Love

Where is the Grinch When He’s Really Needed?

Posted on February 14, 2013 by Kami

I’m not a fan of Valentine’s Day. Never have been. Not as a kid, not as a teen, not as an adult. Not even as a married person.

Nope. Not a fan.

It’s one of the areas in my life I’ve decided I’m just going to be cranky and annoyed about.

Sorry to burst your shiny red heart-shaped mylar balloon.

Those valentine mailboxes we decorated in elementary school with such high expectations? Always a letdown. While it seemed every other girl ended up with at least one or two surprises from a secret admirer or best friend, I only got the obligatory stack of valentines.

English: A glass of milk (left) and a glass of...

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In fact, there were a couple of years the creepazoid boys that made my school life at recess miserable, took the Valentine’s day opportunity to make certain that I felt despised and pathetic. Boys that age have a talent for rude, mean, despicable behavior. (It might warm your heart to know that by high school I was on friendly terms with most of them. They became slightly human by then somehow.)

There was one year, fifth grade I think, that we had a contest for the best valentine mailbox. My dad helped me with this project and it turned out awesome! He found a tall three or four-foot box about the circumference of a shoebox. We turned it into a clown with a wide-open mouth for the mailbox opening. The crowning glory was a squishy red bulbous squeeze horn. Honk, honk! We took first place of course. The grand prize was a supersized Hershey’s chocolate bar. Sixteen ounces of pure heaven I kept hidden in a drawer in my bedroom and nibbled on for weeks.

That memory right there is the highlight of decades of Valentine’s Day celebrations.

As a married couple we attempted a few Valentine’s dates. We quickly discovered that night of all nights is the worst possible one for a date. Restaurants are overrun and rushed. Movies are packed and noisy. Traffic is silly. Dances are ridiculous. Flowers cost twice as much as normal. Leftover Christmas chocolates are stingily arranged in overpriced heart-shaped boxes. We don’t do Valentine’s. We choose to abstain from all celebrating of this silly holiday. Okay, we might exchange cards. But that’s it.

Sorry, I am the Valentine Grinch. Where is Dr. Seuss when you really need him?

CreativeTools.se - PackshotCreator - 3D printe...

(Photo credit: Creative Tools)

The perfect Valentine’s Day for me is in my own hands. It’s a product of my own making. I bake up a huge batch of buttery heart-shaped sugar cookies. Then I slather them with pink butter cream frosting, showering each one with multicolored sprinkles.  Easy. None of that magazine cover overachieving piped lacy design nonsense.

Pop a few of these cookies into your mouth and life just doesn’t get any better than that. The kids love them, MSH loves them. My friends, if I choose to share, love them.

At this very moment there’s plenty of ice-cold milk in the fridge. Butter and yogurt is out on the counter waiting for me to start mixing up the magic cookie dough.

Cookie heart

Cookie heart (Photo credit: summerbl4ck)

My Grincy valentine heart will soften as I mix and roll and cut and bake. All those old resentments will fade as the butter and powdered sugar and red dye whip together into a frothy cloud of pink deliciousness.

Love is in the air, and it smells like sugar cookies.

Happy Valentine’s Day if you’re a believer. Otherwise, enjoy something freshly baked and revel in every bite.

Here’s some more upbeat, happy  articles about Valentine’s Day baking that you might enjoy.
Categories: Food, Love, Relationships | Tags: , , , , , , , | 20 Comments

“When You are Old” An Unexpected Perspective of Love

Posted on February 13, 2013 by Kami

When You are Old by William Butler Yeats

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

One of Yeats’ lesser known poems. I especially like the perspective from a life well lived.

I find that poetry is best enjoyed when read aloud. The cadence and the roll of the words across your tongue add a dimension of beauty and depth. Try it.  Then read it out loud a second time a bit slower and you’ll find it warming you from within.

If you’re really brave, read it out loud to someone you love, a son, a daughter, a spouse, a parent, yourself.

I think everyone should have a poem or two about love tucked away in their memory. Silly,  poignant, freeing, flowing, sad, gleeful, tender. Even a limerick will do if it’s one that can bring a laugh to your day or a smile to your lips.

If  you have a favorite poem about love I’d be delighted if you’d share it with me.

Categories: Love | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Can’t Buy Me Love, and Yet, All You Need Is Love? Lucky Me

Posted on February 12, 2013 by Kami

It’s Gratituesday! Today I am thankful for love. I know it sounds sappy, but give me a chance to explain.

I’m grateful for unconditional love from my parents, MSH, my kids, and my extended family. I know that no matter how big I goof up, how whiney I get, how unreliable and messy my life is, they are still going to provide me with with love, acceptance and understanding. Even if they don’t understand, they’ll jump that bridge and love me anyway. I’ve been rescued, resuscitated, healed, helped, snuggled, succored, cared for and cuddled by these people in ways only family can offer. What more could I ask for?

And yet there is more love in my life!

LOVE Sculpture, JFK Plaza

LOVE Sculpture by Robert Indiana, JFK Plaza (Photo credit: euthman)

Shared experiences with a few people have created a love that’s definitely not romance, stronger than friendship and distinct from familial love. I’m not sure there is a word for it. A spiritual connection? It’s an understanding or an emotion that requires no words and no actions. It just is. Does that make sense? Like any rare substance, these precious few relationships are priceless and guarded carefully. Surely there’s a word for this kind of love, but I’ve yet to hear or read it. I may have to invent it.

And More!!

I’m grateful for the quirky love of friendship. Each relationship I have is different, some are easy, some are not, but all involve love and persistence and concern. I have friends I can count on for a hug. Some friends I know will keep me humble with humor and sarcasm. And others see the good in me that no mirror I own ever allows me to see in myself. I can even lay open my heart to some with complete trust and no judgment. Those who trust me in the same way amaze me and instill a desire to try harder, be better and be worthy of that trust.

Wow!

I’m thankful that so many people have given me the opportunity to get to know and love them. Thinking about all the love in my life is like stumbling on a treasure trove, chests overflowing with diamonds and gems and silver and gold. I can’t imagine feeling any richer than I do now. Love surely makes my world keep spinning, floats my boat, keeps me grounded, fills my days, lights up my dark times, and creates joy.

Yes, I’m definitely grateful for love.

 

Categories: Gratitude, Gratituesday, Love | Tags: , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Forget Comfort Foods, Try This Instead

Posted on January 7, 2013 by Kami

Comfort foods.  I could wax poetic about all the varieties, textures, tastes, emotions and colors of myriad edibles.  So could you.

Have you ever considered “comfort memories?”

It’s self-explanatory.  Here’s an easy example.

My son can put himself to sleep by remembering himself through a specific ski run at a specific resort.  Recalling the swoosh of the snow under his board, the bite of the cold across his cheeks, the trees as they blur past, the feel of his muscles as he moves to catch a curve and negotiates the bumps and jumps, all combine to relax and calm him into a deep and restful sleep.

Nice way to put yourself to sleep, huh? I think so.

I have a way of relaxing myself when I’m feeling ill or in pain that, if I remember to remember it, works very well to comfort and ease my body and mind. It’s rooted in how I was cared for as a child when I was sick. It’s definitely a comfort memory.

Asleep on the couch

Asleep on the couch (Photo credit: geekdreams)

I recall pillows propped on the dark green couch, blankets tucked around me, with the TV on low and bluish across the room.  I remember the smell and taste of the concoction Mom would mix. It consisted of a bit of warm water, a spoonful of paregoric, and some sugar.  It was a licorice smell and taste, somewhat bitter, but eased by that spoonful of sugar.  My tummy always settled out if I was nauseous, my sore throat eased.  Sleep came easier in spite of noise or fever or pain.  I can still feel the coolness of the pillowcase as she turned my pillow to the cool side when my fever was high.  There would often be a cool cloth on my forehead and smoothed across my hands and arms, pulling the heat from my body and sending a swell of relaxation through my tired, aching limbs. Even if she was only checking my fever, Mom’s hand on my cheek let me feel cared for, loved and safe.

If I can conjure that image, those sensations, then I can settle into a rest that reminds me of that love.  I can relax and let the discomfort of whatever hurts lift away from me, even if only momentarily.

To know such care and comfort should fall to every child.  Every adult should be able to pull from the library of memory such a book, filled with tales of love and triumph.

What memories bring peace to you?  Is there anything you can recall from childhood, or adulthood, that on remembering, brings comfort, peace, joy, relaxation, love?

Categories: Family, Love, Memory Lane, parenting | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

The Power of Family

Posted on December 31, 2012 by Kami

The power of Family swirls around me. You can’t argue with the simple evocative strength of the word Mother, Father, Son, Daughter, Brother, Sister, Cousin, Aunt, Uncle, Grandmother, Grandfather, Grandchild, Husband, Wife, Niece, Nephew.

As strong as the ties of friendship might encircle and bind, they cannot entirely compete with the strength and veracity of Family. Maybe they aren’t supposed to compete.  Maybe they are supposed to complement.

If you doubt what I say, then attend a funeral of someone whose life touched thousands.  There are a select few who warrant inclusion in that sacred circle of Family ties, but only a few.  The rest are inherently barely outside the circle, pressing in with love, support, tears, memories.

There are many family like relationships out there.  I am called Auntie or Sister by those I have shared incredible life-changing experiences with. But does that make me Family?  It feels like family, it tastes like family, the hugs mimic family hugs; perhaps sometimes even exceed them in emotion.  But it isn’t Family.

Big “F” little “f”

Maybe the distinction is merely semantic or the difference between Family with a capital “F” and family with a small “f.”

Or is it all about legality and blood lines?  I have no idea.

I do know that I want my Family to know I love them.  I want my Family to know that those connections include a willingness to sacrifice for them.  They come first.  They are the why behind everything. I draw strength from the collective power of the love they have for me.  I count on their unconditional acceptance.  I am who I am in large measure because of their influence in my life, present or distant.  They are foundational and firm and forever.

Schorn Log Cabin, ca. 1700, with the cemetery ...

Schorn Log Cabin, ca. 1700, with the cemetery in between the cabin and church (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

What about that second circle that surrounds me, my family of friends?  They are included in my willingness to sacrifice.  In fact, it’s that sacrificial nature of those relationships that has made them feel unbreakable.  Their losses are my losses.  My losses, and I’m sure of this, are their losses.  They are family in ways my blood kin are not, in different ways, like chinking between logs in a cabin, or shingles on a sturdy roof.

Both kinds of family feel necessary.  Both house and clothe me in safety, love, reassurance, gentleness and kindness.

To be the recipient of both Family and family is a rare and opulent gift of surpassing beauty.  I hope never to squander such richness.  I hope I can share it, one on one. One heart, one tear, one smile, one hug at a time.

My New Year’s Wish would be that such circles include more people that feel outside of one or both. Does that sound unrealistic?  I don’t think so.  If one person this next year feels more loved, safer, cared for, part of something bigger, because I reached out and pulled them into my Family or family circle then their world and mine improves, lightens and grows.  Would you join in with me in reaching out, including, caring, loving?  Just one person. That’s all it takes.

Categories: Family, Love, Relationships | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

Childhood Revisited: Swinging In From a Star

Posted on December 8, 2012 by Kami

Today’s post  is a response to this WordPress Daily Post writing prompt.: “What is your earliest memory? Describe it in detail, and tell us why you think that experience was the one to stick with you.”

 

Pressing my face into the mesh of memory, I’ve searched and searched for details from my earliest childhood.  My attempts to peel back the layers, clarify the view and remove the dust and cobwebs find little substance. 

The few memories that surface are vague at best.  I couldn’t tell you how old I was, only where I was, but not when.  It’s as if I’m waiting for movie clips about myself from the outside like an independent observer.  But in reality the only point of view is from the inside looking out.  There aren’t any movie trailers.

Well, there are those 8mm films my parents took.  But that’s a memory of a memory.

There is this one clear, unchanging mental image, my first memory, my first awareness of being. My first experience with me-ness. 

I am walking between my dad and my mom, going up the street towards our little white clapboard house.  Each of them has taken hold of one of my hands. Whether I could walk on my own, I have no idea.  Maybe I was young enough that they were encouraging walking, or I could have been older and needing to be kept in check by the two of them. The world is vague and blotchy, all color and wash. The features of most things have no distinct form or shape. Our house is the only clear landmark.

The sensation of a hand in each of theirs is vivid; warmth and energy pulse into me.  And then, suddenly, I am soaring up and out, secured between them like a swing.  Then I am walking on the ground again.  I hear, “One, two, three!” and I sail out into the air again, safely tethered to them both.

Multiple times they count and launch me heavenward.  Each “three” creates the sensation of my body feeling free and ephemeral, accompanied by gravity’s pull back between them. Whether I spoke the words or merely thought them, my mind says, “again,” after each swing out and back. 

night sky

night sky (Photo credit: dcysurfer / Dave Young)

I remember laughter, mine or theirs.  Both, I’m sure.

I could easily believe a tale of my birth as a launching from heaven, lofted into the cosmos, riding a wave of star dust and gently landing between my father and mother. Caught between the two of them, I scatter dust from my journey as I swing back and forth, back and forth.  It’s a fairy tale worth holding on to. 

My earliest memory of childhood makes it feel as if I came swinging into this world suspended between them, held fast by love and joy.

 

 

 

 

Categories: Love, Memory Lane, parenting, Wondering | Tags: , , , , | 6 Comments

The Small Things That Get Us Through

Posted on November 29, 2012 by Kami

The last four months of last year I was working two part-time jobs.  Added up to about fifty or sixty hours a week.  They were physically demanding, on my feet for much of it.  A lot of lifting and carrying involved.  The exhaustion was formidable.  After all, I’m not a spring chicken, as my dad used to say.  There were days when simply getting out of bed seemed like a major accomplishment.

One of the jobs, in particular, was the sort of position that  can make a person feel invisible and maybe even small.  There are a few jobs out there like that.  I’ve had a few of them over the years.

There are advantages to that invisibility.  Being disappeared allowed me to observe with unabashed curiosity and clarity.  I watched all sorts of interactions between people that I filed away for future inclusion in a short story or a scene in a novel.

Most of the time I didn’t mind not being noticed.  I was doing my job, which, if I didn’t would be noticed and create some big problems.  Maybe that’s the way most jobs are.

Occasionally, a tough day would rear its ugly head and getting through the first job of the day was discouraging and weightier than normal.  Moods can do that to me.  On just such a day, nearing the holidays, I was the recipient of a gift.

I’m sure that the gift giver didn’t realize how significant her gift was.  I’m sure she didn’t even consider it a gift.  She’d be shocked if she knew I thought of that gift a year later, that I still have the package the gift came in.

Here’s what it looked like:

Yes, she offered me a cup of hot chocolate in this very cup, which I’ve kept.

Suddenly I wasn’t a disappeared person.  I was me, a fellow human being, like her, just trying to get through the day.  The invisibility cloak slipped off my head and fell to the floor around me.  I felt cared about.

Somewhere in the universe, some cog clicked into place that settled some ache in my heart that day.  I felt lighter.  I felt lifted.  I felt love.

Her gift to me was more than hot chocolate.  It was acknowledgment, personhood, a hand of kindness, recognition, friendliness, caring.

Reminds me of this quote:

“I can do no great things, only small things with great love.“
– Mother Teresa

Here’s wishing  you a month filled with small things, received and given.

Have you had anything like this happen to you?  What was the gift?  How did it help you? I’d love to hear about it.

I think you might also enjoy reading one of these related articles.
Categories: Gratitude, Love | Tags: , , , , , , , | 18 Comments

A Moment, and Everything After

Posted on November 4, 2012 by Kami

Heartbreak and Loss seldom give warning. Suddenly, they are at the door, unwelcome visitors, suitcases in hand, prepared to stay for an unrelenting visit.

At times it feels as if they’ve moved in, become part of the hum of the household, except the household no longer hums.  It jolts, and bumps, and bangs and hurts in unimaginable ways.

Fortunately, blessedly, thankfully, other visitors appear with food for the body when the soul has lost its appetite for life.

Others bring gifts of artistic wonder, of remembering, of photographs, of hugs and tears and attempts at understanding. There are those who bring laughter, some who bring laps for holding the smallest confused hearts. Some bring letters, which serve as a bulwark to support weak knees and helpless hands.

Gifts come in the form of laundered clothes, folded clean towels, floors swept, dishes done, garbage emptied, yard work finished.

Come on down and see us at the Old 193...

(Photo credit: sidehike)

Remembrances appear hanging from beautiful chains around the necks of those whose loss is unspeakable.  A photo, a talisman hanging beside the broken heart, a silver healing balm when healing seems impossible.

Music wraps itself around the injured, broken souls as a liniment, an ointment, a salve, first oil pressed from olives. The warmth of the song soothes and succors, lifts and lightens, cushions and comforts.

Love also appears at the door, and takes up residence. Love is attached to every gift, entwined in every condolence.  Love is woven in every hug. Love is wrapped among every sigh, and is the salt in every shared tear.

Love is the only real gift.

Because Love is the only solace.

Categories: Death, Love | Tags: , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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