Saturday, June 27th, 2009
I spend far more time thinking about my house–what’s in it, where things should go, how it’s organized, what color things are, etc.–than I ever in my life intended. I thought I had a novel in me. OK, maybe a short story. Fine, an essay. But I thought I had some literary ambition.
Apparently I don’t. I’d rather re-decorate.
This has brought me a fair bit of shame–literary ambitions being far more lofty than the repainting of bedrooms and the rearrangement of furniture. I’d think, “This is what God is preserving my life for–to feel great satisfaction when I clean out the attic?” “Shouldn’t I be writing a memoir to God’s faithfulness rather than perseverating on de-junking the garage?”
Shame until I read this passage from a book of Jonathan Franzen’s essays that my sister passed along to me. Franzen, author of the best-selling novel The Corrections, writes about his mother’s house which he is responsible for selling after she dies.
In the days after the memorial service, as my brothers and I went from room to room and handled things, I came to feel that the house had been my mother’s novel, the concrete story she told about herself. She’d started with the cheap, homely department-store boilerplate she’d bought in 1944. She’d added and replaced various passages as funds permitted, re-upholstering sofas and armchairs, accumulating artwork ever less awful than the prints she’d picked up as a twenty-three-year-old, abandoning her original arbitrary color scheme as she discovered and refined the true interior colors that she carried within her like a destiny. She pondered the arrangements of paintings on a wall like a writer pondering commas. She sat in the rooms year after year and asked herself what might suit her even better. What she wanted was for you to come inside and feel embraced and delighted by what she’d made; she was showing you herself, by way of hospitality; she wanted you to stay.
Each time I read this passage (and I’ve read it plenty) I feel a little less ashamed of my preoccupation–of the decorating magazines I am loathe to part with. Of the trips to thrift stores that make me slightly giddy. “I’m writing,” I tell myself now as I snap up yet another owl figurine–this one a brass set of three–yay! “And, since writing is really re-writing (or so says Scott Henkel), then decorating is really re-decorating.”
And I’ve got tubs of unused thrift store treasure to prove it. Commas, I mean. Tubs of edited commas and semi-colons in my attic. Whole paragraphs of throw pillows. First and second drafts of photos sent to my sister for comments. Cut and pasted chapters of furniture in our bedrooms. Former editions of paint colors rusting in their cans in the basement.
Perhaps our home is my novel and I might be a writer after all. My daughter an essayist, in her freshly painted bright red room, the furniture just where she wants it and the mineral poster perfectly positioned above the dresser.
Thank you, Jonathan Franzen. I think I would have liked to have your mom come over. And for her to stay for a latte.
Monday, June 1st, 2009
Summer has started splendidly for our family.
We started with a Memorial Day weekend trip to Madison to see our dear friends Jane and Jamie and their family. We travelled with Bob and Heather and their charming Ben and Cate.
The ferry across Lake Michigan was a blast–not just going up on deck, but playing with all manner of plastic toys in the main cabin, and gorging on vintage-inspired penny candy compliments of Ben and Cate’s awesome Oma. Heather and I thought the best one was the Chik’n Stix. Is there a more yummy-sounding confection?
The kids had great fun in Madison. Three girls, three boys, three dads, three moms, it all felt very trinitarian. Below are several shots including photos of the six kids, Jane and Luke, and girlfriends 1.0 holding girlfriends 2.0. And a parting shot of our gracious hosts.
<
Last weekend I travelled to Chicago with Chris to meet Becki. Our Annual Sister Weekend has now officially changed to Sibling Weekend. Now that we all know our spiritual gifts, Becki and I thrifted, visited museum gift shops and celebrity sighted, while Chris attended a real estate law conference and waxed philosophically about the bed-bugs and arachnids he was sure inhabited our awesome thrift-store scores. Low-light of the weekend was getting my wallet stolen at our first thrift store (could it possibly have happened while I was stuck in a dress, laughing, and Becki was taking my picture looking like a teletubby during a stick-up?--photo evidence below). Highlights were laughing with my siblings until I almost fell out of the restaurant booth, meeting my new friend Joan Cusack (ahem, ahem, photo evidence below), seeing our dear Kiff VandenHeuval in his show at the Goodman, and telling stories with him post-show and closing down the restaurant. A perfect start to the summer.
Thursday, April 16th, 2009
I saw my oncologist today and we’re staying the course on the chemo. The CAT from earlier this month looked like things were stable, so I’ll have a check up again in the middle of July. That would be AFTER my 38th birthday, if anyone out there is keeping track–YAY. So, happy rest of April, May, June, and some of July to me!
Please continue to pray that this chemo will work for a good long time!
Monday, April 13th, 2009
My favorite photo from spring break. The Cousin Club meets in Atlanta…
member absent but not forgotten: Henry.
Wednesday, March 25th, 2009
I found out today that the pain in my back is NOT due to any cancer mets in my bones. Bones are clear–yahoo!
Apparently, however, I continue to suffer from DFS. This is what I’ve had since I was a kid. If I don’t get enough sleep (over 8 hours a night), I get flu-like symptoms, often immediately, but sometimes I can last until the next day until I fall apart–fever, chills, nausea, you get the picture. As a college student, this ruled out any “all-nighter” study session and seriously curtailed my social life.
When I was working full time, I had a few sick days due to DFS, which was at that time unnamed. Having coffee with my friend, Jeanne, and talking about this mysterious syndrome of mine, she said, “You seem so strong, but really you’re just a delicate flower!” Thus, Delicate Flower Syndrome (DFS).
DFS has gotten me a few times over the past few weeks as I’ve had some anxiety over the possibility of bone mets, but I plan to sleep well tonight!!
Wednesday, March 25th, 2009
The girl who pitched her tent in my heart has apparently been living there for SEVEN YEARS!
We celebrated with a polka dot party…
ready and waiting…. polka dot cupcakes with dip’n dots
playing Twister….. a great mound of sugar
the hardest part was waiting for the party to start!
Mark and I were spent by the end of the festivities. But we’re still glowing over how kind and lovely Zoe’s friends are. And how happy we are to be Zoe’s parents.
Wednesday, March 18th, 2009
In celebration of a whole lot of things–Dad’s retirement, his military career, Mom’s retirement, the panache with which she was a military spouse, and much more–Dad and Mom gave us the Magic Kingdom treatment.
A far cry from the family vacations of our youth which involved the culinary delights of Banquet fried chicken, soy-bean pancakes, Tang, Spam, and other unmentionables and were conducted from the comfort of a pop-up trailer that Dad had tricked out in every possible way but his attempts to make it a) comfortable and b) waterproof were always thwarted; this trip involved a heated pool, comfy hotel rooms, and eating out. The best part, of course, was being together and watching the cousins have a blast.
1st magic night…Mark with mousehands…Mark and Zoe on Dumbo
our favorite cast of characters..Zoe watching fireworks…sisters reunited
lovely Meyer ladies…Becki and Jim…Mudge’s destination wedding
Alison and Henry………tourguide and assistant……goodbye mickey
the happy sponsors and their full bird herd
that’s about how we all feel. We are still a wee bit giddy.
Thursday, February 19th, 2009
For Valentine’s Day, the three of us celebrated Family Love Day. We did the things we love with the people we love. The photo above was taken at the photo booth set up in the basement of the Art Museum where we spent a portion of our morning. It reminds me of a song that the invincible Raffi sings, “All I really need is a song in my heart, food in my belly, and love in my family.”
Yes, I just quoted Raffi. Love’ll do that to you.
Sunday, February 15th, 2009
I thought I had gotten used to doing things I said I’d never do, but I managed to surprise myself today.
In an act of unbridled frugality, I added fabric to the bottom of Zoe’s favorite pants. They were the perfect kind of soft and not “too jean-sy” as so many pants are dubbed. They have pockets. And they don’t fall down from her lack of waist. They were also such high-waters that I was embarrassed for her to be seen in them–and it really takes a lot to embarrass me.
When I was young and growing about as fast as Zoe is now, my mom added fabric to the bottom of my pants. Not just straight fabric either. Ruffles. NO ONE had ruffles on the bottom of their pants. There was no question as to how uncool ruffles on the bottoms of one’s pants were. I hated them. As I wore the Laura Ingalls-esque prairie dresses that went back and forth from Becki to me with ruffles added and removed to adjust lengths (see, now it’s knee-length, it’s a whole new dress!), and tugged on the pants with their unsightly hems, I stewed in my hand-me-downs and shook a proverbial fist “I will never make my daughter wear something like this! Never!”
Heh, heh. Well, I am. And I, like my mom, think it’s perfectly cute.
Mom, you may now gloat.
Monday, February 2nd, 2009
We were telling some friends this weekend about our church directory photo phenomenon; how in the 6 years that passed between directory photos, Zoe aged forward, Mark aged backward, and I seem to have been completely re-styled (thank you to Emily who started the arduous process soon after this photo was taken).
“The Curious Case of the Church Directory!,” our friends (who know a thing or two about movies) said.
“Aha!” I said, “a blog post.”
Here we are in 2002… And now… (you’ll need to click on them for full effect)
Mark’s performance is Oscar-worthy. Move over, Brad Pitt.
I spend far more time thinking about my house–what’s in it, where things should go, how it’s organized, what color things are, etc.–than I ever in my life intended. I thought I had a novel in me. OK, maybe a short story. Fine, an essay. But I thought I had some literary ambition. 
