children – Page 2

So Long Summer

Summer 2015 is quickly coming to an end. It’s been a lovely, eclectic time. A few weeks each year filled with spontaneity, reflection, productivity and just plain being lazy on some days. Dare I admit it, summer is fun even without my kids.

http://www.puckermob.com/lifestyle/11-things-sentimental-girls-want-you-to-know

Being sentimental doesn’t make us pushovers or weak. Reflective. Future thinking. Grounded in kindness.

These summer days brought me to a deeper understanding of connecting the past to the present.

Next week school starts. Thirty plus years teaching music, private voice and now theater has taught me that maintaining connections are important. This art is a new addition to my classroom this Fall.

Each one of us is on a journey with

a unique story.

A new school year is always a time of re-commitment and discernment. New journeys and stories to share.

On the Road - Dallas — On the Road – Dallas

Looking for signs along the way.

Chicago and EWF - July 2015 — Chicago and EWF – July 2015

Companions to sweeten the journey.

Time for quiet and gratitude.

I recently read that energy and wisdom need each other. That idea is what still draws me to teaching: youth and it’s energy encountering whatever wisdom I may have. I certainly don’t have all of the answers but life experience and “journey”. If we listen to one another we both learn. A collaborative experience.

Here’s to summer’s refreshment and here’s to the new school year in whatever you do.

Sparkle

It’s been more than a month since the last blog. In these last weeks my daughter and youngest child received her Master’s degree. Tomorrow my son celebrates his twenty-ninth birthday. These words and photos come with thought. T wenty-five. Twenty-nine years. Maybe a life time.

Several years ago, I arrived at a lonely, uncommon place, at least for me. Feeling obsolete. I had always been keenly aware of others needs: daughter, wife, mother, educator. Hormones aside, it hit me that May day that life was evolving into something different and very quickly. I began searching for a different place, a new voice. Today on the cusp of my son’s birthday I feel anything but challenged. Joy. Pride in what has been accomplished by them, I suppose in myself for seeing them into adulthood and certainly grateful to the many who have supported and loved our family along the way. It takes more than a village…

It’s natural for my thoughts to have drifted to my parents during these weeks. Their sacrifices. My children are thoughtful and considerate. Was I appreciative in my twenties?

Mama said, “Darling, don’t make such a drama. A little less thinking, a little more feeling”. I suppose “thinking and feeling” is what middle-aged women do. There wasn’t much time for it when our children were growing up. We were too busy balancing life, spinning plates. Now, at a safe distance, we can Monday morning quarter back but not for long. There are always new adventures waiting.

Do we all have fleeting moments wondering if we’ve become our parents? Mine in this last month was recalling something that my mother used to say: that ‘children’ are never really ours but on loan to us.

Isn’t she/he beautiful, though?
You would have liked her/him
Mama did things no one had done
Mama was funny, Mama was fun

Children and Art – Sunday in the Park with George by Stephen Sondheim

Mama was funny and fun….Life was art.

A favorite quote from Auntie Mame “Life is a banquet and some of the poor fools are starving.”

For Patrick and Sarah and all of our children….

23 Brilliant Life Lesson from Anthony Bourdain

Here’s to parents and children. Both continually growing.

You would have liked her
Honey, I’m wrong
You would have loved her
Mama enjoyed things
Mama was smart
See how she shimmers?
I mean, from the heart

Parents and children. Both works of art. Shimmer. Sparkle.

A letter home…

Spring has been opera performances, conducting musicals, organizing a cabaret, teaching. A last minute trip to visit my son for Easter. Preparations for my daughter’s Masters degree graduation in Boston. My hesitation in blogging has something to do with all of that activity but also with tomorrow. April 19. Thirty years.

A letter that’s long in coming but has been formulated in my heart and mind for quite some time. A letting go.

It seems odd to write. Over these decades you have been a part of the journey. Some days, like today, it’s a fleeting flashback, almost relegated to a hashtag. How you visited with women in the Monroe A&P. We’d get animal crackers. Now, I understand the significance of those grocery store chats. What is said in those whispers on the aisles. I understand a lot more than I did thirty, forty, fifty years ago.

You’d be proud of your grandchildren. They are creative, generous, intelligent, funny people. There has never been a time I haven’t enjoyed their company —-from the first moment I held them to the last moment we spoke. I hope they can say the same of me. You were right. Children grow up very quickly. It’s hard to believe that Sarah (named for your grandmother) is the same age I was the last time I saw you. Patrick (named for your great-grandfather) is now the age I was when I had Sarah. I remembered what you said… to spend time with them. . . the dishes and everything else did keep.

During most of my life I had a clearly marked ‘road map’. About four or five years ago things seemed very murky. Hormones and a redefined self-image…. I recalled one of our last conversations: about middle-aged women – – – a complicated conversation that I didn’t understand at the time. Now I understand the aging process: physical and spiritual. You prepared me for those steps just as you prepared me for so many others. It’s hasn’t escaped me that like many women, you found passion in your 50’s—-yours was public service and education. It’s not that you weren’t interested in public service before, after fifty you just had time to dedicate. Freedom and independence are exhilarating. That was our last conversation April 17, 1985.

You and Daddy taught by example that each day is enough. I hope Patrick and Sarah know that too. Finding the ‘simple’, in themselves and in others; Sifting through life’s concerns with style and grace. Keeping their ducks in a row….sometimes alone, sometimes with others. Always remembering….Family. Friends. Respect. Love. Laughter and fun along the way.

Yeah…it’s more than enough….and the conversation continues….

An Elephant’s Eye

One day I will find the right words and they will be simple.

Jack Kerouac~The Dharma Burns

Almost midnight. I’ve just returned from the theater. A preview for the musical Oklahoma that’s opening tomorrow night. Between performances of Madama Butterfly and music directing this show there have been a lot of late nights this month. Tonight the right words came to me watching this cast capture the simplicity of these characters.

Life is pretty simple. We complicate it. We create drama. Sometimes operatic….hiding behind masks.

Don’t get me wrong…music, opera, theater is glorious. But at the end of the very long day drama belongs on the stage. There’s plenty enough pathos and comedy in our lives without creating more.

Growing up Oklahoma would come on television every Thanksgiving evening. It was part of our family tradition to watch it. “Family picnic” in the living room my mother would call it. A happy memory. Watching the video monitor at tonight’s final dress rehearsal I looked down to find a text from my brother just about the time my favorite childhood scene was happening. Newlywed Laurey discusses the problems facing her with Aunt Eller. Upset, she says: “I don’t see why this had to happen when everything was so fine.” Aunt Eller’s response: “That’s alright, Laurey baby. You can’t forget, just don’t try to. Oh, lots of things happen to folks. Sickness or being poor and hungry, being old and a feared to die. That’s the way it is, cradle to grave, and you can stand it. There’s just one way: you gotta be hardy. You gotta be. You can’t deserve the sweet and tender in life unless’n you’re tough.”

Laurey’s wish is to be like Aunt Eller. When I was younger my dreams were of Laurey. The trappings. The things that fade. What did I know about hardships. Now I think Laurey had it right. Aunt Eller is a pretty wise bird.

Sure, it’s fun to play…but at the end of the long day. Or the long month it’s going to be just as nice to discover the simplicity in a nice shot with my camera again.

That message I got from brother Foley…..

Finding Home

Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple.

Dr. Seuss

….music (especially singing), theater, photography, writing, pork roast, mashed potatoes, asparagus cooked al dente, soup, reading on a rainy day, watching the sunset or sunrise, travel, cooking, spring gardening, touching base with friends and family…..

Don’t we all have a list of ‘comforts’ that keep us grounded, reminds us where we came from, keeps us centered in today, challenging us into tomorrow?

Two days after Christmas a friend and colleague for over twenty-five years went into sudden cardiac arrest. His condition was ‘serious’ at best, so I postponed my Christmas trip home. Over these weeks he has miraculously recovered. Two weeks ago I was finally able to make my Christmas trip home to North Louisiana. Home. Comfort.

In these weeks since Christmas I’ve thought about friends and family: the comfort they bring. Hopefully the comfort I bring them. What home means.

I once thought that “home” was about reinventing what my parents had created, a magical place from my childhood. I wanted magic for my children, a place the three of us would find safe, warm and filled with love, understanding and acceptance. Ultimately, we created our own rhythm and brand of magic. Home. Comfort.

Earlier this week on my way to run errands, out of the corner of my eye I noticed someone opening one of those clothing drop-off boxes. The person was on a bicycle so it seemed odd that they would drop off anything in a rainstorm. Suddenly they went head-first into the box. My heart stopped when I realized what I had witnessed. I’ve been haunted by that image. Home. Comfort.

Coming back from that Christmas visit I reflected…maybe we’re all turtles in a sense,finding home in each place and carrying with us those people and things that bring us comfort. Maybe that’s what that person in the parking lot took with him/her into the drop-off bin….memories and comfort. I never saw a face. When I drove through the parking lot the next day he/she wasn’t there.

Home. Comfort.

My little brother Mark will tell you I’m convinced that life can be boiled down to The Wizard of Oz…..there IS no place like home….wherever you find it.

Another Voice–for “Auld Lang Syne”

For last year’s words belong to last year’s language And next year’s words await another voice.

T. S. Eliot, Four Quartets

Last year, as appreciation to my son for his insightful gift I began this blog journey. Searching for words, images. Days blur during holidays. Some years are like that.

This year reminded me of a few simple rules: to be still then appreciate the beauty that surrounds me.

Grace is in all that’s before me: people and places.

I see. I remember then carry in my heart to keep forever. . . as a prayer.

Forgiveness. Peace. Joy. A Blessed New Year….

and into Eternity……

A new year…a new voice….ring in a new year….for auld lang syne!

Waitin’

Angel ornament made in 1995 by my daughter, Sarah from pine tree that stood in front of St. Aloysius Church. The trees were ‘repurposed’ by the kindergarten classes when our new church was built.

Kraslice ornament from trip to Prague in 2011. The eggs are a sign of blessing. I brought back a dozen and only lost one in transport.

One of two of my mother’s antique surprise balls that she had as a child…c. 1920-1930’s. One of my favorite ornaments since childhood.

004 — Each year for twenty years the Sisters that lived at St. Aloysius, the Daughters of Jesus gave me a dove Christmas ornament. It was bittersweet to put those ornaments on the tree after they returned to Spain. All but one of those lovely ladies are singing in the heavenly choir. Each, in their unique way, taught me about peace…and that ‘God is crazy about me’.

006 — We decorate our tree the third Sunday of Advent – with one exception. The year my daughter was born she was baptized on the first Sunday of Advent. I wanted my son to feel a part of the process so he and made the ornaments then decorated the tree with baby’s breath and lavender. It was one of the prettiest trees I remember.

008 — This ornament was a gift from a long-time friend, colleague and member of a prayer group we’ve both belonged to for nearly twenty-five years. It is from the Cathedral of St. Joseph in Baton Rouge and not only reminds me of a place that has become my home but also of other “homes” and the dear friends along the journey: Monroe and Shreveport.

Waitin waitin
I’ve been waitin
Waitin waitin all my life.

That light keeps on hiding from me,
But it someday just might bless my sight.
Waitin waitin waitin

William Bolcom ~ from Cabaret Songs Volume 1

010 — My first ‘adult’ ornament. 1980. It’s always the third ornament on the tree after my mother’s surprise ornaments. From longtime friend Diane Statham.

002 — New ornament this year from ‘first friend’ and blood sister. Most call her Terri but she’ll always be Leslie to me, a gift.

No big secret that I enjoy traditions especially when it comes to holidays. Traditions are what keep us connected. Some years I’ve considered getting new ornaments but those decorations are a walk with friends. Priceless.

Today, as I made Christmas Eve gumbo, surrounded by these ornaments, waiting for family to arrive I remembered the wonder and delight I felt as an expectant mother. Not unlike Mary and Joseph’s expectant waiting.

Waiting in the midst of traditions. Gifts of grace. Reminders of blessings traveled and will continue to travel in peace and joy.

Merry Christmas!

Finding Crème Brûlée

It’s been nearly a year since I began this photo-journal blog adventure. It started as a thank you to my adult children after last Christmas: to my son Patrick for his thoughtful gift, a new camera; to my daughter Sarah for her advice as a photographer and blogger. Each time I’ve held the camera my life quietens in prayer for them and for what surrounds me; for those–near and for—who I keep close. It has been a wild ride….filled with fun and adventure. At fifty-five that seems appropriate.

Like most people, these weeks before Christmas are busy with mundane balanced with preparations for the coming holiday. I learned long ago to take an inventory of values and expectations during this season. Traditions are important. . . well, at least to me they are. Name the day and time, keep it. Stay in the moment and enjoy it. All of that was very helpful raising two children. Keep It Simple Silly

Over the last week I’ve been preparing my daughter’s bedroom for a holiday spruce up. The renovation was a long-time coming. This transformation seemed to erase her childhood in my mind. With a few strokes exuberant, innocent hot pink became crème brûlée. She’s an adult. It was time.

As I was moving furniture, etc. I found what I thought was memorabilia that Sarah had been saving. Not so much! Mostly empty bags from shopping excursions she and I had taken together over the years when she had been home during holidays and summers. Lovely memories. At the bottom was a HUGE box.

My daughter has lived on her own for the past six years–all over the world. I do have some of her things in storage but I couldn’t imagine what was in it. I saw the box, smiled and laughed out loud.

Sarah had been studying in Prague, living there for a year. At the end of the year I joined her in Prague to pack up her apartment, travel a little then back to the states. There was a year’s worth of life to collect. Her suitcases broke; we bought new ones in Vienna. The image of our parade of suitcases on the tiny streets of Salzburg still makes me smile. On a cold, wet June day we decided to ship two LARGE YELLOW boxes back, praying clothes, books, worldly possessions would find their way home. Neither of us could part with the boxes. Seeing them reminded me of adventures with both of my ‘children’….and the promise of future adventure….for them and for me. It is, after all, our tradition. . .

With those memories hot pink became crème brûlée. In a way, isn’t life like those layers of paint? It’s comforting to know somewhere in me is a shade of pink rose bud layered with green gingham checks. We move on taking pieces with us. . . keeping it simple.

Here’s to tradition…no expectations. You’ll never know what you’ll find.

Start Your Engines

If Autumn is the best season then November is the pinnacle. Colors change, days get cooler, holidays.

The week of Thanksgiving I enter my fifty-fifth year. Maybe because my mother died young, I see the importance of celebrating birthdays….friends and family….mine, I enjoy celebrating quietly. Aging has turned into something far different than what I thought I saw my parents and grandparents doing when I was younger. Fifty-five always sounded like a speed limit.

The best piece of advice I was ever given about growing old came from a friend, Louise about fifteen years ago. ‘Become a crone,’ she said. ‘Not the withered old hag in fairy tales but the deeper meaning. An archetypal figure, a wise woman.’ That sounded interesting. Those kind of women I’ve known my entire life: my grandmothers, the neighborhood ‘mothers’ growing up, and of course, my mother. They all lived life with style and grace.

In our family, I was surely loved but never a princess. A strong-willed child with thankfully stronger-willed parents. Difficult adult choices were made less so because of the lessons they taught me.

After a car accident two months ago, my thoughts of were filled gratitude. Every day is gift. These were certainly thoughts that were familiar at significant life moments: births, deaths, graduations, moving. The wreck just gave me food for thought. Carpe diem. Seize everything with love…and seize carefully.

Traveling at fifty-five I see the treasures of family and friends, some have been companions on the journey for 25, 30…even 50 years. There have been lapses in some relationships. There may be miles between some of us. I’ve learned that miles and time aren’t a measure for family and friends…and certainly doesn’t diminish my love for them.

“They say there’s a heaven for those who will wait…..”

A nice sunrise. A lovely sunset. Friends and family to share life. Thanksgiving. Billy Joel could’ve been right about us Catholic girls. Fifty-five. Start your engines.

Simple Gifts

Beware the barrenness of a busy life. ~ Socrates

Three weeks ‘on the go’. Fun-filled adventures.

In the time I’ve missed the quiet, the camera click, waiting for a sunset, resting in ‘the moment’, simple moments with friends and family. Autumn reminds of me that. A homecoming of sorts. Time to settle in and nest. During the summer I made hard choices about future projects. The autumn ran away with those choices like a race horse. I allowed it.

Last weekend I traveled to my hometown for the first time since July. It’s good to touch base with those people who share collective memories, love you no matter what. Driving back, my thoughts drifted to the idea of unconditional love…. my parents, family, dear friends, my children.

I can only hope that I’ve been as generous and accepting with those special people in my life….my family, friends and students. . . and beyond.

The road leads us many ways in a busy life…some days the path is straight, some days…not so much….the gift is finding the simple way and loving through it.