planned and anticipated the arrival of each child. I loved being pregnant and was fortunate to have healthy, active pregnancies. I felt strong and empowered as I delivered each beautiful son and daughter into this world. And I felt completed as I held and nurtured each tiny person. What a great privilege to be given the responsibility for another person’s beginning. So very humbling to know that a tiny being depends on you for every comfort and need.

At every stage of our family’s life I have wanted to stop time because everything seemed so perfect, so golden and I could not imagine that it would ever be as good again. But I have recognized how often I have thought that and now expect that I will love each new stage as I have the previous ones. Once I could not imagine how I could be happy without an infant in my arms and home but I was. I wondered how I would feel about mothering teenagers but discovered that my kids just got better and better as they got older. And when they all left home and it was just David and I together, I thought my whole purpose in life was finished as well, but again I learned that although the landscape had changed, it was only different not worse. I am always a mother. It is not only what I do, it is who I am. I  love each of my children fiercely and completely. I know them   - their strengths, weaknesses, joys, fears - and find them infinitely precious. There is nothing of myself I would not give them and not one of them that I would exchange for another. I marvel at the wonderful talents and strengths - each unique but curiously related - and rejoice in the love, support and respect that has grown between us.

I always knew I wanted to be a mother. I didn’t know how much it would demand nor could I have guessed how much it would return. I am happy to say now  - I love it! No matter the hardships or the sorrows, I love being a mother to the five I “hatched”. Nothing could be better. Always, always, always ....

Happy Mother's Day.


In the summer of 2010 Eden and Merin worked together on the beginning of a very special gift for David and I. Eden completed it after Merin's death. She asked me to write an essay on myself as a mother. This is what I wrote (with a few minor edits). For the last couple of weeks as I have been reflecting on mothers and mothering many various ideas have occupied my thoughts. As I sat down to record some of them this morning, I decided to add this to the public record of who I am. It is included in the book that Eden (and Jonathon) made but that is a very private record. This is in a way, my Motherhood Manifesto. 

I have lived in Tokyo, Osaka, Vancouver, and Calgary. I have travelled in Korea, Thailand, China, India, Cambodia, America, and the UK. But until last month I had never been to Mexico - unless one counts a reckless and terrifying drive over the border, through Tijuana, and gratefully back without even rolling down the windows. (And I don't count that - we had been warned....) Mazatlan was entirely wonderful. The weather was perfect and the pace relaxed. I was with some of my very favourite people.


We shared the time with Daylan and Eden and their family. I felt absolutely intimidated (as always) to even carry a camera when Eden is around but it was also a good chance to learn, so I got over myself - or tried to - and aimed at something other than food. Nothing like what Eden shoots but still memories. In my mind the whole experience is drenched in colour - the light, the unabashedly and exuberantly painted buildings, the beautifully warm people, everything. Calgary seemed very taupe when we returned. 

The trip made a new store of memories to take out and savour whenever I wish. I love those treasures - they are sustaining when the days are not quite so bright. Family is not always a simple joy but it always, always worth every effort. For me. When I add up the checks and balances on that ledger, I realize how very rich I am. What a bank account!

something to stop and think about:


"No one has ever loved anyone the way everyone wants to be loved." 
- Mignon McLaughlin 


As I have no control over how others love me but a reasonable degree of control over my own actions perhaps I can make a greater effort to love at least a few people the way that I want to be loved - with great tenderness, generosity, and tolerance. Or maybe what I should really aim for is to love them the way that they want to be loved. If I can only discern how that is....


update after my mind-clearing walk: I actually think that many are loved the way they want to be loved - we just have a hard time recognizing that we are. And really how do I want to be loved? I want to be seen and known for who I aspire to be as well as who I am now, the best parts of me. To be cherished despite my faults and quirks - maybe even for them. That's all. Honestly? I really believe I love my children this way. And honestly?  I believe David loves me this way (although I sometimes fail to see it). Am I blessed? Absolutely.