One Deep Breath-Ceremony and Ritual

When I was a child, my mother and grandmother had a weekly ritual for completing all their domestic tasks. My mother used to recite a little poem that explained the basis for much of their work pattern: Wash on Monday, Iron on Tuesday, Bake on Wednesday, Shop on Thursday, Sweep on Friday, Mend on Saturday, Rest on Sunday, and on Monday, start all over again!

There is actual historical basis for this rhyme, which goes like this:

Apparently the women of the Mayflower came ashore on Monday, November 13, 1620 (two days after the men). The first thing they did was wash clothing made filthy from sixty-eight days at sea (yech!). This established an orderly ritual reflected by the following rhyme:

Wash on Monday,Iron on Tuesday,Bake on Wednesday,Brew on Thursday,Churn on Friday,Mend on Saturday,Go to meeting on Sunday. Weren't those Puritan's organized?

I notice that my family's version was a little different, probably because we didn't brew, churn, or "go to meeting!" But, I'm surprised at how much of this ritual I've retained in my housekeeping practices (which are definitely not up to my mother's standards, let alone the Puritans)! So today when I was loading my washing machine, I started composing some haiku around these homemaking rituals.

Monday's wash line dries in the sun - wind whipped freshness Crisp white linen button-down collars,cuffs linked with gold elegant man Sweet fragrant aroma spices the air with love - appetites aroused!

Market day riches fruits, veggies galore shopping cart brimful of bounty

Stiff whiskered broom dusty corners swept clean secret cobwebs disappear

Clothes torn and tattered beg stitches to mend nimble fingers deftly fly Rocking chair waits Drowsy sleeper lulled gently into her day of rest For more haiku, go here

Birthday Surprises

My dad just celebrated his 80th birthday, and on Saturday, I attended a surprise party given by his wife, his stepchildren, his stepgrandchildren, and a whole group of his friends that I had never met. If you had asked me 10 years ago whether I could have gone to a party like this, I would undoubtedly have answered "No *#$(@&* way!" But, age has a way of changing a person, and I guess we've both mellowed quite a bit in those intervening 10 years. So, I put on my game face, and showed up. He was well and truly surprised, and genuinely pleased at my presence.

Twenty years ago, 0n my dad's 60th birthday, my mother and I gave him a surprise birthday party. It was a little different than this one, but not a whole lot. About 25-30 members of his family, friends and business associates were there that day too. It was held in the dining room of the country club he had recently joined, instead of the lake front home of an old friend. He was totally and honestly surprised then as well. However, there were some notable differences in the two parties. At his 60th birthday party, my mother was the woman holding his hand during the toasts. When he opened gifts and cards, I was the one who jotted notes about who had given him what. And when he cut the cake, it was my 10 year old son, his only grandchild, who proudly helped him serve.

A lot has happened in the twenty years between those two parties. An affair that was meant to be kept secret was discovered. A 40 year marriage dissolved bitterly and acrimoniously. A young woman lost a lot of respect for her father, and a little boy lost the company of a grandfather he idolized.

For a long time, I guarded my pain and anger toward my father like a dog guards a bone. It was my power, my vindication, my strength. But about two years ago, I was gifted with the grace of forgiveness (which I wrote about here). So I was able to attend this surprise party, albeit with some moments of very bittersweet sadness, but also with some moments of genuine pleasure. No one was more surprised about that than I.

The Riddle of Home

"When I finish my travels I will solve the riddle of home.

When I finish my travels, I will know the answer."

A Year In The World, Frances Mayes

I love Frances Mayes' writing. I just closed the cover on her latest, A Year In The World, and I feel as if I've traveled along with her from Istanbul to Lochleaven and everywhere in between.

It isn't just the picturesque travelogue she brings us in her books, it's her evocative writing style, rife with homey personal details about each day on the road, what she and her traveling companions eat and do, the history of the places they visit, and what it all means to her. I copied huge chunks of her writing into my own notebook, just for the pleasure of having her words flow vicariously from my own pen.

In this book, Mayes often alludes to her relationship with "home." She writes that her "profound desire for home, for the profoundly beautiful nest, the kitchen garden, the friends gathered at my table, for the candlelit baths, and the objects arranged and the books in order, and most of all the sense of this is my place - all that has been at the mercy of an equal force, the desire to shut the door, turn the key, and go. Go."

I have been wrestling with the idea of "home" for the past few days myself, as I am extremely drawn to "GO" - to France, to Florida, to England, to California, to all the places that I already know I love as well as those that are enticing me because they hold the promise of new vistas and exciting adventures. But, in equal measure, I am held back by the safety and familiarity of my own "beautiful nest," and the sense that "this is my place." It is, as Mayes puts it, an "oxymoronic desire, for the domestic and the opposite."

For me, my struggle with leaving home is deeply rooted in my upbringing, which Mayes also acknowledges is true for all of us. "The first events in your life slap you into the shape you take," she writes. When I was a child, my family never traveled- there was something mysteriously fearful about leaving home, some bad thing that would or could happen, and it just wasn't worth taking the chance. I think I still harbor the fear that, if I leave home, something "bad" will happen not to me, but to the ones I leave behind, almost as "punishment" for my wanderlust.

In spite of the fears, the wanderlust is still there. So I devour books like Mayes', filled with the images and impressions of a life so different from my own. I eagerly gobble up friends descriptions of their trips, and gaze hungrily at the photos they post on the internet. I think there is magic in traveling, in the wisdom you gain from it, the sense of personal satisfaction, the possibilities it opens in your mind. Mayes concludes her narrative by saying that her travels are like the gift of a "transforming angel: you go out, far out, and when you return, you have the power to transform your life." As much as I love my backyard these days, I also have a huge appetite for life transformation. I just need the courage to get up from the table and partake of the feast.

A Day of Emminent Beauty

This morning's view from my back porch

There was really nothing special about today - it was just an ordinary Wednesday (which actually felt like a Monday because of the extra long holiday weekend). But there was something so perfectly summerlike about it - the sky a glorious azure, nicely dotted with puffy white clouds, the breeze soft and refreshingly cool, the steam from the coffee cup I took onto the porch swirling exotically in front of my nose- that it seemed to have a mystical aura. As soon as I got to the office, I opened the window nearest my desk, and was treated to a riotous concert of birds all a-twitter, drowning out the monotonous sound of my tap-tapping fingers on the keyboard. We've had just enough rain this summer that our little avian friends can enjoy puddle baths on a daily basis, and their musical abilities have improved greatly because of it!

Over the past few years, there has been some discussion in our house about moving to Florida full time. After all, our only child has made his life there, and we already have a lovely, brand new home waiting for us. I admit that the winters here in the midwest can be brutally cold, gray, and interminaby long. I'm all for Florida in the winter, where most of the days feel a lot like today. But Florida in the summer - oh, it's really unpleasant. Hot heavy air, deluges of rain when you least expect it, and of course, the ever present threat of devastion from hurricanes.

So, sitting on my back porch enjoying the sunset on the waning hours of this astoundingly beautiful day in Michigan, I had a bit of an epiphany. I don't want to give up summers like these. I guess part of me will always be a "Michigander"- it's more home to me than I thought.

One Deep Breath-Journey

'Cross the pond

verdant hills, ancient stones

remarkable experience

In May 2005, I traveled to England for the first time. I fell in love with the green hills and valleys, and was moved by the ancient villages, churches, and stone circles. Although we celebrate America's 230th birthday today, this journey reminded me that, historically speaking, our country is still just a toddler!