Gems

Victoria and I are in the process of planning for the Mother & Daughter luncheon, 2012. This is our tenth year. How in the world did THAT happen? We discussed invitations tonight, and decided to use a silhouette. We batted around using Victoria’s silhouette, a bird, a butterfly, a teapot, a flower, a daisy, a Gibson Girl, or just a generic little girl.

In the end, we found THIS little jewel. Victoria and I BOTH loved it. I actually ADORED it from the moment I laid eyes on it, but being the mom of a thirteen year old girl, I knew to play my hand close.

“What do you think of this one?” I asked nonchalantly.
“Oh, Momma!!! I LOVE it!!!! What do YOU think of it?”
“I love it too, sugar.”
“What do you REALLY think???” (She is, after all, a woman-in-training.)
“I think I REALLY love it. Do you know WHY I love it?”
“No. Why?”
“Well, because it reminds me of you. You aren’t a little girl any more, but you’re not yet a young woman. And this silhouette looks EXACTLY like who you are right now.”
“I think so too. She looks in between like me.”

Do you know what I love most of all? I love that my 13-going-on-14 year old daughter KNOWS that she is “in between.” She isn’t trying to grow up too fast. She isn’t trying to stay a little girl. She is in between, and she embraces her in between-ness. I was NOT one to do that.

I always wanted to do whatever it was I was too young to do. Some of this may have had to do with my having an older sister, but most of it had to do with me being “prissy.” At the age of six, I INSISTED that my leotards on Sunday morning were to be called PANTYHOSE and my open-toed, block-heeled sandals were to be called HIGH HEELS. My Granny would save empty cosmetic compacts and lipstick tubes and cleansing cream jars for me–stored in her guest room chest-of-drawers–with the STRICT understanding that I was not to APPLY anything I might find in the crevices of the containers. Even my Granny who dug EVERY LAST AVAILABLE BIT of her Merle Norman Ladybug Red lipstick from the tube with a Q-tip was bound to miss some that my enterprising prissy fingers might still reach. I DID occasionally sneak and “use” some powder. It was really just Granny’s old powder puff that smelled of face powder, but it thrilled me no end.

I wore lip gloss as soon as I was allowed. I got my ears pierced as soon as Daddy FINALLY gave up and told me if I wanted to poke holes in my ears to go right ahead. I wore make-up as soon as I had my own money and convinced Momma that I would only use NATURAL colors. (This did not last for long as my photos from high school can attest.)

I don’t think any of that was bad. I am certainly not the first little girl to do so. And if Victoria wanted, this would have been the year that mascara and face powder and light lipstick would have made an appearance in our house. As it stands, she wants none of that yet. She likes to wear jewelry but has no desire to pierce her ears. She likes to wear body spray, but has no desire for make-up. She has long had her own personal preference regarding her clothes and what she “feels” like wearing. She has her own style. . .which happens to be chock full of grace and gentleness and intuition and tenderness and beauty that is beyond me to describe. She is like a luminous strand of pearls, my girl.

Of course, I AM her Momma, so I’m a little partial.

More Dragon Wisdom

We are now on the 8th book in the How to Train Your Dragon series–How to Break a Dragon’s Heart. Not that any of us WANT to break a dragon’s heart. That’s just the title.

The books are NOTHING like the movie–although the movie is pretty good. There is pattern that Cressida Cowell uses, but her writing is downright hilariously clever to the point that Victoria, Thad, and I have had some of our hardest laughs while reading her books–but it is laced with melancholy at times. . .and there are bits of wisdom dropped throughout like bread crumbs. Tonight, I ran across another. . .

“But I am not really lost,” she said to herself, “because it does not matter so much WHERE you are as long as you know WHO you are.”

That, and the fact that I HAVE to love a published author who uses the dash (–) AND capitalizes words freely and with abandon. Just sayin’.

Serendipitous, Happenstantial Providence

Things I do not believe:

“There are no accidents.” Yes. There are. My Daddy losing his leg was an accident. He was where he was supposed to be when he was supposed to be there, and someone who didn’t know he was there turned on a switch, and presto–accident.

“Everything happens for a reason.” No. They don’t. Sometimes things just happen. See above.

“It was God’s will.” Sometimes it is. Sometimes it isn’t. It is God’s will for babies to be born. It is not God’s will for babies to die. Actually, it is not God’s will for ANYONE to die. Thus the Garden of Eden (which people screwed up), and then sending Jesus so we NEVER have to die–not really. I do not believe it was God’s will for Daddy to lose his leg. But God let it happen. And Daddy continued to believe in God and serve as a wonderful (if imperfectly human) testament of how to deal with tragic accidents by leaning heavily on the grace of God.

Things I DO believe:

God uses accidents to bring about His purposes.

God uses things that happen to bring about His purposes.

God is with us in accidents and in things that happen for no particular reason other than the fact that we live in a fallen world where death and accidents and “things” happen.

God exerts and exercises His will through earthly happenstance every single day, and we can SEE Him doing that if we take a moment to open our eyes–if we “treasure” and “ponder things” in our hearts as did Mary, the mother of Jesus, so that in the fullness of time, we can look back and see the loveliness of God’s hand taking the ashes we are given by a fallen world, and turning them into beauty.

I say all of that to say, that forty-four years ago, a baby was born in Sweden. Her parents had an unlikely meeting. I think that she, like me, would say that the eventual ending of their marriage–though not surprising–was tragic. But that brought this Swedish lass to the United States–more specifically to the birthplace of her mother in Texas. There, in Texas, she met a boy. They really, really liked each other a lot and got married and had two wonderful sons who have yet to make their final, indelible mark on the world, but are working on it every day.

She followed this boy that she met to a small, Christian university in Arkansas. There was another girl there–one who had been born in a tiny, back-water town in Louisiana. And through some serendipitous happenstance (that both girls believe to this day was God exacting His will) they met.

You see how murky the waters can become.

falling in love and having a beautiful baby girl=good
divorce=bad
family splitting up across an ocean=bad
meeting your future husband=good
meeting a friend=good

But if you know that God sees through the murk, and you focus your eye on the light He shines through the dimness and uncertainties of life, then you see Him all over the place.

See the photo below? Click on it.

Chances of Stephanie meeting Roxanne=infinitesimally small (cuz, DUDE, that ocean is very, very large)

The Mighty Google=”We could not calculate directions between Lund Municipality, Sweden and Bastrop, LA.”

God=INCREDIBLY, GIGANTICALLY, MIND-BLOWINGLY HUGE and WAY SMARTER than Google.

Accident. . .happenstance. . .a mere “thing”. It matters not. “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.“ So says James, the brother of Jesus, who should know and who was inspired to say so. Therefore, our meeting is classified under “God” as far as I am concerned.

Today is Stephanie Gabrielle’s birthday. But I (and the rest of the world too) am the one who got the gift of her presence.

Thank you, God, for my lovely, lovely friend. She is a blessing and a treasure, and you knew how much, how long, and in how many ways I would need her over the course of my adult life–from the very beginning to now and, hopefully, for much, much longer.

Happy birthday, my unlikely, God-given friend. The Atlantic Ocean turned out not to be so big after all. And I think you rock.

Victoria’s View: The Bike Ride

The girl knows how to compose a setting, take a photo, AND pick an App.

Here is the original. ‘Tain’t bad neither. . .

all the small poems

all the small poems by Valerie Worth, illustrated by Natalie Babbitt is a small paper-backed book I picked up for $.50 a couple of years ago. I don’t know much about Valerie Worth, but Natalie Babbitt has written two of my favorite books of all time: Tuck Everlasting (DO NOT think the movie is the book–it is NOT) and Eyes of the Amaryllis

Back to Ms. Worth. . .these are, in fact, small poems about singular, recognizable items. Each poem, like the title of the book, begins with a lower case letter to signify the “insignificance” of the item being described–the smallness–the ordinary, every dayness of it. Some of the poems are straight forward–some are just poetic license on a random item, and some are quite simple on the surface, but if you scratch them, they bleed meaning.

Here are two of my favorites.

I know these rags of which she speaks. My Granny used them. I can also imagine Garrison Keillor reading this on his radio program. (He has a wonderful story about growing tomatoes–or, rather, destroying tomatoes.) I think he would especially shine his droll sense of timing and baritoned splendor on the final line regarding underpants.

My scanning prowess needs some improvement, but despite the wonky type, I love this poem, because I have loved a sparrow. I believe this is one of my favorite illustrations in the book. It IS what a sparrow looks like–perfectly.

So. . .if you want a book of poetry to share with a child, or just a nice book of poetry to read, let me suggest this one. There is no lofty verse or eloquent vocabulary, but the images drawn in word and in ink will make you smile.

*Blank is as blank does.* Fill in the blank.

“Pretty is as pretty does.” Antiquity
“Stupid is as stupid does.” Forrest’s Momma
“Smart is as smart does.” I just made this one up

In all seriousness. . .loved this quote from NieNie over on this blog today.
“Pretty isn’t in a dress, a lipstick, or a perfect body. Pretty radiates from a confident, feminine, comfortable soul. Dress your soul in these qualities first, and you will look beautiful no matter how simply you are dressed.”

My daughter has a beautiful soul. She always has. I find her to be absolutely, positively, beyond the shadow of a doubt GORGEOUS. But her soul–well, that is indescribable.

Tonight she was honored for her brains–inducted into the National Junior Honor Society along with about one hundred of her classmates. She had on no lipstick. Her body is all arms and legs and elbows still. But she DID have on a very pretty dress. That being said, her smile–her goodness–her friendliness and genuine, unconditional love and concern for those around her. . .her conscientious attention to feelings, details, assignments, rules. . .it all adds up to one really, really lovely, shiny, beautiful soul. I am blessed to be her Momma.

Victoria is as Victoria does. And Victoria DOES radiate the beauty that God painted on her pretty soul before he sent her to shine her lovely light all over me.

Sometimes. . .

“Sometimes it is only a True Friend who knows what we mean when we try to speak. Somebody who has spent a lot of time with us, and listens carefully to what we are trying to say, and tries to understand.”

from:
How to Cheat a Dragon’s Curse by Cressida Cowell (also author of How to Drain Your Dragon and the rest in the series–these are HILARIOUS books.)

Authentic

As a wedding present, Tony had a particular item in mind that he did in fact buy for me. But his dad suggested that he might want to get something a little more along the line of “formal.” So, he decided on a strand of pearls. Much to his surprise, he found that an entire strand of pearls was substantially more than he had to spend at the moment. So, the night before our wedding he presented me with some beautiful pearl earrings and said, “I wanted to buy you a whole strand, but we’ll just start with these.”

We’ve not moved any further down the pearl path than those earrings, but they are as precious to me as an entire strand. I love to wear them. They are flattering. They are simple. They are timeless.

Tony’s sister eventually gave me a strand of very nice costume pearls. It is a double strand, and each “pearl” is knotted individually. They are heavy and lustrous. I wore my pearls today. Can you tell which ones are real and which are fake?

Feria

Feria
Today I want to be a poet.
I want words to flow from my pen like water.
I want them to swirl and eddy and sparkle without my worry
that they are too perfect or too mute.

Today I want to embrace aloneness.
I want to walk aimlessly wherever I go, seeing whatever I see.
I want to eat when I am hungry
and sleep when I am tired
and let the hours and minutes hold no sway over what I do
or when I do it

No. Numbers. Allowed.

I want to climb into bed and read for hours
until my brain hurts
and my eyes blur
and my body demands activity.
Then I want to take a walk in the cold, gray winter day
and come back and get on the couch and read some more.

Today I want to have just one name.
Not the one I inherited from my father
or the one I accepted from my husband.
Just the one my mother gave me
when I was an idea in her heart
and a whisper in her womb.
The one that she could not have known would fit me so well.

I want a day when I have just one name.
And no one knows it but me.

January 13, 2011

Konst av Konstnären (Art by the Artist)

Last week I showed you my lovely new piece of art from Stephanie.

And there was this AWESOME portrait of our old house from June, 2006.

I’ve also mentioned the other pieces of art with which she has gifted me, but I’ve never shown them to you. . .so here they are NOW.

I met Stephanie in college. She was an art major and as such, at the end of our senior year she had an art show. I attended and fell in love with two pieces of her work. This piece of pottery was the one I felt I could afford to buy. I can’t remember what I paid for it–not nearly what it was/is worth. . .but after the show, she delivered it to me, and it is in my house to this day.

On this you’ll note, she put the title of my blog. . .I had recently been bemoaning some MAJOR drama in my life to my friend and dorm mother, Katrina,and she told me about a song, “It Be’s That Way Sometimes.” I shared the story with Stephanie, and that is what she entitled my piece of pottery. WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAy back in 1991.

At the very same art show, I also fell in love with a wonderful water color. It was just gorgeous. . .right up my alley. . .lovely, lovely, lovely. I can’t even remember if it was a piece she had for sale–and if so it was WAY out of my price range, but I told her how gorgeous I thought it was. It was entitled, “Waiting .” And I was in the midst of doing a lot of that at the time. . .waiting. . .much like “The Waiting Place” in Dr. Seuss’s book, Oh the Places You’ll Go.

One lovely May evening (central Arkansas KNOWS how to do spring) I went for a walk, and when I returned, sitting on a chair in my apartment was the painting. Stephanie had given it to me as a graduation present.

(Click to see it REALLY big.)

See? Lovely. She was about 20 when she painted this.

As I was photographing these to put on the blog, Victoria said, “Who made those?” I told her it was Mrs. Stephanie. As these are things Victoria has always seen (and it never dawned on me to tell her), she had no idea. . .and her response was, “What can she NOT do?”

Now–knowing Stephanie like I do, I know she would be the first to give you a long, exhaustive list of all the things she CANNOT do. . .but I am here to tell you that one thing she CAN forevermore do is create–wonderful meals, handsome boys, beautifully wrapped packages, and art, art, art. . .from original paintings to envelopes in which to stuff letters that are covered with her font-like hand writing.

Amazing.

When I thanked her for the most recent masterpiece, I tacked on a little note in Swedish. She is, in fact, from Sweden–was born there and lived the first 10 or 11 years of her life there. She speaks, reads, and writes fluent Swedish but you’d never know it to hear her. She sounds like your run of the mill southern-ish girl. Anyway–here is what my Swedish (courtesy of Google Translate which Stephanie assures me did a truly fine job) thank you said:

Thank you my dear, dear, dear, dear friend. Your love for and acceptance of me and my many, many flaws has been a blessing all the years I have known you, but this past year in particular. Thank you for being a sounding board, a confidant, a kick in the pants, and for being able to create things that neither my imagination nor hands can design. You are a jewel both valuable and rare, and also very, very sparkly. I love you.

And sparkle she does.