Month: August 2018

In honor of my mom’s birthday tomorrow I’ve decided to share this throwback writer’s workshop post from 2010.

While watching our old home movies recently, I couldn’t help but be impressed with my mother’s sewing skills. She really was a master.

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Wednesday May 5, 2010

Thanks Mom…

WRITER’S WORKSHOP PROMPT:
Memories of Mom

Of course I have many, many memories of my mom (still making more too thankfully) but for some reason the first thought that came to my mind when I read this prompt was…
Dresses.

My mom was a master seamstress (I say was because she rarely sews anymore). She made all of our clothes growing up. All. of. them. And she did an amazing job.

I especially loved Easter because that meant new (often matching) dresses hand made by Mom for us to wear to church.

My mom sewed like this until we began to get older and needed (NEEDED) the mall in our lives.

And it was at the mall in oh so posh Scottsdale that another fond dress memory took place. It was there that my mom and I went to look for a dress for my senior prom and found the dress pictured above.

Though the details don’t show in the picture, this dress was sparkly, chic and gorgeous. My mom and I fell in love with it the minute I put it  on.

I remember it was over our budget but my mom wanted to buy it for me anyway. This was something that rarely happened and it made me feel special that she would do that for me.

On a side note:

I was not a froofy prom dress girl. See exhibit B, the above picture of my junior prom. Notice no froof. I liked sleek simplicity.

Which brings us to the memory of my most important dress of all.

They say every girl dreams of her wedding day. Well every girl but me.

I was pretty nonchalant about the whole wedding planning business. “Whatever” seemed to be my motto (but I’ll save that story for another post). So I’m very lucky that my mom used her keen eye to find a large, boxie wedding gown (much too big for me) on the sales rack of a bridal boutique, then immediately see the potential in its beautiful beaded fabric.

We snatched up that dress, took it to a seamstress and had it made into a gorgeous gown just for me (with not too much froof. Small bell, no train…you know).

I love being a girl (you can be girly without liking froof) and I owe much of this to the example of my mother who, from my earliest memories, made it fun to get dressed up and be pretty.

 

 

“I signed up to audition for American Idol.”  Jamie told me a few months ago.  “It’s on my bucket list.”

So yesterday Jamie, Easton and I found ourselves in Scottsdale livin’ the dream.  And what fun we had.

“I do not leap or jump for the landing.  I leap for the experience through the air. Because we cannot predict the landing.”  ~Brene Brown

I’ve shared this quote before.  I thought I believed it. But yesterday.  Yesterday it really clicked for me.

Yesterday Jamie took the leap, pulling Easton and me up with her to soar.

We soared through moments of the most fantastic people watching and long lines spent with interesting, kind and hilarious dreamers.  We soared through pleasant, supportive interactions with the American Idol staff and through the soul rousing energy felt when a large crowd comes together in the unity of song.  We soared as we finally reached the front of the line and while watching Jamie disappear behind the doors to her audition.

We soared through our day–giddy in the altitude–before gliding downward, landing softly, gratefully on the ground.

Jamie walked away with an item checked off her bucket list and I–through Jamie’s example–walked away with a new found desire for more experience through the air.

“What if everything in life could be like this?”  I asked my girls on our drive home,  “What if we were never attached to the outcome?  What if we did everything simply for the experience of doing it?  No pressure.  No fear.  Just experience.  What fun we would have.”

I then shared with them my resolve to leap.  More fully.  More often.

I’ll do it simply for the experience.  No pressure.  No fear.  Just experience.

And what fun I will have!

 

 

 

I love watering day.  I never thought I’d be able to say that.  I’ve killed too many plants to believe it possible.

But this summer I decided to try again.

And this summer my plants began to die.

Again.

I felt discouraged and went back to believing I simply do not posses a green thumb.

“Pray over  your plants.”  The prompting came often.

I ignored it.

I ignored it, believing I did not have time to study it out in my mind.  I ignored it, feeling I didn’t want to spend hours learning about plant care. Especially when everything I had learned or been taught in the past had ultimately failed.

I didn’t know how I could pray for help if I wasn’t willing to do my part.

But the promptings wouldn’t stop.  So I stopped.

And I prayed.

The answer came in the form of a short, simple Youtube video.  Why I hadn’t considered Youtube before I cannot say.  But oh the success I have found from the things I learned there.

Now, visiting my plants throughout my house and on my porch each morning fills me with joy.

And I love watering day.

Today I face new challenges. Challenges much bigger and seemingly more impossible than developing a green thumb. But today I do not ignore the prompting to pray.  Because I know If God is willing to help me with His most simple creations, He is certain to help me with a creation born in His own image.

“Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, and not one of them is forgotten before God?

But even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.  Fear not therefore: ye are of more value than many sparrows.”

I know as I work to continually align my will with God’s I will witness miracles.  I already have.

And when I look at my thriving plants, plants that were an impossible dream to me just a few months ago, I remember to walk in faith and marvel not at what God can do.

 

 

Lamell Lewis is the owner of the happiest place on the mountain.  My happy place.  Lamell helped me to overcome the depression that threatened to destroy me when I moved to this small town by offering the most glorious antiques and collectibles I’ve used to personalize my home and make it my own.

I love going to Lamell’s.

So when he retired two years ago, auctioning off all of his wares, I was bummed to say the least.

But then the heavens parted and the sun shone down, bringing joy to my broken heart.  Lamell came back!

Going to Lamell’s has become one of my favorite birthday traditions.  Each year on or near my birthday Rick gifts me a wad of cash, takes me to Lamell’s and says, “Be free my little hoarder.  Be free.”

Only he doesn’t really call me a hoarder because I’m not a hoarder. Not really.  Which is why I do not now own this amazing dresser found on this years birthday trip.

I wish I owned it–wish I could see it everyday–because when we met, this dresser and I, the energy between us was overwhelming.

“I’ve seen that smile somewhere before, I’ve heard that voice before, It seems we’ve talked like this before.”

That type of energy comes from some sort of nostalgic connection and when I feel it I know I’ll love and cherish that item FOREVER.

My house is sprinkled with forever items that make my heart smile.

But because I’m not a hoarder–not really–and I don’t have a place in my home for the forever dresser, we parted ways, agreeing to hold each other always in our memories.

I’m currently learning to separate myself from ego, participating in daily exercises to help me accomplish this.  Two recent exercises required me to look around and say this:

1. Nothing I see in this room [on this street, from this window, in this place] means anything.

2. I have given everything I see in this room [on this street, from this window, in this place] all the meaning that it has for me.

Reflecting on these exercises made me realize that I gave the forever dresser (and all of my things) meaning.  I gave it meaning because of how it made me feel.  It made me feel happy because it reminded me of my grandparents’ home and my grandparents’ home was always a happy place.

I gave it meaning because it represented love.

I am not what I see in this room [on this street, from this window (in this mirror) in this place] I am love.

But I’ll still keep visiting Lamell’s, even though I’m not a hoarder.  Not really.

Because love lives there.

 

 

Hey Dad,

Well. I made it.

Forty-nine.

I’m officially older than you.

I’m going to like year forty-nine, just as I’ve loved every year before.  I have you to thank for that.  When you left so young I learned that aging is not something to mourn.  It’s a gift.  A gift that was denied you.  A gift I will honor as long as it’s mine.

We had a conversation once–you and I–before you were sick, before any of us knew your life would be short.  You told me you didn’t like that your eyes were starting to show their age.  Didn’t like the bags that were forming beneath them.  You said you might look into getting them fixed someday.

The thing is I never thought about age when I looked into your eyes. All I ever saw was a sparkle.  A sparkle for life and for those you loved. Your eyes made me feel loved.  Nothing else mattered.

I try to remember that as I age, when I think I might want to get something fixed.  I try to remember that if my face shows a sparkle–for life and for those I love–if love shines through my eyes and makes others feel special, nothing else matters.

So I’ll continue forward in joy, accumulating new wrinkles and bags–wrinkles and bags I would love to see on you now–while I work toward having an extraordinary soul instead of an extraordinary face.

It’s all I’ve ever wanted you know, to have an extraordinary soul.

This my forty-ninth year is filled with new challenges. You know what they are.  I feel you with me, helping me through them.  I’m grateful for that.

I’m grateful for the challenges too.  I know they’ll change me.  They already have.  I’m having to grow, to fight, to tap into all of the gifts afforded to me as a child of God.  It’s exhausting, scary and exciting all at the same time.  I love to see what God can do.

I’m grateful to you and Mom for showing me how to sacrifice in charity and love.  Your example gives me the strength I need now.  Thank you.

And thank you for the Christmas of 1986 and my beautiful Karmann Ghia.  My kids surprised me with DVD copies of our old home movies for my birthday.  I loved seeing that sparkle in your eyes as you talked about gifting me that car.

Thank you for being my dad.  Thank you for loving me.

And thank you for being with me now, for guiding me through this life. Because even though I’m now older than you, I still need you.  I need you more than ever.

And I love you always.