Smile Campaign - Another Fun Sketch

Just for fun... :-)

Loving kindness

My sweetie's mother had a stroke and is in the hospital. Today the little boys and I put together a 'feel better' basket for Grandma Ru. We baked pumpkin spice muffins and ...

Tollhouse cookies...

A trio of glossy magazines and some bright yellow daff's to cheer and entertain her.

Liam, the nearly 3 yr. old , upon seeing the completed basket quipped, "Is dat gonna make Granma Ru feel better?"

"Of course," I replied.

"Good!" This emphatically.

They are never too young to start learning the art of loving kindness.

A snippet from my book - Ch. 3 'Poppy'

POPPY

The divine fragrance of bright orange tea roses and sprigs of spicy scented Jasmine mingled in a plain mason jar on the window sill. Heavenly. The breeze through the open kitchen window dispersed the yummy scent throughout the kitchen better than the most expensive atomizer.

“I definitely prefer nature’s perfumes,” thought Poppy as she arranged the napkin and tea cup on the tray next to the fresh raspberry scone. “There,” she said out loud. “Nearly perfect…”

She broke off a small spray of Jasmine and one of the unopened rose buds from the arrangement on the windowsill, and placed them in a tiny bud vase. Settling it next to the bright orange teapot she smiled, satisfied. No matter that her mother would not appreciate the touch, or in fact any part of the beautiful arrangement. Poppy was long past caring about that sort of thing. It was years now since she came to the realization that living life on her mother’s dark and dreary terms was soul suicide. Having reached that conclusion, she had determinedly moved forward from that day on with an unstoppable sense of optimism and cheer. Perhaps in some small way to spite her mother, she also applied her natural artistic flair at every opportunity, and turned a deaf ear to her mother’s discontented muttering.

Turning her back on the tray, Poppy swished back to the counter next to the sink where the electric kettle lived. It was nearly boiling so she quickly switched it off and turned back to the tray to fill the teapot. Her mother liked her water ‘scalded, but not boiling’. Poppy had never discovered what the difference between these two were, so sometimes she let the water boil and sometimes she poured it just before it boiled. Her mother never seemed to notice any difference as long as Poppy assured her mother that yes, she had scalded it, so that was ok.

Squaring her shoulders, Poppy lifted the tray carefully and carried it through the sitting room into the solarium. Her mother was in her customary spot in the corner, with her back to the view, knitting as furiously as a 82 year old woman with fairly advanced arthritis could. No matter that it must really have caused her considerable pain, Katherine would just as soon be dead as without her knitting. Since her hearing was also diminished, she did not hear as Poppy stopped just inside the door and watched her mother. Katherine was small and frail, and for the millionth time, Poppy wondered how a tall, large-boned woman like herself had come from such a tiny woman.

Much later, after the tea things had been cleared, and her mother settled with a lap rug tucked tidily around her spindly legs, set to watch her favorite show, Poppy let herself quietly out the back door into the garden. An easterly wind was up and long silky tendrils of dark red hair pulled free of the knot at the nape of Poppy’s neck and danced wildly about her face. Her hair was truly beautiful and she was quite proud of the fact that, at 44, there was still no grey in it. Though she’d been told once by a boy in her class, on the eve of her 17th birthday, that she was the most beautiful girl in the world, Poppy had no illusions about her physical beauty. She knew she was considered plain by most of the folk in her hometown, and this bothered her not the least. In truth, while her features were not really remarkable in any way, time and experience had added a certain dignity to her face, and her naturally good nature added sparkle to her bright blue eyes and a spring to her step. She was among the precious few to be blessed with a sense of self so profound that she affected not the least bit of artifice. Of course, Poppy would have been amazed to hear such things about herself, for although she was quite the daydreamer, she was tremendously practical as well.

Poppy hummed as she futilely tucked the strands of hair behind her ears and surveyed the garden. Lots to do to get the garden in order. She was lucky to have Magnus Fahey, a still spry seventy something gardener and the local Jack of all trades, come every year to help with the cleanup in the fall and spring. The tying up of perennials, transplanting, and most of the weeding she could handle herself. Pruning the hedges and fruit trees was another matter. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how. But knowing how to do something and enjoying it were two different things. Poppy was more than content to pay Magnus twice a year to take care of this for her. In the fall, he pruned the fruit trees, often bringing his grandson Liam along, and Poppy always gave them a hand with barrowing the limbs and detritus off to the lower garden to be heaped for a late Spring bonfire. Come spring, the hedge trimmings were added to the already dry fall limbs and left to sit for a couple of weeks. Finally an appropriate afternoon, free of wind and rain, was settled upon and the bonfire started. This was perhaps the only perk of the entire process. A thermos of tea, jam sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, and she and Magnus could chat for hours, poking errant sticks back into the fire and gassing about the garden, local gossip, and the political suicide currently being contemplated by the Prime Minister and his cabinet.

This winter had been harsh, but short-lived. It was only March, but already the crocus and hyacinths were fully up and starting to show color. Daffs and tulips were clumped randomly throughout the borders, cheerfully heralding the news: ‘Spring is here!’ The trees were tightly budded and one or two were even beginning to leaf out.

While fall was Poppy’s favorite season, spring ran a close second. The promise of new life invigorated everything, like a freshly plucked bunch of orange lilies in a stark white room. Stepping into the garden for the first time each day felt, at least to Poppy, like a secret admirer had stolen into the garden in the night, and left little treasures for her to find. It was lovely.

With most afternoon spent outside, winter’s pallor, the result of too many cold months inside, quickly disappeared. Outside now more often than not, her fair skin freckled endearingly, smattering a light dusting over the bridge of her nose and forehead.

Her mother, never much of a gardener, had historically left the gardening to Poppy, and in Poppy’s opinion, that was just as well. Occasionally, Catherine could be found watching critically through the conservatory windows as Poppy cleared out beds, pulled weeds, and spread rich dark mulch from the compost pile over all of the beds, but for the most part she just left Poppy to it.


THIS CHAPTER IS INCOMPLETE, BUT JUST WANTED TO SHARE. LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK - I WELCOME ALL CRITICAL READS! THANKS

Sunday Sketches

HAPPY SUNDAY EVERYONE!

Working on a few sketches for my Smile Campaign...I am thinking of having this printed on some cards and handing it out when I see someone that could use a smile... What do you think?

Brittany

My daughter Brittany is brilliant.

Yes, I know, every mother says that, but she really is.

Brittany is my first baby - I had her when I was 19, really still a baby myself. As she has matured, our relationship has changed ~ Of course she still has things come up where she needs a little advice or coaching, but for the most part, I have been able to step back into the role of cheerleader, watching in awe as she takes on one thing after another with her delightfully sarcastic sense of humor and 'can-do' attitude.

At 21, she has already published her first childrens book (it's called "The Litch" by Clementine Pistaccio (great pen name huh?) - you can find it on Amazon or Barnes and Noble). She works full time and is taking a full load of classes at college. She volunteers through her work regularly for all sorts of good causes, Breast cancer awareness, MS, Prostate cancer, etc. And she is an amazing photographer!

Rock star right? This girl, she inspires me!

So my darling Brittany, should you read Mama's silly blog, I want to say thank you for:

Agatha Christie and working out together, vampire movies, and Pride and Prejudice, One Man's Wilderness, and anything Audrey Hepburn, Marilyn Monroe, and James Dean, old movies...I used to introduce you to 'new' ones, now you are the expert, and being 'big sister Brittee' to these four little brothers of yours! You are my sweet pea frevs!

Sunday Sketch 'Eamonn and the pumpkins'

I'm posting my Sunday sketch a little early as I won't be able to do it this Sunday. Hope that's ok... Love this one of my 1 year old in the pumpkins last fall.

Daffodil Dreams

For oft when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude

And then my heart with pleasure fills

And dances with the daffodils

~ Wordsworth
























It's almost time for the annual Tulip Festival here in the Skagit Valley - People come from all over the world to enjoy the riot of colors, losing themselves in acres of tulips and daffodils of every variety and color. As I drive through the farmland, the tall, sprightly stalks of the daffodils just cracking color wave fancifully at me. My heart fills with the lightness of a promise fulfilled... Spring is here! And life is good!

SMILE campaign

I have a lot of people randomly ask me for advice. People I don't know confide in me about what is going on in their life and ask what I think they should do. This has happened so many times in the last couple of years, I have really started to wonder what it is about me that invites these spontaneous intimacies with, well basically, a stranger. So I started asking people.

And I got the same answer phrased a variety of ways:

"You really listen."

"I can tell you really care."

"You have such a caring spirit."

I wonder...

Why do so many people feel more comfortable talking with a stranger about the intimate details of their lives, than with their friends or family?

What is it we are doing as families and parents that separates us from each other and makes us feel this way?

What is it we are doing as a society, that makes us feel it is safer to seek out the unknown for advice instead of the familiar?

I have some ideas but I definitely don't have all the answers to these questions. Still, if I really reduce it down to it's finest point, I think the point is this:

There are a lot of lonely people out there, for whatever reason.

Which realization led me to the following question:

"What small thing can I do to make each person I meet feel a little more connected, even loved?"

After a lot of thought, I decided to start a SMILE campaign.

It works like this:

You SMILE.

Yep that's it.

When you're driving, when you're in the market, when you're taking a walk, when you're at a restaurant, doctor's office, wherever...SMILE.

I tried it out. And I was amazed at how this simple act, something that cost me literally nothing, affected people. Because most people I smile at...well...they smile back. Whatever expression may have been on their faces, sadness, anger, pain, indifference, is nearly always replaced immediately with a beautiful smile.

But wait.

There is a side benefit.

I actually started to feel more connected myself. People I met were no longer complete strangers, because we had at least one thing in common - our SMILES.

SO HERE'S THE CHALLENGE:

If you often feel like the majority of the people you meet are strangers and you feel alone, start your own SMILE campaign. And let me know how it works for you, because I think we could be onto something big here . . .


Smiles!

Take my "Smile Campaign" Survey at the top of the page on the right:-)

Liam

We spent the weekend with my two year old Liam in the hospital. He suffers from infrequent but serious bouts of asthma. This is our third time in the hospital with him, and the strain of watching our beautiful child struggle to do something as basic as breathe is incredible.

We are home now, and I can't stop scooping him up for a listen, my ear pressed gently against his chest, alert for any slight wheezing.

I wake in the middle of the night and tiptoe into his room, hovering over his fire engine bed, just to listen to him breath normally. It has become my symphony, Liam's normal breathing.

For a little while we will be consumed with his medicines and getting him dosed on time. Craig gets the nebulizer ready for regular breathing treatments. We both try to convince this two year old, with little success, that he should sit and watch his videos for the day instead of running around like the toddler that he is.

I think about how much worse it could be and I am so thankful that he is home and on the mend. So for anyone that has to go through a serious illness with a child, I am sending my healing thoughts your way.

Barefoot Spiritualist

A stranger once told me that his religion was standing barefoot every morning in his patch of earth out his back door. I love that!

I am a barefoot earth patch spiritualist too! Having my feet in the dirt, grass, EARTH, is Heaven.

Life can be unfair

Comfy chair, pink fuzzy blanket, sunshine, and a cup of tea. I have cold. Since I am a busy mother, as a general rule I just don't get sick. I don't have the time. Yet somehow this nasty cold snuck up on me and settled in for some serious down time. So despite the beautiful weather today, I am bundled up inside instead of out working in my berry patch, or helping Craig prune apple trees. Life can be unfair.

I've spent the last week madly preparing for a huge dinner party for Craig's parents's 75th Birthday. We hosted the entire family (about 24 people) at our house. Seating that many people is no joke and even though we have an enormous 9' dining room table for our 'regulars', this was a bit of a challenge. But extra tables and chairs were rented, linens purchased at hugely discounted prices at Ross, and everything turned out beautifully. It did not help, however, that the day before the party this nasty cold came to visit. Life can be unfair.

Hosting duties are endless, so Craig and I really worked our tails off yesterday. I, of course, spent the entire party jockeying between strategically placed boxes of kleenex to blow my nose, and then wash my hands. Life can be unfair.

I am wonderfully blessed to have Craig to take care of me, bring me fresh boxes of kleenex and cough drops, and generally shower me with TLC. And while I soak it up, at the same time I am itching to be well. Inactivity is completely alien to me. So this afternoon, I will head outside for some sunshine and a short walk around the property to get some fresh air into my lungs. Just a short 15 minutes to show this ill-timed and utterly unwelcome cold who's boss. It may be planning on setting up shop for a week or so, but I just don't have the time. Sorry Mr. Cold. Life can be unfair.

Dreams

This morning I woke to the trills of sweet birdsong early - just after 6:00 am. The perfect start to the day. My two youngest are away at playschool for the morning and the rest of the brood are at school. I am alone. So with a steaming cup of coffee and a few precious moments to myself, I shrug into my favorite 'old man's' sweater and crack open the window to let in the early spring air - Air that reminds me of biting into a tart granny smith apple fresh off the tree. Crisp, brisk, and alive.

In the cosseting quiet I gather my thoughts and slip into writer's mode. The ideas are always there, waiting for me to capture and develop them. I say hello to the main character in my book - To resume telling her story is always pure pleasure, and I savor each part of the creative process. I am drawn back into her world and easily become entrenched in the plotline.

Every day I'm surrounded by amazing women. I watch them take on whatever comes their way and handle it beautifully. I drop off kids at playschool and big kid's school, and I see the other mothers when they busily head off to do I know not what. I wonder where they are off to. Some are going to the gym (as evidenced by their workout gear), and some, no doubt, are off to work. Some are headed home to catch up on cleaning, etc. In my case, there are a myriad things I could be doing right now. There's laundry to be folded, toys to be shunted back to their proper places, bills to be paid, dinner to plan, etc. Instead, I am writing because that's my dream.


To stop pursuing our dreams leaves life two dimensional. So many people I've talked to have left the dreams of their younger selves behind in the name of 'maturing' or 'growing up'. For me a life without my dreams is valueless. I've lately realized that embracing our dreams and pushing the edges of our lives to make room for them is an integral part of 'Living'. Life's responsibilities are ever present and important in their own right, but they will still be there to attend to at the end of the day. It's funny - I often tell my children they can do anything they set their minds to and that their dreams are so very important. Wonderful, encouraging words. Why should our adult dreams be any different? With a stolen moment here and there, and some diligent, hard work, dreams can become reality.

TIME

Just so, the passage of Time is swift
As in a furious headlong rush
The tocking creeps and barrels along
While in a moment stolen from bliss
An Age will pass between you and I
A corner turned - A glimpse of this
By twists and turns a glorious ride

An easy silence approaches
Snapshots of Autumn's glow
Once remembered afternoon idles
On whose irreverent heels
Follow evenings consumed by stillness
Now this Age joyously steals
A note from 'Te Deum's' stride

Softly Time quiets and slows
As Life awaits the closing bow
For now, a poignant memory
Lingers in each ticking's passage
Cloaked by a heavy Winter snow
And Life will turn the final page
Hushed by Time's dampening glide.

JCM

Berries, Bondfires, and Babies

2/8/2010
While writing has always been a dream of mine, I have a strong tie to the earth too. I come from good pioneer stock - My grandmother's childhood in Minnesota was so close to the Laura Ingall's books it's amazing. You might think writing my first novel would satisfy my need to explore that part of myself that is not tied to my roll as a Mother of five children and two step-children. The part of me that is not defined by how many soiled diapers I changed today or what fabulously interesting things I can do with half a pound of hamburger, a random assortement of veggies, and leftover broccoli salad. (Creative in the kitchen I am not!) Still, there is more to my dream than being a novelist.

As long as I can remember I've always wanted to farm. I grew up on an informal farm - we had a pig, chickens, a pony and a dairy farm on the back five acres. As an adult, I worked in the horticulture industry for several years, happy to be working with plants and dirt. Last year we moved to five acres and inherited, with the property, an overgrown berry patch with several kinds of berries, a bedraggled apple orchard (I couldn't even begin to guess when the trees were last pruned), and some really prolific cherry trees. So of course I thought, "Hey, why not start an organic berry / veggie farm?" This would be a great way for me to get my hands back in the dirt, and a farm is a great place for kids to learn responsibility and teamwork. With children and step-children coming and going all the time, we are continually looking for ways to introduce positive elements into the family dynamic. Farming has it all: Goals,values, hard work, rewards, and some tasty produce in the end.

So yesterday found me outside with the whole family in and around the mess of a berry patch. We sorted out about half of the berry canes, pulling the dead ones away and tying up the new growth. Craig strung new wire to train them on, and we got them standing up tall and tidy. The older kids watched out for the toddlers, while we adults risked life and limb (read: scratches and more scratches!) to get the job done.

Nothing better on a crisp February day than a bonfire we all agreed. On the heap went the dead canes along with some windfall branches we'd gathered up, the dried up Christmas tree followed, and a roaring bondfire ensued. Watching the children's faces as they stood around the fire and poked their sticks into the flames was wonderful. The warmth from the blaze made for some very rosy cheeks, and the magic that is a bondfire was felt by all. Eventually, with dusk falling, we all trickled inside to clean up and start the Sunday evening ritual of dinner, baths, and stories before bed. What a weekend! When they were all finally asleep, I settled onto the couch with Craig and let my mind wander back over a perfect Sunday. My 10 year old step-daughter Amira's comment as we both basked in the fire's warmth came back to me. "This was a great weekend!". A simple, five word sentence lets me hope that as parents, we just may be doing something right.

A place to write

Feb 8, 2010

I have always wanted to write a novel. At any given time, I have a ton of book ideas running through my head. As I fold laundry, or mow the lawn, bathe babies, or cook dinner, I develop complex plotlines and robust characters. A couple weeks ago a serendipitous meeting with a life coach landed me with the opportunity to have a space of my own to come write. So now every Sunday I leave my wonderful partner Craig with the kids and head out to make my dream a reality. On the way, I stop and get a mocha (a real treat since we don't usually spend money on those anymore) and head to this quiet, peaceful space to write. I have written this book so many times in my head that it is just flowing out of me.

Initially I just started writing the first chapter, but today I decided I should get an outline blocked out so I can get a better feel for the whole book. As the plot and characters and descriptive language flow, I am quite literally in heaven. I love this writing thing. With thoughts of publishing and serials set aside for the future, I am alive in this creative moment. Streaming my main character's thoughts as if they were my own, and sharing her journey with eager anticipation, I am writing.