Twenty Years Ago

Twenty years ago today, I was working onboard a ship docked in Germany. I spent the day with a friend visiting from the States — we had been out buying bunches of flowers for a colleague’s birthday that afternoon. We arrived back onboard with arms full of roses, innocently oblivious to what was happening an ocean away.

We didn’t have reliable internet onboard at the time, and I’m still not sure how the news traveled to the ship, but I do remember feeling like we were the last people onboard to find out that planes were crashing into buildings in America. As soon as we realized the severity, we dashed to my cabin, calculating time zones to call home.

New York City and Washington DC were each three hours from my family’s house by car. If you were to draw an isosceles triangle between the towers, the Pentagon and where the plane went down in Shanksville, my childhood hometown in Pennsylvania was pretty much smack in the middle. It felt like forever until I finally got through to my mother, who got to work that morning, only to be sent home early. The next day, she went out to purchase her first-ever cell phone — she never wanted to be unreachable again.

The next morning, I awoke in my cocoon of a bunk bed onboard, a map of Europe pinned next to my head, with the sobering realization that the world I lived in had changed forever. Later that day, I put my visiting friend on a train bound for another part of Europe — as we clutched each other goodbye in this larger than life station, whispering for fear of our accents being overheard, we both eerily felt like we were living out some twisted scene from World War II.

Friends that I knew in and around NYC were shaken but safe, while story after story slowly emerged of both heartbreak and heroism.

The ship sailed to Gibraltar weeks later, picking up a satellite system which would eventually provide the crew with 24/7 Internet access. As soon as it was installed, I was at my computer each morning before my daily run to check the news headlines. I didn’t want to be caught off guard again by not knowing the news. (I’m sure 9/11 is the reason I always scan the headlines of a number of news networks on my phone before I even check my email when I wake up in the mornings.)

We later sailed to Sierra Leone, West Africa, and as a writer there, I felt like I was drowning in stories of death and destruction from the moment we arrived. I have however, always had a wonderfully horrific way of detaching myself from a scene in order to get a story. I can interview people who have had their arms chopped off by rebel soldiers, or who are missing half their face from a medical issue, and show zero emotion while asking questions and writing notes. It is both a gift and a curse. It is what made me a good reporter in many ways for years. It has also portrayed me as a somewhat callous and non-compassionate person on the outside.

I do still have feelings on the inside, however, and sometimes they come crashing out clumsily when nobody is watching — hours after an interview, or perhaps after five interviews and only five minutes, when I’m all alone with my notes and I replay the stories I’ve heard, in my head.

Words carry a tremendous amount of weight. I know, because I can I feel the heaviness on my keyboard in the words as I type, depending on the subject matter. Even as a fast writer, I have always carefully considered how — and when and even why — to tell a story. I’m telling you this one because words matter — whether they are spoken, written as a story, or made in a comment on a social media post.

I can look at 1,000 photos of the destruction of what happened on September 11th, but at the end of the day, the words spoken between Todd Beamer on United Flight #93 and the 911 dispatcher are what make me crumble. Hours after the planes crashed, we crowded into a tiny room onboard the ship to listen to the Voice of America. The words spoken over a radio are what made that day very real to a scared 26-year-old on the other side of the world.

Because I was overseas, I didn’t necessarily experience the unwavering patriotism and the united feeling that most Americans felt immediately in the days and weeks following 9/11. What I did experience was the compassion and unity of a crew from 40 plus countries coming together to pray for a nation — and the world — to pray for peace, to pray for comfort, to speak words of life over those who survived. We didn’t have all of the information coming at us at rapid speed like we do today, firing at us from all directions, but what we did have was the knowledge that people had died, and a nation was hurting.

That’s all we needed to know in that moment. We (even people like me) had compassion on people we did not even know. We showed kindness and love to each other, and to complete strangers. We spoke words of encouragement and support.

So much in the world was uncertain and so much more has changed since that day — we can’t imagine life without cell phones and social media, and yet there were no cell phone photos of 9/11 as it happened — no live tweets, no Instagram posts, no Facebook status updates for people to mark themselves as ‘safe’.

Twenty years later, the world continues to remain uncertain.

Twenty years later, people all over the world are still hurting — not only from the scars of 9/11, but from a myriad of other tragedies — people in your own neighborhood, people across the US, people in countries most of us have never heard of with names we can’t pronounce.

Twenty years later, our words still matter — to ourselves, to our friends, to complete strangers. That too, is something to never forget.

Typing Stories

I decided not to do National Novel Writing Month this year. It’s not that I don’t enjoy it. I have three posters advertising the month-long literary pursuit hanging in my house — one for each year I 'won' NaNoWriMo. For the past three years, I proved (mainly to myself) that I can crank out 50,000 words in 30 days with a loose story in between, and still survive.

This year, though, I didn’t really feel like writing an entire novel in November. Perhaps subliminally, I didn't want to be the writer who only did NaNoWriMo and then never bothered to get a book published.   

I have also just been uncannily grumpy for a long time. I suspected that piling 50,000 words onto my schedule (and not getting paid for it) would add to my overall bad mood.

I’ve always had a cranky side to me, but motherhood has brought it out in full force. 

I blame the lack of sleep and the numerous stressful events in my life, including, but not limited to, my brother's death, moving to a new city (and moving two more times within that city), having a baby, the Sailor’s promotion to Captain and haphazard schedule, a twin miscarriage and the hospitalization of my mom. (Pro tip: when a crisis happens to someone you know, just show up.)

I tried to blame my mood on everyone and everything, but in the end, the Sailor told me I needed to find my purpose. I found myself tearing up at his words, but he was right. He often is.

I have been foundering for a long time, and even though deep down I knew I was sinking, he offered me a life ring. 

A year ago, I purged a ton of Pyrex and started selling stuff I no longer wanted around the house. In doing so, I realized not only how much junk I’ve accumulated over my life, but how many jobs I’ve had and how many identities I’ve carried around with me.

I have been, among many other things, a runner, traveler, writer, thrifter, maker, crafter, daughter, caretaker, teacher, canoe instructor, cook, server, journalist, volunteer, friend, soccer player, photographer, wife.

And then I added mom to that list, and everything else seemed to dissolve away, because, well — kids are intense. Of course I know that children are the greatest gift. But sometimes our identity gets so wrapped up in mommyhood that we forget who we were before this child came into our life. It almost feels like someone stole my identity and left me with a sleep-deprived, angry, grumpy one in its place. 

Motherhood does that to a person.

The Sailor told me to pray about it. And while I have always had a deep faith, over the years I have been somewhat blasé about it. For fear of offending people, I have shied away from even admitting that I am a praying person because of the reputation sometimes cast upon believers these days.

Living in the South will do that to a person.

So I silently prayed for my purpose. I knew the answer before I saw the literal sign. I have a framed picture of a typewriter on my wall, near my desk that reads, ‘Your story matters... Share it with the world.’

 

Your story matters.

There's a lot of truth in those three words. 

Within every ‘identity’ I’ve carried, I have always been a storyteller. Often the story is mine, although for years I wrote other people’s stories — tales of incredible people in far away places you’d have trouble finding on a traditional map.

I don’t know exactly when I stopped telling stories. Mine. Yours. God’s. I think it started when my mentor died. Not many people championed my writing like he did and when he died, a little of my soul seemed to go with him.
 
Writing is one of the few things that has stayed consistent in my life when everything else has changed. I have lived in numerous places and countries, taken on various jobs and roles, but I have always had my journals, my stories. And for nearly 20 years, I always had JH to tell me I was on the right track — whether I needed to pursue the story or scrap it.

Then, he was gone. And I felt like nobody reminded me to keep writing — to keep chasing stories. For over a year, I neglected this blog, not really knowing what to share. I wondered if people even read personal blogs anymore. Staying silent is not exactly a good way to honor the legacy of the man who taught me so much about writing, however. 

Actual writer's block.

Over these past few weeks, I tried to think back on the times when I felt the most alive, when life seemed to have the most meaning. Immediately, I saw myself in far away places. I’ve traveled a lot and it’s natural that I have amazing memories from the many locations I’ve lived. I’ve always assumed that a portion of my crankiness lately is because I live in the States now, and even though we do still travel a lot, I find myself pulling clothes out of a closet more often than a suitcase these days.

(I do prefer suitcases.)

For this walk down memory lane though, the location didn't matter so much as what I was actually doing in each of them.  

I remember a hostel on the hill in Budapest. I had an amazing view of the city from my window, but what I remember even more is how my fingers flew over my keyboard, racing to make a deadline.

I remember staying up late in my shared office in Mercy Ships, somewhere off the coast of West Africa, so I’d have a moment of quiet clarity to finalize a story.

I remember stumbling into a cafe, stunned, scribbling notes in a rain-soaked journal after a moving visit to Auschwitz.

I remember drinking super strong coffee from a tiny ceramic cup, listening to the sounds of rain, while writing in a mission building in Transcarpathia, Ukraine.

I remember wandering to my favorite cafe in the Canary Islands, tucking myself into a corner with a café con leche, while I wrote in my journal with a fountain pen.

I remember cradling my 3-month-old in a sling in this city where I now live, while I wrote my own eulogy to my former boss through a tear-filled haze.

I remember typing out random scenes in NaNoWriMo while the Peanut slept next to me, hoping he wouldn’t kick the keyboard and delete 10,000 words.

I remember all of these things because I felt alive. 

Oddly, many of the things I experienced and later wrote about were not all rosy and cosy. They were messy, distressing, uncomfortable, annoying. Kind of like my life on certain days. Yet writing about them made me feel alive.

It's been a rough few years. This past year especially has been a doozy, and I have felt less than alive, most days. Lately though, something seems to be changing. Maybe it’s God. Maybe it’s the literal sign on my wall. Maybe it’s just me unearthing what was always there. 

I remember now, that I have a story to tell. 

MY story matters.

My STORY matters.

My story MATTERS.

I may not have actually published a book by the age I wanted. But I have lived more in my years than many people ever will and I have the stories to prove it.   

This month, I won't get any bragging rights to 'winning' NaNoWriMo, but I am still writing a story. My story. I hope you'll stick around to read it.

Pyrex Purging and Motherhood Musings

I broke a Pyrex dish about a month ago. It was only my second Pyrex casualty ever, but it was one of my favorite patterns and dishes. In that moment, as I stared at the shards of the Butterprint refrigerator dish scattered across my kitchen floor, I decided to sell off most of my collection.

In fact, I've gotten rid of lots of stuff lately. I have never been a hoarder, but after moving (again) this summer, the thought of packing up everything about did me in. There was absolutely no reason to keep my Girl Scout sash from the early 1980s. (You'd be amazed at what people bid on eBay for stuff like that. Clean out your closets and storage areas!) And so, most of the Pyrex went off to auction, too. 

I'm keeping these though!

I went a little crazy on the Pyrex collecting over the years, mainly because I traveled so much and never really had my own kitchen until later in life. While sorting photos from eons ago, I realized I took a LOT of pictures of my Pyrex. It reminded me to pick up my camera and to actually take pictures with something other than my phone. It also reminded me that it's been forever since I posted anything on here. I started this blog five years ago — back when I seemed to have more hours in the day to take photos of stationary things like Pyrex, and to make crafty stuff to later blog about. 

These days of mine now are filled to the brim with cooking, cleaning, train track construction and Lego building with the Peanut, puzzles and books, mud painting and coloring, piles of laundry and dishes, and lots of refusals to nap. He is exhausting and exhilarating all at the same time. 

While I can still remember my life pre-Peanut (oh sleep... I still miss you...) it's hard to fathom that this blog is older than he is. I feel like so much of my life has changed, not only since I started this blog, but since having the Peanut. I am now introduced as my child's mother. (People never seem to remember the mother's name at child-friendly events.) I just ripped apart the last thing I crocheted because I hated it, leaving me to wonder if I'm ever going to use my stash of yarn again. I serve boxed mac 'n cheese for lunch more times than I care to admit. I live for nap time, on the rare occasion it happens. I find myself constantly repeating things like 'put your pants back on'.

I look back over parts of this blog and some days I'm not sure what ever happened to the old me. Well, actually the younger me. 

I got a glimpse of her earlier in the week though, when I met someone moving overseas. Her son is the same age as mine, and she and her husband will be moving to a country near and dear to me in just a few months. She wanted to know about any helpful tips and tricks for adjusting to an international life. She was of course apprehensive, but also excited. I never asked her age, but I'm guessing it was a lot younger than mine, and I realized with a bit of a shock that I've now become that older person who doles out advice to people half my age. 

I saw part of my former self in her though, and it made me smile. I too was nervous before I moved overseas for the first time, but I also remember the excitement — the anticipation of adventure.  

It's something I want to continue to instill in the Peanut, even when I feel old(er) and more tired than I ever have in my life. I hauled him to Scotland this summer because we had travel vouchers to use and because I wanted him to experience this incredible place where I've had countless laughs and adventures for over two decades. I hadn't been back for years, and I missed it fiercely.

Besides the phenomenal amount of rain and mud, the acquisition of a stomach bug, and general fatigue that comes from traveling and camping with a newly minted three-year-old, the trip was pretty amazing. In all of the summers I've spent on the shores of Loch Lomond, this was certainly the most challenging, but also one of the most rewarding. I got to show my little guy one of my favorite places on the planet and he reminded me that sometimes you just need to throw a rock into a loch to feel better. 

He still talks about camping and canoeing in Scotland and months later, he's completely enamored with the Thunderbird rockets that his 'Aunty and Uncle' from England sent to him after our trip. (After at least two dozen flights to several countries and continents with a child, I finally decided to write some travel tips here.)

When he wakes up an hour after falling asleep because he's overly tired from not napping earlier, I have to remember that these days are fleeting, even when I too am struggling to keep my eyes open. I have to remember that he already views life as an adventure. It's exciting for him to help make pancakes or waffles, to pour the milk, to help me put away the groceries, to wrap yarn around a tree, or to build a rocket house with sticks and leaves. 

He's not going to care if we mix those pancakes in a vintage Pyrex bowl. He's only going to care that I let him sit on the counter and crack the eggs. And those are the images that I will probably never get on camera, but they'll be imprinted on my heart forever.  

We don't always have to travel far to see what an adventure life can truly be. And we don't always need a photo to show everyone where we've been. There are days when I miss my old life, but I still wouldn't trade it for the world, because I've already seen it. And now I'm seeing it through the eyes of my son.  

I just hope he sleeps long enough for me to actually publish this post. 

PS: National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo, starts in a mere matter of minutes! EEK! This is my third year participating and hopefully my third win. The story of why I started this insane tradition can be found here.

PPS: The holidays will be here before we all know it. If you're visiting friends or family, or hosting anyone, brush up on how to be a charming hostess and gracious guest here.

Ocean Crossings, Cross-Stitch and Stitch Fix

It seems like I haven't shared much recently at least on this blog (you can read how I'm not teaching the Peanut to share here...) but I have to remind myself that the only deadlines I impose on this blog are the ones I make for myself. Sometimes there's simply not much to say. And sometimes I'm just saying it elsewhere. 

So, in case you've missed out on my life elsewhere, here's a recap of what's going on in my world:

:: The Sailor arrived home just in time for us to all fly to South Africa together! It has been two years since the Peanut and I were there. This time, he had his own seat, rather than my lap, which is a good thing because he's a giant.

He's a big fan of flying, although he's still not a great fan of sleeping... anywhere. Nevertheless, we spent several weeks hanging out with Ouma and Oupa and enjoying sunshine and summer in the Southern Hemisphere. We spent a lot of time outside, playing in the dirt. 

:: Cross-stitch. I still don't know what I was thinking of when I picked out this cross-stitch design for the Peanut's room. I started it back in Singapore over a year and a half ago, and then I barely touched it until over the holidays. I decided not to pack any knitting or crochet projects for our overseas trip <GASP> and instead, I just brought the safari stitching. I made some serious progress during the Peanut's nap time. And because he spent so much time simply playing outside, I got to sit under the tree and stitch without him wanting me to play with him every minute. Win win. 

And when my mother-in-law tried to pawn off some half-finished stitching she'd started when the Sailor was younger, on me, I promised myself to finish this thing by the time the Peanut's 5th birthday rolled around. At least I have a few year's buffer.

:: I signed up for Stitch Fix. My guilty pleasure TV binge used to be TLC's 'What Not to Wear' show. I secretly hoped someone would sign me up so I could get a new wardrobe. (Let's face it, I've also lived in places where I wanted to nominate the whole town simply to get people out of their pajamas.) 

Now, with a new post-baby body, and after changing my diet and losing more weight, nothing from my former life fits. I'm not quite sure how to dress a 40-something body, while chasing after a toddler without simply wearing athletic gear all day. So for $20, I hired a stylist! I just got my first shipment and I LOVED having items handpicked just for me that actually FIT and are geared towards my life. I'm not going to lie... the stuff was pricier than I would have paid if I had nabbed it off the rack at TJMaxx, but I'm not sure I can put a price on getting the perfect pair of skinny jeans mailed right to my door without having to try on 46 other pairs. 

(If new clothes aren't your thing, feel free to read my latest post on the Chattanooga Mom's Blog on How to Be a Savvy Secondhand Shopper.)  

:: The Sailor and I are mere days away from celebrating our 10th wedding anniversary! It's hard to believe it's been a decade since we tied the knot. We've done a lot of living, laughing and loving since then. I'm excited to see where the next decade of adventures take us. If you missed our story, you can read it here. 

Finally, a word on writing. There's a lot going on in my head about the state of the world lately and I haven't really written about it publicly. I decided one day to pull out my sadly neglected journal and I scribbled pages and pages of chicken scratch (seriously, if someone ever finds my journals, good luck deciphering them) about my thoughts. I felt so much better afterwards and it reminded me again to regularly write in my journal more often. It really does wonders for my soul. It also reminded me to keep pursuing more writing outlets. 

So I did. In February, I had this story published in the City Mom's Blog Network, the parent site of the local Chattanooga blog I now write for. I know there's a lot more in me that needs to be said. Some of it will stay in the journal. The rest though, time will tell. 

Happy (almost!) Spring. I hope the sun is shining wherever you are. 

Welcome back?

A lifetime ago, when I worked for Mercy Ships, I waved goodbye to their flagship from an ice cold dock in Germany. I spent a few weeks in England and then returned to the States to assimilate back into American culture. I slept late, recovered from jet-lag, wrote in my journal and tried to figure out pop culture nuances I had missed over the last few years in Africa.

Then I started job hunting. In the end, I took a land job with Mercy Ships. I worked as a grant writer in their short-lived DC office. When I calculated the time that I officially left Mercy Ships to the time I took the job, it had been exactly three months.

I didn’t need to leave Mercy Ships. I simply need a Leave of Absence. All long-term crew were afforded a three month break every three years. I neglected to take mine. And I should have. I was burnt out and simply needed a break.

Maybe I just needed a Leave of Absence from blogging for the summer (again). Who knows. But I'm back.

I’m a little like those Olympic athletes and coaches who say they’re retiring and then they come back for just one more season. (Okay, that's a stretch. But hey, the summer Olympics ARE on.)

And while I did indeed take the summer off from blogging, I certainly have not had a summer off.

So let’s have a little recap, shall we?

:: The Sailor arrived home in May, after passing his Master’s Unlimited exam! Those of you familiar with sea life will understand what a HUGE and monumental deal this is. The Sailor studied and put hours of hard work into this and had to endure a grueling three and a half hour oral exam. Not for the faint of heart. I’m so proud of my captain! 

:: In May, I attended a fantastic sweater unraveling workshop on an alpaca farm. The workshop was hosted by Reunion Yarn, a great startup focusing on recycling and reusing fiber. It combines my love of thrifting with my love of yarn. Unraveling thrifted or old sweaters? Sign me up! I even hauled my dear mother with me and together we attempted to dismantle a few cardigans I had previously made for both her and myself. The yarn stash is now overflowing. 

:: While the Sailor was home, we took a trip to Legoland in Atlanta. The Peanut has been obsessed with his $2 blocks from Goodwill. We figured it was time to introduce him to Legos. He LOVED it.

:: In June and on a whim, I mentioned to the Sailor that I wanted to start looking seriously into selling my handmade knit and crocheted items. The following week, Co.Starters was starting their summer cohort, a nine-week course aimed at aspiring entrepreneurs wanting to startup a business. The first week I sat there wondering what on earth I got myself into, but this past week we had our pitch night and graduation celebration and I'm pretty proud of myself for taking such a giant leap forward.

While I'm still very much in the beginning stages and taking it VERY slow, I do feel far more equipped to eventually launch a small business selling hand knit slippers (of course.) Stay tuned for more info on this exciting endeavor! 

Cooling off in the cabin

:: In July, the Peanut and I went camping. It was CRAZY hot. We camped with a dozen moms and 45 kids. You read that right. FORTY-FIVE. I was the only mom with only one kid — most of the gals there had 4-5 each, many with newborns! Props to those mighty women. I of course was missing my summers in Scotland, but this was a good initiation into camping for the Peanut. At least our cabins had an outlet and I had the good sense to bring a giant fan. We spent a lot of time floating on the lake. The Peanut also consumed lots of junk that he's not allowed to have at home, like blue Gatorade and sugary lemonade to avoid dehydration.

:: In August, the Peanut turned two! TWO! I actually felt like a fog lifted that week. I don’t know if it’s a hormonal shift in my life, or the fact that he’s no longer a baby, but I feel a little lighter these days. The first two years with the little Peanut, while filled with immense joy, were also HARD. And tiring. So I don’t know what the reasoning is for my new lighter outlook, but I'll take it.

:: Finally, I have broken a promise I made to myself when I was pregnant. I became a mommy blogger. (GASP!) I am one of the newest contributors on the Chattanooga City Moms Blog site. I had been reading their material for a while (there are City Moms Blogs all over — find one in your area) so when they put out a call for Chattanooga writers, I applied. My first post will be on there in a few short weeks. (Excuse me while I eat my words...)

So there you have it. I'm back and hopefully better than ever. Or else I just have Olympic fever. Or I'm still delirious from lack of sleep (still), two years into this mama business. Whatever the reason, I've missed sharing bits of my life on here. I'm still not sure where Typing Sunflowers is heading, but I know like most things in my life, it's growing organically.  

I hope you'll welcome the blog back! 

Airmail

I've said before and I'll say it again, I love snail mail. As a kid I always enjoyed the long walk to the mailbox, hoping for a letter from one of my pen pals. I still get excited to get a real letter in the mail (although these days it's far and few between). It's also the reason I still mail out real Christmas cards. It's now hilarious to me to see the Peanut get super excited when I tell him we're going to get the mail.

Over the weekend, I worked on my Project Life album. I'm way behind, but it was super fun to see how much the Peanut has grown in the past 18 months, and also to see all of the adventures the Sailor and I had over the past year and a half. I took a LOT of photos. I'm sure I wouldn't have nearly as many without having a camera on my phone. 

In fact, it's hard to imagine life these days without modern technology, right? 

While working on the Project Life pages, I came across a pile of letters and postcards I remember purchasing at a flea market a few years ago. I liked the look of the airmail envelopes and I had something crafty in mind when I bought them. I don't remember what, now, but I do remember leaning over that particular table, rifling through the letters and and picking out the ones I wanted. I probably wanted to use the stamps for something. 

Last night, while the Peanut got into every plastic bin I had scattered on the floor, I found the letters and began to read them. 

 

Once I started, I couldn't put them down. I was astounded. 

I'm sure the set is incomplete, but from the few letters I have, I gathered that a couple set off on a trip overseas — one of their letters mentioned 15 countries in all. They were writing to their daughter in the summer of 1955. I just assumed she was older, maybe in college. But the more I read, the more I found out. She must have been a wee toddler — not even in school yet. It seemed like she was staying with her grandparents for the summer while her parents (who often signed off as Daddy and Mamma) were gallivanting the globe for a few weeks to Europe and the Middle East. A few of the letters mentioned that they hadn't yet heard from their daughter and they were pleading for the grandparents to write when the couple arrived in London, where they could receive post. One letter even said, 'Ask Grandpa to get an airmail stamp from the post office.' 

I felt a little like I was invading someone's privacy, but I kept reading. 

Eventually, I found the letter that Grandpa had written and mailed to London, in care of a travel agent and addressed to a 'Reverend'. I can only guess that the couple was perhaps on a mission or pilgrimage of some sort. Grandpa said he hadn't written yet because his eye glasses broke in the meantime. In addition, he didn't have enough ink in his pen and needed to get more. He also mentioned that the little girl couldn't wait to have the letters read to her when they arrived. 

I realize that I grew up in an era without cell phones, without Facebook and without so much technology. The Internet only really came about when I went to college. I remember going off to Africa as a 20-something and not talking on the phone to my mom for five months. I did however, at least email her. 

And I have never lacked for a pen. 

There's something incredible though about thinking about this couple, who only wrote snail mail letters home to their daughter. And even though they were airmail, I'd imagine the post wasn't as fast as it is today. 

If the little girl was still alive, she'd be in her 60s. I'm guessing though, that the people mentioned in the letter are all deceased. It's probably how the letters ended up in a flea market basket at a bargain price. Someone probably had an estate sale, and they ended up getting shuffled around until I eventually found them. 

I had a huge clear out of my letters recently (read Marie Kondo's 'The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up' for tips on purging!) But there are a number that I still kept, letters my mom wrote me through the years, all of my written correspondence from the Sailor, and letters from my traveling 'sisters' from our years scattered around the globe. 

Some days I wonder if someone will end up reading through my own letters, trying to piece together a piece of the past. I find it hard to believe that people will really remember the little snippets of technology that we engage in day to day and minute by minute. After all, so many things like Facebook status updates, Instagram pics, and tweets are all so temporary. Even though nothing is really ever 'gone' from the Internet, are people really going to remember that we posted something about the weather? 

It's funny how a written letter changes that perspective. The Reverend wrote about the weather in his letters, and the Grandpa wrote in return about their weather (apparently 1955 had the hottest summer on record in Maryland). Some things, like talking about the weather, never change. But those letters have at least endured.

Maybe that's why I'm still into snail mail. It's like leaving a little glimpse of another life, for another generation.

Summer Recap

I may have fibbed when I said I would be back in September. I meant to be, honestly, but then life kind of took over. Even though we extended our summer holiday well into September, the season was far too short. 

REALLY too short. I felt like I needed one final trip to the beach to mark the closure of summer... one last hurrah with the Sailor before he jetted off to another continent to return to sea. But alas, time got away from us, and while we managed to squeeze a ton of things into what should have been a rather relaxed summer, we didn't manage a trip to the beach.

Here's what did happen though:

I went to a dear friend's wedding. Actually, I got a flat tire on the way there and missed the wedding... but the Peanut and I made it in time for the reception. 

I reunited with my college besties for a few days in beautiful Boulder, Colorado. The last time the four of us converged, we were all on the brink of major life changes. This time, we discussed all that we've gone through in 20 years (20 years!) together. 

We moved to a new apartment with a view. The Sailor happened to be thousands of miles away working at the time, so I rallied a work crew and thankfully the Peanut gave me just enough napping time to box up our belongings. 

Only a few days after unpacking the last box, the Peanut and I took a 700 mile road trip to visit friends and family. The Peanut promptly learned to climb stairs at a friend's house.

The Sailor arrived home to our new apartment just in time for the Peanut's first birthday party. I'm not big on giant parties for little people, so I planned to simply celebrate with a cupcake for the little guy. Instead, he decided to get his first cold. The cupcake was quickly forgotten, because it was soon time to pack for...

SINGAPORE! The Sailor had some work training courses to complete, so the Peanut and I tagged along for two weeks. It was a LONG few flights, but worth it. 

Singapore was a food and shopping mecca. On one of the Sailor's earlier trips there, he brought back a magnet that said: 'Survivor Singapore: Out Shop, Out Play, Out Eat.' I thought it was funny back then, but I totally get it now.

I have traveled solo to many places, so obviously wandering around with a baby brought a whole new element to sightseeing. The Peanut and I had a blast together though and it was super special to see Singapore through his eyes, in a way. (Singapore is also very kid friendly... more on that later!)

  

(OK, so we DID manage to get to the beach, but only for a short while.
Just long enough to watch the ships.)

I managed to get a few crafty things started over the summer, like this lofty cross-stitch that I MAY finish by the time the Peanut is 18. 

Finally, I've probably been procrastinating with restarting this blog because I keep thinking it needs a change... a new direction or something. Maybe since I started this blog at the beach, I needed a trip to the ocean to figure out that new direction. I'm still not sure where it's headed, but I hope you'll stick around to find out. 

I hope you all had a wonderful summer! 

Happy Earth Day!

 

I took this photo nearly a decade ago (how is that even possible?!) at a small outdoor restaurant along the coast of South Africa. It's an old buoy, but it has always reminded me of the earth. 

The Sailor, the Peanut and I just returned from South Africa, and while we were nowhere near this restaurant, we at least enjoyed the outdoors as well as the spoils from Oupa's garden. We missed peach season, but we still had fresh carrots, tomatoes, onions and potatoes to feast on. We were just in time, since much of the garden was gearing up for the winter.

We introduced the Peanut to grass, which he wasn't too sure about at first. 

He soon figured that grass was great to crawl in, leaves make wonderful crunchy noises, and Dexter the Wonder Dog is fun to pet. 

I got to sit under my favorite tree.

We introduced hammocking to the Peanut as well. 

He didn't stay in the hammock long, 

but I think he liked the sound of the leaves rustling in the wind. 

  
Earth Day might only come around once a year, but I kind of like the idea of enjoying the outdoors all 365 days.

Now that we're back in the Northern Hemisphere (Spring already sprang while we were away) it's time to think of our own garden. This year we're planting tomatoes, okra, peas, carrots and broccoli, plus maybe a few other goodies. 

I'm thinking maybe sunflowers? 

Whatever your day brings, I hope it's full of sunshine, and happiness equivalent to leaves crunching in a baby's hand.

Happy Earth Day! 

 

Mid-Week Getaway and Tips for Traveling with a Baby

This week, the Sailor whisked the Peanut and I off on a quick two-night getaway in the middle of the week. I love that our often unconventional 'schedule' is so flexible! (Of course it also sometimes means that I neglect the blog... apologies!)

Besides the first few days at the hospital, the Peanut has never slept anywhere overnight except in our apartment, so we decided it was now or never. Besides, I had been a little crabby lately. I blame the hormones and the lack of sleep. Deep down, I think I just wanted to get out of town. I realized last week I hadn't been outside the city since last March when the Sailor and I drove to the beach. March!

I used to collect stamps in my passport. Now I collect dirty diapers for the laundry. However, even though I haven't booked an international flight for a long time, we could at least drive a few hours away to see a new aquarium. 

As a teenager, I wanted to save the whales and become a marine biologist. Nowadays, I'm happy saving money on those cloth diapers. 

Nevertheless, I still love aquariums and sea life. Apparently, the Peanut does too. He's been to two different ones already and those fish usually put him right to sleep. 

We've only had one overnight outing so far with the Peanut, but I'm already storing up tips for the next trip. Maybe they'll work for you, too! 

* Start driving around your little one's nap-time. The Peanut usually nods back off about 9:30, so we set off on our little adventure right around then, and he managed to take an extended nap through most of the drive.

* Bring something for your baby to roll around with on the floor. We have one of those activity mats that someone gave us. The Peanut long outgrew the need to lay there and look up at the stuff dangling from the top, but he loves to look at the animals on the mat. I dismantled that thing months ago, so we just took the mat with us. Chances are, if your child is as mobile as the Peanut, he will end up on the hotel floor at some point, but at least the mat can serve as home base. 

* Remember a few books and toys. The Peanut loves books already, so I brought two small ones with me and we just kept reading those over and over. Other items that made it into the suitcase included Sophie la Giraffe and another teething toy. 

* It is possible to travel with cloth diapers! More on that (and cloth diapers in general) in a later post. 

* Splurge if you can, for a hotel within walking distance of attractions. We decided to forgo being cheap this trip and we decided to just book a nice hotel that was near enough to walk to the sites we wanted to see. This is especially helpful if you want to head back to your hotel for lunch, to nurse, or to change your baby. It also meant we were schlepping less stuff around with us all day. And, we saved on eating food we brought with us. 

* Consider room service if you want a meal out, but don't want to head back out with a bambino. After a full day of site-seeing, we didn't think any of us would last at a restaurant for dinner. Room service wasn't much more than a meal out would have been, and it saved our sanity. 

* Bring along a knitting or crochet project if that's your thing! I finished half a sweater for the Peanut in the car and at the hotel, thanks to the Sailor driving, and me not having to cook or do dishes for two days. 

I'm hoping this was just the first of many fun road trips to come. What tips do you have for traveling with little people? 
 

Journal Block?

Last week on Thanksgiving (was that really over a week ago?!) I mentioned my 50 plus journals and how every year I write out what I'm thankful for.

Suffice it to say, with guests visiting, the Sailor arriving home, and the four-month-old Peanut's neediness, I haven't gotten around to writing that list yet, although I've been mulling it around in my head. 

Actually, I've really been mulling around the reasons why it's taking me so long to finish this particular journal.

I bought this current journal in Abu Dhabi in April of 2012. It's a pocket-sized book in a bright turquoise blue — a reminder of the fabulous pedicure I had in the country. My hands look like I spend my days washing dishes without gloves, but if it's sandal weather, I tend to make sure my toenails are actually polished. Turquoise was the color I chose for the remainder of that trip.

Pick any journal off of my shelf and I'll be able to tell you what country I was in and what was going on in my life simply by looking at the book itself. I may not be able to remember the Sailor's mobile phone number, but I can remember where I was while writing the story of my life. Friends who know me well have gifted me gorgeous leather-bound and handmade paper journals from far-flung places around the globe. At the moment I have several from Egypt begging to be filled. 

I picked the small turquoise journal in Abu Dhabi because I envisioned taking it further afield to other international trips to Scotland and Ukraine that summer. Smaller size equals easier transport. Instead, I started the journal on July 4th and due to extenuating family circumstances, didn't get on a plane to anywhere until much later in the year.

Over two years later, this journal still has a few blank pages in it. It's been to South Africa and the Caribbean, plus several States on a 3000-mile road trip, and yet I still can't seem to finish it. I used to complete a pocket-sized journal on a two week trip to Eastern Europe. And yet, despite the crazy few years I've had and the life-changing events along the way, I haven't been able to finish this journal. 

I blame technology to some extent. My iPhone now goes everywhere with me instead of my journal. I type out notes with my finger instead of my pen, and I make lists and calendar entries by clicking open apps. 

I blame this blog a bit, because let's face it, I've written pretty regularly on here for two years now, and it's much faster for me to type than to write anything. Plus it's getting increasingly difficult to reread my handwriting. Not because my eyesight is going, but because my writing is getting sloppier. 

I blame the book that has been stagnating on my computer for years while I try to figure out when I'm ever going to return to Ukraine to write its conclusion. I spent the summer of 2012 partly rereading many of those old journals, while typing out my story of summers past. Clearly I neglected the current journal in the process.
 
On the other hand (and new baby aside...) it's time to stop blaming other stuff. I think I've just been a little lazy. I often tell other people to write out their thoughts when they are going through life transitions, and yet here I am, trying to muster up the energy to finish writing out the birth story of the Peanut before I forget every little detail, and I only have three pages left to fill. THREE! 

This is the journal that saw the death of my older brother, a special reunion with life-long friends, a major move across the country, pregnancy and a new baby, plus the death of my lifetime mentor — all HUGE events that warrant handwritten thoughts and memories, and yet many of them barely got so much as a scribble of acknowledgement.

It's one thing to type out part of my story, it's quite another to write it out. While I'm thankful my mother made me take typing in school (back in the days when it wasn't even required!) I'm far more grateful that she bought me my first ever journal, giving me a place to store my secrets. (I shared more of that story in an article in the Winter 2014 edition of Artful Blogging.)

Part of me knows that once I start a new journal, the words will come easier. Sometimes a blank slate is all you need. More than once, I've filled up journals from the back as well as the front. The back holds the lists of books I've read since I started that journal (48 in the current journal that I remembered to write down... there could be more.) There are also cinema ticket stubs (at least 18 — some may have fallen out along the way), as well as packing lists, to do lists, and words of wisdom printed on tea bags such as 'grace brings contentment'. 

This particular journal seems to have more stuff scribbled and pasted into the back than usual — like I have been desperately trying to finish this book without having to write anything of substance in it.

I haven't traveled anywhere of late, but the journal does seem to move from room to room with me, willing me to finally finish it. 

It's sitting here next to me on the desk. I definitely don't want to stretch this writing rut into 2015. So, if you'll excuse me, I think while the Peanut is miraculously still sleeping (on his own!), I may just have to finish my story, and this particular journal. 

After all, a new story and a new journal awaits.