she's a reader

I was recently listening to an episode of What Should I Read Next in the shower (as one does) in which the guest was describing herself as a slow reader: She said some things along the lines of, "I relish books. I like to savor the words. If I find a sentence beautiful I want to go back and reread it. I will reread the entire sentence to consider its full context." 

I thought, that's me! That's why I am a slow reader.

I am a very slow reader, but I've always reluctantly given this information in a self-deprecating way. I am a slow reader, so it takes me forever to get through a book. I am a slow reader, so I don't read nearly as many books as my reader friends can in a year. I am a slow reader, because I have such a hard time focusing, even on books I love. But this guest was talking about her slow reading in a positive light: Savor. Beautiful. Relish. 

And it led me to think: what other neutral characteristics do I have that I tend to diminish, or that lead me to think poorly of myself? What if I look at these character traits as good things, rather than negative - what if I look at them as God-given? As aspects of my personality that God sprinkled in because he thought, "this will make an interesting human!"

She will so enjoy reading that she will want to savor every word. She will re-read sentences just because they are beautiful. She will only read a few books a year, but those books will touch her heart and bring light to her life. They will form her. Yes, she's a reader.

my pen, the butterfly

Flitting from thought to thought,
each a distraction,
barely pressing tiny feet upon one petal
before floating off to another,

sometimes pausing just long enough
to sip from the nectar -
its sustenance, joy of its existence.
But it is tossed by the gentlest breeze.

How many times do I try to catch it!
Cupping my hands upon emptiness,
swinging my net toward air,
but my net is frayed and torn,
my hands, too clumsy and slow
and sometimes, the butterfly's flight too lofty and bold.

It becomes a speck as it gets lost in
the endless indigo sky.

I sit defeated with chin in hand
and all around me: the warm summer air,
the silence, but for the rustling of leaves,
the poignant perfume of a million flowers,
the worm's work below, secretive, 

beckoning roots to reach deep
into dark, rich soil,
and raise flowery heads high toward the sun,
wings spread as if in flight,
mimicking perfectly the dearest hobby of their friend,
the butterfly.

I am awed by their ability to persuade it
just by being,
just by showing off their gaudy colors
and casting fragrance that collides into passing olfactory nerves
without even asking.

They are still,
confident in their calling
to merely sit with the silence
and accept with openness
those tiny feet
and curling tongues.

So I wait like the flowers.
I let the breeze stir my whisps of hair,
lick my lips and feel it cool upon them.
I consider the heat, the rustle, the worm -
the beauty of these simple things
that ask for no attention,
but just be what they are meant to be.
I rest, silent and unassuming

and upon my knee! - a butterfly:
timid, accidental
mistaking me for a flower.

I need not net nor hands,
just stillness and breath
And my colors
(which come naturally).
Nature calls her to be bold in flight, 
I must be bold in trust.

This is what I am made for -
just as the flower is made for the butterly,
and the butterfly for the flower.
Now I know.

And so it is with this knowing
that I walk into an open field,
root myself in soil and sun
and become a dandelion.

sunflowers and thistles

What I'm listening to: Cover Me in Sunshine by Pink and Willow Sage

hearts that are content
don't wander to greener sides
analyzing nuances of grass length 
and soil quality
or compare spots of sun and shade
determining whether it is preferable that
sunflowers or thistles grow there, that
moths or butterflies land there
(only that they do)

reading is rest

I go through seasons when it is really hard for me to sit in stillness and read. Not just because I have four kids and stillness is in short supply around here (it is) - but even after all the small humans have been tucked into bed and kissed on the head, I tend to scroll mindlessly through Instagram or Facebook rather than nestle into the corner of my overstuffed couch with a book.

Even if we don't think of social media as particularly relaxing, it's what many of us choose to engage in during our still moments; perhaps this is *because* we think of it as mindless. I once read an article that explained that even though reading a book (as opposed to skimming an online article) takes more sustained attention, a study showed that the brain is much calmer after 15 minutes of novel-reading, versus 15 minutes on social media. Reading actually provides our brains REAL rest, while mindless scrolling through social media provides a false sense of relaxation, though parts of our brain are in overdrive!

I have been trying to sit down for a few minutes every day to read. I love audiobooks and know they are just as valuable to my reading life as a physical book (and I have Words about how discriminating against audiobooks is elitist and actually ableist), but it's what I choose to do during my still moments that is in question here: will I waste precious energy on my phone, or will I pick up a book, knowing that the book is actually doing my mind some good?

Treat yoself by sitting down with a book today. Offer your mind a chance to rest and be still. 

my boy

what I'm listening to: Keep Breathing by Ingrid Michaelson

my
gummy-grin-and-drooly-chinned,
smiles-only-now-and-then,
don't-you-dare-put-me-down
boy 

my
curls-dark-and-soft-as-silk,
smells-of-sleep-and-sweat-and-milk,
belly-warm-and-soft-and-round
joy

my
tubby-toed and ticklish-thighed,
kissed-his-girl-and-made-her-cry,
no-mercy-on-this-mama's-heart
son

my
ever-reason-to-write-a-song,
haven't-i-known-you-all-along,
wishing-will-not-pause-this-part
last one

poetry tea time

Afternoons are for tea and poetry,
A sip of words and wit.
The silver will be polished
and the beeswax candles lit.

Fetch Mama's floral table cloth,
Grandma's dainty cups,
The brand-new teapot Daddy bought,
And fill the kettle up!

Shake out embroidered napkins
And lay them for us three.
Gather yellow daisies from the yard
with purple chicory.

The milk glass vase is found
Among cobwebs beneath the sink.
Fill it from the tap and give
The flowers something cool to drink.

Fumble through the books
that line the bookshelf walls.
Frost, Wheatley, Dickinson -
Our friends have come to call!

The smell of sugared scones
Wafting through the air
And the whistle from the kettle
Beckons us to our chairs.

Chamomile, my dear, or would you
like to taste the chai?
Will milk and honey do, my dear?
Does lemon satisfy?

Chatter, like a smile:
Pass the cream! Pass the jelly!
Teaspoons clink, teacups clatter,
We begin to fill our bellies.

Then, soft words ask for silence.
A cadence, like a song,
A rhythm without music -
My tongue plays along!

Page by page, line by line,
We pick our favorite verse.
The ones that feel like home,
The ones we have rehearsed.

A spill upon the tablecloth
The candle's melting low
Baby's lids grow heavy
And the tea no longer flows.

Smokey curls from candlesticks
Crumbs upon the floor,
Honey-laden finger
And a heart that's full, once more.

watercolor eggs

 

I've seen these beautiful watercolor Easter eggs floating around Pinterest, achieved by rolling the eggs around in shaving cream and several drops of food coloring, but the idea of using shaving cream was kind of icky to me, since egg shells are porous. So I googled to see if the project would be successful using cool whip, and sure enough! (I figured real whipped cream would probably destabilize.)

I soaked the hardboiled eggs in vinegar and water for about 10 minutes, then dried each one off before rolling it around in the whip. We used two 8 oz. containers of whipped topping and several drops of food coloring. I made sure to put colors that would look okay mixed beside each other, to avoid brown or gray eggs: yellow, then red, then blue, then green.

We are so pleased with the final product! They all have lovely pastel colors. Afterward, the kids dipped strawberries in the leftover cool whip and uhh.. hey, I'm not saying I'm judging but... I'm judging.