I have an amazing mother. I’m sure you do too. But here’s why mine is better than yours.  She English. This is pretty amazing in and of itself, and really doesn’t require any other explanation. She says things like: “Oh, bother” and “You’re making me cross,” a lot, especially when I was a growing up and messing up. She moved all the way across the Atlantic after she married my dad, an American military man, and she’s been following him across the States ever since. They’ve been married 26 years.  She had me. I feel like this goes without saying, adding to her incredible factor by a hundred and one. But she had my older brother first, and then she had my younger four siblings after me. All in all, she gave me two beautiful, funny, and smart-mouth sisters, and three outrageous, creative and champion brothers. She’s done pretty well when it comes to kids, as kids go I mean.  Yet there’s more to the story. My mother is my mother and so that’s what she is to me, but she is more than just that and has been to many other people over the years. She’s a teacher. She taught in London schools and lived in apartments with broken elevators, but loved what she did and couldn’t stop doing it even after moving to America and having children. She became my teacher. Homeschooling six rowdy youngsters of all different ages and math levels is the bravest thing I’ve ever heard of. But she did it, and got me and my two brothers through it and running (ok, stumbling) down the aisles of our high school graduations and off to college. She’s still got three more to go.  Last year she laced me up and got me down another aisle as well. She’s also a friend. And a daughter far from home, just like I am now. And a church ministry volunteer. And a story-teller and an avid reader, and a quick-meal-whipper-upper, and a taxi-service, and a bargain shopper and a lost-things-finder, and her kids’ biggest fan. To her I owe two of my greatest loves in life; England and books. She laughs a lot. And is always late, but always has a good reason, because she gives all her time to others. She drives a twelve-seater passenger van down the highway like it’s an army jeep; she’s bad a** I have an amazing mother. She’s an amazing mother because she’s first and foremost an amazing woman.  Happy Mother’s Day to all the other (slightly lesser but still pretty cool) moms out there!  I miss you, Mum.  And now fully understand why all the cupboards are always a mess. (They go higgledly-piggledly at night when you aren’t looking.)                                                                  —~—

I have an amazing mother. I’m sure you do too.

But here’s why mine is better than yours. 

She English. This is pretty amazing in and of itself, and really doesn’t require any other explanation. She says things like: “Oh, bother” and “You’re making me cross,” a lot, especially when I was a growing up and messing up. She moved all the way across the Atlantic after she married my dad, an American military man, and she’s been following him across the States ever since. They’ve been married 26 years. 

She had me. I feel like this goes without saying, adding to her incredible factor by a hundred and one. But she had my older brother first, and then she had my younger four siblings after me. All in all, she gave me two beautiful, funny, and smart-mouth sisters, and three outrageous, creative and champion brothers. She’s done pretty well when it comes to kids, as kids go I mean. 

Yet there’s more to the story. My mother is my mother and so that’s what she is to me, but she is more than just that and has been to many other people over the years. She’s a teacher. She taught in London schools and lived in apartments with broken elevators, but loved what she did and couldn’t stop doing it even after moving to America and having children. She became my teacher. Homeschooling six rowdy youngsters of all different ages and math levels is the bravest thing I’ve ever heard of. But she did it, and got me and my two brothers through it and running (ok, stumbling) down the aisles of our high school graduations and off to college. She’s still got three more to go. 

Last year she laced me up and got me down another aisle as well.

She’s also a friend. And a daughter far from home, just like I am now. And a church ministry volunteer. And a story-teller and an avid reader, and a quick-meal-whipper-upper, and a taxi-service, and a bargain shopper and a lost-things-finder, and her kids’ biggest fan. To her I owe two of my greatest loves in life; England and books.

She laughs a lot. And is always late, but always has a good reason, because she gives all her time to others. She drives a twelve-seater passenger van down the highway like it’s an army jeep; she’s bad a**

I have an amazing mother. She’s an amazing mother because she’s first and foremost an amazing woman. 

Happy Mother’s Day to all the other (slightly lesser but still pretty cool) moms out there! 

I miss you, Mum. 

And now fully understand why all the cupboards are always a mess. (They go higgledly-piggledly at night when you aren’t looking.) 

                                                                —~—

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

Oh, I’m terribly sorry, were you trying to reach me?

Due to insane busyness syndrome/deteriorating mental capacity, (plus all reasons voiced above) I’ve been unable to blog recently; here’s a message from Old Spice man to tide you over indefinitely. He’ll take good care of you. 

(Note: not my actual number.)

Your personalized excuse-maker: http://oldspice.jfedor.org/

Would you not like to try all sorts of lives — one is so very small— but that is the satisfaction of writing — one can impersonate so many people.
Katherine Mansfield
I miss the ocean.  I miss the cool spray of salt water on my face; the muggy smell of damp rocks and seaweed.  The icy water lapping at my toes, pulling me in; the sound of rushing, rushing, rushing.  The breeze, a gentle relief from the burning sun on my head and between my toes; Sand. Everywhere.  In the crevice of my fingers, and down my shirt, clinging like some symbiotic creature on my skin. I brush it away and it comes back.  I want to watch the sun dip below the water that stretches forever - the water that separates me - want to watch it from the other side once more. Looking out.  I live on an island, small and cramped, surrounded by ocean, the same ocean reaching from here to there, yet no shore of its own can awaken me with life like the one I left behind. 

I miss the ocean. 

I miss the cool spray of salt water on my face; the muggy smell of damp rocks and seaweed. 

The icy water lapping at my toes, pulling me in; the sound of rushing, rushing, rushing. 

The breeze, a gentle relief from the burning sun on my head and between my toes; Sand. Everywhere. 

In the crevice of my fingers, and down my shirt, clinging like some symbiotic creature on my skin. I brush it away and it comes back. 

I want to watch the sun dip below the water that stretches forever - the water that separates me - want to watch it from the other side once more. Looking out. 

I live on an island, small and cramped, surrounded by ocean, the same ocean reaching from here to there, yet no shore of its own can awaken me with life like the one I left behind. 

A playlist inspired by my favorite Waterhouse painting? Yes, please. (Cue sweeping dresses and sword-fighting fantasies.)

  • Me: Um darling, did you forget to bring my Easter gift with you today?
  • Because I forgot yours.
  • Philip: Yes...
  • Me: Good; now I don't feel so bad.
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

We Move Lightly 

(Dustin O’Halloran) 

To-Do: Live (And Live Fully)

Sometimes

I look at to-do lists 

Like scripture 

Like holy X’s mark the spot to salvation

To eternal organisation 

And stuff

Sometimes

I leave the page until the day is spent

And only write the things I’ve accomplished, before putting a line through them

For confirmation

  • Eating
  • Sleeping
  • Breathing
  • Living

But then the pen stops. 

Have I done that? Have I lived today? 

And was it enough? 

Then I am stuck. (When did my to-do list become a philosophical protest?)

Sometimes

I don’t make to-do lists. I do stuff, instead. 

I think that small amount of effort just to say to someone, “hi, I thought of you and wanted to write to you,” even in mostly illegible handwriting with a mass of spelling mistakes and cross-outs and ink splots on the page, means a hundred times more than any email or instant message - no matter how well written and grammar-checked - could possibly.  I am going to try to write more letters, with my hands. I hope I can give someone that same sort of human comfort that it gives me.

I think that small amount of effort just to say to someone, “hi, I thought of you and wanted to write to you,” even in mostly illegible handwriting with a mass of spelling mistakes and cross-outs and ink splots on the page, means a hundred times more than any email or instant message - no matter how well written and grammar-checked - could possibly. 

I am going to try to write more letters, with my hands. I hope I can give someone that same sort of human comfort that it gives me.

Well-behaved women seldom make history.
Laurel Thatcher Ulrich