Hello Dear Reader! Looking for my latest misadventures?
I moved my website over to new hosting service! You can find me at blackbunchedmassmom.com. See you there!
Hello Dear Reader! Looking for my latest misadventures?
I moved my website over to new hosting service! You can find me at blackbunchedmassmom.com. See you there!
Photo: Oh yes, look at all the beautiful details, the glorious color on the petals… isn’t this just a glorious photo!?
Snow on the car, snow on the barn, snow on the grass this morning… no snow on the pavement, but you know it’s coming! Oh, Dear Reader… somebody stop the winter from coming! I’m not ready!
When I woke the boys up this morning and pulled back the curtain, the reaction was brilliantly mixed. Major, able to fully see out the window from his top bunk perch, gasped with glee as he took in the first glimpse of white. When he breathlessly announced to his brother what had happened, a groan came from the bottom bunk.
“Oh no,” Minor said. “Not the snow!”
That child is my child, for sure.
Major started ticking off all of the things he would need for the day:
“I have to find my boots! I have to find my hat! And my gloves, and those snowpants. Mama, do my snowpants fit?”
No, they don’t fit. That’s why, when I got up this morning and saw the damnable snow on the ground, I got right on the internets and ordered another pair. I’m sitting here praying many prayers that his boots do actually fit. That boy needs a new coat (Nana is getting him one for Christmas) and avoiding new boots would be helpful. I know it’s too much to ask for. The child is growing entirely too fast.
With every item listed, Minor let out a grunt or a groan. “I hate boots. I hate hats. I hate gloves. I hate snowpants.”
Yes, baby. I know.
“But why? Don’t you like the snow?” Major asked as he climbed down his ladder.
“No!” Minor barked.
“Awwwwwww,” Major said in the way that children do. It was this sort of mimic of the way I would have said it, yet it still came out as almost a giggle. As if to say, “oh brother, you’re so ridiculous.”
Major practically pranced through the entire “get up, get dressed” routine. It wasn’t until we got downstairs and he got a good look at the snow that he realized we barely got a dusting. The early morning sun was enough to melt it away. I thought he would lose it, but he shrugged instead.
“It’ll be back! We’ll be sledding in no time!”
His brother and I both groaned at the thought.
I was a total baby about it this morning. Put on leggings under my jeans, a thick tunic sweater to put under my peacoat, and wrapped my hair in satin before putting on my thick knitted hat. I was dressed for January, not late November. It really wasn’t that bad out today. But the visual reminder of yes, cold days are coming, yes the warm days are at an end and, yes, snow will be here and will remain for months is… causing preemptive shivering. I can’t wait to snuggle up under my two thick blankets (Husband: “Really? Aren’t you hot under all that?”) and dream about tropical beaches. Yeah… some wonderful life owning a bookstore on a tropical island… wouldn’t that be magical?
Some things just can’t be helped. Change is in the air. I’m just gonna have to get used to it.
Speaking of which, you may have noticed that the featured image is a little more high quality than my other photos. That’s because this mama invested in a big-girl camera! Yaaaaaaaay!!! I purchased a very nice camera and stuff to go with it in the hopes that I will never put another blurry picture on this blog ever again! Furthermore, I hope that I will begin to get more active on Instagram thanks to my new toy. I’m so excited to better share the beauty of the world I know with you in this space.
The camera is just the beginning. As I told you in October, I decided to spend this winter not writing fiction in the hopes of giving my brain a bit of a rest, and also to spend some time learning and growing in other areas. I purchased a few helpful resources to help me with my fiction and I also purchased a very cool bundle of blogging courses/resources, complete with a cool mastermind group filled with weekly seminars and fellowship. I’m learning a lot and I’m excited to apply some of the knowledge that I’m gaining. I hope that you will come along on the journey with me. One of the first things I want to do with this camera is to take pictures of our Thanksgiving Day feast, and maybe even start posting some of my recipes!
That being said, I was wondering if you would do me a favor, Dear Reader. As I explore the potential of what this blog could be, I am trying to keep my focus on what I’ve already created and why you have chosen to read my blog week after week. I’ve noticed that, though my comments and “likes” don’t always reflect it, I have a pretty consistent bunch of readers who come back post after post. I would love to know who you are and what it is about my blog that you love the most. Would you be willing to take a quick 5-question survey to tell me a little bit about yourself? I don’t collect usernames or email addresses, and you don’t have to type anything (there is the opportunity write a comment at the end if you want to, but it is optional). I just want to know more about why you choose to read my words, and what I can do to make your experience better. I want to grow, but only in ways that honor the relationship I have already established with you.
Rather not do the survey? Send me an email! I actually correspond with a few of my readers and I absolutely love it! My email address is wise(dot)kay(dot)c(at)gmail.com
I’ll keep the survey up for a week just to give ample opportunity for ya’ll to find it and respond. No pressure! But it would mean so much to me, and it would really help me better reach my potential. Thank you for your help, Dear Reader. I look forward to your thoughts!
It’s a short week, but that doesn’t mean there is less to get done! Let’s make it happen, Dear Reader.
Until Wednesday, take care.
Photo: Industry brings about bounty, or so they say. Ever impatient (and seeing quite a bit of fruit on the vine) I chose to pick a bunch of green tomatoes and fry them for snack. Little boys were less than enthused. I thought they were yummy! We are about to be up to our necks in tomato soon. I’m going to let the rest ripen and then free a bunch for soup in the winter!
My husband got up three times this week to workout and I’m writing that with a lot of pride. He got up forty minutes earlier than usual, quietly got downstairs, popped in one of my old workout DVDs, and rocked out his morning.
This is a man who isn’t a morning person. Never has been, never will be.
and this is a main who doesn’t relish working out. Not in the tedious, repetitive sort of way that normal routines usually pose. Talking about it over coffee before he left for work this morning, I tried to probe his brain: Does he like it? Could he get used to it, at least? How about the music? Does he at least like the music? He shrugged it all off with dispassionate answers.
Will he continue it next week??
He shrugged again, but nodded. “Yeah, probably.”
If he really does get up on Monday, I ‘ll know that it’s for real. Either way, I’m proud of the man for making a decision and sticking to it this whole week, even with the insanity at work and the visit of my in-laws. No complaining, no excuses, and no company from me, either!
The more I learn and experience in my life, the deeper I understand that discipline in anything and everything is half the battle. Not just the practice, but the disciplined practice of whatever it is that you want most is what makes the difference. Master Brown, my old Kung-fu teacher, used to have us students do a simple call and response after class, saying: “Practice doesn’t make perfect. What makes perfect?”
Us: “Perfect practice makes perfect!”
But you gotta commit to making practice a part of your day. Every time. No distractions. No excuses.
Now, this is an elitist mentality, to be sure. Mind-over-matter and “no excuses” is easy to write when you have the luxury of making yourself uncomfortable when your life is otherwise quite comfortable. My Quiet Thoughts about discipline aren’t really about telling everyone that they, too, can do better if only they choose to simply try. My Quiet Thoughts this week are about how profound making the commitment and sticking with it can be to begin with, and how powerful that commitment can be, even in the moments when you feel like you’re floundering.
I spent my week feeling guilty about staying home with the boys. I wondered more than a little bit about our finances. We are heading into the expensive back-to-school season, as well as our most expensive year of preschool with two full tuitions for our little boys (last year, Minor’s bill was slightly less because he was in the “lower” class). We’re going to take advantage of tax-free weekend tomorrow, but it doesn’t look like we’re going to get a particularly good deal out of Stride Rite, which is a big disappointment. The Husband and I are sleeping on the same mattress we had delivered to our first apartment in Beacon Hill back in August of ’06, and it’s really starting to kill us slowly. After the shock of two very expensive repairs on the Fusion earlier this summer, our budget is a bit… abbreviated… for the rest of the year. The Husband and I are looking at the things we need, not to mention the things that we’d like and we are feeling an almost physical squeeze… We’re not dying, it’s not an emergency, but it’s tight…
So I spent my week, as I cleaned and prepped for in-laws and shuffled my children from playdate to playdate, feeling terrible: Should I go look for work? Why am I not a good enough writer to sell a story yet? Why have I been so lazy about editing Vi and pushing it out there? Should I do something to my blog to get more views and maybe make money on it? Why am I wasting my time and talents on stuff that doesn’t bring us anything? What the actual fuck am I doing with my life?
I sat at this computer and read my Bloggy Fail post from Monday and felt even worse: why can’t I keep up with even this? Why didn’t I just stay up another hour and get that post done?
It’s been killing me, to be honest. It kept me up on Wednesday night. Not because we’re about to crash and burn. Not even because I feel like a failure. It’s because somewhere in my life, I decided that I get what I give. My commitment and discipline dictate what I get out of this life. There is truth in that decision, but it is also too simple. There are too many factors outside of my control.
Besides, life is a long con. Complete with moments of peril and doubt that are just as prevalent as the moments of triumph. We’ve been able to provide the boys so much. This summer, especially, is really showing the early fruits of our labors. Every time I sit with my notebook, write a post here, or show some work to my writing group, I can see my improvements. I’ve read some of my early posts around here. Wow, worlds of difference. Slow, steady progress… very slow, but ever steady…
I’ve been approached by a big-box store to put up links and banners and nonsense here on the blog for their various sales. You click the link here, buy their junk there, and they give me a small commission. It would be so easy… but honestly, I don’t even like that store and I don’t shop there. So why in the world would I tell you to do so?
I have to earn whatever my keep is, so I commit to the practice of blogging and writing. To keep the calendar and write with honesty and clarity. To write a little fiction every day, to finish the projects that I start, to seek feedback however harsh and to keep marching past the many “no thank yous” until I get to the “yes.” Patience, hard work and faith (not just in God, but the strength and abilities He gave me and my husband) are the essential tools needed here. Perfect practice, every day, is what I’m still going for. Especially on the days when such practice is difficult to do.
In your moments of doubt, Dear Reader, I hope you find strength in routine or commitment, holding fast to what you value most, drawing comfort from the people (or pets!) who love you without condition. even if a few dreams need to be deferred, I hope you still march to the steady drumbeat.
It’s a hot Friday with a technocolor-blue sky, Dear Reader. Here at the farmhouse, it’s the insects making the noise instead of the birds. It’s certainly still high summer, hot and heavy, but bearing gifts like juicy tomatoes and succulent watermelon. I wish you a bit of both, Dear Reader, while sitting at a picnic table in shorts and favorite flip-flops. I wish you shady trees that sing you a song in a steady breeze, a funny yarn over a candlelit meal and even a delightfully spooky tale told by the side of a backyard fire. I wish you a kiss on both cheeks, and someone telling you that “you look great!” I wish you quiet and a good book in an air conditioned room. I wish you a squeeze of your hand and a giggling “I love you” along with the confidence of knowing that it’s true. Near and far, known and unknown, you are loved and admired. Isn’t it wonderful, Dear Reader?
Until Monday, take care.
Photo: I took this picture a long time ago… Ursa Major must have been one when this photo was taken. A year ago, we were just leaving the community when this photo was taken. A year ago. For ya’ll who have been with me for a while, you understand why that’s a little ridiculous. We’ve been through a lot together since this blog has started, haven’t we?
I’m sorry again about Monday, dear reader. I’m in a funky headspace… it probably doesn’t help that sleep has suddenly turned into a precious commodity here in the house. The boys are currently in the middle of a 4-day nap boycott, and Ursa Major has decided that it is ok to wake up in the middle of the night and scream for his father because… well, we can’t seem to get him to fully articulate what the hell his problem is.
Finally, at around 1:30 after both of us going in there about 5 times, I laid that child down in the crib, kept his eyes focused on me, and had a pretty epic crazy-mom moment: “Let me be very clear. I am the scariest thing in this house right now and you won’t let me sleep.”
It probably wasn’t the best thing I could have done, but it got the freaking point across. The ridiculousness stopped and he went to sleep.
But now I’m sitting here, yawning, and I’ve got a lot to do. I have a mind to wake that child up and make sure he has a regular schedule (thus taking the much needed nap this afternoon) but the only thing worse than a crying toddler at 12:30 is a cranky little punk toddler at 9:30, you know?
Thank you for the support while I took a bloggy day off. To be honest, there was a part of me on Monday that was going to declare this a bloggy week off. Not because I have no words (though I certainly didn’t on Monday) but because I’m trying to decide where I am with this thing, what I get out of it, what you as a reader get out of it, and what it can and should be. I know that there is a core of regular readers who come here and comment, another outer group who pop in from time to time, and there are people who have found a couple articles of my blog because it would seem that my battles with my in-laws are not that uncommon.
If I’m being completely honest, I think that this blog represents something that scares me. And so does the fiction that I’ve been writing. I feel a lot of momentum, I write just about every day, I’m inspired by something constantly and I see my little moleskine full of scribbled notes and ideas… and I’m starting to get pretty sincere, helpful and hopeful feedback and I’m starting to wonder…
what the hell am I doing here?
I wrote a guest post once on another blog about writing for time. I write because I love it, but I also write because I am desperately looking for a way to contribute financially to my family while staying home with my boys. They represent the chief of my passions and their journeys mean more than the world to me. Where my mother and the rest of my family seem to think I’ve lost my ambitious nature, I’ve simply aligned those ambitions very closely with these two little boys, who they are today and who I’d like them to become tomorrow. I know that I’m walking a line. I’m committed to not become a helicopter mom, not a hands-free mom (for the love of God), not quite a tiger mom, but something else. I’m something else.
But all of that being said, again, what the hell am I doing here? That’s what I’ve been asking myself, because I don’t know the answer. I’m convinced that I have the potential to write in a way that can produce a small little something that I can stick in our coffers, but I’m not totally convinced that I have the talent for it. I’m not fishing for compliments–I know that I write words and those words turn into something that people enjoy reading, and you’ve told me as much, and I’m grateful. I’m not talking about the composition, I’m talking about the everything else: The branding, the twittering, the pictures and the graphics with the frilly fonts… the banners and the links, the “blog tours” and the guests posts…
I’m a mom-blogger, but I’m not that kind of mom blogger. It’s not that I don’t like to see those things on other blogs that I visit. I just know that I’m not really into representing myself that way. But is that what I have to do, I wonder?
And then there is the fiction, which I really relish. And I’m wondering if the grind of writing short fiction and submitting it, and having it rejected (or getting no comments at all) is really the best use of my time. Especially when my larger project, which I’m having some folk read right now, is getting such great feedback. Am I just better at writing longer works? But then I remember what I wrote in November and how utterly ineditable it was… I want to see this larger project through to the end, and then I have two more really awesome ideas right behind it. But I need stuff to get these things going. There is an infrastructure that I’m missing and I don’t know how to build….
I’m a writer, but can I be an author?
And then there are the other talents. This house that we’re working on… and the gardening I want to do… the sewing that I’m excited about starting, the knitting projects and the cooking and baking. I know I’ll never be Martha… and I don’t have the capital to be that woman out on the pioneer trail… you’re already reading about the crazy Black lady in the Massachusetts farmhouse… but would you be interested in reading more? If I kept the same pace, if I continued to write about the boys and The Husband and the preschool nonsense and all of the things that brought you here and bring you back…if Quiet Thoughts were still on Friday and you’d indulge me, from time to time, in a rant about race in America…if I pepper you with stories about my moronic inlaws… but then if I put up recipes, or sewing projects, or gardening and flower arraigning… if I wrote about the writing I’m doing, putting up an excerpt now and again… would you still come here? Would it change the tone and tenor of what this space is?
I’m a blogger… right?
I’m asking because I want to experiment, but I don’t want to alienate. I started this blog two years ago in response to a challenge from and good and trusted friend, and that challenge has brought me really far. Closer to my goals than I have ever been, even when, at the time, I didn’t know that this is where I wanted to be. I want to make sure that I’m still meeting that challenge–stepping up to high expectations, meeting them and exceeding them whenever possible. And I don’t want to make changes that are weird and inauthentic. I don’t actually want to do a lot of crap for the sake of “traffic” or “building my brand.” I’m not doing this to get rich. I’m doing this because I love it, and because this is one of the best things I’ve ever done. I don’t want to stop, I just want to get better.
I’m standing on the thin boundary between everything and nothing, wondering what the hell to do next.
See you Friday with some Quiet Thoughts.
Happy Monday, Reader!
I am so fortunate that i was able to purchase a new smartphone a few weeks ago, because who knew that i was going to have to blog via my phone today? Just as i was about to share the nonsense of my weekend, my house stopped humming. No power. I heard a transformer blow earlier in the day, but we kept power, so i didn’t think much of it. Well, looks like it was a bigger deal than i thought because some 300 folks in my town don’t have power. What’s worse, some truck just spilled an entire load of crap on the road just a few feet from my driveway…trucks go flying down my street like it isn’t a big deal…there is a townmeeting next month and i am SO looking forward to getting my civic duty on. Local government is fun government.
Anyway, i reserved my evening for writing fiction with some other folks, so i can’t write a nice one today. Sorry, y’all! Blame the universe for stealing my power from me!
That’s my whaaaaat? face. Also, first selfie ever.
Photo: Blessed are the hands that bake the bread… or something? I have made bread all week. This is the brioche that I baked today. We’ll slice it for French Toast tomorrow morning. When I started this blog, I was not a baker. I was challenged to learn and now I love it. I’m grateful for this time that I’ve been given to learn and grow and explore the other facets of my personhood. Part of me wonders how much longer of this I have. Another part of me wonders if I’ve been doing the right thing with my time.
My Quiet Thoughts are about sharing, because that was clearly the theme of my week. I started my week by opening up my home to neighbors, family and good friends, and I ended it with phone-calls and impromptu conversations that ended up being a lot more than the usual shallow banter. I’m sitting here right now coming off of a very fascinating discussion about religion and faith with a member of my writing community–I just spent the better part of an hour answering questions and asking some of my own, sharing stories that I’ve told few people. It has been exhilarating and exhausting, terrifying and uplifting.
But when I think about it, it’s more terrifying than anything else. I suppose that it is the introvert in me, but I don’t think of myself as that interesting to begin with, and I firmly believe that most of my thoughts and ideas are fairly foolish. I’m also fairly sure that, especially in person, I’m not terribly articulate at all. So I’ve spent the better part of this week wishing that I could erase the entirety of my Monday, and some parts of my Tuesday and Thursday as well.
I write that and I realize that there is some introvertedness in my words and also some Millennialness in my words. It is so easy to type at this keyboard and fuss with it and censor it to my heart’s content. I don’t spend a lot of time self-censoring, but I do try to erase what seems to be boring or asinine, only putting my moment’s best up on the screen and out into the wide wide internets. As you’ve noticed, there isn’t anything remarkable to see here–I’m a woman and a mother trying to make things work. I woke up yesterday with the grand idea that I was going to delete this blog. “Who wants to read another stupid mommy blog?” I asked myself. “Who are you to write about your life as if you have something to contribute? How large could your ego possibly be?” Indeed, I’ve strayed away from the original purpose of this blog–which was to seek some sort of sisterhood among other suburban Black moms out there. It’s turned into a diary of sorts… which isn’t what I wanted. You all have your own issues, your own diapers to change, your own bills to pay.. right? I have often felt like I’ve written posts that are severely unworthy of your time. When I think about the time that I’ve wasted, I get heart palpitations.
I recognize that there is fear and hurt in the words that I’m typing. As I open up to new people and see to either strengthen existing relationships or create new ones, I remember the ones that I’ve lost or severed over time. The mind wanders to the potential squandered, the intimacies divulged, the vulnerability exploited.
But then again, it feels good to share. It feels good to ask and answer questions, to learn and connect. It feels good to know something unexpected, to be surprised when something comes out of nowhere. I appreciate that I’ve spent my entire week mulling over questions and feeling inspired and yet utterly and terribly inadequate and foolish at the same time. That’s invigorating. (There is the optimism… I knew I’d find it.)
So on this Friday, I’ll share with you, dear reader:
I found a lump in my breast a week after Christmas. While I was sitting in my mother’s house worried over every last other thing in my life, I found it. I sat on it for 2 months, not telling anyone but my husband (and my doctor) because I didn’t want to add to the drama of my life. There were a few times, in the dark moments when I let my mind wander down the rabbit hole, that I thought I’d share on this blog. But I didn’t want to alarm anyone and I didn’t want it to seem like I was looking for attention or unnecessary sympathy. I had an ultrasound last week and they found that there is something there but it is benign. That’s the reason why I posted so late on Friday–I was in and out of 4 doctor’s appointments trying to get everything sorted out. I am relieved and humbled, and evermore cognizant that I have little control over the course of my life. These worries brought renewed urgency to some parts of my life and de-emphasized the urgency in others. To reiterate: I’m fine and grateful to be so.
I’ve been writing this post for the better part of an hour. I’ve written two other things that I thought I would share and have erased them both. It’s funny how we determine what is interesting, what is worthy of being shared. I think that I’ll try to write two “nice” posts this month that share something personal (like what I did when I was on vacation back in September). We give what we get, right? I’ll give a little.
On this and all Fridays, I congratulate you on your accomplishments and wish you the opportunity to indulge in an end-of-the-week ritual. Even if that’s going to be at 9 tonight and sleeping until you can’t sleep anymore. I wish you the song of a returning bird in the trees, or a pop of green in the ground under the melting snow, or even a glimpse of the first buds emerging from awakening trees. I wish you a seat at a sugarhouse, cutting into a stack of buttermilk pancakes and syrup fresh from the maple tap. I wish you the sight of an animal (the foxes just left from under the barn. They are so gorgeous!) and the reminder that we humans weren’t the only ones who suffered this extreme winter. I wish you a smile from across a crowded room, a text from a random friend, a good story from an elder, or a pleasant chat with a friend in a beautiful place. I wish you one good meal prepared by skilled hands and a loving heart. I wish you a moment of feeling foolish and the reminder that you aren’t always the smartest person in the room. I wish you the opportunity to help someone else–to be the hero of a person’s day. I wish you inspiration, great or small, and the exhilaration that goes with it.
Until Monday, stay warm and take care.
It is early morning and I am waking up my home. I know that I write about the morning a lot, but I think that it is a beautiful time, especially in the autumn, when we are all just a little bit slower getting out of our warm and cozy beds. The sun, too, is slow to creep over the horizon. I’ve beaten her by a few minutes every morning this week. Before long, I’ll be well into my routine before I see her appearance in my window. Her late arrival means that the crisp air of New England remains in these walls, keeping my rooms chilly as I enter them.
This is the best time of day—it is time to light the hearth.
My oven is preheating. The popping sound of metal waking up is the only thing I hear above the air delivering much needed heat through the grates in the floor. It is a bit too early to start the coffee maker (my grind ‘n brew sounds like a rocket when I turn it on), but it is set up and I can still smell the coffee beans that I put into it. The small lamp next to my favorite chair is throwing minimal oranges and yellows at the darkness, but I can see the light on the horizon. The world is waking up.
Who lights the hearth in your life? Who wakes up the world for you? How sacred is that duty in your house? I love that this part of the day belongs only to me, and that the three men in my life have no idea what I’m doing down here. It isn’t about flipping a switch and turning on the television… it’s about making sure that the first few moments of their day are warm and positive. It’s about a kiss, a smile, something warm right out of the oven. It’s about the first smell of the morning being full of pumpkin spice and coffee beans. These moments will be forgotten by 2 in the afternoon, but they mean something now. They mean everything right now.
I have been thinking about the concept of “home” a lot this week. As Boston erupts in joy over the stupid Sox in the stupid World Series, I’ve been a little bit miffed. This place gets a little bit obnoxious when the home team gets into a championship series. I complained in a text to a friend. Her reply: “This is your home now, girl, you betta get on board.”
This is my home now.
The sellers signed the extension. The septic work is starting today. We’re going to closing on the 8th. I’m going to be a landed citizen of Massachusetts. I shall own soil here to cultivate as I should see fit.
This is my home now.
And when we finally move into this house, and unpack our things, and fall into a routine, that house will be our home. The home we chose, the home we’ve fought for. It will be a sacred place, and these mornings will be that much more meaningful.
I cannot tell you how much I’m looking forward to making that house my home. Filling it with the joy of my sons’ laughter, fighting, throwing, stomping and screaming. Hearing the echoes of the nerdy jokes my husband makes. Throwing our dirty laundry down the stairs on Sunday morning in preparation for the great weekly washing. Baking my first set of Friday muffins in that farmer’s kitchen. Loading up the pantry after that first big Costco run. Planting the acorns that I gave my husband a few weeks ago. Knitting two pretty afghans to throw on the boys’ beds come spring time. Constructing a quilt honoring Maryland to put on the wall in our office. Throwing our first party in the summertime. Lighting the hearth for a new chapter in our lives.
I’ve been thinking, too, about the beautiful dignity and art that goes into homemaking. The patient stewardship required for keeping a family of four moving through the days and weeks. The skills it takes to keep us well fed, clean, warm, and happy. So often, a woman’s work is invisible, ignored or deemed unworthy of recognition. Dishes are dirtied soon after washing. Floors are muddied soon after mopping. Clothes are stained soon after laundered. Kitchens are cooked in hours after scrubbed. To keep a home is a Zen sort of process—the pleasure derived from it is so fleeting, the function of it so simple, the beauty of it so nuanced and sacred. To make a home and make it well is a beautiful, artful, dignified thing to do.
I write all of this, and then I have to say that I’m actually not going to light the fires in my home tomorrow. Tomorrow, I’m getting up early and I’m going to my first WordCamp. i’m excited and very nervous–I couldn’t find anyone to go with me, so I’m going to be by myself in a sea of happy webnerdom. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a junior league nerd. I speak the language, for the most part (though I don’t code) and I enjoy most of the same stuff as the average nerd does (case in point: I get about 90% of the jokes on Big Bang Theory. ) But I’m an introvert first and foremost, and I’m going to be all too happy to find an anonymous seat in each session I sit in, tap at my computer and flash warm but guarded smiles at passerby to make eye-contact. I am really hoping to get a lot out of this experience–ways to make this blog better, ways to set up my author’s blog over the next few months as I write books and short stories and attempt to sell them… I’m even thinking about setting up a blog specifically for parents who are looking for diversity-related issues and conversations (though I might roll that into this one). I’m excited about being a student for a weekend. I hope I can find away to not feel alone for the entirety of it.
I should warn you that I’ll have my computer with me and I’ll probably be trying out tips and techniques on the blog as I go through sessions. I have no idea what the blog is going to look like come Monday morning. Hell, it might look different as soon as tomorrow afternoon. So if you don’t like it when things get all wonky, then please check me out on Monday. I’m going to be really excited to share what I’ve learned and I hope that I can continue to improve as a blogger and writer (there is, I’m learning, a difference!).
I was asked about “Angry Black Woman” mode, and I haven’t forgotten about it. I think I’ll dedicate a post to it next week. I have to think of some stories, and hope that they aren’t too utterly mortifying to share. I can certainly think of a time when it got me into trouble. I can probably get The Husband to think of a time when getting me out of it was the right thing to do. But can i think of a time when it was perfectly time and yielded positive result? Hmmm… I’m still pondering.
But in the mean time, it’s Friday. Friday is for contemplation, reflection, and preparation for the weekend. I have so many wishes for you this weekend. I wish you a moment to watch the light of a lamp chase the darkness out of an empty room. A few notes of jazz to accompany a moment of thought or writing. I wish you a secret and knowing smile with the person you love–an intimate inside joke shared between two people. I wish you a comforting hand on a shoulder or the small of your back, a little reassurance and comfort in the face of the chaos of the world. I wish you the sensation of new-day cold on newly awoken feet, moving you ever faster to the opening of your day. I wish you a sip of good wine and a bit of good crusty bread, buttered and still warm. I wish you a fleeting moment of watching your breath float across the air. I hope you’ll light your hearth this weekend, and warm your home with something artful and beautiful: A doddle on a paper, a scarf knitted with thread long stored in your craft box, a pretty sampler embroidered over the course of an afternoon. Or maybe you’ll pick up a project from somewhere else. Martha Stewart’s November issue has lot of really good ideas. if I were entertaining for Thanksgiving, I’d take up the corn husk wreathe and the pretty embroidered napkins. I might even have embroidered my own table cloth…
Anyway, as always, I wish you joy this weekend. Warmth and joy. And I’m stealing this from Britt: Light and Love. Warmth, Joy, Light, Love. These are beautiful things.
See you Monday.
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do·mes·tic dəˈmestik/Submit adjective 1. of or relating to the running of a home or to family relations.
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