Unwound

Something in me, something knotted tight and anxious, unwound this weekend. Just like that.  What felt like a twisted tight spring now feels free and easy like ribbons.  I don't know what it was but it's gone. Good riddance, I say.

Was it being with my people? Was it spending leisurely, languishing, laughing hours with my mom, dad, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins?

Was it thinking about my particular path and sharing it publicly in a setting where all the different, diverse paths were honored + not dichotomized?

Was it listening to the symphony play Mahler's 5th Symphony (my cousin playing the bass in the orchestra)? Or sitting next to my 90-year-old grandfather while he tenderly wiped his eyes?

Was it reading East of Eden? I finished it last night on the plane and sat cradling it to my chest for many minutes, thinking over its mastery (oh, the envy) and Steinbeck's celebration of "that glittering instrument, the human soul."

Was it sitting across from friends, both newly made and long held, sharing stories and souls?

Was it hours of thinking time staring out the airplane window with the perspective you only get from 30,000 miles in the air (and no, no one asked to sit on my lap)?

Yes, yes, and yes.  Whatever it was, I'm grateful.

And it was coming home, too, where part of my heart was waiting for me:

Video found via GwenBell

Sappy but true

Update on 03.3.2010 by Anne

Sorry for the technical difficulties today!  I know there was a weird login screen that popped up for a while there but it's fixed now.  Or so I hope.  It's not you, it's me and my technological ineptness. (Thanks again, Anna, for letting me know!)

p.s. I meant 30,000 feet not miles.  I'm not an astronaut, in case you were wondering.

You can't be serious

'My Funny Family' from hailey bartholomew on Vimeo.

Feel like a virtual field trip?  A trip to one of my favorite new-to-me sites is a treat. This artistic Australian family of four--photographers, designers, film-makers, gigglers--knows how to have F-U-N. The Bartholomews make me want to invite more fun + zaniness + joy into my life.  See them at You Can't Be Serious here. And their Christmas card photo has inspired me...look for a little zaniness from the W clan come December.

p.s. We're getting back on our feet around here! More soon...

Thankful for: tears (nothing like a good cry) ~ tealight candles ~ washer+dryer

Magnificent

weekend.
Thanks for coming, friends.

Jen, me, Deirdre, Vicki (behind the camera) at Burdick's Chocolate in HarvardSquare (fantastic truffles and decadent hot chocolate). Such a beautiful day. Or days. I love showing people around Boston and this weekend the city put on her best weather and represented well (not a city of blinding lights, but almost). Good food, a bit of sightseeing, great chats. It was a great chance to get together and do what friends do: show up, support + love, laugh, scheme, and be serious and indignant and silly at all the right moments. I feel refilled + replenished and hope they do too.

Anyway...

Uno, dos, tres, catorce...

Before the show. Yes, we came early...

but it was worth it.

I wasn't really prepared for how emotional an experience it would be. U2 has provided the soundtrack for a lot of my life. So many images came flooding back to me: moments of longing, joy, heartbreak, memories both manic and melancholy. There were some great melodies woven into the setlist. They combined One + Amazing Grace, added Blackbird to Beautiful Day, and a sing-along Stand by Me that got me all teary. It was such a great night*. Can't wait until next time, whenever that is. (The other three are heading to Vegas in October to see them again, the luckies.)

Now to get back to real life...

p.s. If you go (or are planning on it) get general admission tickets on the floor. I loved our seats--and they were on the 30th row so pretty good!--but if I did it again I would sacrifice sitting for being up close at the band's feet.

Just Dance

Love this, love Kings of Convenience.

The guy is a combination of Napoleon Dynamite and a guy in college we roommates fondly called Dancin' Dave.

I proclaim August 12th as International Dance Crazy in the Kitchen Day

(also an item on my Dog Days of Summer list).

Care to join in?

{I'll make you laugh by acting like the guy who sings...

You'll make me smile by really getting into the swing...}

video via Deirdre from Uppercase Journal

* * *

The Maine adventure continues. Yesterday I got up at 5, drove 5.5 hours to Boston, taught for 2 hours, drove 5.5 hours back. It was a beautiful drive and I did lots of thinking and singing to myself (even a little in-car dancing). But I missed my Maine people, who hiked, shopped, played badminton and croquet. Today it's back to vacation mode for me, too.

Pubs & Pogues

A couple of years ago (back when G worked for a British company and I rode his coattails as often as I could when he went there for meetings) we wandered into a pub on a little side street in London.  As a non-British non-drinker, I was always fascinated by the whole pub experience (do I choose where I sit?  do I walk over to the bar and shout my soda order? is someone going to yell at me? and what about the crowd of people lingering outside?  do I just walk up and make conversation? are they already in groups of friends?)  

As you can tell, I overthink things.

This time it was irresistible.  It was the night of the European Football Playoffs  and there was a jolly chaos inside that we couldn't ignore.  So we went in, joined in the happy cheering and jeering, suddenly die-hard English football fans by virtue of pub-adoption. I grinned through the whole jubilant exuberant night and left feeling like I had jumped, Mary-Poppins-and-Burt-style, into another world.  Minus the penguin waiters.

* * *

Last Friday G and I had tickets to the Pogues concert at The House of Blues.  Let's see...Irish folk/punk band in Boston?  In a concert hall with five bars along the interior perimeter?  Think that'll be lively?

I'm pretty sure we were the only sober ones there.

I'm pretty sure lead singer Shane MacGowan was the least sober one there.

I'm pretty sure 85% of the attendees were singing along with the band at the top of their lungs.

It brought back memories of that merry pub experience (multiplied by 10). There aren't any seats at the House of Blues concert venue, which makes for a lot of dancing and interactions. Lots of grown tough burly Irish American men dancing jigs, complete with locking elbows and spinning.  Pretty much like this:

For instance: At one point I was walking on the way back from the loo and a guy put his finger on top of my head. I looked at him quizzically and he and his girlfriend said "spin! spin!" so I did and they all cheered.  (Apparently I was the first who did. I kind of felt like "Norm!" at Cheers).  It was amazing fun.   We laughed a lot--at the dancers, at the manic mood of the whole audience, at the enthusiasm.

And at the same time, a bit of sadness on the underside of the evening.  Looking at addiction's ravages in Shane MacGowan (he looks decades older than his age) you wonder why the extreme lows and destructiveness have to so frequently accompany the joyousness.

{In fact, the Boston Globe called the show "a blended blur of life's emotional extremes: joy, laughter, tears, and sorrow. Beating at the music's clamoring heart were the Pogues, who ultimately left us wondering whether there ever was a band so perfectly, equally suited to playing either a wedding or a wake." } 

Other Pogue favorites:  Fairy Tale of New York, Love You Till The End

photo via MaryElle St. Clare's Flickr page

A Party City is Very Good

{Quick explanation of the inside-joke title to this post.  When G and I were dating, he came to my grandparents' mountain cabin to meet the extended family.  My grandpa built it decades ago and, as a confirmed europhile (especially Germany) one of the personal touches he created is a carved mantle with his favorite Luther quote: Ein feste burg ist unser Gott, or A Mighty Fortress is Our God.  When he heard that Greg speaks Danish, my grandpa asked if he could translate the phrase on the mantle.  Greg, sensing this was a litmus test for future inclusion in the family, took his time studying it, looked up and said,  "A Party City is Very Good?" It was very endearing.  Apparently Danish and German languages don't play well together.}

Anyhoo, I'm prepping to host a slumber party here tonight with all the young women (12-18) from our church youth group.  Good times, y'all.  

Chick flicks, check.  

Easter candy, check.

All other manner of junk food, check.  

Louie sent to the dog hotel, check.

Make kids vacuum, check.

Fresh flowers, check. (Here's my floral philosophy.)

We'll be making those fabulous tissue paper pom-poms (^)for an event next week. Check.

A little preventive nap this afternoon, check.

Pancake breakfast makings, check.

Bedroom two floors away from the "sleeping," check.

One baby step closer to achieving my goal of kool-aid mom. A party city is very good, I say.

* * *

And tomorrow we'll attend Miss Saigon at the high school.  Remember the drama when we found out they picked it for this year?  {Lauren decided not to audition since they weren't watering it down AT ALL for the high school production.}  Love the music, still not sure it's the best choice for a high school production.  I'll let you know...  

edited to say: picture courtesy of Martha Stewart

Go ahead, take it

As kids we used to think it was so funny to hear my grandma answer the phone.  She would be chatting away in a normal voice, which for her (and her 8 sisters) was rapid fire and kind of loud.  The phone would ring, she would cross the kitchen, pick up the receiver and say  "hellO-o?", her voice suddenly sweet and soft and singsong, managing to draw it out into three syllables.  The stark contrast cracked us up every time...somehow the trek across the kitchen transformed her from the Grandma we knew to a caricature of over-the-top sunniness. Even better if the phone rang when she was upset or scolding us. ("You kids stop running through here!  We have enough people in the kitchen already.  Everyone out! " {phone ring, delicate clearing of throat}  "HellO-o?")

I've worried lately that sometimes this blog feels like that cheery, sing-song hello--definitely one side of my life/personality/experience but not always exactly the full picture.   When I decided to call this spot on the internet "basic joy" it wasn't because I think my life is any more joyful than anyone else's.  It was to remind myself to find the basic everyday joy, a nudge challenging my sometimes Eeyore moods. Life is complicated and mine is messy and imperfect.  Challenges, life's pace, loneliness, expectations, hormones, did I say expectations?, and too little sleep conspire to hide the joy.  

I know from talking to friends, the young women I work with, and a few of you that I'm not alone in this.  I've got a classic case of the Novembers, I think.  I cry at victory speeches, concession speeches,  birthdays, commercials, stories on the radio, watching my kids rise to the occasion and despairing at their struggles--good cries and sad cries, happiness and loneliness.  All of this coexisting with the necessity of my cheery hellO-o voice when it's required.

Then I remember what I always learn in these dreary spans: I can choose joy even in the middle of all that. So I lean heavily on these thoughts:

I salute you. I am your friend and my love for you goes deep. There is nothing I can give you which you have not got. But there is much, very much, that while I cannot give it, you can take. No heaven can come to us unless our hearts find rest in today. Take heaven! No peace lies in the future which is not hidden in this present little instance. Take peace! The gloom of the world is but a shadow. Behind it, yet within our reach, is joy. Take joy! Life is so full of meaning and purpose, so full of beauty . . . that you will find earth but cloaks your heaven. Courage then to claim it, that is all . . . And so I greet you, with profound esteem and with the prayer that for you, now and forever, the day breaks and the shadows flee away. ~Fra Giovanni, "Letter to a friend"

Love that.  Take heaven, take peace, take joy. Go ahead, after you...

* * *

Inspired by:

~this post at Segullah about blogging

~a similar discussion about finding joy on my friend Jenny's private blog (so no link)

~this blog about mothers and creativity and blogging

~conversations with friends, family

Hygge time

The kids in Tivoli Garden, Copenhagen, 2004

G and I are both Danish by heritage (let's not look too closely to see if we're related, ok?). G's Danish ancestry is a little more (air quotes) important (air quotes) since his g-g-g grandfather wrote the Danish national anthem (I know, can you believe I live with such a celebrity on a daily basis?). We celebrate the whole St. Lucia thing and are firm believers in the power of a good batch of aebleskivers (& I've got a killer recipe if you'd like to try them--thanks Jen J).  Greg speaks Danish, thanks to a couple of years living there.  That came in handy when we returned with the kids a few years ago to see the motherland (which is another post for another day).  

Basically, we're Danish wannabees. 

The Danes have a word--hygge (HOO-ga + also the adjective hygglig HOOG-lee)--to capture that whole concept of a warm, cozy time with friends and family and the feelings you get being together. It seems to guide their decorating, their priorities, and, really, their approach to life. I love it...I like to think there's a bit of natural hygge in my blood.   I think it's what I mean by Basic Joy: the calm, cozy, relaxed, simple, homey comfort of finding the goodness in moments.  (And now I'm humming the celebrate the moments of your life coffee jingle.) 

This time of year makes me feel particularly hygglig.  I was on the way home from school today and had a sudden rush of it.  Oh, yeah...it's autumn all right. I don't need to wait for the autumnal equinox to tell me it's time to cozy up and get comfortable--I had to come right home and get hygglig.  For me, that meant making taco soup, baking chocolate chip cookies*, lighting some candles, and putting on some good cozy music. The Danes are seriously on to something.

What makes you feel hygglig?  How do you create it?

_____________

Link love:

~ Hygge House blog by Danish expat wonder girl Alex Beauchamp

~ *the BEST chocolate cookie recipe.  Just try it.  They're divine...the best tasting cc cookie (and dough) with a great chewy texture inside and nice thin shell of shiny crispiness. I didn't believe it either but decided to try it--via Annie's eats, no relation :).

~ Camilla at home is an inspiring scandinavian home decor blog.  I love to see the images she chooses.  Very hygge.  She gives little English translations for her posts and she's got lots of links to other great scandinavian blogs.