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You can see a glimpse of the clothes line through the trees.
I don’t often shoot these sunrise shots. We face the west, so the highlight is usually the sunset, and we often ignore the sunrise. From our view, we don’t see the morning sun hit the water. Before now, I’m not sure why I have neglected this view.
(un)Wordless Wednesday.
At the end of my exam, my gynecologists always looks me in the eye (I’m sure she does this to all the moms) and asks me this:
Before you had children, you probably imagined yourself as a beautiful swan, having lots of children around you, because you loved children, and that’s what you wanted around you in your life. If you’re not acting like a swan, and you don’t like how you behave toward your children, it’s time to get some help. This is why God invented crock pots, mommy’s helpers and children’s television. Use them.
I try to explain that it’s just not that easy. I probably do need a Mommy’s Helper; but really, that would be just one more person in the house to take care of, so, I’ll do it all myself, thank you. And besides, a really nice Mommy’s Helper would soon get scared away anyway.
I opened a wedding invitation that came in the mail, but I couldn’t read it because it was written in one of those curvy scripts that look decadent, but you cannot actually read the words; especially when you’re in your 40s. I just didn’t have the time to focus on all of those swirls… it was annoying. But I did notice this: one of the last names on the participants was the last name of one of my college friends.
She lived down the hall; a beautiful girl, and she ended up going back home and marrying her high school sweetheart after all of that college stuff. So, she married a few years before me, and her two boys are a few years ahead of mine. Since she moved back home, we’ve obviously lost track. To be honest, I’ve lost track with people who only live 10 minutes away; if we’re not on the same sports team, I probably won’t be seeing you.
But here, in the midst of all the chaos of little boys that ensues my life; the picky eaters, the towels on the floor, the endless laundry, the fighting and bickering, I paused to reflect; “Wow. It’s over for her, and I am just a few years behind her. This will soon be me. My friend’s little boys are now all grown up; one is getting married, and that empty nest is happening to her; in her life right now. I bet she’d give anything to have that train track winding under her feet while she cooks; the sound of their tiny voices. Geesh, it went fast.”
“Let this be a lesson,” I reprimanded myself. “This all passes far too quickly to complain; enjoy the boys while you have them.”
A few days passed, and I picked up the invitation again, and I noticed that it’s a fancy black tie wedding on the beach in Malibu. The driving instructions include which airlines to take. “Wow,” I thought. What kind of prima donna is her son marrying? And, whew, is he going to have his hands full keeping this princess happy.
I picked up the phone to call my friend, and to say, “Wow. I can’t believe you already have a boy that’s getting married! Time really does fly.”
“What?” she asked? “He’s only 14? What are you talking about, he’s not getting married!”
I looked at the invitation again to read it to her; turns out the invitation is for someone on my husband’s team; someone he met once; yet she’s invited the whole team to her fancy Malibu wedding. His last name just happens to be the last name of my friend.
So, phew. Enjoy yourself. Complain all you want about the kids. Time really doesn’t fly after all.
He told us everything; he left so much unsaid.
I became more intrigued just as he was jetting off to catch a plane, and the group interview with Nicholas Sparks, author of the book, Nights in Rodanthe, (and The Notebook
Sparks cited Dickens’ famous sentence in literature, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,” as the epitome of literary efficiency. “I would be considered lightly edited,” Sparks says, because “one of the tenets under which I write is efficiency… efficiency is incredibly important to develop in quality literature.”
He told us everything.
When asked how he is able to write such well-rounded female characters, he said, “I have not the slightest idea.” Although he does have a standard group of answers, all true: “I had a wonderful mother. I married very well. All of the most important people in my life at the present time and throughout my publishing career have been women.”
He also told us how he writes half of a novel, and sends this to his agent, a creating writing major, who does a pretty significant line edit. “She suggests deletions of passages.” From there, the book goes to his editor, “who fills in story gaps.” And if you’re wondering about timing, “I could do, for most of the vast majority of my books, a total editing process of less than 24 working hours.” His first book was the same.
He sold pharmaceuticals, but didn’t want to do this for the rest of his life. He had a wife, kids and a mortgage, and wasn’t interested in climbing the corporate ladder. “So, I asked, what can I do in my spare time and chase my dream and try to make it? What could I conceivable do?” He had already written two novels, one at 19 and one at 22. “So when I sat down at 28 I said Okay, I’m going to give myself three chances to write a novel and if I don’t succeed, then I’ll know I’m not cut out to be a writer.”
The first novel, which he wrote over a six month period, was The Notebook
What He Left Unsaid.
Sparks’ book, Three Weeks with My Brother
“By the time I went it felt almost as it it was a burden to go. And that is a shame because that reflects an imbalance in your life. And to correct that imbalance took time.”
The answers to the puzzle of how Sparks corrected that imbalance can be found in his book, Three Weeks with My Brother. So, Mr. Sparks, what new revelations can you share with us as the book left your heart? A book that was difficult to write, because of the challenge of “reliving experiences that I’d rather not get emotionally close to again,” he said. “There were tragedies that struck my family and I needed to go back to those places, to put you back there.”
After he admitted he will take such a trip again, he was asked, “Has your wife taken a similar trip?” No, he said. “Does she plan to?” Sparks said, “Maybe not three weeks, but without question, she will.”
Will there be a Three Weeks With My Brother Part II? Still, I”m left wondering, why isn’t his wife taking a three week trip, reaping the benefits of the lesson her husband learned about correcting imbalances in one’s life?
This is hardly about thinking when you were 10 that when you turned 40 you would be old; and then becoming 40, and discovering that you don’t really feel that old. Being 40, you may, or will discover, to your delight, is much like your 20s, only better. When you’re in your 40s, you’re old enough to have all the legal fun you want; and most likely, you have more money to do it with. In your 40s, you already know what it is you want. The 20s are the era of exploration; the 40s are the era of actually getting what you want.
People in their 40s are fascinating to watch. Now, with so many of my friends in the becoming 40, and in the 40 age range, I am surrounded by people who are discovering the deepest yearnings of their heart; the funny thing is, none of them were looking for the deepest yearnings of their heart. They were content living their lives as upstanding adults; many are husbands, wives, fathers, mothers, some are single, childless and travel around the world. But suddenly; there it is, like the Holy Grail, all spelled out in front of them. And the Grail demands changes.
This I have observed. People in their 40s secrete hormones that are not unlike adolescents. These hormones make it difficult for those in their 40s to sleep; a deep seated restlessness seems to attack at 2 a.m., and sometimes leads them to think horrible thoughts that, under morning’s light, make no sense. Insomnia reigns, leading to tiredness, irritability, and the feeling of “getting old,” of course. (Here’s a hint: Heed those stirrings, and the symptoms will leave…)
The hormones seem to awaken primal parts of the their brains and sometimes make them think about doing crazy things; things that threaten the survival of their career or family. Those who heed the musings of the heart seem to go through a period of traumatic upheaval and pain that touches everyone in their intimate circle. The lives of many of the 40-year-olds I know are sometimes more interesting than the tabloids at the grocery store; they make the shenanigans of adolescents seem like, well, child’s play.
The prospect of seeing what the heart wants, and realizing this may involve a re-ordering of life’s priorities, can be terrifying. Much simpler, we believe, to simply ignore those constant tapings on the door of the soul. This can lead to misery; putting a lid on the heart, closing down walls and siphoning off the heart so that it can no longer feel the ache of missing something; while at the same time stunting the heart from feeling the joy. Because it is, after all, the presence of joy that takes us to our heart’s desire. I wonder sometimes, if this is the cause of all of those anxiety attacks, muscle aches and illnesses; the heart is screaming for the soul to wake up and following its path.
Suddenly, joy has become a dangerous thing. Joy will demand that you cut off anything that is not serving you; like the dead branches of a tree.
When I see that upheaval face-to-face, I am always caught in some sort of awe-inspiring revelation. That once mousey husband, who always seemed so irritated, is transformed into an outgoing, successful carpenter – who now has a new wife. His eyes glisten, and, really, “I do think he looks more handsome now.” Every time I see this conversion, I am amazed beyond belief; what was once misery has been transformed by simply aligning one’s purpose with the joys of their own heart.
Still, some have the courage to look at the heart’s yearnings directly in the eye, and try to see if there is a way they can make some small, minor modification to realign life’s priorities. To their delight, they often find that this one small step seemed to have opened up the entire universe. Options that never once existed are spread out like a table laden with food and jewels. They followed the musing of their heart and escaped through the tunnel without a scratch; they remain unscathed; their intimate circle is equally unharmed, and miraculously benefits from the afterglow of joy.
A friend gently told me this when I was in my 30s: When you cross the street, you will have left an opening around everyone who once stood beside you. They will begin to act differently just because you moved. This, they cannot do, until you cross the street.
It’s up to you to make the move; so that the lives of those around you can be transformed.
Living an authentic life requires an inordinate amount of courage and introspection. Those in their 40s are just beginning to understand the gravity of the responsibility we have to our own lives. You might be able to get by living someone else’s dream when you’re young, in your 20s. But this will never hold up when you reach your 40s.
Your soul will demand that you fess up, pay attention and align your life with your heart.
Saturday
7:15 a.m. Make cream of wheat, pull clothes out of dryer and rouse sleepy kids for various sports practices and one game.
10:15: Pick up last child from sports practice, and enter loaded car for overnight trip to the lake.
11:00: Realize we should have stopped to take the time to pick up a book on tape from the library for the kids. Unable to agree on music that keeps peace. We still have more than two hours of driving ahead of us.
12:15: Now, we realize we didn’t pack any meat to cook. We stop for gas, and a trip to the grocery store for a steak.
12:59: Why is the last half hour the hardest part of the trip? This guy keeps hitting the kid on the left, and pinching another one. We tell him to stop; he can’t help himself; he can’t keep his smile off his face. And we only have a half and hour left to go…and, can I tell you, this agony is worse than childbirth.
1:30 or so: We arrive to greet a calm lake, and 80 degree temperatures under a clear sky.
2:00: Unpack, and because we’re so famished, pull out the jar of peanuts in the pantry and go crazy.
2:09: Turn on water in the house, and turn hot water heater from vacation mode to Hot.
2:15: The boat is out of the garage and back in the water. (We thought we were done so we put it away last time! Ha.)
3:00: I drive the boat so he can ski on the “glass” lake.
3:30: The boys are tubing
3:10: The boys discover that the frogs have grown quite a bit since the summer.
3:30: Start grill. The peanuts haven’t held us for long.
4:00: He grills the steak, and I decide that I am not going to steam the broccoli; after all, I’m at the lake. They can eat it raw. The kids actually liked it more.
4:15: Sit down to eat. Husband wants cooked broccoli. I give him that look that needs no explanation.
4:45: Bullfrog has been put back in the water now at least 5 times; he stays close to shore, against my son’s feet. The frog likes my son, a lot. Still, the frog tried to make a couple of get-aways.
4:50: The entire ensemble of lake clothes of shorts and t-shirts I’ve brought are now wet. Except for their PJs, they have no dry clothes.
5:00: Drive boat for him again, so he can ski on lake that is still like glass.
5:15: The boys do various things behind the boat. I think about going skiing; but change my mind. This, I never expressed verbally.
5:45: Bullfrog has now been moved to a sandbucket with water and weeds. There is no lid on top; but the bullfrog stays and doesn’t want to leave.
6:00 One son uses his tube to jump over his brother; while tubing. I do not have camera for this kodak moment.
6:15: Realize that I probably won’t sit on the deck and read; like I had imagined.
6:30: Uncle Bud and Aunt Joyce have completed their afternoon nap next door, and are all set to go fishing.
6:37: Sunset.
7:00: Gather sticks to start bonfire. I’m hoping bedtime is just around the corner.
7:10: BB Gun, target practice time.
8:00: I have successfully roasted and eaten a s’more… before my children.
8:12: Release bullfrog back to the water.
8:30: Uncle Bud and Aunt Joyce come in, and report they have caught 10 fish. They sit down at our awesome fire pit and have a s’more. What a privilege, really, to talk to them; they’ve both had an unexpected turn of good health. Bad health has kept them away most of the summer.
9:00: A first: kids are inside and getting ready for bed; before 10. Did we wear them out?
9:15: Way too tired to give the little ones showers; got by with brushing their teeth and washing their feet only.
10:47: I think I started to read; but the next thing I knew, it was 7:21 a.m.
Sunday
7:21 a.m.: Pour Honey Bunches of Oats in a bowl for my first grader; made pancakes and eggs.
7:16 a.m. I notice the lake is stunningly beautiful; are those fog clouds, or is it steam coming off the water? I take lots of pictures.
7:45: Get dressed, between flipping pancakes, and throw wet clothes in a plastic bag to take home.
8:00: Make tea; and move packed bags out to car. Continuously tell kids to take their stuff to the car. They managed to ignore me fairly consistently. It’s a fine art they’ve cultivated.
8:15: The kids are fed, my husband is cleaning the bathroom, and the boys are outside playing, and I have this bright idea that I’m going to sit down and eat my breakfast; drink my tea, and read that book. It doens’t really happen quite like that. But I did gulp my tea down and stand up and eat my fried egg sandwich.
9:00: Shut off water, turn down hot water heater, and say Goodby to Uncle Bud and Aunt Joyce.
9:30: We’re off.
9:35: I thought we’d be spending the whole day at a service station; the tire pressure light came on; but that turned out to be minor; everything’s OK.
9:38: Remembered that XM Radio, 164, is old time radio. We listened to “Citizens of the World” about an attempt to save an airplane that was one its way down; the kids were postive it was Batman; whatever; it was Fred MacMurray, not Bruce Wayne. But, hey, whatever works.
10:00: The Alan Young Show was old-fashioned stellar. A guy named Ralph sent a married woman flowers; her husband’s name wasn’t Ralph.
10:15: I’m catching up on my reading; the reading I didn’t get to do at the lake.
12:30: We stop at Jersey Mike’s Sub’s for lunch.
12:45: We’re back on the respective soccer and football fields for a full day of play.
Dreaming of next weekend; when we’ll really have more than 24 hours.
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