Outside: We have had all the weather. Warm, sunny, no coat weather.  Windy weather.  Now it is getting ready to snow weather. There was a window of time to go walk the dogs to the top of the neighborhood today which was pretty wonderful.  

Reading: Mostly in waiting rooms and bleachers and poolside.  Current read is this…

Watching: Old monster movie with the girls last night.  This was a Saturday night staple in my house when I was their age.  Frankenstein, Dracula, King Kong, Godzilla, and Charlie Chan every weekend on our local oldies channel.  I was throwback when throwback wasn't cool.  I was also a sickly kid and remember being on a hospital ward with pneumonia in my early grade school years.  They were open bays at the time and that weekend there weren't many children.  The nurse walked in as I was watching my Saturday night monster flick.  She abruptly clicked off the toob and said very matter of factly that small children were to be asleep after dark and most definitely NOT frightening the other children with monster movies.  

Whatever.  My childhood was a little uncoventional let's just say. 

Towards health and wellness: pool day!  

From the kitchen: Humor…

And Coconut Lime chicken..

This week: Lent came in like a lion.  I mean, March too, but holy heck it's been a week.  We had a long long LONG awaited visit to the Children's Hospital for a very not emergent nor urgent referral.  (we are all good I swear) The last time I was there was 17 years ago when our oldest had major surgery when his dad was away for a military course.  As we wound our way up the hill to the campus the emotion took my breath away.  Memories may seem to have faded but really they seem to just store away to be pulled up when you least expect them.  Like this day.  

This day was followed by a routine dental procedure that ended up being scary though it probably shouldn't have, at least it shouldn't have made me squeal out loud, loudly, in that small office.  It did though, which led to profuse apologies the likes of which I haven't issued since the last time I was in labor. Which is the last time I think I shrieked over something medical. My Italian friend assured me this completely normal for dental visits in Italy.  Alas, it is less normal in Utah where they like their patients quiet and still.  See above story about my early medical issues.  I'm sticking to this explanation.

Thinking about: It was all this that ran through my head when I saw a photographer on instagram discussing her last minute birthing crisis, the errors her providers made, and how shaken she is remembering it a year later.  The comments seemed to repeat a theme of "all's well that ends well" and "all that matters is that you have a beautiful baby."  Now it's true that a happy ending is always good news.  It could be worse.  Everyone is always glad when it isn't.  However it is also wrong to suggest the ending is "all that matters" because endings, even good ones, don't erase the trauma that led to them.  They provide some compensation and balance.  They are welcome relief.  Trauma dies hard though and remains part of the story. Acknowledging that is how we process and move forward – grateful but changed.  That's my theory anyway.

  Up side? Salt Lake City looked beautiful in snow and the skyline was amazing. 

Valentine's Day happened to be the day before we left for the wedding trip.  It was a 'last minute' day if ever there was one.  A day of list checking and packing up and averting little disasters. Surely it was not a slow, methodical, crafting sort of day, except that I saw it in their eyes – that little bit of hopefulness.  "I found a recipe, Mom, and we only need a couple things."  It wasn't even about being a good sport at that point.  We really could not begin to pull out flour and mixers and trays. 

Walking through the aisles picking up little necessities I found a cookie kit.  It was everything I normally cringe over in all its plastic, premade glory. Inside however it held sugar cookie hearts, tiny bags of sprinkles, and not nearly enough frosting.  And it was the perfect gift.

The little girls wasted no time when they saw the package.  When the doorbell rang in the afternoon, and their little friends brought them candy heart pillows and cards, they happily presented them cookie hearts with sweet gel glazed sentiments scrawled in 8 year old script.  

"My Favorite Word"
by Lucia and James L. Hymes, Jr.
From Sing a Song of Popcorn
(poetry collection)

There is one word – 
My favorite – 
The very, very best.
It isn’t No or Maybe.
It’s Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes, YES!

"Yes, yes, you may," and
Yes, of course," and
Yes, please help yourself."
And when I want a piece of cake,
"Why, yes. It’s on the shelf."

Some candy? "Yes."
A cookie? "Yes."
A movie? "Yes, we’ll go."

I love it when they say my word:
Yes, Yes, YES! (Not No.)

In an age like ours, which is not given to letter-writing, we forget what an important part it used to play in people's lives. 

~Anatole Broyard

I am part of a cusp generation, the last of those who may have had pen and paper pen pals. I have not forgotten the feel of feather-light airmail vellum envelopes with their red and blue edges.  The penmanship of friends and family I have corresponded with is still fresh in my mind.  For many reasons, electronic correspondence makes more sense today.  Perhaps only one reason – speed. Perhaps that too, is its great downfall.  We live in an age with no pause between reception of message and reply.  I'm not sure we are better for it. Email and text have really replaced phone calls more than letters. Letters just sort of faded away.  

Christmas is the one time of year when the mailbox once again brings real, tangible messages from far away. Today more than ever I treasure handwritten addresses and signatures.  It is a truly restorative treat to sit quietly and pour over the new pictures of my children's friends even if I have seen some of them on a screen. 

I sat with a cup of tea today and read a multipage letter from an old friend.  She has email.  So do I. It is different somehow to sit and read her stories of the year past and how she felt about it all. After her letter came a card with a short note from my late mother's best friend from school.  We do not know each other well but the moments she took to tell me she was thinking of us mean more than I can say.  

Old fashioned handwritten correspondence was something that fell by the wayside as the tempo of my life inched upwards. My own bookish and artsy younger children are helping me revisit this habit. I hope we can turn this around a bit, for the sake of us writers as much as for those we send our letters to.  

Some ideas for those cards and letters arriving in your mailbox here here and here