oh happy day . The Summer Jar

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Friday is here, and I’m finally getting back to my Oh Happy Day! Gratitude Project posting series. I started it as a way to remind myself to make gratitude part of every day, every week. Thornton Wilder wrote that “we can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures,” and beginning with gratitude is the best way I know to live aware of how blessed we are.

I’ve been thinking a lot about that blessing over the last few weeks as we’ve been finishing up the school year and getting ready for summer. This spring, I devoted some time to thinking through the direction of this blog, and by extension, my business. And, I guess, by further extension, my approach to work and how it integrates with the rest of life. As an artist, so much of creating and exploring new ideas is an on-going process that isn’t necessarily confined by the typical workday. As a single mom, dealing with the loss of my husband and the changes that has brought to our lives, I’ve also grown to understand that for me, it’s very important that what I “do” in my work and how I spend my days creatively be meaningful and inspiring.

As I was thinking through some of my blogging topics and inspiration-focus back in March, I wrote a “creative map” and lots of notes about various aspects of the creative life. For my “living” category, I wanted my thinking, writing and creating to reflect a “quiet, authentic and conscious life” — there is that word “conscious” again. My goals for some of the writing and sharing settled on three things…

  • to talk and “be” about real things
  • to be a good steward of time and blessings
  • to infuse daily life with beauty, creativity and celebration

The concept of being deliberate and conscious in what we’re doing isn’t easy sometimes. Being that “good steward” can be difficult when faced with all the mundane activities required in working, mothering and home-keeping. And, of course, busy-ness can be our enemy as we get stretched and pulled in lots of different directions. We often start to lose the joy in whatever we’re doing and begin checking items off our calendars and to-do lists.

I want to stop that cycle in my life. I want, as Emerson said, to “finish the moment” — each moment — and to make the most of each opportunity represented in that moment. I think I’m particularly more motivated in that commitment as I see my children growing at what seems like an exponential pace at times. As they become more and more independent (and just physically bigger), I find the desire to grab onto each fleeting moment with more of a white-knuckle grip! And, I suppose, summer offers it’s own impetus to slow down. Our schedule slows down, and we have fewer commitments as a family, but how will we use that freedom? I don’t want to get to August and say “where has the summer gone?” We’ve had an unprecedented build-up of excitement anticipating the start of summer, and I’ve been determined to put every effort into taking full advantage of it.

Enter the Summer Jar.

The children and I decided to create a list of things we wanted to do this summer — experiences big and small that would help us have memories and joy to show for the time spent this summer. We decided to put them in a jar that we could pull from to plan for activities or to surprise ourselves with fun experiences. Baby Girl decorated the jar with her special brand of summery illustrations, and we have it front and center on our dining table with a pen and sticky pad ready to add more experience suggestions. We’ve included things like our normal trips to the farm and to the beach, but also things like building our train set and a lego city, getting yogurt or ice cream, going to the library, eating outside on the picnic table, swimming, game nights and more.

None of the activities are earth-shattering, not all of them require “going” somewhere, and most aren’t new experiences. But, the power comes in the intention — the conscious choice of experiencing and “finishing” each moment. I want to recognize the joy and to take time to celebrate it in my heart at the end of each day. I suppose that’s the essence of gratitude. And, I want our summer jar to encourage us to embrace the beauty and wonder in some of those mundane activities that weave our lives together between the other fun experiences. I hope we can have a healthy mix of going and simply being together in those moments of someone sitting in my lap, working together to cook dinner, reading together at bedtime, playing games and sharing the same space.

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We started some of our “summer jar” experiences yesterday with a trip to Denny’s for pancakes for breakfast and a visit to the MSU Library to see the Kinsey Collection on exhibit there. I’ll share more about this remarkable collection of African American art, literature and historical documents in a later post, but today, I’m so thankful we had the opportunity to enjoy it together and have it as one of our memories of the summer of 2015. It is open in Starkville through June 20 at the John Grisham Room of Mitchell Memorial Library, and it’s well worth the time in experiencing some little-seen aspects of our own history.

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On this “Oh Happy Day,” I’m also so, so grateful for the opportunity to build my work life on my own terms with the freedom to organize my days so that these types of experiences with my children are possible. It’s never easy to balance family and work responsibilities, and I’ve become more and more mindful of the blessing I have as freelancer to set my own schedules. It’s a true gift I don’t want to squander or take for granted in these seasons when all my loves are together under the same roof.

Oh Happy Day!

 

morning letters . wednesday 031815

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Wise words this morning during practice.

Sometimes I get questions from folks about my art and design process. It varies for me, usually depending on the project, but it very often involves hand-crafted work, my scanner, and photoshop. I use the Morning Letters series truly as practice in lettering where I hone my craft in painting various typefaces I’ve seen or my own lettering style that seems to be rising to the surface among everything I’m doing. BUT, I always want to put pieces out on the blog and in social media that represent me and my work well. Sometimes meshing those two goals needs a little more help from the scanner… like today’s practice piece:

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That’s the original behind-the-scenes page where you’ll see that I mis-spelled “around” and generally missed the mark on that line of script lettering. Although perfection isn’t really my goal, I’ve learned that practice DOES at least help create a look I like better. So, my “tech” (as my kids’ Iron Man tv shows usually call it) helps me replace the goofs with the second effort I’m happier with! It’s all part of the process. In the words of my 8-year-old Bug, “if you make a mistake, just X it out and write it again.” More wise words.

Saturday

I’m listening to the early morning sounds of my babies waking up. My parents are here, so I’m given the privilege of sleeping in when they begin to stir. There are whispers of conversations because they know Mommy is sleeping. Or trying to. Soft and tender words spoken just to themselves and their imaginations, unaware and unhindered by self-consciousness. Something about sharing and lunch and babies. The little patters down the hallway rush to get this or that. Faint sounds of electronics let me know they are piled up in the living room — our Mario Bros and Transformer “tech” paired with some intermittent rattling I’m now convinced is a toy mixer. There’s that thick cough I’ve been concerned about. The on-and-off of the air conditioner briefly dims the sounds and now I can hear the Weather Channel forecasting the day. And maybe the dishwasher.

They are the sounds of normal. And so very daunting. I know getting up will get easier. I know moving will get easier. I know the fatigue will lessen and the sleep will become more sound and the rising of the sun will just get easier. But now it’s so daunting.

When I hear these sounds, I’m so intimidated and overwhelmed to face them. Yes, it’s intimidating to think of dealing with their grief in whatever unexpected ways it comes out and the sadness I know they feel. But, more than that, it’s their overwhelming normal-ness I’m not sure I’m ready for. They are SO glaringly normal. Their blessed youth and innocence of this life makes normal so much larger for them and unquestioned. They are still young enough to be a little confused by time and place. And absence. And so today is just Saturday, like most Saturdays. A new day.

They deserve this day. This new day. They deserve that great luxury called normal. And as I continue to listen — someone’s winning a race with Bowser and Baby Girl has chosen another puzzle — I can almost know the sound of normal in my own spirit. It’s only a faint rumble. And it brings this strange guilt and shame and sorrow and loss. Which I know is all, yes, normal. Hearing it, I can almost be ready for this day. This ridiculously normal Saturday. I can almost be excited for this new day with them. Almost. And almost is something. It’s something.

“The Lord’s mercies indeed never cease. They are new every morning. Great is His faithfulness.”

The Sky

It’s been a while since I looked at the sky. For no good reason. I follow the demands of my little ones quite often as they direct my attention to the moon or a star or a jet stream, but I have to admit that I don’t often ascertain the same wonder they seem to glean. No, my gaze is sometimes more of a momentary patronage of their whims while my brain is centered on my own passing fancies. I guess that’s how it goes with the seemingly constant multi-tasking that calls itself motherhood.

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Yesterday afternoon I looked at this sky. On purpose. For no OTHER purpose but to see it. My children were using it as a time-keeping device for how long we could stay outside — until the sun went down. But, I was just looking. Just looking to see it change and glow from a peaceful seat. Just looking to let it impress me, which it rarely fails to do when I’m paying attention.

On Friday the kids and I came to the farm to spend the week of Spring Break. It’s a place where the main rule has become, “everyone does what they want to do.” And while being the mommy requires me to keep that in reason, still we try to adhere to the spirit of the rule as closely as possible. We’ve all been looking forward to it for a long time — since our visit here for Thanksgiving really, when we had the idea to spend this week here. It’s been my pleasure to plan moments and days in this place away from our routine, and somehow the moments become cause for celebration.

The word “respite” is defined as an interval of relief. It’s the word that has risen in my thinking as I’ve been approaching this week on holiday. I’ve felt the need recently for a respite and when I arrived at the farm I realized that I’ve been relying on this week to provide it.

A respite.
From demands.
From schedules.
From keeping time.
From routine.
From stresses.
From creative exercises.
From information.
From availability.
From the pull of being in touch.
From the push of deadlines.

I found myself reducing my expectations for any “work” I wanted to do this week, communicating to clients transparently that I would be out of town. I found myself eliminating my own overestimation of what I might accomplish — a rare occurrence for my brain which is a champion overestimator when it comes to organizing “free time”. I found myself searching my bookshelves for more books to read and skimming past the design titles for more fiction options. And, of course, I found myself wanting to soak up my babies, just to enjoy their presence and their laughter and their funny stories. I get that a lot from them, but I’ve been looking forward to a time when it wasn’t encumbered by schedules and reading homework and my own need to do the dishes or put the toys away.

Yes, I have a lot of expectations about this week at the farm. The funny thing is; those expectations aren’t based on what I’m doing. They’re really based on what I’m NOT doing — my own willingness to stop. To sit. To listen. To laugh. To gaze at the sky.

Slowing

I saw an old leather-bound journal in my office the other day. It was one I had gotten from Barnes & Noble several years ago with a dyed and stamped, striped leather cover that I know reached out to one of those artsy tendencies in me. I thumbed through it again and discovered that it was mostly unused. I’d only written in a fraction of the pages.

I was thinking about that journal, and about the process of writing words. As I sit writing this post, I’m using my iPad and an app called Chronicle. It’s my diary these days — my journal. I use it to record my thoughts, compose them and refine them. It’s a process I once used my bound journals for.

My digital life has made many things more convenient, even many things more possible. But, I also wonder if I’m loosing something in tapping keys and touch points rather than moving ink along a page. I type faster than I write. It’s why I started journalling on a computer to begin with, and there is some value in using a tool that allows me to record thoughts quickly. But, there is also value in using a tool that slows my thoughts and ideas and memories long enough for me to capture them — to absorb and experience and embrace them. It gives me time to ponder, to synthesize, to form opinions, to take stands.

It’s the same with the experiences or moments my words are meant to expose and evaluate.

Embracing experiences is a special skill. It requires engaging the senses. Engaging the mind. Engaging myself with others around me. Slowing the process of thinking and processing to absorb the nuances — much like the process of writing by hand in that journal. Slowing the need to move to the next thing. To remain in the present long enough to enjoy it, absorb it, reflect on it. Or, maybe the reflection comes later. Maybe you have to remain in the moment long enough to let it’s uniqueness make an impact — an imprint on your experience. An imprint that you can later touch and feel with your spirit. And draw conclusions from. That doesn’t happen when moments are glossed over or rushed past.

I’m finding that I’m in need of slowing, of retraining myself to soak in, absorb and speak. After so often slipping into the habit of glossing over situations, of hurrying from one thought to the next, I’m re-learning how to discern my own opinions and impressions of an experience, be it a conversation, something I see or hear, or the actions of others. I’m relearning to expose myself to the things that really interest me, to define for myself what experiences are valuable and holding them long enough in my mind to glean all they have to offer my spirit.

I’m beginning a week or so of time away from home, visiting my parents for the holidays. Although I’m not sure three excited children running through the house in search of the full Christmas experience really qualifies as “slow'” but I’m looking at is as an opportunity to practice slowing. To focus my attention on these few simple treasures as I seek to define where I really want to focus my broader attention in 2012.