Diary of a Modern Home - Peggy Karman

Finding my Voice Again

Thu, 20 Apr 2023 19:48:22 GMT

“When the whole world is silent, even one voice becomes powerful" - Mala Yousafzai

Preparing for an upcoming trip to New York City, I was reminded of a late night connection made there on a freezing cold Valentine’s Day last year. The bar was preparing to close and despite being prodded most the night by one of my oldest and dearest friends I had managed to resist hopping up to the piano bar all evening. A decision easily made and definitely for the benefit of any club patrons as I had completely lost my voice by this point in the trip.

It had been a whirlwind few days as I had traveled to the city to help my friend Maureen’s daughter Gabi, a fashion designer, prepare to show her collection at New York’s fashion week. It was a bit of reunion of sorts as my college roomie from upstate New York, who will always be affectionately “Moe” to me, has spent the last 30 plus years abroad in Spain and Abu Dhabi. It was a family reunion as well as her sisters and nieces and nephews here in the states were joining us to celebrate Gabi’s amazing achievement.

It was late nights, loud restaurants, runways on rooftops in wintry conditions and endless laughs and conversations as we cut ribbon, printed QR codes and sought out supplies at just about every office store and Duane Reed in midtown. The show was a great success and as family made their way back home our entourage whittled down to just Moe and myself, Gabi and her husband Fer. It was Valentine’s Day and what a fabulous place for a young couple to celebrate, so with plans for a carriage ride through Central Park and possibly a romantic dinner, they were off.

Moe and I although exhausted, rallied and found our way to restaurant row and the piano bar Don’t Tell Mama for our Gal-entines of sorts. Toasting our dear husbands at home we found a table near the piano and as our cocktails arrived I had to resist a spit take as the pianist slipped in a tasteless but funny Dukakis joke and from that moment a connection began. More political humor entwined between amazing performances by the staff and random visitors and I began singing along despite having lost my voice, instinctively, I began to harmonize and was caught by Michael the talent behind the keys as he pointed at me and said, “You’re a singer!”

Joining us during his break we discovered so many of the same concerns and passions that drive each of us, his vocal activist spirit and my simple desire to make this world just a little bit better brought two unique souls together for just a few moments. As the evening drew to an end and the staff began cleaning up, Michael and Moe both insisted I get behind the piano and sing. Moe shared what a big U2 fan I am and before you know it we were singing “With or Without You” for no one really, just for ourselves. My voice was gone, but the absolute joy remained.

At one point, Michael. Looked at me and said, “Take it!” And as I tried to hit a higher note, my voice failed me and I gleefully sang “I have no voice left to give!” Thankfully the song was nearing the end, but in that moment I realized it wasn’t about hitting the right note; the audience was gone, who was even listening? Once I surrendered to the sheer joy of singing and let love take the microphone, there was my voice though raspy and off pitch. It was the same voice of the little girl singing and dancing throughout the hallways of her childhood home, the same voice that sang lullabies to her children, shared jokes and laughs with her friends. The same voice that has cried out in sorrow and dismay, the same voice that searches for the right words to say, the same voice that earnestly tries to speak her own truth. Sometimes it takes losing something to truly find it.

I know right now so many feel they have no voice left to give, they feel no one is listening, they feel hopeless for any change for the better, especially here in my hometown after a mass shooting and continued suffering as violent acts have become too common of an occurrence. Letting love lead the way seems pretty trite in light of all the suffering; but sometimes it is because we have loved that we are in so much pain, it is the heart of our suffering. We are no longer consoled by thoughts and prayers; we are angry, we are aching, we are tired, we are trying to find our voice again.

Finding our voice is a journey we must all take. It may mean exposing our wounds to begin healing. It may mean taking a deep dive within. It may mean lending your voice to a cause dear to you. It may mean a lot of things, but it will require from all of us the ability and willingness to listen. It's a noisy world these days and it is a challenge to silence the mind and listen to one’s heart, one’s own inner voice while recognizing that too often we are the ones who keep it quiet. We let the world muffle what our souls are crying for; we let those in power leave us feeling powerless and yet we all have our own songs to sing.

It is so easy to be hopeless right now, I get it. But in our despair we must dig deeper and draw on our reserves of all that is good in this world. Rekindling our fires within we can begin to do the work that each of us are called to do while here in this world. Keep it lit, feel its heat, draw on its light and find a way to sing your song, even when you feel you have no voice left to give.

“The only tyrant I accept in this world is the still voice within.” Mahatma Ghandi

When Death Gets in the Way

Fri, 07 Apr 2023 20:21:35 GMT

Words from a wounded heart - 4-10-23

I wrote this last blog on Good Friday not knowing the events that would transpire in my beloved hometown just a few days later and once again death has gotten in the way. Yesterday a sense of personal and emotional paralysis took over as the shock and grief began to set in.

Somehow we found ourselves on Easter Monday crying out like those at the foot of the cross as we once again witnessed man’s inhumanity. I found myself wanting to scream as I sat praying with others at a vigil for the families. I’m tired of the prayers. Why are we doing this? Where is God in this? I took a deep breath and looked around the church realizing we all felt the need to do something, anything. Just our physical presence was an offering when we no longer have the words. Our communal cries offered a brief moment of solace and an understanding of the painful days ahead that will require much of each one of us if we truly want to live together in peace.

We are all sinners and once again we have failed and as a result so many are suffering. In our inability to find a way to each other, in our inability to recognize ourselves in each other the suffering continues and the pain remains.

The promise of Easter reminds us to start again and difficult as that may be, we must begin picking up the pieces understanding the whole will never be the same. I pray we can begin to see each other through the cracks and decide we no longer want to suffer this way, we no longer want families torn apart by heels dug in and hearts hardened. Community requires compromise and compassion, if we are to coexist we must contribute both willingly.

There is enough for all and letting go does not equate to losing, rather it offers freedom when we all understand the value of each and every one of us. Maybe we sinners need to examine where the healing begins and loosen our grip of the stones so easily cast, maybe we sinners in our quest for forgiveness need to start by offering it to ourselves and each other, maybe we sinners need to let go of our fears and start dwelling in love.

I don’t have the answers and the solutions are complex, but I do believe that there is so much good in the world, I think we just need remind each other that WE are what is good in this world and begin the work of doing good.

In our despair the simplicity of a smile seems pointless, but maybe start small. Trying to find a way to transform this anger, grief and pain seems overwhelming so if I can offer and muster up a smile, maybe I can offer hope to another who like me may feel hopeless. Smile at everyone you see and if you are able look them in the eyes, allow them to be seen, recognizing we are all in this together.

Don’t get me wrong, I am furious, I am exhausted, I am clinging to hope and this cliff we as a society are teetering on. My chest is tight as I write this and yet I have to find a way and the energy to start again. So I am going to let that smile serve as a switch to turn on whatever light I have left to offer this world and I will continue to get up, show up and shine as much as I can honoring all those we have lost in these senseless acts. Their lives serving as a constant reminder to truly live ours in the hope of making this world a better place, we owe that much to them.

Thank you to all who have reached out from all over the world with your concern and your prayers, we will need them as we navigate our way through this; especially those who woke up today without their loved ones next to them and those who are fighting valiantly in the hospital with wounds both physical and emotional. We are all hurting. My prayer is we act not from our wounds but from our imperfect hearts desperately seeking healing solutions to end this suffering as we have come to bear it all too often. I’m opening my hand and my heart, I pray you can too, if you are struggling, reach out, we can carry this together. We will find a way.

When it's over, I want to say all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.

I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms - Mary Oliver

Sometimes, somehow when time passes too quickly we often say “Life got in the way” and when I look on this last blurry 375 days to be exact, for me; it was death that got in the way. It’s been quite a year, first, my father then my uncle, my aunt, a mother of someone very dear to me taken way too young and my brother’s wife of 37 years. We even lost our family dog C.J. after 16 years.

There were meals to prepare, hundreds of cookies to bake, there were errands that needed to be run, there were prayers to be said, prayer shawls to be knit, calls to be made, schedules to be filled. There were still bills to be paid, the trash still needed to go out, the laundry had to be done, the every day managed to maintain its momentum despite the pull of the extraordinary events of the last year.

Death is an extraordinary event and I am honored when someone has willingly given me one of their precious fleeting moments when they know the cancer has become too much too bear, when it’s just too hard to breathe, when the words are no longer available. Being present in those moments are surprisingly spiritual and in those moments, nothing matters but the very seconds spent in each others soul-filled space. It was a privilege to sit with my 91 year old father in hospice care ensuring he received just a fragment of the care he had offered his family.

Those blessed with 90 plus years and a peaceful passing offer us a window into the spectrum of life and we see the grace in it all. It’s much harder to find that grace when disease strikes, addictions takes hold, accidents happen, when one moment they are here and the next they are gone. As much as I love nature and living among its beauty and brethren, I still struggle with this natural circle of life. There’s nothing quite like hearing the round up howls of the coyotes recognizing the hunt is on and yet understanding that they too must find sustenance.

Now existing in this space that was filled with those who have passed I find myself musing about my own exit from this place, it’s definitely the Irish in me, wondering when “the troubles will end”. Having walked this path several times this past year, I understand the gift in preparedness. There are countless decisions to be made in moments when heads are spinning and hearts are breaking. One is never really prepared as to how to truly honor the life of someone you held so dear and yet preparedness has taken on a whole new meaning for me through it all. I understand U2 may not be readily available to blast “Where the Streets Have no Name” from the choir loft as I make my final appearance in whatever form of my choosing, but at least maybe the Edge with the opening guitar rift, Im just saying.

Just as we anxiously await the arrival of a newborn, we have months to prepare and to plan and yet those of us who have become parents understand nothing truly prepares you for the moment when your life changes forever, so it is when we have to let go, say our final goodbyes, life is changed forever but oh how blessed to have shared in the journey.

Preparedness for me means saying I love you, taking a moment to listen, really listen. It’s turning the volume all the way up when your favorite song comes on or maybe jumping up and down in the grocery aisle when you hear it. It’s making the phone call, it's having the hard conversations, it’s crying in your popcorn over the same line, every time. It’s laughing, it’s being connected, staying connected to others and to your own self. It’s standing in your fabulous cowboy boots and not in judgment. It’s letting go, it’s forgiving, blessing it all. It’s dropping to your knees in gratitude, it’s being there to hold the hand while waiting for the test results. It’s breathing it all in and breathing it through despite time zones or oceans between. It’s wrestling with your own baggage so no one is left carrying it. It’s supporting the artist and creating your own masterpiece. It’s meeting people where they are and not where you want them to be. It’s having your breath taken away by the gift of a rainbow, a sunset, a magical moon. It’s getting your hands dirty in the garden and your boots muddy in the creek. It’s a meal shared with another and the simple grace of a home baked cookie. It’s embracing the weeds and allowing them space in this world.It’s whiling away hours completing a jigsaw puzzle, burying your nose in a book or just the simple luxury of a nap. It’s celebrating the accomplishments of others and treasuring the talents you have been given. It’s laying along side that hound dog that leaves you covered in hair while demanding more affection; it’s being needed. It’s being loved and loving with all you got. It’s taking time with a child reminding them how precious they are to this world. It’s understanding you gave it all you had and it still didn’t work. It’s realistically recognizing your limitations yet making more space for all that you are capable of. It’s feeding the woodpeckers who wake you in the morning pecking at your walls. It’s continually learning new things and yet recognizing your own inner wisdom. It’s saying yes when you can and saying no when it’s right for you. It’s showing compassion, being empathetic to others and most of all to yourself. It’s simple be-ing. It is simply living

Preparing this way, I believe brings life to those we have lost. In all these simple mystical moments of living we carry those who have left this earthly place with us. We hear their words, we recognize them in our dreams, we talk to them, we bring them with us where we hoped they would be. Preparedness leaves doubts at the door and peace for those on either side.

My ever wise poetry guru Mary Oliver says it best in her poem “When Death Comes”

When it’s over, I want to say: all my life

I was a bride married to amazement.

I was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder

if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,

or full of argument.

I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.

Another sweet soul who has left us is the matriarch of this modern home we live in. I realized I never shared this short tribute I wrote while flying home from New York and a whirlwind fashion week. It was just days after I landed that my father entered the hospital and this season began. Gratefully I share it with you now.

A tribute to Becky

Returning home from a wonderful whirlwind of a trip to New York city as I dropped my bags, greeted my hounds and began the usual re-entry process of sorting through mail, most of which these days anymore is just fodder for the recycling bin, but there it was in the pile, a neighbor had kindly printed it out and placed it in our mailbox, the story of one amazing life well lived, the heart of this modern home. Becky DeCamp who dreamed of building this modern home passed away and ironically her obituary was printed on my birthday. A sign seemingly as to how the home created our connection. The photo of her smiling face captured so much of her presence and I am so grateful that we had a chance to meet.

When I try to express how it feels to live in this home, I think the fact that Becky included the house in her obituary speaks volumes to the connection these walls and windows provide. Becky loved the trees and as I listened to our conversation I had recorded for a previous blog, every mention of the trees brought so much joy to her heart! “The trees were there, so I put in the windows”

Becky’s husband Mike is buried in the small history laden cemetery that is tucked away in our neighborhood and soon Becky will be as well. Our dog Lambeau and I have visited Mike so often giving updates on the house, asking for guidance and intervention to help with all the repairs and as always I got the sense Mike would say, it was all Becky and in return she would say it was all Mike as he went along with her dream of building this house; despite everyone else thinking she was crazy to build on that hill.

Something tells me they shared the adventurous spirit that people have said Rob and I possess. Mike had health challenges associated with his diabetes and it only motivated Becky more to complete this vision of a home for them acknowledging Mike’s health may give them fewer days living among these trees. Becky’s memories although fading at the time we met nearly 3 years ago were all so filled with happiness, stories of all the parties, theirs and their sons which I heard were legendary! Watching her boys play outside the kitchen window and on the paddle tennis court brought her so much joy. The concrete pylons that steadied the paddle ball court still stand in the woods as a reminder and as my best treasure hunting spot after a good rain as many a relic landed under that court! .

I offered to bring Becky back through the house before she moved to Madison, WI to live with her son but in the end, she felt it may be too much. Struggling to remember even her husband’s name when we sat down to chat, I understood.

Her presence is everywhere in this house, her vision, her determination, her adoration for the trees, her choices, her joy, it’s all still here. And as we try to move forward as stewards to her dream we will stroll over for a visit, Lambeau and I and we will see what Becky has to say. Until then we will nurture the few saplings we have retrieved from the gardens and wait for the perfect day to plant one in her honor, if you look on the calendar you will see as I am sure Becky would note, every day is a perfect day to plant a tree.

Gratitude for a Good Boy - RIP CJ

Thu, 08 Dec 2022 02:16:41 GMT

"Because of the dog's joyfulness, our own is increased...what would the world be like without music or rivers or the green and tender grass? What would this world be like without dogs?" - Mary Oliver

We lost a legend last week in the Karman household, CJ our pup of over 15 years left us as he always did lovingly licking our faces with his horrible breath and his unabashed adoration for his people even in his final moments. Such a gift, despite the fact that he was impossible to train, not the brightest in the pack, extremely lumpy and often a real pain, but he was our real pain and we adored him.

He was the boys’ dog, but he was my constant companion in their absence and my co-parent in their presence. CJ never was concerned with boundaries, rules or consequences, his life lessons for our sons were strictly to love unconditionally and joyfully in each moment and he doggedly made his way into every moment nose first and belly up.

As limitless as the love I hold in my being for my sons, raising them required direction, determination, stamina and steadfastness, calendars, chore charts, patience, perseverance, guidance, grounding, groaning and humility and heartache. As much as I envied Cj’s job in our family, I wouldn’t have traded mine for the world, but I am so grateful that hot mess of a pup helped me along the way.

CJ could soften an angry heart and make his way through a slammed bedroom door even if it required unceasingly scratching evidenced by the damage done on most our door frames. CJ maneuvered his way into any tight space that he sensed there was heartache or sadness from a tough day at school, a big loss on the field or just the hard reality of being a teenager, you know the stuff Moms don’t understand. CJ always understood, especially if you rubbed his belly. CJ constantly affirmed how important our boys were to him and to the world. I mean they fed him and all, but he understood their worth in ways only dogs can do for us, he demonstrated that we are all worthy of being loved and liked and licked.

The last of a litter of basset/beagle pups that had been surrendered, CJ waited patiently and proudly to be adopted despite the deformity to his front leg. As soon as I saw him in his obvious imperfection, I knew he was perfect for us, because although ours may not be as obvious, everyone in this family has something. We all do really, I mean us humans, our pets remind us that that is of no consequence to them, they just love us because we are and all that is required of us is an occasional belly rub, a bowl full of food and a heart ready to be loved.

The heart that pups crack open is the same one we know will break when they leave. For some the ache is so much they can’t imagine opening it again, but for me I have come to learn there is room for it all, the happiness and the heartache, the grief and the gratitude, the joy and the sorrow, the silliness and the sadness, it all fits. CJ reminded me just how much this heart can stretch.

Now our lovable Lambeau carries us forward filling an empty nest, reminding us of the thrill of the hunt and the magic of the moment. She’s definitely not as interested in the dishwasher or loudly acknowledging every deer, turkey or squirrel that passes by, but she does respect my privacy and lets me go to the bathroom all by myself and she willingly waits for us to acknowledge her presence. Despite a torn ACL and impending surgery and recovery, she like so many animals reminds us it is good just to be, be here, be present and be ready if the UPS man is coming by.

There are so many reasons not to bring an animal into your life, but if your home and your heart allow, please consider an animal rescue organization near you. I would be happy to connect you to some wonderful people working tirelessly to save animals. So many willing pets are ready to become part of your family and there's something unique to rescues, they are grateful to the end and so are we, thanks CJ, we had a great run.

"Mary Oliver Moments"

Fri, 09 Jul 2021 21:17:29 GMT

The tension was palpable as they entered the room each anxiously taking their seat, it was obvious this decision did not come easily. As our attorney kept passing the papers around repeating his closing mantra, “sign here” you could sense the struggle, she needed to move on and he wasn’t ready to let go.

Between each signature were moments shared of the magic of the seasons through the expansive windows, the wildlife that kept him company while working from home and plans for trails through the woods to share with their children as they grew, her eyes seemed to tell another story.

Having raised three boys myself, I understood her dilemma, this house was not designed with small children in mind. Hoping to ease some of the burden the decision to sell had brought, I gratefully responded to the next memory shared, that I too would have my “Mary Oliver moments” intuitively sensing they would understand. Almost instantly, their shoulders relaxed, their breath eased and their brows lifted; you could sense their relief trusting we would be loving stewards of this special place we each have called home.

Living in this modern tree house of a home, there is a kindred sense of connection to the works of naturalist poets such as Mary Oliver, Wendell Berry and Robert Frost and thankfully, just as I had hoped, I have had my “moments”. As fate would have it, it was another middle of the night revelation that I would write about this home, this life lived among the trees and yet it has been a struggle. There are moments daily I could write of, there are photos everyday of the wonder felt as I follow a dragonfly or speak softly to the turkey or doe that greet me and yet I find myself hesitant to break this seemingly sacred bond this connection to the world offers.

As I capture another Instagram worthy photo and stand there pondering how to share, what catchy caption to use, which hashtags to add, I feel myself being pulled from the moment itself. I can’t imagine Wendell Berry having such an internal debate out in his fields as the heron gracefully fly overhead and the breeze blows through the tall grass against his labored legs. So like the hidden treasures found in my tiny forest that sit on a shelf and the photos locked in my phone, the memories of each magical moment remain selfishly tucked away. And yet, despite the fact that Mary Oliver made it out of this world most likely never utilizing a hashtag, I can’t help but think of her “Instructions for Living a Life” - “Pay attention, Be astonished, tell about it.”

And so I return to this blog, to tell you about it, to encourage you to find your own moments, to discover a connection with the world around you from the smallest of creatures to the largest of trees, sit with them, speak to them, listen to what they have to say, listen to what you have to say and then “tell about it. There is courage involved, creation required and surrender suggested to put yourself out there, to share your wonder, to release the magic that lies within you. There is great reward in letting the world hear your song.

Whether my words reach the eyes of another or are disregarded with the swipe of an index finger, for me, the moment remains and so the fear of releasing it to the world is no longer. These quiets moments of connection are to be shared as a humble offering of kinship with another. My treasured chest of cherished moments can easily be stored under lock and key, but the joy of sharing it’s contents, that is where the grace comes in. For even if I am resting in the gentle, quiet solitude of the moment, I am reminded by the striking young doe and her fawns that I am never really alone.

A Pilot Light Prayer

Thu, 18 Feb 2021 21:39:12 GMT

In the midst of winter and the ice that clings to the delicate branches and blades, I find myself an empathetic mate to our furnace fighting to fire itself up some days. Not audible to my ears, the subtle noises of the furnace were like that gentle tapping of the shoulder reminding me to move. Progressing to a voluminous clatter, I found myself with an ear to a wall in search of its source, all the while ignoring the center of the house; the hub of energy that keeps this place pulsing, once again I could relate. Until one morning when the thermostat registered at 58 degrees, it could no longer be ignored, as much as I wanted to stay hidden under my warm covers atop my toasty featherbed beneath me, the reality was all too clear and way too cold, I had to do something and fortunately I knew who to call.

When Chuck our trusted technician and fixer of most things arrived, his smile relieved some of the tension but the fear of the unknown remained. As he set his toolbox down and made himself comfortable in what most yogis would consider an impressive squat he began his investigation. Gently removing the exterior panel, the first step was to sit quietly and listen as he took a moment to fire the furnace up. Giving it its best effort the pilot light aflame and signals beginning to fire, it was not long before the raucous rattle made itself known. I watched as Chuck methodically made his way through each step of the process using his grounding wires like the two paddles placed on a heart that had stopped beating in hopes of breathing some new life into our furnace. Thankfully, like a relieved medical team, Chuck and I exhaled as the furnace began to beat, still rattling yet slowly setting itself to its work of warming our home. Despite the success of the resuscitation, the diagnosis remained grim.

Chuck explained the issue and the price of the parts required and with a little prodding and gentle poking we could probably keep this furnace through the rest of this winter, but in the end it would need to be replaced. Thankfully it is not our only furnace and in Kentucky winter can look like ice today, snowfall next week to be followed the next week by 60 degrees and sunny. So we will continue to nurse, to wiggle the wires and give thanks every time this dear old furnace ignites recognizing its value and willingness to work despite its clanks and creaks observing its glowing light within.

My reading today as I sat on my mat to begin my yoga practice was from a treasured book Resonate with Stillness and today’s words warmed my heart and juggled a few wires of my own. “The relationship between the Guru and the disciple is one of light, where forms become formless, where light merges not light. The light of the disciple merges into the Guru’s light and becomes a divine flame.” As these words washed through my mind, I couldn’t help but smile as I reflected on my keen and earnest prayers as I stared at the pilot light of my dying furnace. Interestingly enough as the ice gently danced on our windows as it fell clinging to whatever might support it, I wondered aloud to my husband, “We’ll still have heat if the power goes out, right?” As soon as I said it, a proverbial light went on recalling the electricity required to ignite the pilot light despite the flow of energy just waiting to be tapped. Thankfully our power remained, the rattling reverberated and we gave thanks and acknowledged our good fortunes as we slept soundly in our warm beds.

Just like the furnace, we have an endless flow of energy available to us but too often we let our pilot light go out. We lost touch with what fires us up, what drives our days and fills them with passion, creativity, joy. We have to take the time to listen, remove some of our hard shell and reignite our pilot light within. For each one of us that is going to take some jiggling of our hard wires, some silent prayers that this works, some serious recharging and sometimes a hand to lift us up and an ear to listen. It’s hard work and it’s much more tempting to stay hidden under the covers most mornings, but if winter reminds us of anything, aligning with the light beats the long dark night any day.

There is comfort in the unease of the creaking and rattling though, because no matter how crossed your signals may get, how weak your moving parts become, there is always a light within, that “Divine flame” which fires from the center, warms your worth, and speaks your purpose now and for generations to come. For when your parts no longer become available and it seems you are beyond repair, the flow of energy remains, your divine flame continues to burn.

Spring is nearing despite the forecasts and the days are lengthening letting a little more light in with each new day, I encourage you to do the same. Stay warm. I’m off to rattle some wires!

Wading through Uncertainty

Tue, 27 Oct 2020 17:45:55 GMT

It is not the light we need, but fire; it is not the gentle shower, but thunder.
We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake. - Frederick Douglass

As the leaves silently release and float on their windswept descent gently landing on the ground beneath my feet, I find myself graced by a cool breeze and a moment of envy. How is it that this season of Fall makes constant change and letting go look so easy? Every day, a kaleidoscope of changing colors, every day a crisp clearing of sorts offering clarity as nature’s willingness to let go inspires us to do the same.

Honestly, change is a challenge for most and yet there is something about fall that draws me in. Nature in and of itself is an exercise in endless evolution and autumn allows us to witness the faithfulness of the process. As the light looms less and the limbs are exposed, I find myself yearning for what lies deep in the wisdom of this season. In fall there is a knowing, an inner awareness, a freedom from fear and an understanding of what must be done. A powerful reminder at such an uncertain time.

Wading through the uncertainty of the world right now, comfort comes in the continuous cycle of seasons offering the gentle reminder that this too shall pass. Yet, I long to share the wisdom of the dying leaf and darkening doe, craving their cellular knowledge and awareness of the transformation necessary to survive. What must they have thought of this past year as we surrendered our skies allowing the air to clear and the quieted winds to blow freely all while we humans wrestled through a virus induced hibernation? Fear did not interrupt their foraging, instinctively nature know how to preserve its priorities in place.

The times may be uncertain, but the moments remain undisturbed. As helicopter propellors pulsed above my home as darkness neared while protests shed light, I wondered if the earth and its creatures could sense the unrest. Did the buck stomp in defense and raise its mighty rack or the mother turkey round up her precocious poults while the hawk hovered above and the coyote lie waiting? Or like the wild geese, despite the risks, unflappable they ready themselves for the journey taking flight with no need to look back; for they know the exact place from which they came. Fear did not interrupt their flight, intuitively they know their way home.

As fires rage, winds blow, waters ravage and the ground trembles, nature reminds us to dig in and deepen our roots. This changing climate is calling us to unite in its cause, our cause. Can we offer a protective wing to gently wrap creation in a collective calm? Are we willing to seek forgiveness and move forward together despite the pain we have inflicted, despite the pain we have experienced? Scorched, nature reminds us to rise from the ashes and begin the process of renewal. Fear did not keep the fire at bay and yet, scarred, nature inspires us to begin again, to rise from the ashes stronger in spite of the pain.

This blight as the trees would call it that we are experiencing as humans is no different than nature’s fiery fury and the birds, the trees, the spiders and mushrooms, the bees, flowers and fox are all asking us to tend to our collaborative community. Uncertainty has led us each to prepare and fill our individual nests for what seems to be a long winter ahead and yet this virus has revealed symptoms we can no longer deny. Unconsciously, like the hasty squirrels we have been furiously placing what feeds us in random holes of hurt, fear, judgment and scarcity while never realizing the field is filled with more acorns than we could ever bury. There is more than enough. You are more than enough.

Fall reminds us of the courage to let go, to release, to expose our knotted burls and twisted bark allowing the dwindling daylight to reach even the deepest of our roots, keeping us grounded and guiding us home. As my hound guides me to place my feet among the fallen leaves, our daily walk offers the opportunity to release the heaviness of the world for just a moment and in that moment nature grants a glorious gift. As the cool crisp air brings my breath into view, the morning sun illuminates the exhalation of the mighty hickory in front of me. Understanding and appreciating that science offers an explanation, the expansive lungs of this century old tree offered an invitation. The cool crisp air catching its breath, the light allowing me a glimpse and the grace to witness Mother Nature opening her arms as if to ask me to accept my place, in the words of Mary Oliver, “in the family of things.”

Uncertainty, if we allow it, only exacerbates fear and yet if we take our cues from nature, we recognize our own “knowing”. Understanding that naturally we will change, we will grow, we will let go, we will come to the moment when we must jump and faithfully flap our wings and fly. The wisdom of our wings calls us to embrace the journey forward knowing we possess all that we need in order to return home. No need to look back, if there is one thing for certain, you already know your way home, so spread your wings and fly.

Wild Geese

“You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.”

― Mary Oliver

Message Received

Thu, 16 Apr 2020 18:15:49 GMT

The Messenger

by Mary Oliver

My Work is loving the world.

Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird--

Equal seekers of sweetness.

Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.

Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?

Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect?

Let me keep my mind on what matters,

Which is my work,

Which is mostly standing still and learning to be

Astonished.

The phoebe, the delphinium.

The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.

Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,

Which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart

And these body-clothes,

A mouth with which to give shouts of joy

To the moth, and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,

Telling them all, over and over, how it is

That we live forever.

Oh Mary Oliver, how I have dreamed of a life such as yours filled with long walks, quiet, peace-filled moments attentive to the wisdom of nature, humbly serving as a present witness placing it all in prose to still one’s breath and heart. Now, as the planet has taken a breath, a pandemic imposed pause; the dreams of a poet’s life are answered and the seclusion calls me to join her. This modern home has provided the hermitage I have subconsciously longed for and now the stillness of society speaks as if to say, “Go home, now is the time to go within your own walls.”

Within these walls of windows I have found a home that reminds me daily that where astonishment and gratitude meet, contentment is found. Within my own walls, these “body-clothes”, I sense the expansion contentment brings, and when one is content, one is easily, simply astonished.

A quarantine has definitely developed a renewed appreciation for the simplest of things. Everyday errands that were previously spent discerning the best brand of something as simple as peanut butter is no longer of concern. Now the joy of the availability of pantry basics creates an awareness of abundance even that of a classically unadorned yet delicious PB&J.

And just like that jar of peanut butter, we feel constrained by the labels we have assigned ourselves and yet through this induced isolation we can discover sheer joy in knowing we are available. Sitting at home with ourselves we are blessed with the opportunity of an entirely new adventure. It is not in the woods, it is not in the restaurant we long to gather with friends or the Hawaiian beach my original calendar had me laying on this day. It is not even in the hugs we long for and dream of one day embracing. It is in each one of us if we are willing to take the leap and become the messenger Mary Oliver so eloquently reminds us to be.

There is time now. These moments have waited patiently for the recognition of their constant availability and as always they are grateful you have arrived. It is there I stop in wonder in the glow of the fabulous full moon or the tiny seedlings in my garden willing to present themselves to the world. The cardinals and the finches unflappingly fling the raindrops from their wings unaware of the humans’ current plight. The magnolia and redbud blossoms release their petals like an unexpected spring snowfall gliding on the brisk breezes knowing it is time to move forward as their growth requires letting go. We too have been given the opportunity to release some of our trappings, we have been granted a new awareness and understanding that it is time to let go of some things.

For some it is a simple shedding and for others the process can be lengthy and as painful as the caterpillar tightly wounding itself in awaiting transformation. And our growth, like the trees is almost cellular and sometimes so small that no one may notice, but inside you know you are building the strength to rise stronger and taller, to flower and to offer cover for others. You have found the ability to bend when the winds come and to inhale the gifts each breeze can bring. There is glory to be found in the warm rays of the sun and grace in the rain to quench our thirst. From our roots we can look lovingly at each cloud as it floats across a clearing sky, reminding us that this too shall pass. Standing strongly we will rise to create a new forest of contented community, one that is grateful for what is available to us, our breath, our old boots, the hummingbird and the blades of grass.

This quieted world has let us hear the birds sing. I hope you too are able to hear the song of your heart and share its message to the world. Many poets, sages and spiritual leaders did not find their heartsong in the crowds of marketplaces or endless options online, more often than not it was nature that led them there. It was in solitude they could be present, it was in silence they could hear. Now is our opportunity. Now is the time to look past the labels and share what we have found in our own jars, our own deepened wells.

So with every leaf that lands on the gentle flowing waters of the banks of my small creek I stand upon; every spring petal that each blossom releases upon the wind, every night star that emerges in the darkness; know that it carries a message for each one of us. Find your breath taken away. Be astonished. Experience the awesome humility that gratitude so freely offers and recognize the instinct that despite social distance and isolation, you are not alone. Look skyward and know that I am as well. There we messengers can meet in a confluence of community, in a knowingness of connection with the grace to cover us all.

Rest Mama Bear

Fri, 03 Apr 2020 16:20:35 GMT

Gratefully, Spring has arrived and as I found myself returning to my writing, I discovered this post yet to be published and polished. Sitting here now under this haze of home quarantine, these post-flu musings from late January give voice to this new season of hibernation we are all experiencing. So I offer this post, hoping you find rest as we wait, peace as we try to understand, and faith that the world will once again find each of us in its love-filled embrace.

Sitting here, I find myself writing while holding out hope as spring approaches and days lengthen. It hasn’t been the darkest of winters, nor the coldest or harshest and yet it has been a one of quiet resolve spent riding waves of life’s unseasonable storms. I find myself weary from the usual hustle and bustle of a hurried holiday season complicated by the hospitalization of my nearly 90-year-old father as well as the struggles of so many near and dear to me. It’s as if 2019 came to a close with many feeling their tightened, cramping hands could no longer hold onto the cliff’s edge and yet, gratefully the sun rises on another day lending hope, allowing one to let go and surrender.

As January began to settle in, I found myself among the ill as I felt several days were lost to a haze that only the fog of the flu could administer. As I spent my fair share of days on the sofa, I naively and neatly stacked the books that I’ve been longing to pick up when life slows down; my febrile self found this amusing. I couldn’t focus, I couldn’t accomplish much but rest. As I laid there letting the tamiflu take action and the dayquil ease the symptoms, I couldn’t help but relate to an actual mamma bear finally letting her body rest, her lids gently trusting that when they reopened, spring would be here, food abundant and fresh water flowing. Hibernation had a whole new appeal to me.

We spend so much time as humans foraging what we need, what we think we may need, what we think we deserve so as to be prepared for our long winter’s sleep and yet we are restless. Less rest... at a time when we are in need of so much more.

Living in the modern world propels us on a path not of just least resistance but more like bungee cords attached to each limb pulling us in every direction possible all while under the illusion of convenience, time saved, superior efficiency and yet we are left stretched to our limits, exhausted physically, mentally, spiritually.

Living in this modern home, albeit 50 years old, the path that calls is the one to the woods, to the creek, to the window to marvel at the turkey and the deer and to bless the woodpecker as he happily announces his presence on my cedar-clad walls. Living in this modern home, winter calls one to rest, to curl up, to hibernate as the expansive windows reflect the grey mornings and ever early evenings.

Modern architecture and it’s intrinsic connection to nature offer so much more than a roof over one’s head, it gives a certain kind of freedom to one’s soul. When your home surrounds you with nature, you can’t help but feel more a part of this earth and the community of thousands reminding you of life’s natural order, graciously inviting you to assume your role in this continually breathtaking production. So gratefully, I take my place quietly observing from my man-made perch as Mother Nature silently labors below, underground, in the trees and the waters of the creek continually transforming what the earth has freely shared, breathing new life into every blossom, blade and being knowing spring will arrive; it always does.

And so too, I rest like a dormant seed asking the earth for sustenance and the provision of spring as each light-filled minute is gained as the earth completes its task of revolution. Rest, breathe, stretch, nourish, grow and hope as this season offers an education in itself along with the courage to transform as each hiding daffodil and crocus await with the reminder of our own innate abilities to reach skyward and bloom. Mama bear, find rest; spring is near.

#hibernation #modernliving #modernhome #springtime #mindfulness #mamabear

8 Weeks - 10 Cities - Too Many Tales to Tell

Fri, 11 Oct 2019 20:22:09 GMT

Oh the places you’ll go and where I have gone these last 8 weeks! From a city flat in Madrid to a 19th century bed and breakfast in Saratoga, NY; from a timeless Adirondacks camp to a dorm room trapped in time; from trendy loft apartments that house my sons in separate cities to the empty house of a friend willing to accept some weary road travelers; from a lake house filled with family memories to the living room of a friend who graciously offered one last visit.

So many stories to tell, and yet every time I felt pulled to put pen to paper or fingertips to phone, a voice within gently advised, “Just be. Wait. Tales have time enough to be told, but this moment, this next line in this traveler’s tale is happening now. If you stop to write about it, it will have passed.” Now nestled near a fire in an old lodge with a hound at my feet and rain gently falling outside, there is time.

All these different places, each with its own unique style and individual flair, generously opened their doors and graciously welcomed me into the hearts of their homes and, despite some of their appearances, their hospitality never wavered. I could almost feel the wisdom in the walls of the 130-year-old Victorian mansion as its stately entry greeted my weary bones late one dark, rain-soaked night. The boathouse walls’ great logs still swelled with pride as if they were even now the young trees that had covered the Adirondack mountains in the late 1800s. A modern city flat in Madrid’s sweltering summer heat provided a warm and wonderful respite to reunite after 30 years with college housemates that time and miles found their way in between. Then, onto a wine- and tapas-laden trip to a family home in Spain’s Asturias region where old memories were shared and new ones created as ocean breezes cooled our nights and warmed our hearts with the hospitality this small seaside town extended.

The darkened wood paneling and hints of avocado green that draw me back to my Brady and Partridge family-filled youth of the 1970s, surround the walls of the Wisconsin lake house that has offered itself as part of our family. Like the heavy rains they have endured up north this summer, the memories begin to flood my mind: the endless laps on this little lake that began with a ripple and a tightly held inner tube, to full speed ahead as our boys circled their fingers asking for one more lap, one more wake to jump, one more chance to drop a ski or knock their brother from their tube. So, when it came time to drop my youngest back at school, I found comfort in the retro 70s style of his dorm as I looked up to see myself in the groovy mirrored ceiling that has reflected decades of hotel guests entering this now dated lobby. Several flights up, this old Howard Johnsons now serves as my son’s sophomore abode where an aging bathroom and lofted bunk give way to a tree-filled window offering a sweet glimpse of green in the heart of the city of Boston.

The exposed brick and trendy locations of the loft apartments my two sons lay their heads in each night (nearly 400 miles apart with Canada in between), give me a peek into the role their surroundings play in their daily lives. I fondly recall that time in my life where I just wanted to be in the heart of it all. I somehow absorbed the wisdom the walls encircling me offered with their storied history of long-ago tenants—those who came along well before me and my boxes-turned-end tables and my oversized bed that barely fit in an old dining room. I experienced so much joy in witnessing these moments first hand and feeling the pride and sense of place these lofts provide for my sons stepping strongly in adulthood.

After a long day’s drive and without the stamina to mush on the rest of the way, an empty suburban home of a friend served as our gracious innkeeper for the night. With a garage code in hand and the phone on speaker, we laughed together as we made our way through her house as she guided us towards our individual rooms to sleep, all the while seeking our opinions about which walls to paint and how to spruce up her 90s kitchen. There was such joy in her voice as she gladly shared her space and wine options knowing we would rest comfortably surrounded by her happy walls—something a quick overnight in a hotel could never provide.

One precious friend found the strength to greet me at her door despite the fact that cancer had left her so thin, so frail and yet still strong and beautiful at the same time. Her brother and mother were working among her gorgeous flower beds that I had always admired and, as always, a puzzle with the pieces spread were on the living room coffee table and her spirit was as strong as ever. It wasn’t easy for her and I knew her circle had tightened and was nearly closing as her days grew fewer, so I was overwhelmed with gratitude for these precious moments she could muster as we laughed about my travels that she loved to follow. Talk of her children and the thin veil she would be crossing gave way to laughter as we wondered how she might show up in this world when her body no longer walked among us.

Each roof that gracefully covered my head, each night I was away from home had its own story to tell and just like a good book, each one opened its pages to a place it was saving just for me as if the sentences prior were written just waiting for my arrival. Creating a beautifully designed home isn’t always about how you fill the space, but how the space holds you. Each stop, each stay, each conversation, was an open invitation to be present, to be held in each moment. It’s not always about how comfortable the chair is but how much comfort is felt around a table—in the laughter, the conversations, and the words not spoken.

Holding space for someone is one of the most generous gifts you can share whether the kitchen ever gets done, the floors refinished or the furniture replaced. Moments shared and freely given despite your design, your diagnosis, your daily duties or dramas, are one definitive way to create a home that has meaning. Sharing your home means so much more than opening the door; it often requires opening a window into your soul, creating a bit more space in your heart. So, all the while I was traveling, a hound ran happily in the fields of Finchville, Kentucky, patiently waiting for my return while her loving foster family held space in their home and their hearts knowing my heart had room for one more hope-filled hound.

You can reason away or try to make sense of it all when trying to perfect your house as if it were one to grace the pages of the latest design magazine, but understand a real home isn’t perfect just like any one of us, so go ahead, open your door, open that window, hold space for the next guest in your life. Just be, take time to look out that dirty window and find something that brings you awe, even if it’s your own breath that fogs the glass.

When my weary wheels finally rolled me home just hours after my dear friend’s passing, I couldn’t help but leave my bags at the door and go to my windows just for a glimpse at my trees and a moment to grieve. As my eyes looked out, there she was, slyly looking up at me in the form of a fox, holding space for my heart to heal and my breath to be taken away at the wonder and awe of it all. There truly is no place like home.

Field Trip Texas Style

Mon, 22 Jul 2019 02:58:11 GMT

I knew my feet were firmly planted on the sawdust covered floor of a factory in Austin, Texas, but somehow, I felt at home. As my ears were exposed to the sound of the saws and my nose, the smell of the wood, it was if I were standing alongside fellow visitors at one of my hometown favorites, The Louisville Slugger Museum. And the rows of shelving filled with willing wood that reached to the ceiling? Well, they transported me back to the barns of Baghdad, Kentucky, looking for that perfect piece of live edge walnut or just the right size of aromatic cedar. The heat and smell of the charring process might as well have carried a scent of bourbon as I felt carried back to the cooperages constructing barrels to be charred and blackened to flavor the best bourbons in the world.

From the moment I arrived at Delta Millworks, my senses were awakened to the sights, the smells, the textures, the colors, and the endless design possibilities their products and my mind could conjure. Having received several small samples weeks prior, I couldn’t help but run my hand along the exterior walls of their offices. While on the job, I have been known to appear to be performing a white glove test, but I simply can’t resist the textures that design can bring to one’s home—the slick feel of polished granite, the smooth softness of honed marble, the gentle grain of wood freshly sanded or well-worn by time. And don’t even get me started on textiles! As I am a tactile soul, natural, organic materials have always instinctively appealed to me and so standing among these former trees, it only felt right to wrap my modern home in their protective cover.

I was kindly welcomed to their workshop and greeted by Delta Millworks’ sales rep Baker Donnelly while several sweet faces had their puppy dog noses pressed to the glass of the conference room behind him wagging their tails, happy to have a new visitor. Baker guided me to the customized conference room filled with samples where each wall was lined with inspiration. As I stepped across a gorgeous plank floor that appeared through their creative application to have been there for a century or more, I showed great restraint and kept my sandals on despite the overwhelming temptation to feel the wood canvas under my feet and absorb some of the soul of this place.

We made our way back to the factory floor where a handful of artisans applied their skills cutting, measuring, edging, and often burning each slat to each customer’s specifications as every job by Delta Millworks is custom order. Burning and brushing, charring and coloring, each board is a work of art that stands ready to serve the creative soul of designers and architects worldwide. As much as all the options intrigued my creative spirit, the thought of no longer being rudely awakened by various woodpeckers feeding on our outside walls made my choice simple: The blackened Acoya Gator is the ideal selection for our project.

I have long loved the look of dark houses and I am grateful for clients who have taken the leap of deep charcoals, dark woods and trim with brightly colored doors to greet their guests, so the thought of a nearly black look on my own home was a vision I have imagined many a time as I emerged from a walk in the woods or stared down from the street above. The natural qualities of the wood, the shou sugi bon process, and the protection it provides make the decision to take such a leap that much easier.

The logistics of the scaffolding, the dramatic heights and unique style of the home definitely have me orbiting a bit beyond my comfort zone, intimidated yet excited, anxious but aware the job must be done. I can’t help but be concerned about what we might find when we start tearing off the old exterior and what will be required to restore it to its former glory, but I also know that without one ounce of regret, this home is right where we belong. So, for now, a deep breath while standing in this family-owned Austin factory calms some of my fears and ignites my passion for this modern home we now call ours.

Baker patiently answered all my questions as each new sample lit a lightbulb in my mind with opportunities for applications: a fence to last 50 years along the eastern coast of a client’s beach house; a gorgeously appointed fireplace clad in wood from floor to ceiling; a modern deck, an updated entertaining space, and the walls that greet my woods every morning. As I paged through their gallery of photos, I couldn’t help but covet the Kohler house wondering how to get that look on a Karman budget. My mind swimming and my stomach growling, I thanked Baker and, with his recommendation locked in my GPS, I made the short drive to the Launderette.

Dining alone has never been an issue for me and this time the thrill of knowing that each and every one of the delectable deviled eggs—considered some of the best Austin has to offer—would be all mine brought me great joy as I savored each delicious bite. Grateful for Baker’s recommendation, I had one more task to accomplish on this trip, so having requested my check I left the Launderette behind filled to the brim and hopeful to be back someday.

With all the creative options Delta Millworks offered and my mind still reeling, I walked into Allen’s Boots and my mind was blown: how to choose just one pair of boots among the thousands that lined the shelves. Just as in the warehouse of Delta Millworks, the sights, the smells, the textures, and the designs were a feast for the senses! Each boot had its own personality and I patiently listened to see which one would speak to me. I reminded myself of what I often tell clients choosing colors or finishes: There really is no wrong answer, so choose what is right for you.

With the guidance of Andrew, a truly dedicated and thankfully honest sales associate, we spent the next hour or so slipping into the latest Lucchese and the newest Old Gringos, but alas, this former dancer’s calves made the task of finding the perfect fit daunting. With steel-toed determination and a lifelong love of boots, I, along with my trusty companion, rose to the challenge.

Pair after pair, too tall, too tight, too tall, too tight! Like Goldilocks, I knew if I kept trying, one pair would be just right. I probably passed them several times as I test drove pair after pair up and down the aisle offering hundreds of size 7½s, but patiently they waited for my eyes to fall upon their glorious stitching and turquoise woven leather amid the subtle golden beading and side straps, a captivating Corral boot that slid onto my foot like the glass slipper on Cinderella.

Feeling as if I had found the pair, I expanded my test run to the entire range of the store to ensure the fit was right. As I wandered through each row and each size, passing the infinite variety of women’s, men’s and adorable children’s styles, I discovered the comfort and fit of the Corrals were just right. Then, I discovered something else: the display of Allen’s own brand of boots.

Having tried every brand so far, I couldn’t commit to the Corrals without knowing how the Allen’s fit, and you guessed it, like a glove. So, I pensively paced with a noticeable limp throughout the store, on the left the slightly higher heeled Corral and on the right the colorful floral stitching of the more traditional Allen boot. Andrew periodically checked on my progress leaving the final decision up to me. He knew that, like children, each boot had its own special personality and style, and you can’t ask a mother to choose between her babies. So, after nearly two hours, I walked out of Allen’s empty handed. I had both pairs shipped home.

Now with my feet firmly planted in my beautiful new boots in my tranquil backyard, I tiptoe so as not to startle the turkey nearby and I gaze up at my fading cedar exterior and dream of the day when the walls are wrapped in the artfully charred wood custom- made way down in Austin, Texas, by one family for another, for my modern Kentucky home. Like Dorothy in her ruby slippers, home was with me every step of the way. So, with a click of the heels of my boots, I stand here grateful. There truly is no place like home.

Dive In!

Fri, 07 Jun 2019 02:27:26 GMT

The estimate in hand, I should be examining the size and scope of the 58 windows that need to be replaced, but the lure of my curiosity and the call of my hiking boots by the back door make it difficult to discern what the next step should be on the house and easy to step outside especially with all the activity the night before.

I saw her in a wide-open span of grassy floor in the middle of the afternoon, not the usual activity of the deer that pass through near dawn and dusk. I found myself patiently moving from one window to the next attempting to catch the best view of the bountifully expectant doe. This poor deer had spent the afternoon and well into the evening rolling on her side in need of a deer doula, her tail flipping as she was keenly aware of the impending arrival of her darling fawn. Certain I was going to witness the birth along with several houseguests, I found myself disappointed at dusk, when she made her way to standing and along with her fellow does gently found their way back into the woods. As a mother myself, I felt her pain of the false alarm and days of contractions while anxiously awaiting a new arrival and I offered her a prayer as my head hit the pillow trusting nature’s infinite wisdom and timing.

As I quietly made my way through the wet woods the next day, the ground like a soft memory foam mattress beneath my feet, I could find no sign other than the beaten path that the mother-to-be had made her way through the night before. I wondered if her new fawn was tucked away resting on the roots of one of the majestic maternal trees and if this fellow mom would be so kind as to grant me a glance of her new love.

Finding no evidence of the newborn fawn, I reluctantly let go of that glimpse for the afternoon and decisively hiked towards the house and the real work at hand. Trees both big and small aided my return as they seemingly reached out their branches to guide my steps along the swollen soil and composting layers of leaves. Despite the disappointment of not witnessing the new arrival, each trek, almost as if a gift, offers something new to discover.

A massive mushroom cradles a few dewy drops to drink in as it clings to a long dead limb while gelatinous waves of white matter sprout from the worn bark of a log sunken in the soil transforming itself from the heightened home of birds and squirrels to sustenance for an entirely new ecosystem as it slowly becomes one with the soil that once held its roots. From disappointment arose discovery and I felt more like a novice scuba student on a deep dive along a coral reef rather than the hiking homeowner adrift in decisions hiding among the trees.

Nearby colorful conks cling to the side of another log creating a reef of wild fungi as two tiny mushrooms shoot up atop a hardened shell of conk as if signaling the way home for the tiny forests nymphs that surely inhabit this magical place. At least that’s what I’d like to imagine at this moment anyway. That’s my Irish whimsy taking hold. There will be plenty of time to analyze the pictures and google the names of all the mold and spores that I lay eyes upon, but for now I am going to rest in the awe of it all, dreamy as a child whose imagination creatively crafts a wondrous world of fairies and fantasies that abide in this magical kingdom of mushrooms and mud that to most grownups resembles a rotten old log.

I wasn’t long from my hike and childlike wonder when science found its way in as I happened upon Suzanne Simard, a professor of forest ecology from the University of British Columbia, while traveling to our hops field across the river later in the day. As soon as the key turned in the ignition, Suzanne’s voice spoke through the radio and I heard three words: forest, fungi and “magic.” Relieved that science wouldn’t break my childlike spell, I listened to the last few minutes of Radiolab on NPR as Suzanne explained how trees talk to one another through this massive underground network that some colloquially refer to as the “Wood Wide Web.” The Mother trees, as she refers to them, are the larger, older, hub trees in cooperative communication with the fungi, as they share and offer defenses for trees of differing species all the while caring for their own young. Our not too distant relatives through the discovery of shared DNA, the fungi and the trees cooperate and take care of each other by sharing what they each have to give, carbon from the trees and from the fungi, minerals and nutrients mined and hunted among the pebbles, stones, and rich rocks for the trees when they are in need.

Fascinating science, but among all her studies what struck me the most was her same childlike awe of the forests. You could almost hear that inner voice of a child coming through her heavily loaded scientific vocabulary; it only deepened my wonder and gratitude for this connection nature has made. It makes so much sense that a simple hike among these towering, wise mother trees reminds me that we are all connected and makes me grateful for their willingness to share with any who walk under their branches. Once you become a mother, it is instin ctual to care for your own young; what I didn’t understand is how our worldview changes when we begin to see each person as someone’s baby, a sapling searching for some light.

I have often joked that I have felt like the stump at the end of Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree, but what I didn’t comprehend is the power of that old stump. So, as I gaze at the rotten old logs that line my tiny patch of forest, I am reminded of the mother trees, and I try to rise to the challenge despite the decay each day brings and recognize each change as transformative. Decay sounds depressing, but I rather surrender to the transformation of it all and ride the wild wonderful journey that is life. It is truly amazing to discover that even when we feel we have nothing left to give we have the capacity for an entire new ecosystem. I know science may call it mold, but I stand in the wonder of it all and for today, I am calling it magic.

As I found my feet strengthened by the changing ground and grassy hillside just outside the tree line, I saw my eager hound ready to greet my return and as I climbed up to meet him my eyes were drawn to yet another discovery: a roguse horn coral fossil that waited until today to show itself after 350 million years! What a gentle reminder that this land really was a coral reef all those millions of years ago and that there is always time for another dive.

*Just a note of thanks to the mama who did offer me a glimpse of her new arrival and to my fossil-hunting friend and neighbor Caren for her immediate identification and enthusiasm for my find!

Lost in Thought

Fri, 07 Jun 2019 02:12:55 GMT

“Study nature, love nature, stay close to nature, it will never fail you.”

- Frank Lloyd Wright

Have you ever found yourself lost in your own thoughts? The good news is the “found” means you know where you are; the question is, what are you doing? I find the more I learn, the less I know; but the wisdom that I gain with each day has taught me to revel in the wonder and awe and bring it back to the reality of life as we know it. Admittedly the awe phase can feel super comfy especially if you’re sporting new rose-colored glasses, but the wonder—well that makes you think and therefore, as they say, you are, so now what? The distractions that were abundant in spring have settled into the full-grown greenery of work to be done as summer approaches and nature is telling me it’s time to get to work.

May witnesses spring in its glory, graduates strutting across stages to collect well-earned diplomas and Mothers finding themselves with a day just for themselves, while summer awaits with the next flip of the calendar; but in my hometown, it’s the first Saturday in May that makes its mark. Weeks are spent filled with festivities celebrating the fastest two minutes in sports, but there among the balloons, the bed and the steamboat races, the parade and the endless parties, is a great gathering of minds in a darkened theater right on Main Street. This collective conference did not aim to decide who the winner might have been; rather, this “catalyst for expanding our realm of consciousness,” according to Louisville mayor Greg Fischer, was trying to take us well past the proverbial finish line. The goal was not the next race, but the human race and this earth we call home.

The host of this annual event, the Center for Interfaith Relations describes the Festival of Faiths as “a nationally acclaimed interfaith event of music, poetry, film, art and dialogue with internationally renowned spiritual leaders, thinkers and practitioners,” and this year...scientists! Neuroscientists, biomedical engineers, medical practitioners, ecologists in conversation with modern day mystics, monks, and masters seeking what we all long for: some honest answers, the truth. And as usual, my mind was blown.

As discussions of the precious nature of our planet were explored, I was introduced to biomimicry, a design discipline that takes its cue from all the answers nature has waiting for us. Nature has managed fairly well the last 3.8 billion years and as our biological elder we would be best served to look to nature’s wisdom and consider consciously evolving ourselves so as to not leave this planet inhabited only by cockroaches and Cher. Although I “do believe in life after love.”

Looking to nature made so much sense to me as scientists and ecologists explained the amazing capacity to exist among the constantly changing environment that we live in just through the simple example of photosynthesis or regenerative properties of plants and species alike. As scientists have examined the vastness of the universe as well as the minutia of tiny organisms, I can’t help but think of the poets, the artists, and the architects who speak to our own feeling of minutia as they find ways to express our own communion with the sunlit trees or powerful waves that wash us in the sense of being a part of it all.

I will never forget walking into the Johnson Wax corporate headquarters in Racine, Wisconsin, in 1986 and experiencing that old-soul feeling of connection to the space designed by none other than Frank Lloyd Wright. The stories-high columns effortlessly towered like lily pads floating in space above the multitude of desks filled with employees seemingly swimming in their duties below. The enormous open concept and design details down to each desk were designed to be “as inspiring a place to work in as any cathedral ever was to worship in” according to Wright himself. Something in me changed that day—it was as if I had landed in a whole new world. Just 22 years old and over a decade before the book Biomimicry was written, I stood under those Lily Pad giants not understanding their structure and strength inspired by centuries old cacti, but humbled by their utility and grace, and something truly was awakened in me.

Architecture was a foreign concept in the wonderful neighborhood of my youth. Neatly plotted streets with true “cookie cutter” houses filled with families that coexisted alongside each other in basically the same four walls was a comfortable way to grow up, knowing once I passed through any front door it was literally just like home. And as for nature, we unwittingly found ourselves among the trees and grasses, the lightning bugs and butterflies as we were basically made to stay outside until the neighborhood dinner bell rang. At least outside there was a breeze as our homes didn’t have air conditioning; thus, were we unconsciously tied to nature as we fell asleep to the white noise of window fans and suburban sounds.

And so it was no surprise, when I first walked through our home, several years before it became ours, that something so unique, designed in tune with nature and with nods to Frank Lloyd Wright’s modernistic approach that once again, that old-soul connection stirred. Biomimicry, Biophilia, Feng Shui, Chi, whatever you want to call it—the pull to this property was beyond reason and yet so instinctual. For many, the design is so far from what they have known that they could not imagine living in such a place, but for me, there was a knowing in the design that made me instantly feel at home.

As much as I have tried to educate myself in the knowledge of the variety of design theories, principles and plans, I now have a better understanding of trusting my creative instincts and my constant desire for organic elements and ways to bring nature indoors. We all possess this innate desire to connect with other living things, it’s part of how we are made and despite the endless resources available—the millions of photos, the design apps, and perfectly pinned boards—I find most of my answers in the solitude of a hike among my trees and bubbling creek if I quietly let nature do the talking. Just like the water flowing over the limestone bed, creativity begins to flow when I find myself clearing my mind among my fellow travelers on Mother Earth.

I recently saw that Princess Kate the Duchess of Windsor has become a fan of “forest bathing” and, yes, this is a thing. Shinrin-yoku, considered a medicinal healing practice of simply walking slowly through a forest, has scientists and researchers alike studying its actual benefits that our indigenous ancestors have known all along, only now we try to measure, mark, and manage the outcomes. Just as we do our own lives. Thankfully I have come to a point where I don’t need my watch to tell me I practiced yoga or a scientist to tell me the benefits of the organic compounds of the trees or how Frank Lloyd Wright managed to build a house on a waterfall. There are no gold stars if I get it right, but just like a child seeing something for the first time there is a desire to know more and to get my hands dirty. So, for now I will continue to explore all these concepts of science, nature, and design, and thankfully, I have a fully stocked library and research lab just outside my back door. If I get lost in thought again, you’ll know where to find me.

If you want to know more about Biomimicry check out bio-sis.net and the work of Toby Herzlich of Biomimicry for Social Innovation, one of this year’s speakers at the Festival of Faiths.

Also check out any and or all the speakers from the Festival of Faiths on their YouTube channel at https://m.youtube.com/channel/UCqpTSO63x1Wdn0dzeA7Sp2g

Delight in the Distraction

Thu, 18 Apr 2019 04:27:11 GMT

Instructions for living a life. Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell About it.” -Mary Oliver, Sometimes

Spring is literally mesmerizing in this modern home with nearly every room boasting floor-to-ceiling windows that draw me daily to their panes perched above the trees. I can’t help but wonder what miraculous new event has occurred as spring continually evolves before my eyes. A bloom freshly burst, a brand-new bird in the fold at the feeder, seeds fresh from their packets perfectly planted in the gardens—spring is absolutely glorious, its beauty bewildering and yet there is so much work to be done. Just as the birds are busy building their nest, so must I get to work on mine.

Samples of siding, windows to be selected, and dreams of a new exterior hold at bay the nightmares of the damage that may lie behind the siding that has protected this house for nearly 50 years. Yet every time I wander the exterior to assess the work to be done, the woods gently call with new discoveries of bluebells and snowdrops, while the rush of recent rains fills the creek bed creating waterfalls where the abundance of mosses bathe themselves as they cling to the rocks they call home.

As I survey the windows examining their needs, to replace, to repair, the birds make it nearly impossible to stay on task. Quietly existing among the trees all winter they nearly went unnoticed, but as the weather warms and feeders are filled, I can’t help but be distracted by the constant avian activity and fluttering cooperation as they politely peck at the sunflower seeds and suet. Fascinated, I find myself lost in their schedule: Morning brings the blue jays, red-headed woodpecker, and the chirping cardinals brightly fighting for the affections of their subtle yet proudly crowned princesses, while the afternoon finds the mourning doves resting lavishly among the grandeur of the green ivy and hydrangea leaves; meanwhile, the finches, titmice, and chickadees ceaselessly celebrate happy hour as they gladly share seeds and space to perch among the feeders.

And there am I standing over a sink of dishes desperate to be dealt with and you won’t find a sponge or dishcloth in my hands, but a pair of binoculars swung over my shoulders and my Birds of Kentucky guidebook dog-eared and ready as a new arrival lands within my sight. With excitement I announce my latest discovery to my constant companion CJ, our lovable nearly twelve-year old basset beagle mutt, his ears gently lift as if to listen and his eyes say to me with the sincerity of a wise hound, he understands what it means to be in the moment and then his long-eared white-haired head returns to its rest, asking only to be awoken for a squirrel or chipmunk.

As I lay siding samples against the house, my attention is diverted once again, this time by the white and bright pink buds of the trees above reflected in the windows below and the way the light captures both inside and out in one ground-to-sky mirroring pane. I can’t help but be drawn in by it all. As I meander around samples in hand, my eyes are not drawn to the decisions of design but to the sight of a blue jay wrestling with a small snake near the edge of the trees within a stone’s throw of the logs housing hundreds of shiitake mushroom spawn Rob planted several weeks before, while my ears are awakened to the gentle sounds of the brush as the deer softly pass through gracefully gnawing at the wild honey locust that have landed under the hickory and sycamore, the oak and birch.

Abandoning the decision of the day, productivity like pliers pulled me to plant the seeds that had arrived for each garden bed perfectly plotted one rainy Sunday afternoon just a few weeks prior. Rob began marking the sections and I sorted the seed packets hoping to sense some sort of accomplishment for the day and then the sun began to set. Glorious colors of pinks and purples made their way through the branches bursting with buds and before you know it like my basset to a chipmunk, my camera was in hand as I couldn’t help but try and capture the colors, the moments fleeting as the sun slowly made its way to the horizon. As I examined every angle of its passing beams, I hoped to capture the colors, the lighting, the lazy hound oblivious to this miraculous moment, my breath nearly taken away as I peered at each picture while trying to take it all in. As the sun gave way to the evening sky, our lights sensed the darkness and came to life. I realized it was time to return to the task at hand, and there was Rob sowing the last of the seeds and smiling at his hopeless partner in this magnificent adventure, grateful. Knowingly I smiled back filled with gratitude.

We collected the seed packets and put away the gardening tools under a gorgeous night sky barely lit by a crescent moon well aware that there were tasks to be dealt with inside and discussions to be had as far as windows, siding, contractors, etc. Stepping inside, we were greeted by the large lens of the telescope waiting patiently in our entry reminding us that the international space station would soon be passing over this mess of a modern home nestled among these trees. CJ barely raised an eyebrow but sighed heavily as the door shut behind us and the stars lay in wait.

Somehow, someday, it will all get done, but for now these moments are not to be missed. The design of this home, each window framing the trees, the skies, the blooms below, allow for a life lived among it all and call all those within its walls to participate in this process, this transformation of twigs and branches, blades and birds each moment ever-changing, evolving, and creating a home for all to share. The “interior” design of each room is only a backdrop for the show-stopping spring sights that make these walls of windows come alive each day with new color, new life, and new sights. As far as new windows, new siding, well, it looks as if that will have to wait until tomorrow.

A Modern Home Matriarch

Thu, 04 Apr 2019 16:26:17 GMT

Some days as I stand here suspended over the woods below gazing out from my bird’s-eye view, I try to transport myself to the time before this house existed when it was just a dream longing to be perched on what seemed to be a hopeless hill. As I run my hands across the yellowed pages of the original architectural drawings nearly fifty years old, I try to imagine what life was like for the first family of this house. So boldly ahead of their time to construct such a residence in a town and on a street dotted with traditional family homes beautifully graced in their brick-wrapped walls, stately columns and Cape Cod lineages.

Gratefully a glimmer of a design dream so distinct manifested into this uniquely modern home that still proudly remains perched among the trees just as the original matriarch had envisioned nearly half a century before. So often I imagined what it would be like to sit down with her, to hear her vision and ask the myriad of questions that have arisen each day as I have settled into the spaces amongst these walls. Little did I know, I had been sitting alongside her all along.

As the noise of the hairdryers swirled around my ears, I heard the conversation turn to Wisconsin and I thought for a moment that the question was directed towards me as in this relatively small salon where I have been coming for over 15 years most everyone knew something about someone. Despite my love of Lambeau and my husband’s upbringing, the conversation was regarding the client’s upcoming move from the comfort of her senior living community and the town she’s always known to Madison, Wisconsin where her son lives.

Sensing her hesitance and with my love of Madison, I politely inserted myself in the conversation assuring her what a wonderful place she would be living in, the most incredible farmers’ market, the thriving university and the rich history of architecture. When we spoke of her current living arrangements I couldn’t resist sharing that I was anxious to meet a new friend I had recently discovered, who lived in the same community. She asked me who that happened to be and when I told her the name, Becky DeCamp, she proudly replied, “I’m Becky DeCamp!” I reached for her hand beaming as I joyfully exclaimed, “I live in your house!”

Hardly containing my excitement, while our hairstylists ran their fingers along the goosebumps on their arms, we exchanged numbers and agreed to visit and travel back to a time in her life that was slowly fading as it was apparent her memory was as well. As if an old friend, Becky warmly welcomed me to sit and stay awhile in her beautifully appointed den and we quickly expressed our excitement about our shared home. At first, the memories required some excavation but soon revealed a firm foundation as she smiled and remembered “nothing but happiness in that house.” As we scrolled through photos on my IPad, each passing picture unearthed more joy, more memories, more wonderful tales of her days spent in the home where her dreams became a reality. Stories of how her father thought she was crazy to try and build on this decidedly descending lot; how she literally stood her ground on the roots of a tree that was not to be moved; how she loved every minute of planning the home and how grateful she was to her husband Mike for trusting her vision and the willingness to see the dream of designing a home become a reality.

“Other people looked at me in awe and said, 'What made you think of that?!'” She said with a heartfelt laugh. “Becky, it’s going to slide down into the creek!” Her father would say, although he ended up loving the home so much he would stay there whenever he had the chance.

“No sirree!” Becky exclaimed, “I wouldn’t let anyone do anything to the trees, the house had to fit around the trees.” As she was describing herself as a frustrated non-trained architect, the details of the design began to resurface. She also recalled her natural inspiration: “The trees were there, so I put in the windows.”

And as for her husband Mike, Becky said to him, “You have given me the greatest gift in the whole world, letting me build a house.” And she did, Becky worked feverishly against time to build their dream home as Mike’s health began to decline and together they created “such a happy place.” It was truly a meaningful time for their family and Becky's eyes lit up as she recalled hosting dances on the deck and more parties than she can recall, her boys playing within view of the kitchen window and in their playroom below. She loved all the interest her home created and even her naysayers were fascinated with her masterpiece of a home.

The home still has its naysayers to this day, the friends and family who thought we were crazy to make this move, the contractors who are intimidated by lack of level ground and those who are comfortable in their traditional spaces, but as they pass through the front door and make their way down the brick-floored window-filled gallery to the living room and they approach just one of its many floor to ceiling windows, regardless of the season, an understanding begins to sink in. Nature knows no boundaries and very few souls can resist its call especially so perfectly framed in each breathtaking window and every branch magically lit as the sun stretches through the woods that willingly share space with our home.

“This house is so you” is often the phrase uttered by those who know me best and nearly half a century later it still is undeniably, so Becky.

People often ask me about my background as I did not follow a traditional design route, and I often find myself repeating the same answer, either you have it or you don’t. An eye for color and a sense of space, an ear to hear your clients and a heart to understand their needs and an ego that is willing to step back and let the design do the talking. The ability to have a vision, to look at the last lot anyone would want and to see a dream house perched perfectly in its place on a hopeless hill.

“Nobody wanted that lot, nobody thought you could build there, and I just thought that is exactly where I want to be.” Becky affectionately recalled. Me too, thanks to my new friend, I am exactly where I want to be.

#modernhome #dreamhome #modernarchitecture #soulsister

A Table's Tale

Thu, 21 Mar 2019 02:45:45 GMT

I’ll never forget the day years ago when Rob returned from a short stroll through the neighborhood, triumphant as he held within his hands what seemed to be a great discovery. Smiling, he handed me a flattened sterling silver fork that must had made its way from a successful soirée the evening before only to be beaten down by the guests driving right over it with no regard to its selfless service. “What’s this?” I asked. Rob’s response in the words of his favorite philosopher the great Yogi Berra, “I saw a fork in the road, so I took it.”

Dreams are a funny thing, you just never know how, when or where they are going to become a reality. Rob has been dreaming of building a live edge table for our modern home and I had become too wrapped up in the big picture of rotting windowsills and decaying cedar siding to see how we could make this happen but thankfully we came to a fork, well a curve in the road and took it.

We were just going to pick up some sausage on that warm December day as we began the hour long quest towards the unassuming Quick Stop on old highway 150 where Jake’s sausage was flavorfully waiting, worth every mile. The journey to Jake’s is filled with beautiful farms and fields and many a distillery so on this sunny day it was no surprise Rob wanted to take the back roads. Blinded by the rolling hillsides and winding roads we made our way around the next bend and there as if the heavens themselves had opened; the light shone through the clouds upon this winter worn farmyard where stacks and stacks, rows and rows of freshly cut logs of cherry, oak, box elder, poplar and walnut filled the field and overseeing it all, an angel in overalls named Gus. Without hesitation and without even considering the possibility of a no trespassing sign, Rob pulled right in and I recognized the look on his face, as I too have been known to share that expression when walking into the shoe department of Nordstrom on Michigan Avenue.

I never doubted Rob’s ability to build this table that had only existed in our minds, he is after all still a farm boy at heart. Spending the summers of his youth on his grandparents’ farm in northern Wisconsin not only taught him how to build things; that farm and the family on it helped build Rob.

Rob’s resourcefulness is something I began to understand with each visit to the farm. You learn to make do when miles away from the nearest small town and worlds away from the bubble of a suburb I grew up in, where trash was picked up weekly and the streetlights and the neighbor’s dinner bell let you know it was time to go home. Before composting was cool and climate change a daily fixture in our vocabulary, on the farm every scrap was saved for the cows or garden and anything that could be reused found new life well before the invention of recycling bins.

As a young couple Rob’s ability to construct furniture, lay tile, hang drywall, install lighting, or repair a roof allowed us to meet the challenges as first time homeowners well before the aid of the celebrities of HGTV. It was Bob Vila baby and it was our old house which I believe in the early 90s was referred to as a money pit, now the term is fixer upper. Thankfully our hard work was rewarded in the resale and we made our next move with two toddlers and our dreams in tow. As young parents, Rob took great joy in constructing the perfect playhouse for our boys and custom furniture for their rooms. If I could get my ideas to paper, Rob could make it happen. So what was I so afraid of when it came to his vision for this table? Pushing fear aside standing in the muddy timber yard that December day, I watched Gus, paint can in hand, spray a price on a grand old walnut log and I knew I had found the best Christmas present ever.

Having made his dream of this table well known amongst family and friends, Rob discovered a welder among us who was willing to bring Rob’s vision to life. Jason who spends most his days in search of the next best bourbon for his restaurant and bar Bourbons Bistro had been a welder in his day and just like Rob, loves a creative challenge. Within days of drawing the leg design, Jason returned with a classic rye to sip and steel legs to set the table on. Hours dedicated to the dream, Rob chipped away at the weathered bark and spent days sanding each piece until it was smooth and each grain rose forth as if part of a natural collaboration resulting in an amazing work of art.

My Wisconsin farm boy has slowly settled in as a somewhat southern gentleman, sipping Jason’s latest bourbon discovery while they discuss their next endeavor which most certainly will lead them back one sun-filled Kentucky Saturday over the hill just past the distillery, around a barn-filled bend to Gus and his field of walnut and maple dreams. Funny how so many old fashioned traditions have blended together to inspire and create this modern and magnificent live edge table for our unique home.

It’s interesting how crafting a modern piece can take you on a journey through one’s past and down that windy road where some of the best sausage in the country can be found. I’ll keep dreaming about the windows and siding as we sit around our new table. I’ll put the map down and go along for the ride. Just yesterday along another country road another fork and there I was in a rural sawmill standing next to neatly stacked pile of fragrant planks of cedar. I looked at Rob and I caught that look in his eye again, as we both shared the same thought, this cedar would work for siding...I am just not sure Rob learned the ancient Japanese method of shou sugi ban on the farm.

It's not easy keeping it green...

Fri, 08 Mar 2019 13:20:45 GMT

Since settling into my modern home, I have somehow cultivated the concept that I now possess the skills of an experienced horticulturist, after all I have successfully kept a jade plant alive for almost a year. I do feel as if that should deserve some street cred in the world of green-thumbed enthusiasts especially considering I have spent the last 26 years trying to keep three children, two dogs, one rabbit, a cricket-fed leopard gecko, a syringe-fed premature bearded dragon, an aggressive gerbil with neurological issues and countless fish (including the replacements), alive and on this planet. A houseplant never had a shot at survival and some days I wondered the same about myself.

The hundreds of trees that coexist alongside this home, the awesome array of sunbeams that filter through each pane of glass and the garden beds yet to be planted outside my kitchen window were all summoning me to bring some life in; for now there is time to tend, time to nurture. So one by one they came home with me, each adorable succulent I saw on the shelf at the hardware store, the local plant store and Trader Joe’s; the mother load, the humane society of succulents, as soon as those sliding doors opened each orphaned plant tugged at my heartstring and landed in my cart. At $2.99 how could I resist? This behavior could possibly provide some insight into my soft-hearted animal issues.

As any responsible guardian of these living things, I began to educate myself as to their care, their needs and requirements, little did I know that we had so much in common. Succulents are defined as plants that are thick and fleshy and have the ability to retain water allowing them to survive in arid climates. Thick, fleshy and the ability to retain I can totally relate to; it’s like the extra 15 pounds I’m carrying because my Irish grandmother said I might need them someday in case I get sick. From my fasciated haworthia and hedgehog aloe to my juicy jade and countless cacti, I have found my succulent soul mates or should I say they have found me.

They have been looking for me, the question was, were my eyes open to the gifts they so generously presented to me through the years? Having hiked amongst the saguaro of Arizona, their strength and determination to survive in such difficult desert conditions was honestly a humbling experience. I am not even sure how I survived growing up without air conditioning. Undaunted, these demure desert divas rise for nearly 75 to 100 years before giving birth to a single arm. Holding every drop of moisture mother nature bestows upon them, their pleated stems physically swell, almost as filled with pride knowing when the time came, they would once again flower. Centuries of wisdom to be absorbed from those wise old desert giants who have endured many a dry spell in their days spent in the sand..

The powerfully plump and petite leaves of my succulents deliver their message each morning, silently suggesting that we all have dry spells but that doesn’t mean we should not be drinking it all in. This house, these windows, the trees that surround me, make it almost impossible not to pause and see what the world has to offer; a cardinal perched nearby, a deer gently rustling through the leaves or a cloud simply floating by. Finding just a drop to ease one's thirst offers sustenance even on the driest of days. Every drop nourishes the flow of creativity within and when I need to fuel my roots, I can fearlessly dive into the reservoir created by all the moments savored and soaked in.

Resting near their succulent cousins, my adaptive and adorable air plants peacefully perched in the vintage china egg cups of my grandmother and great grandmother quietly encourage me to breathe and look for a little light each day. Inspirational in their simple, minimalist life, as well as their willingness to cleanse the air for another, each green limb proudly reaches higher all the while kindly including me in this collaboration. And when it’s time for their weekly soak, they remind me of the wisdom of a warm bath.

Little did I know that within the stems and shoots of these easy-to-please plants were the many lessons that would be sown within me as their caretaker. Be patient, take time, soak it in and save some for later; never stop growing, share some shade and always keep reaching towards the sun. As these last days of winter make their presence known, I look out at the snow-kissed soil of my empty garden beds with a new sense of confidence thanks to the survival of my succulents and whimsical air plants. Dreams of fresh herbs and vegetables, hummingbirds and bees happily existing in the ecosystem that is my front yard, swirl in my imagination. Soon it will be time to plant some seeds.

But for now, I will joyfully savor my succulents. Did I mention, I now have three orchids? They sincerely appreciate your prayers!

The Meaning of Things

Fri, 01 Mar 2019 02:30:27 GMT

With three growing boys and two dogs to feed, it felt as if I was at the grocery on a daily basis. Lists that included snacks for the team, treats for the dogs and the dreaded what’s for dinner tonight made the grocery like exercise, something that needed to be done. But those rainy day trips when there were a few extra minutes before carpool, I would find myself in the magazine aisle anxiously searching for the next issue of Dwell magazine. As my fingers slid back the pages, I found myself instantly transcended to a place where my life was no longer spent tripping over shoes and backpacks. There amongst the pages, I was fabulously casually dressed as I moved beautifully through my clutter-free minimalist modern life with perfectly placed pillows and crystal clean glass never once worrying about ducking to miss a flying lacrosse ball or stepping in something the dog left behind.

I could never get myself to subscribe to Dwell , too much of a commitment, too much a reminder of my own crazy life or maybe deep down I so looked forward to those quiets moments in the grocery aisle; just me and the latest issue sneaking in a few quiet moments together amongst the carts and the crowds. Each time I would come home with the magazine; a subscription would definitely have been cheaper, but the experience would not have been the same.

Dreaming of a minimalist lifestyle in the aisles of Kroger is one thing, living it, another. Like anything we aspire to, action is required and for a minimalist that often means letting go. I knew the shoes and backpacks would one day be gone and so I wasn’t ready. Our wonderfully traditional home enveloped us in its space for more, its closets and cabinets, basements and backyard offering our family a place to grow and also acquire. Twenty-two years spent there and I often wonder if things would have been different raising our sons in this modern home. Would we have acquired as much? Would we have found ways to fit it all in? We now have more square footage but each room with its walls of windows almost quietly asks us to let it go, to find more space.

I think it’s true what Frank Lloyd Wright said, “Space is the breath of art.” Space gives us room to breathe, room to create, room to be. So how we create our spaces speaks volumes to how we want to be, not always how things are. When Rob and I were first starting out, fabric covered cardboard boxes stood proudly as end tables and yard sale finds served our needs leaving space for what would come. When the boys were teenagers just gently closing the door to their room made space for peace in the home knowing one day their beds would no longer need to be made everyday. Continual purging of toys and outgrown clothing freed up overflowing drawers and closets but too often made space for more. I think about that, space for more.

Striving for a more minimalist existence, my goal now is to make space for space. To intentionally place things in my home which hold meaning. It means no longer dusting items that are there only for appearance’s sake, those things are making their way to someone else’s shelf via a favorite charitable organization. Now as I dust, I smile as books are held in place by porcelain bookends inherited from my great aunt as well as the rocks that were smuggled into pockets from our many RV adventures; these things hold meaning and so they are granted space.

There are empty walls waiting for the right art and some art holding space for the next meaningful piece and if I am patient the right piece will find me, just like this home patiently waited at the end of the street all those years. In acquiring this home, we are learning to let go, to create space not necessarily for more things, but for more memories to be made; more walks in the woods; more time with family and friends, more moments being present learning how to just be, to dwell amongst these walls that have made a space for us. It is amazing how architecture can teach us so much about living and I am forever grateful for these real life lessons graciously designed for us by those who dreamed of this home, who hands built it and whose hearts lived here before us. Thank you for holding space for me.

P.S. I finally did subscribe to Dwell magazine and who knows maybe one day I will find myself amongst the pages; that is if they consider leggings and cowboy boots fabulous fashion and dog hair desirable!

The Nest

Tue, 26 Feb 2019 00:00:00 GMT

When I Am Among the Trees

By Mary Oliver

When I am among the trees,

Especially the willows and the honey locust,

Equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,

They give off such hints of gladness.

I would almost say that they save me, and daily

I am so distant from the hope of myself,

In which I have goodness, and discernment,

And never hurry through the world

But walk slowly, and bow often.

Around me the trees stir in their leaves

And call out, “Stay awhile.”

The light flows from their branches.

And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,

“and you too have come

into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled

with light, and to shine.”

I suppose over time I will get to know each and everyone of the majestic trees that surround our new home we fittingly named the nest; but the first to give a “hint of gladness” as Mary Oliver so beautifully wrote, was the one with so little left to give. Lifeless yet still reaching ever skyward, this determined tree had spent its life right outside our living room window a full two stories above the sloping yard below.

As time had taken its toll, along with wind, weather and soil, the sap no longer flowed through its glorious veins and yet just as Shel Silverstein would have it; this tree had something more to give. Knowing it must come down, I just wasn’t prepared to let it go as we had only just met. Then one morning, it appeared between its outstretched arms - a gift - a magical nest and me with my own bird’s eye view.

I found myself speechless when one day she entrusted me with a view of her three vibrant blue speckled eggs as I smiled knowing we shared the same number of offspring. She gallantly stood watch and I could sense her struggle when she had to leave her babies behind in order to feed them and when she knew the moment came when it was time for them to leave. What a beautiful offering this mother robin had extended to me and how humbling the unconditional gift of this tree. One last act of kindness, one more feat of grace, a safe space to land, I knew I was home.

Each day, through patience and acquaintance, this mother robin invited me along her journey. Her diligence and daily labors reminded me of the valiant efforts required to bring new life into this world. The lifeless limbs supporting her family couldn’t help but remind me of those who have gone before me that made a space for me here in this world. None of which is an easy feat, an amazing set of circumstances, people, grace and luck (albeit, one in the same) I am still here in this world and the gratitude for that fact leaves me breathless.

Although their limbs, their sap, their energy, their efforts are no longer, their love lives on through my life and if I listen closely I can hear the leaves of my family trees still rustle when the winds blows and I can rest in their shadow knowing they gave me everything they had to give. And as for mother robin, she inspired me to start a new chapter in my new nest.

Right Where We Belong

Mon, 18 Feb 2019 00:00:00 GMT

Embedded in my memory as if it were just this morning, I often still awake reminded of the dream that quietly whispered one night that I would be living in this house. Easy to dismiss as the mind letting go while my body slept, something was so very different about that dream; an angel, the universe, God, intuition, whatever you want to call it, that dream was a clear promise I would be living in this house one day and a reminder to trust and to believe. Crazy how sometimes dreams really do come true and in my case it was literally lying in wait for 22 years just down the street.

The story of our modern home began three years prior when our first offer was outbid and the hopes we had of making the move were dashed. Rob and I surrendered the sale trusting that it wasn’t the right time, the right move, the right whatever it was that it would take for us to let go of this house. Despite our best efforts, neither one of us could seem to relinquish the hopes, the home, the dream. Unbeknownst to each other, we found ourselves walking the dog or driving down to the end of our street, just wondering what the new owners were doing with their fabulous architectural find. As I helped clients with their homes, I couldn’t help but contribute more photos, more plans, more ideas to the house folder I had begun with our first offer. Then it happened; I had the dream.

Never one to recall my dreams in the morning, this one had me sitting up proclaiming, “We are going to live in that house!” I saw myself years from now reading to a grandchild tucked under in a cozy nook at the bottom of the tree house stairs. It was so real, I was amazed at the detail and in that same dream I wasn’t just reading, I was writing as well; a diary of this modern home. Needless to say I am writing this as one should not mess with the universe, especially when it provides!

Following another wishful thinking walk with our dog CJ, Rob came home one day and said, “Let’s just put a letter in their mailbox, what have we got to lose? You never know people’s circumstances.” As circumstances would have it, Rob returned the next day to find a For Sale sign in the yard. Immediately I called the realtor and no offers, no appointments were accepted until the Open House just a few days away. As I toured during the Open House, admiring all the work the owners had lovingly put into this home, I couldn’t help but feel the pressure of the number of people passing through the doors and so along with our realtor, made an appointment to return the next day. By the time I arrived, an offer was on the table and my heart was in my throat. I couldn’t even entertain the worries of how, when, or what, I knew down to my core I was going to live here and it required a determined leap of faith and a rather large earnest check!

So as I write this, I can’t help but be distracted by the dramatic dives of the hawk outside my window as I settle into the home that was meant to be. The worry, the move, the stress, like so many things in life begin to fade as I continue to move forward on this life’s path; and yet, every ounce of each growing pain was worth carrying in order to literally move me forward and just a half mile down the street. As for the grandchildren, we have a few years to go for that, but I look forward to reading to that dearest one in the cozy nook where my soul has found its home.