- Nov 12, 2021
Besides the autumn poets sing,
A few prosaic days
A little this side of the snow
And that side of the haze.
Emily Dickinson, from "November"
Let’s not rush this, shall we? Autumn and the in-between times, I mean. I once saw November as merely a gateway month to the festivities of Christmas, but it's really so much more. I am not on the no-early-Christmas-decorating patrol. Deck the halls whenever you please, my friends.
Nevertheless, do notice the golden light of these precious, shorter days. Inhale deeply, taking in the colors that are dancing on the branches and then in the sky. Exhale, noticing them now at your feet, and don’t believe for a second that it's “basic” or silly to delight in this time of year.
There are so many things we want to rush: current struggles, growing pains of adjusting to a new place, waiting on more answers. But the best sort of change is rarely automatic. Leaves subtly paint themselves day by day and then twirl around us, showing off the whimsy of patience. Initially the change is quiet, like the first tuning 'A' at the opening of an orchestra. This brings forth a symphony of bold strokes, of grandeur we shouldn't speed past, of music unique to this moment, never to be heard exactly the same again.
The photo above is a corner of a field I drive by nearly every day. The red and orange leaves have fallen on the field, and during golden hour it gives way to the most beautiful, warm glow. I look for it every morning and afternoon--little ones in their seats, with a skipping CD playing in the stereo.
I've been trying to put together a good playlist for autumn. Mine is eclectic as all get out, from crooners like Nat King Cole, feelers like Taylor Swift, to good ol' classics like Chopin. We have pumpkins out front, mums in a vase, and gourds on the mantle. In an earthen pitcher from our trip to El Salvador, I have cotton stems from our years in South Carolina. I pick up conkers (European horse-chestnuts, aka buckeyes) off the ground, and I hoard a few cans of pumpkin in the back of my cupboard because they're hard to come by here. A candle is often burning, too. It's simple, natural, and cozy--at least I think so.
On November 11th the United States of America honors veterans, and on the same day in England they observe Remembrance Day, where they honor the fallen soldiers. Many wear red poppies on their coats, and the following Sunday there are services at each village war memorial: "Lest we forget." This somber gratitude in autumn gives way to thankful, joyful hearts in weeks to come.
There is a sense of melancholy in autumn. It signals the coming of winter, of cold days and less sunshine. A beautiful, faint mourning is involved, but please, don't rush these heavier days. We've all lived through a lot of uncomfortable things the last two years. The first year I tried to rush them, stuff them down, make them go away. Not now. Let's walk through them. Watch the leaves fall and seasons shift and rest in the knowledge that no matter what is going on, it can be made better by the warmth of unconditional love and the power of noticing beauty right in front of you. Seasons come and go, and we can grow with them. Linger in the subtle enchantment of November, lean into gratitude, and allow yourself to be wooed by the right-now. It's a magical little spot, I think.
About once a week my children get ahold of my planner and scribble all over the open pages. At first I roll my eyes and then I think, “Seems about right.” So many of us are facing tough decisions and seeing our plans, both short-term and long-term, come into question.
I’ve been thinking of that quote in You’ve Got Mail, when Kathleen Kelly says, “People are always telling you that change is a good thing. But all they're really saying is that something you didn't want to happen at all...has happened.”
Maybe it’s illness, feeling separated from loved ones, or trying to meet the needs of a neurodivergent child. It might be a medical procedure, job loss, or the temporary putting off of a dream. During this time in the world, we all have something in our lives we didn't expect.
Newness and a change of plans can be jarring. I like things to feel safe, but I'm trying to look for beauty even when I feel rattled and worn to the bones. Focusing on the positives isn't for a false sense of security, but rather a true sense of empowerment and an honoring of the life I am actually living.
Wendell Berry said, “We live the given life, and not the planned.” It knocked the wind out of me, the first time I read that quote. Don’t get me wrong, grief must be allowed a place--there is goodness there, too. But at some point, owning the life you were given allows you to see all the possibilities rather than all the hardships and what you don’t have that you thought you’d have.
I’m not a Friends fanatic, but most of us have seen the “PIVOT!” scene, have we not? I feel that scene deeply! Throughout the last year and a half personally, professionally, and as a family, it has been one pivot after another. Feeling dizzy over here. How about you?
There seem to be two camps when it comes to processing all the hard things in the world. One focuses on your sad feelings and honoring them. The other is full of platitudes and quips with confetti emojis to pump you up. Both have their place, but mostly I’m trying to genuinely lean into the life I was given and just be present for it. Joy gets tangled up in grief, and I don't always have to unknot them.
Vulnerability with a chosen few can help. Finding a tangible way to give to those hurting can help (both you and the receiver). Creating something with your hands can help—get out of your head a bit and enjoy whatever it is you like to make.
Sometimes the situations we face will simply reek in the worst way. There’s no sugar-coating, but there is a way to still enjoy our lives and all the sweetness they hold. May the challenges make us strong and skilled for our tasks, gentle to those around us, knowing we were never meant to do this on our own, anyway.
I plan on watching You’ve Got Mail soon. It has such a happy ending, and I could go for that right about now. It’s not escapism, it’s inspiration, haha! All the very best, friends.
P.S. If you have a moving story to share, I'm looking for some more interviewees. Fill in the box found on the homepage or message me on Instagram.
- Aug 13, 2021
When you move from your homeland, it becomes increasingly important to feel connected to your heritage. I grew up with stories about my ancestors, spending family gatherings in the house my great grandfather built, looking at black and white photos, reading my mom's yearbook (so fun, haha!). My great grandmother Audrey (whom I was named after) kept absolutely everything in her basement after the Depression. Okay, I exaggerate, but there was a lot of old stuff. It smelled of musty books and walk-in cellars lined with canned vegetables. If you know you know.
My cousins and I would play dress up and pretend to cook with the kitchen tools, some nearly a century old. In my childhood home we would use one of Mamaw Audrey's old grinders to chop up the peanuts for our ice cream sundaes. The handle was made out of metal and wood, not plastic. I liked that.
Fast forward nearly two decades, and I bid farewell to Eric's paternal grandmother--what a matriarch she was, firm yet kind--mother to nine children and a mess of grandchildren and great grandchildren. When she passed I was given two light blue pot holders she crocheted, and they went perfectly with the two handwritten baking recipes she sent me for my bridal shower.
A family member grimaced at the idea of me using the pot holders--almost like it was disrespectful. And I understand that everyone is different when it comes to sentimental items. But for me, touching and using something makes me feel closer to the person I miss, closer to the past that I wish to be a part of my present. No, she wasn't my biological grandmother, but she is a part of me and a part of my husband and children's ancestry. Using the pot holders reminds me how our story is connected to hers, a daughter of Czechoslovakian immigrants and a brave woman of WWII.
Sometimes it's lonely when your family and even your sense of self feels far away. I know the minimalist philosophy has merit, but I love having a few knickknacks and just-because items to glance at and remember the stories behind them. One day I hope to have a wall of old photos so I can talk with my children about their ancestors. I want them to know their faces, names, and a few stories. For now, after a rather stressful morning, I make chocolate chip sour cream cake with a vintage Pyrex bowl and--you guessed it--Grandma Masur's pot holders.
Things are just things until they remind us of something more. And then they are still merely things, but they have the power to remind us of reality far beyond the last five minutes of what we read scrolling Instagram. These special items can be a small, steadying force in a world constantly changing. Knowing a bit of history is important when we examine local and world events that are playing out right in front of us. Should we be quiet? Should we speak up? Should we reach out?
Whether you have precious heirlooms on display or items you use on a daily basis, I hope you can feel connected to positive reminders of your family history. If this topic is painful for you, perhaps research your family's history--there's bound to be something interesting or inspiring. Or maybe visit the local antique shop where you're from and purchase something that reminds you of your original home. Growing up in rural Indiana, kitchen and farm tools are some of my favorites. I also had some wonderful elderly friends as a child--they were sweet pseudo grandparents. If you really struggle to celebrate your family, perhaps there is someone special in your life whose heritage you can honor in your home.
