Detours.
We hear a lot about how we are supposed to follow our bliss, to listen to our own heart, to dance to our own music. I used to be able to hear my own music so clearly that I didn’t even think about it. I just did what I did, without analysis or cooperation or even too much manipulation by third parties. But then I had kids and a husband and I can hear their music, too, all the time, and it’s hard to know sometimes whether the music I’m hearing is my own or just some stereophonic bleed-through from the melodies next door. It all kind of blends together, which, I have come to decide, is what my tune sounds like at this point in my life. It’s not a symphony so much as the sounds you hear while an orchestra is warming up: violins and violas and...
Read MoreDo you know your totem?
My husband is recovering from ankle surgery, and, as both a competitive athlete and a business owner, it’s excruciating for him to sit still. Meanwhile, our dog, who accompanies him on his 10 mile daily training excursions, is bored to death. My 3-mile jogs just aren’t doing it for him. Early in his recovery, we are standing at the back door, and I am trying to say something that will make him go and elevate his leg and not go to work or do any of the other things he wants to do. While we are talking, our Labrador keeps scratching on the back door. It’s not a full-scale plea; it’s just a rhythmic reminder of his restlessness: scratch, pause, scratch, scratch, pause. So my husband says something that makes me think: he says that sometimes he...
Read MoreI drive a minivan – with some trepidation
I drive a minivan, and I don’t care who knows it. That’s not true, in fact. I have some shame. Okay, I feel like a tremendous dork every time I get behind the wheel. I have always preferred the smaller car, maybe an Audi A4 or a Porsche or even a zippy Toyota. But then I birthed three kids and moved where it snows 300 inches a year, and my choices naturally became somewhat restricted. I had to drive a 4×4 truck for what seemed like ages because it allowed me to charge full speed through my drifted-in driveway. It was a full-size cherry-red extended cab Chevy with a topper. Everyone knows there’s nothing sexier than a chick who drives a truck with a topper (except for one who drives a minivan.) Trying to make the best of it, I named my truck...
Read MoreThe Lunchtime of our Lives
We are talking about old age this morning. Actually, my husband is talking to me. I am staring at my computer instead of making eye contact because I don’t want to talk, but he is not taking the hint. He keeps talking, and so I relent. Have you ever gotten on a subject as a couple and it seems like every conversation winds its way back to that one? Lately we’ve been discussing how in the hell we got so old. It might be brought on by our recent foray into the world of girls’ basketball. Kids whom I saw fresh from their mama’s womb are getting called for a double dribble, tackling other girls, driving for the basket, throwing in layups. Watching these girls do things that I’m not coordinated enough to do feels strange because I realize...
Read MoreDays Like This
Some days – fortunately not every day – I wonder at this life. I see us all plopped down on this spinning earth, all of us confused and scrabbling about, wondering what in the world we are all supposed to be doing here. I would sometimes really like to know this. I look at the way everyone fills their time: their jobs, the ways that they answer this eternal question for themselves – or the ways that they avoid it. I think about all of the misery on this planet. I think about the ridiculously high quality of my life compared to vast sections of the globe. At times like these, the idea of spreading just a little light and love and warmth and joy and grace right here in this very moment is all that makes me feel better. The more I can do that, I find,...
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