With No Regrets

Feb 19, 2008 | This Life

It’s funny what takes us back.

I bribed myself out of bed to an early meeting (8:30… it’s early in my world) with the promise of coffee out. As the barista was pulling my beloved cuppa, she smiled and said, “Oh, it smells like the beach.” She had caught wind of something–someone’s perfume, mine maybe—that took her back. She closed her eyes and smiled and then shook herself back to reality. “It’s the smell of suntan lotion. It reminds me of my childhood on the beach,” she said coming out of that unmistakable trance we know as the flashback.

She grew up on a beach far, far from here. For a moment, while pulling my espresso, she was far, far away from here again. Just for a moment…

Sometimes it’s the smallest of things that sends us reeling into the past, hurtling through space and time and beyond our present. Sometimes these triggers are out of our control, the smell of suntan lotion on a mild winter day in the middle of February. But sometimes, they’re intentional. I’ll admit that I’ve rigged my world with such triggers. Every night before I go to bed, before I sink into the palest of blue sheets to dreams in the palest of blue rooms, I spritz on the smallest amount of the perfume I wear. My memory,as well as my mood, is controlled mainly by my nose—so, it’s little wonder I play these tricks of memory on myself. It’s small, really, but the smell of this perfume takes me back to a space where I feel safe. Safe and happy and warm.

It’s not I don’t feel safe now. It’s that I’m unsure. Winter does this to me, sets me ill at ease in my own skin. Ill at ease, neurotically watching the forecast, obsessively checking the skyline. I’m waiting for sunlight. I’m waiting for something to tell me I’m warm again.

This weekend the sun came out. It was almost, but not quite, balmy. Warm enough to prompt scones and Paris tea on the porch wearing only sweaters. Three years ago, on this exact weekend, we made a decision that would ultimately change our lives. It was a sunny weekend too, only colder. We had no idea then what exactly life would be like here on the edge of the world. And as I sat drinking tea, not quite warm but certainly not cold, I flashed back to that moment three years ago. The air so crisp and clean and the view, the view was what convinced us. It sings to us, even now.

Try as I might, I can’t rig a trigger that will put me on a warm beach permanently. Only time can accomplish this. Until then, I’m waiting. I’m waiting for sunlight. I’m waiting to be warm. I’m waiting, with no regrets.

One Just Like You

Feb 18, 2008 | This Life

I love this photo. In part, because my mother made our outfits. She and I are polar opposites, really. She is out-going, life of the party type, neat and orderly, what you see is what you get kind of person. I am far more adept at donning a mask, far more inclined to survey my options before jumping in. I’d rather spend my time behind the camera than in front, and I don’t really trust anyone else with a camera. Yeah, we’ve already established that I’m far from orderly. But this craftiness, we have this in common. I like the fact I can trace this bit of me back to my mother.

I adore the photo, too, because subtly it tells you more about who we were than my words ever could. There are so many stories just in the way we both smile. I am the eldest; but like my mother, he is the life of the party. Mark is two years younger and the baby of the family. He was easy. Born with a smile and eager to see the world. He had my mother entranced from the moment he graced this earth—and nothing has changed really.

He’s always been easy. Easy to love, easy to hold. I wasn’t. And that’s just who we were. At the tender age of 4, I knew he was a bona-fide charlatan. Perfectly at ease with fibbing. Perfectly skilled at looking innocent. But, I could see through him, I wasn’t so easily dupped. How could grown adults be so blind? Couldn’t they see he was simply acting? By the time he was two I was convinced my parents were bona-fide idiots. I believed that until 11 years ago.

“I didn’t do it! She did!” And guess who would be in trouble. Oh yeah. The only thing I was easy about was being the scape-goat. He didn’t coin it. Neither did I. But the two of us, the two of us were the embodiment of “You can catch more flies with honey than you can with vinegar.” Flies still die in honey, though. Just sayin.

I only lied once to my mother. He’d pushed me too far, for too long. An hour car ride with the two of us squabbling in the back-seat had my mother near the edge. So when he cried, “Oh no, she started it, I didn’t touch her.” I looked my mother in the eyes and said, “Oh, yes he did.” I never lied, so she believed me. He got a taste of his own medicine.

In these moments my mother was fond of hauling out the standby of maternal curses, “I hope someday you have children just like you!” I’m sure her mother had said it to her. I am sure your mothers have said it to you. She had no idea, though. And she probably shouldn’t have said it to both of us at the same time. The Universe has trouble with impersonal pronouns.

He was hard not to love, this younger brother of mine. Even though he disrupted my perfectly sane life. Even though he’d hoodwinked my parents before he could talk. I know I was a happy child before Mark. I have pictures to prove it. And the photos after him tell a different story. Sullen? Oh, yeah, that was me. Damn proud of it, too. I knew the truth! I couldn’t help it if my parents were too enamored with this little monkey to realize he was foolin’ them all.

Slowly I receded into photos. His star has always been rising. He will tell you a different story. He will tell you he lived in my shadow. But we know he fibs. It’s not true, it isn’t. He was the star and I was the kid standing in the background. The only difference between then and now, is that I usually have camera in hand and I don’t mind all that much.

I did end up with a child just like “you”. Though, not like me—oh no. No, in a cosmic joke that does not escape me, the Universe took liberty with “You” and gave me a child just like my brother. Happy to smile into the camera, easy with his place in this world. He’s so much like his uncle that I regularly call him by the wrong name. And while they have not spent a great deal of time together, Boy Wonder still says things that sound like my brother. I find myself easily enchanted by the web my child has spun. Perfectly willing to believe his act. Perfectly at ease watching him shine. And I find, like my parents before me, I’ve been entranced since the day he graced this earth. I suppose that makes me bone-fide, too.

In May, my younger brother will wed the lovely Marie. This deserves a post of its own. I will find words for this moment, in time. I don’t know if they will have children. It’s really none of my business, so I don’t ask. But I can’t help but hope, because this cosmic joke the Universe is telling is only half told. I’m waiting for the punchline. I’m waiting for the moment when I get to hold a niece sullen and full of vinegar, and declare, “Why Mark, you got one just like me.”

And I will love her best. And most. And more than words can say. Because really, who wouldn’t love a child just like you?

Do Over

Feb 15, 2008 | This Life

How was your Valentine’s Day? Ours was a bit, uh, weepy… which considering the lack of a post yesterday, probably doesn’t surprise you.

The boy was frustrated. His new machine is requiring more from him than he expected. At one point in the day, I could hear him whispering to himself, “I am a smart boy and I am intuitive.” Like his mother, he doesn’t like to feel undone by an inanimate object. Hours and hours and 5 needles later he threw up his hands and admitted that maybe, just maybe, being intuitive wasn’t going to do the trick. As difficult as it is to witness, this bumping into something he can’t immediately understand is very good for him. He’s learning skills he wouldn’t otherwise learn if everything was easy. But, I get his frustration. He had plans for Valentine’s and the learning curve just wasn’t going to permit those plans to come to fruition. Not this year anyhow.

I was frustrated too. I woke up grumpy and not feeling all that lovable. Valentine’s day was really a continuation of a difficult week. Ever had one of those weeks? Where it all just won’t go your way, no matter how you try? Every photograph blurry, every sentence muddled. Saturday morning I surrendered to a mild cold and I’ve been feeling “off” all week. I think I’ve been pushing too hard while still feeling “under” and the end result is a sleep deprived Wende. Sleep deprived Wende isn’t so much fun. In fact, she’s downright weepy. And weep I did, on several occasions yesterday. No real reason, just frustrated.

Poor IZ kept making valiant attempts to save the day. But even the best burger in town** for dinner or clandestine coffees out or hand-rendered cards couldn’t keep me from being weepy by the end of the day. I went to bed feeling very much like a Valentine’s failure. “Here’s your chocolate. I suck!” Foisting a box of chocolate on him. No, seriously, I just wasn’t that lovable yesterday—a walking, talking Rilo Kiley lyric, I was. Bad news. That was me on Valentine’s day.

The day was just wrong, wrong, wrong. Sometimes, the only remedy for all that ails you is a good night’s sleep. Especially if you’re sleep deprived.

Not that any of you ever doubted it, but IZ is a keeper. Like his son and his wife, he doesn’t like to be undone by anything either. So, he declared today a Valentine’s Do-Over. I woke up to a lovely plate of fritatta and fruit plus a hand pulled mocha. I’ll spare you the coffee shot; but the food was too glorious not to photograph, even in my just waking state.

I woke up to a sun-shiny boy. Having made friends with his manual, he was intently working. No broken needles in sight. No chanting to himself. Just sweetness and light. Like yesterday hadn’t happened at all.

Boy Wonder: Mom, I’m really sorry about yesterday. Do you want a piece of my chocolate?

IZ: Happy Valentine’s Day, Sweetie. I do love you.

And me? I’m feeling a more lovable by the minute. These boys are amazing and I adore them more than I will ever have words to express. Chocolate and flowers and gifts aside, their determination to make things right speaks volumes. Valentine’s was never really about extravagance in the first place—I’ll take their well meaning determination, any day. And maybe just one piece of chocolate.

Sometimes, the remedy for all that ails you is a Do-Over.

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**And for the record, the best burger in town can be had at my house. Hands down.

Thumpity

Feb 11, 2008 | This Life

This image is a bit blurry—but it’s all good, really. This man makes me happy in the most obscure ways. You know how you fall in love, over and over? A smile across a room, or a tender gesture… or maybe the most mundane thing on the planet, but thoughtful none-the-less, like say walking your dog for you when you’re sick. And then thumpity, thumpity goes your heart, all over again.

This man’s hands make my heart go thumpity, thumpity. He also has a great phone voice, but you’ll just have to take my word for that.

At the moment, I’m sitting in his office watching him move too and fro in the kitchen, making dinner. I’m sipping Chianti (without a fava bean in sight, you’ll be happy to know!), listening to the Silversun Pickups, and writing to you about my thumpity, thumpity heart.

When we first got married, all the old hands at marriage took great pains to impress upon us the malleability of love. “You won’t always feel this way,” sounded like a sentence being passed, not an admonition for the future.

So, what of it, really? They meant well, I’m sure. But honestly, telling newlyweds that love will change is about as tactless as telling a very pregnant woman that childbirth is a harrowing experience. It might be. But it might be MORE than that, too! I suspect, like childbirth, real love is just that: MORE. More than the paltry definitions we assign to it. It is without words. It is without scope. It is beyond our ability to define, we have only to embrace it. Maybe to fall haplessly, selflessly into its grasp.

And to notice it when we see it.

Has our love changed in 18 years? Yes. But then, he does something that makes me happy in the most obscure way, and my heart goes thumpity, thumpity once again.

It’s never all or nothing. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

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Tomorrow’s post will be password protected. I’m sending out a BCC email with the code to all of my regular readers. If you don’t receive an email with the code by tomorrow morning, drop me a line—I’m sure I just overlooked your address. You’ll pardon my paranoia, but this is at the request of my beloved spouse. And seriously, I can’t deny a man who makes my heart go thumpity, thump!

The View from a Tilted Frame

Feb 7, 2008 | This Life

IZ from across the table: I hope one of those shots is tilted.

He likes to give me (gently) a hard time for my too often use of the tilted frame. It’s a bad habit I’ve picked up, really. All those Thrifty Goodness listings are to blame. Great photos are a necessity for selling on etsy and the “artier” the better! In fact, those artistic shots are what get picked for treasuries. The more artistic the group of photos in a treasury, the more likely that treasury will make the front page. This little bit of information tends to tilt my camera lens. It’s become such second nature, I don’t even think about it.

Sometimes that art shot pays off. Which is why, after selling for nearly 4 months on etsy, I finally made the front page this morning! Of course, I slept through it. All I know is that I woke up to 3 sales and 2 dozen new people professing their undying love for Thrifty Goodness. Not exactly bad news to get before coffee.

Truth is, though, when I think about it… I like the camera angle. Tilted and tightly cropped. It appeals to my own sense of self. Tilted is how I see the world. Not exactly centered. Not exactly straight. It’s a visual metaphor of my point of view. A bit wonky.

I’m ok with being a bit wonky.

All those macro shots are windows to my soul. I don’t often see the bigger picture. I get lost in the small moments, missing the politics around me. Panning back, taking in the landscape, the world gets blurry. I’m myopic. Nearsighted in need of a telephoto lens sometimes, to see the world around me. I’m still trying hard to capture more than the moment.

I can’t help but wonder, are landscape shots of our lives only possible in retrospect? Is it only with time that our perspective becomes clearer? Is it only with distance that we realize we may have judged too harshly or spoken too soon? Do we really have any other choice but to live in the moment, hoping that when we string together all those macro shots we will have cobbled together a life? Perhaps not centered. Perhaps not straight. Maybe a little bit wonky, but probably a whole lot wonderful.

I don’t know. What I do know, is that while I might take a photo straight on from time to time, my heart will always be tilted. My head cocked slightly to the left, taking in this world. The view from a tilted frame is lovely.

(These photos were taken at the lovely Blue Scorcher. It’s a wonderful thing when the best bakery in town invites you in to sit down for a coffee, even though it’s well past closing time. )