Hey, blogger friends, regular friends, and creatives behind the scenes at WordPress 🙂
The timing of this writing prompt is weirdly perfect for me on this calm Tuesday morning here in Minnesconsin.
I haven’t published a blog post in a couple of weeks or so for a million good reasons, none of which are that I haven’t wanted to.
But right now, in this moment, I feel at peace. The house is quiet, the doggies are too (which is liable to change any second now).
The only sound I’m hearing this morning is the soft snoring of the little babe right next to me.
Yes, I’m watching our 6-week-old grandbaby Levi today while his Mommy goes to work (her second day back after maternity leave) and his Daddy attends to some important personal business until later this afternoon.
Watching him is absolutely mesmerizing to me. Those little fluttering eyelids and occasional smiles as he enjoys his sweet baby dreams. The little bit of drool escaping his perfect little rosebud lips. Those soft cheeks that are getting chubbier by the day.
Any thoughts I had upon waking this morning about what needs to get done on my ever-evolving “to-do” list have evaporated. This babe with spit bubbles forming on his lips is all that matters right now, and I’m going to soak up this beautiful peace this morning and let things be.
Over the course of my life, I have been fortunate to be the recipient of several quilts and afghans.
My mom, Bonnie, was so creative. I am a creative spirit as well, but the execution of my creative ideas is historically pretty spotty. One of Bonnie’s creative pursuits was sewing quilts and making afghans. They are some of my most prized possessions.
I am in awe of those who can create in this way. I never had the manual dexterity nor the type of brain required to create works of art such as these. In fact, I vividly recall back in about 8th grade being unable to finish the sundress I was supposed to make in Home-Ec class. My BFF, who had decided to sew herself a sundress alongside me in this class, also had a mother who was a talented seamstress, I wound up relying on her to finish my pitiful project. God bless that woman. Don’t ask me why I didn’t ask Bonnie for help, because I don’t recall. I imagine shame was involved.
This is all to say that I cherish the quilts and afghans that have been bequethed to me over the years because of the love, artistry, and tedious work that was put into them.
If you’ve been reading this little blog of mine for a bit, you may recall that Mr. NOA and I recently celebrated our 35th wedding anniversary. There was one very special gift we were given as a wedding present.
It was this quilt.
It was made by Paula, the wife of Mr. NOA’s boss at the time, a man named Ken. Mr. NOA, who is a bit more than 3 years younger than me, was in his last year of college when he was hired by Ken, who ran a small vending machine business that stocked vending machines on our college campus and the larger community. Ken was blind and needed someone to not only help him with the manual labor of stocking the vending machines but he also needed a driver.
The fact that Paula, whom I believe I only met once or twice, sewed this quilt for us to commemorate our new marriage, really touched our hearts.
This quilt has been laid on by drooling babies (our daughter being the first). It has kept us warm while we laid under it on our tent-camping trips. It has served as protection for us as a family from the rugged ground it covered as we watched the fireworks on the 4th of July or enjoyed live music outdoors.
For the last three years, however, this quilt has been quietly taking up space in the trunk at the foot of our bed.
As I got a wild hair the other night and decided to pull this beauty out of its hiding spot, Mr. NOA and I talked about its future.
I think one of two things ought to happen: I find a local seamstress who can restore it to it’s former glory (if you zoom in, you can see the rips and tears here and there), OR I find another creative who can repurpose it. I’m thinking they would carefully cut it up and place it in a shadowbox frame. Maybe a couple of them, so baby Levi (who’s coming soon!) can have one hanging in his room too.
Mr. NOA, on the other hand, said he thinks we should just…let it be. Keep it in it’s current form and use it as we always have. Maybe we could lay it out in our yard late at night and gaze at the stars with it underneath our outstretched bodies. Maybe it could be cover for our 11 year-old grandson when he’s sleeping overnight with us in our camper. Maybe we pull it out for Levi to rest on when he’s at our house and it’s “tummy time”.
Knowing myself as I think I do, I feel a sense of urgency to decide this beloved heirloom’s fate; otherwise there’s a damn good chance it’s going back in the trunk and forgotten about while my brain comes up with yet another creative repurposing idea that may never come to fruition.
~As always, I have a song to share that fits the vibe I’m in while writing this piece today~
I recently caught myself adding “make to-do lists” for various events coming up in my life on my semi-regular weekly “to-do” list.
Yes, I am neurotic. And/or ADHD.
Let’s just say I am in full-on planning mode right now, friends. I am a bit out of practice in this arena, as the last gathering I executed with more than 8 invitees was almost 10 years ago.
The nearest of these happenings is the baby shower I’m planning for my beautiful daughter, who just arrived at the third trimester of her second pregnancy. This is coming up in less than 2 weeks.
Yikes!
I’ve got games lined up. What’s a baby shower without a few goofy games, right? One of the games is an A-Z challenge where people are given a set amount of time to write down baby names. Whoever gets the most wins a prize.
Silly yet serious question: do I play a song-maybe one with the word baby in the title, or use one of the plastic hourglass timers from one of the many board games we rarely play, while folks are rapidly trying to capture every baby name they can think of on paper? I want to make sure everyone has enough, but not too much, time for this challenge.
Here’s another one: do I fulfill my hosting daydreams by baking various sweet treats to display on the beautiful tiered treat stand thing that I’m on a mission to buy this weekend? In addition to the cake I ordered yesterday from the grocery store bakery, because like those aforementioned goofy games, what’s a baby shower without a cake?
These are but a few of the thoughts that are plaguing my brain these days.
These two kids of ours-our daughter and her fiance-have not yet determined baby’s name. There have been a few (which I won’t share because one of them I really love and secretly hope they choose and I don’t want to jinx it) they have talked about, but at this point they think they’ll know baby’s name when they see his face.
Plot twist!
I wrote the above paragraph earlier in the week…and guess what? Our daughter texted me yesterday to say they have landed on a name. It is the one I favored! His name will be Levi.
From parents.com: The name Levi has become a favorite amongst new parents for being both traditional and trendy. It means “united,” “joined,” or, sometimes, “joined in harmony.”
To think that 11 years ago, I was beside myself with angst about becoming a first-time grandma at the oh-so-young age of 47!
I’ve looped in our daughter’s fiance’s mom and step-mom to help with executing this affair. I find it slightly awkward texting back and forth with them, as I’ve only met them in person a handful of times since our kids got together almost 3 years ago. But I am looking forward to interacting with my future son-in-law’s large family as time goes on. This baby shower is going to usher in the joining of our families.
Isn’t it just an amazing and beautiful thing how families evolve over time?
Enjoy this cover of a sweet song I love to sing to babies!
Well, two women I loved and the “Pearls of Wisdom” theme the non-profit I work at has going on to celebrate our 30th year of serving the senior citizens and adults living with disabilities in our county. Because the traditional gift for 30 year anniversaries is pearls.
The two women I am referring to are my grandmothers, who both passed away years ago, when I was a young adult.
Both of my grandmothers were named Pearl.
Recently, I found what is surely the only photo in my family’s history of the three of us together. I, aged 8 or 9, in my red, snazzy, and bedazzled dance costume flanked on either side by a Pearl.
I’m so bummed that I cannot find that photo for the life of me.
But I did find these two:
Me, in my baby goblin era, with my dad’s Mom, Pearl.
What I’m certain is the last photo with me and the other Pearl (my mom’s Mom) when I was 19.
The two Pearls were very different from each other. Like, very.
One tended to stay awake late into the night playing solitaire.
The other read tarot cards in her younger days, which my Grandpa was vehemently opposed to. Something about it being “devil’s work”.
One was a great cook. The two things I clearly remember her making on the regular was chili with big chunks of celery, stewed tomatoes, and spaghetti. It was more like soup, but my mouth waters whenever I recall how delicious it was. The other was white cake with chocolate frosting. I remember there always seemed to be one of those cakes sitting on top of her washing machine (why there is beyond me).
The other Pearl comes to mind when I smell Noxema. The woman used it religiously. Speaking of religion, she was a believer of the evangelical pentacostal variety. She donated gobs of money over the years to the Billy Graham/700 Club nonsense. She was a teetotaler.
My other Grandma Pearl loved to laugh and socialize, (though I don’t think she was laughing when our family accidentally left her at Disneyland during our one-and-only big cross-country multi-family vacation in about 1974. A stellar moment in our family).
The other Pearl was a bit misunderstood and under-appreciated. I, along with several of my family members, believe she was living with an undiagnosed case of manic-depressive or bipolar mental illness. She could be super silly but also super not. We never knew what version of her to expect when we came to visit. One famous story from my mom’s youngest sister was when her friend Ruthie came to hang out after school, Grandma Pearl, for whatever reason, wanted her gone. She told Ruthie, “why don’t you go home and get acquainted with your own mother?” My aunt was mortified!
I’d really like to learn more about my two Pearls. Perhaps I will bite the bullet and sign up for one of those ancestry dna sites, so I can learn more about their lives before they became my Grandmas. Maybe that’d give me more of a notion of what their “pearls of wisdom” would be if they were still here with the rest of us.
Please don’t hold back with sharing your “pearls of wisdom” with me in the comments. The more original, the better!
If I could be anywhere with anyone this Valentine’s Day, it’d be with Mr. None of the Above in the audience of Tina Fey and Amy Poehler’s “Restless Leg Tour”. I believe they are in NYC tonight. I came upon this tour online a couple of weeks ago and quickly shared it with Mr. None of the Above. I told him I figured it’d take about a couple grand for the two of us to fly to NYC (one of my top U.S. future travel destinations). This would include airfare, hotel, meals, and show tickets.
He laughed and laughed. Fucker.
No, I jest. Of course I didn’t think he’d agree that this was a great decision for us financially or that it was even feasible given our work and life schedules. But I enjoyed the fantasy while it lasted. Sigh.
I believe, however, that if Tina and Amy could understand how much I love that they are doing this show and for how long I have truly admired them as women in the world of comedy, they would certainly decide to book more shows closer to where we live. We could easily make the trip to Minneapolis or St. Paul, Madison or Milwaukee. Plus, I also have restless leg syndrome so that counts for something, right?
How about you, my lovely readers? What would be your heart’s desire if you could be anywhere with anyone on this Valentine’s Day?
Or, if you’re not feeling particularly dreamy today, how about just pausing to consider the things, whether they be non-things like people or pets, or experiences/activities, or physically tangible things that we are absolutely loving right now?
I’ll go first (like there’s another option here).
My best friendship and marriage (34 years in May!) with Mr. NOA
Taken in the early aughts and still one of my favorite pics
The badass female energy I’m surrounded by these days, at work, in my personal life and online. I’m embracing it and grateful for it. It’s inspiring me and enlightening me and I never want to take it for granted.
Speaking of being enlightened, I am really having a moment with reading. I am happy to report that I’m making progress on my ridiculous goal of reading 24 books in 2024. I’m currently reading book #3: The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers. Wow. It is amazing that she wrote this when she was just 23. It’s like she must have been infused at birth with an old, wise soul to come up with such a rich story with fully drawn out characters.
These two fluffballs: our boy Radar and his little companion, Max, a pug/dachsund mix. We had Max overnight recently so my daughter and grandson could visit the kiddo’s other grandparents.
Naturally, Radar is chewing Max’s toy and Max is chewing Radar’s
Speaking of puppies, did you all catch the “Puppy Bowl” this past Sunday? Man, watching that brought me so much joy! Note to self: find it again and record it on your DVR for whenever you need a lift.
Another thing that has been giving me consistent lifts these days is streaming music on The Current. I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned this wonderful MPR (Minnesota Public Radio) station in previous blog posts, but either way, I am certain you will love it. They have great programs, like “United States of Americana” with Bill DeVille on Sunday mornings. They play a humongous and eclectic mix of music genres: folk, rock, hip-hop, blues, funk, and so much more, both old and brand spanking new stuff. Listening to this station on the regular keeps me, well, current.
I love comments on my blog posts too, folks! I would love to read about the things you are loving in the here and now. The things/people/places that are making your heart soar.
This past Sunday morning, as I was spewing out my thoughts and feelings into my personal draft folder, I caught a glimpse of the most precious thing.
Or, to be more exact, the most precious furry being there ever was: our good boy, Radar.
This is what I wrote:
I just got distracted by Radar. Normally the distraction is in the form of an unanticpated barking session. But this one is sublime. He’s curled up and sleeping next to the front door. Basking in the square of sunlight that landed on the green carpet he’s laying on. With his front paws beneath his head, and his right paw laying atop one of his most favorite toys. That tough navy and bright green wheel thing he got in his monthly Bark Box.
I resisted my usual temptation of grabbing my phone and snapping a picture. I decided it was unnecessary; and besides, the chances that he’d still be there in that exact position by the time I was ready to snap one were slim to none.
I did get this one a bit later in the day, however, as he was laying on the floor as Mr. None of the Above and I watched the Vikings vs. Packers game.
Look at the gorgeous mane!
Here’s one in which he’s wearing his “day of the dead” bandana while sharing the love seat with me and his favorite afghan, which was made by my mom.
Ain’t he a beaut?
Back to the Bark Box subscription. We signed up for it back when we lived in Colorado. When we moved to Minnesconsin in 2022, I re-started it. Not at all making any note whatsoever on my calendar so I could consider if it ought to continue after six months. So of course, that date came and went and I noticed a charge on our bank account for another six months. Radar had accumulated so many “tough chewer” toys via this subscription, but here it was already paid for. So we’ve been periodically sharing the treats and toys with other doggie friends because we simply don’t have the room for so much!
You should see this dog when the monthly Bark Box comes. He knows what it is when he sees it. He pounces, barks, wagging his tail as he expresses his jubilation. I have this little fantasy in my head that one day he’s going to manage to open it up all by himself, you know, after he grows thumbs, but for now I unseal it, then set it down on the floor for him to finish. It is the most hilarious thing ever and I’ve captured it on video but am not sure it’s good enough to share in this space.
I’m just so darn grateful for this goofy pooch of ours.
Last month, I went to the Minnesota State Fair with Mr. None of the Above, our grandson, and our daughter. We met up with our best couple friends, who drove over from far northern Wisconsin.
As we were strolling along, taking in all the sights and sounds, we came upon a booth where a friendly pastor-type older gentleman began proselytizing to us. In spite of being a Christian, when people I don’t know attempt this with me, I cringe inside. I was ready to start slinking away when my bestie, Sara, began chatting with this man.
As she was speaking with him, I learned that he was from “up north”, near where I was born and raised and where Sara and her husband live. He mentioned the town of Silver Bay, Minnesota and then how he had been a chaplain at the Veterans home there.
The Veterans home is where my dad, “Babe”, was living when he passed away. Naturally, I mentioned that. He then went on to tell me how he knew my father, having spent time praying with and for him during his final days. He talked about how my dad loved the music of John Denver, and how while my dad was no longer verbal at that point, he sensed that my dad was a man of great faith. This chaplain, Randy, also relayed that he knew my sister, as she also worked at the Veterans home.
I was so moved by this. My heart swelled, thinking of my dear dad lying there as he was about to cross over, with this kind man bearing witness and providing him comfort. It also brought me sadness at the fact that I was unable to get there to kiss and hug my dad before he passed.
I ask you…what are the odds that this would happen? I do believe in coincidences, but I’m not convinced this was one.
Of course, I had to snap a selfie with Chaplain Randy.
I tell you all this story today as it would have been my dad’s 92nd birthday today.
What I wouldn’t give for my dad to be here, celebrating at my house in Minnesconsin. He had such an appreciation for the beauty of nature and I know he would love the view from the big window in our living room. I’d love to be able to sit with him, drinking Bloody Mary’s with beer chasers (a “snit” is what Dad called it) on our little deck as Radar barked at all the squirrels and birds that stopped by.
It just so happens that our daughter’s boyfriend also has a birthday today. He turns 28, so it’s his golden birthday. Dad would have loved this guy. He would have welcomed him into our family with open arms. He would have been impressed with Dylan’s work ethic, how he’s a wonderful role model and father figure for our grandson, and how much he adores our beautiful daughter.
The other night, I watched the best thing I’ve seen in a good long while. It was a Brandi Carlile concert on the streaming platform, HBO Max. I liked it so much that I watched it twice.
This concert was nothing short of magical.
The setting was in California’s Laurel Canyon (hence the title “In The Canyon Haze”). This was a loving nod to all the fabulous music that came out of there in the late ’60s and ’70s. I loved the “Hotel California” style vibes. Brandi and her multi-talented band performed songs from her latest album, “In These Silent Days” as the sun slowly set. She answered questions from audience members who were watching on IMAX screens live across the country. She performed a couple of covers of other artists’ songs (which I will provide no spoilers for but assure you will enjoy). It was so well produced. As it went on, it just kept getting better and better. I guarantee it’s going to win all the awards it’s nominated for.
In other words, I highly recommend that you watch this.
Brandi’s song, “Stay Gentle”, was one I hadn’t heard before. It reminded me of a special piece of artwork that I acquired from my dad, which I wrote a blog post about in 2018. What follows is a re-imagining of that blog post, because, with this song, Brandi reminded me of the power of this message.
I don’t know the origin story of this sign.
I can only imagine that someone made it back in the early 70s and gave it to my parents. I just remember it hanging on the fiberboard walls of my dad’s beloved garage while I was growing up. I can only assume that my mom couldn’t find quite the right place to display it in our house. Or she found it tacky.
But my dad had an appreciation for this sign. It meant something to him. It was hung on those fiberboard walls next to scribblings from family and friends from near and far who were visiting our house for one celebration or another. Dad got a big kick out of having guests sign the wall in the garage to commemorate various celebrations. To some, he was gruff, but those who loved him best knew he was quite the sentimental guy.
It’s bittersweet for me to re-share this now, with the knowledge that someone new is living in this house. Dad passed away in 2018, and Mom in 2019. The house was sold earlier this year.
As a silly 13-year-old, I christened myself the cutest “chic that ever came here”.
I think first and foremost, these words, “Life is fragile, be gentle”, are the crux of self-compassion. It’s so easy to go through our days mentally haranguing ourselves about how we could have done “this” better, or how we shouldn’t have said “that” to whomever, and all that unhelpful baloney. I strive to put my self-defeating thoughts on pause and ask myself if the negative thoughts about myself would be something I would say out loud (or even under my breath) to a close friend. The answer is always, emphatically, “no”. This simple phrase, “Life is fragile, be gentle”, puts me in that head and heart space where I can do that.
I believe if we have any hope of ushering in a kinder, less dysfunctional, society, we should endeavor to heed these words in our day-to-day interactions with ourselves and others, whether they be strangers or friends.
A recent brawl discussion I inadvertently started on Facebook with a meme expressing my love and support of the LGBTQIA+ community frustrated me.
It was this meme:
Simple and to the point, right? Not up for discussion for me. Yet, a Facebook friend decided that this was an opportunity to pose as someone who is genuinely curious and open-minded. It was merely an excuse for this person to question the legitimacy of others who feel and think differently than them about their sexuality and gender identity.
I’d love to say that I got into the fray, but I didn’t. Chalk it up to being a person who shies away from conflict, but I can tell you that any response I would have given would have not made one lick of a difference in this person’s attitude or opinions. Also, two other friends of mine on Facebook, both members of the LGBTQIA+ community, responded with statistics and insights in a way that I could not have. So I let it be.
I’m an ally, striving to a better one. My youngest kid is queer and trans. I love them not “in spite” of their gender identity and sexual orientation, but in part because of it.
I love that my kid knows who they are at their core. I love that my kid felt comfortable coming out to Hubs and me. I love that my kid has a big heart for all, but especially for those in their community who haven’t found acceptance in their family of origin. A big part of what they do in their job is to reach out and help the unhoused population in Denver, some of which are also members of the LGBTQIA+ community. They (my kid) provide them with comfort and validation. They provide them with safety and resources. I couldn’t be prouder of them.
Beyond my open-hearted, creative, and intelligent kid, I love and admire many more of those in the LGBTQIA + community along with their allies. Many in this community are people I have close friendships with. People I have worked with or worked for. People who have cared about and for me, made me laugh, and enlightened me.
I am grateful for all of them.
Growing up and beyond, when the topic of LGBTQIA + came up, relatives of mine have said things like “God didn’t call them Adam and Steve, you know”. Former co-workers have said things like “love the sinner, hate the sin”. I never felt that I had the right words in those moments to respond to that unsolicited commentary.
Those worn-out, condescending, and clueless phrases infuriate me. Because I don’t believe homosexuality is a sin. The religious zealots in our midst like to shout their opposition, but in reality the Bible only mentions homosexuality in the context of men sleeping with boys. Which of course is pedophilia.
The God I believe in loves us all. The message I’ve received, thanks in part to a bit of studying and processing the Bible and being a long-term member of the UCC (United Church of Christ) is this: we are not to judge each other, but love each other. Care for each other. Support each other, regardless of our differences. Respect each other and hold space in our hearts for “the other”. Affirm, not just accept, each other.
My pastor (I attend “vurtch”, as in virtual church, due to my home church being stationed in Colorado and not here in Wisconsin) had a great sermon this past Sunday re: pride month, love, and the LGTBQIA+ community. One of the most important points he made was that here in the U.S., we are now, as a society, so anti-stranger. It’s true. And it’s sad.
Diversity in all of its forms is what makes the world go ’round. It deserves celebration. It deserves reverence. It deserves attention. We all benefit from it.
We are all just humans here, bumbling our way through life. Let’s have some compassion and move on.
Don’t we have bigger fish to fry than enacting laws that further disadvantage our LGBTQIA+ peers and youth and foment hate towards the “other”?
Here’s a song that touches my heart by the massively talented LGBTQ artist, Brandi Carlile.
Pollyanna's Path 