Tag Archives: Beauty

Re-defining Design

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For the last several months, we have been hunting for the perfect place to call home.  Having had our current home for sale for some time now, we do not want to be caught with no place to go if/when it sells.  The process of trying to sell and buy a home at the same time is one filled with discordant emotions:  The constant hope that it will sell, mixed with the anxiety of, “What if it sells?!?”  Looking for a new house with eager expectation, while the devil on your shoulder keeps telling you, “This is a waste of time . . . It could take another year before you sell your house and this house that you love will be LONG gone by then!”  But despite my doubts, reservations, and anxieties about packing up and starting over some place new, and despite the constant stress of having to keep our house immaculate on the off-hand chance that someone might want to come look at it . . . at times I allow myself to dream about starting fresh.  My home is very important to me and I strive to make it a beautiful, quiet, comfortable space that feels lived in.  I imagine myself to have a flair for design and am consistently inspired by beautiful spaces but, up until now, my design style can most accurately be described as traditional.  Safe.

 I am ready for something new.  Granted, I will not have a signficant redecorating budget after the expense of moving, but I know there are so many simple things that can be done on a dime.  Photos can be taken and digitally manipulated and then hung in spray-painted frames found for $0.50 at the Salvation Army.  Pillows can be made or recovered from scrap fabric found in a bin at most fabric stores.  Curtains can be bought for half the price when you look in the shower curtain section and have a working sewing machine.  I know that I have the capability to make a change and I am ready for it.  Afterall, acceptance is the first step toward recovery.

I also have the distinct privilege of having wonderfully artistic and design oriented friends who have recently moved and been able to re-define their style.  I look at the pictures they post and glean ideas and inspiration that I file away until it is my turn to re-draw my living space.  Here are some of their photos.  Hopefully they will inspire you as they have me.

Katie's New Home in NC - You can see more pictures on her blog, ChaiThoughts.com

Morgan's New Home in Downtown Jackson

Balance

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Balance.  This word . . . this idea, is so crucial for understanding and attaining happiness.  It is a significant part of the reason that I am writing this blog.  So many of us find it easy to highlight, ponder, dwell on, and magnify the negatives in our lives until they become radically out of balance with the positives that are all around us.  I am as guilty of this as anyone.  But, by the same token, the bright, happy, light, fun, and beautiful things, although often overlooked, would not retain their majesty without the contrast that pain provides.  I am struck lately, by many such examples of this balance in my life and they move me to gratitude.  They are the building blocks of my contentment.

In accidentally stabbing my hand, I discover over the course of the following week, the immense relief of allowing someone else to take control and help with the simple everyday things that often bog me down.  In being consistently frustrated by the window-rattling, base-thumping music of my rear adjoining neighbors, I am afforded an opportunity to connect to another neighbor I might otherwise have never spoken to.  While exhausting myself trying to finish a book for my book club, I find myself refreshed by the stimulating discussion of friends that follows my accomplishment.  Because my sitter’s daughter became ill, my son was able to spend some much needed time with his daddy and friends.  In lamenting the loss of certain friends to my husband, I am reminded of poignant examples of the depth of the friendships that remain.  While on the verge of letting my frustration overcome me at the unfathomably slow pace of my toddler on a walk around the block, he brings me a stick with dead leaves hanging off of it and proudly declares, “A flower for you Momma!  It’s special!”  Indeed it was.

The key, I suppose, is remembering, while immersed in the difficult moments, that they too will find balance.  There is always another side of the coin.  But don’t wait for that balance to happen too you.  Seek it out.  Mine for the joy that accompanies sorrow and most likely you will be able to find it.  Create moments that will surprise you . . . you might be surprised what you’ll find.

“Our Kind”

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Today I am humbled and inspired to gratefulness by an unexpected encounter that I had with some gentlemen working in the yard of the vacant house across the street.  When Aiden and I went outside to turn on the sprinkler and play in the yard, Aiden immediately became enamored with these workers and was desperate to investigate further.  “I go see them, Mommy!  I help!” 

I was hesitant because I didn’t want to get in the way or seem like we were gawking.  The men were not just doing yard work.  They were demolishing an enormous deck that enveloped much of the back yard.  I’m sure the last thing they needed was a two-year old staring at them, asking odd questions, and insisting he help, right?  But then I remembered the many other encounters I have had lately that have so inspired me to engage people . . . to give them the opportunity to share their lives, their passions, their work with someone who is excited to learn about them.  So I led Aiden by the hand across the street.  I was not disappointed with my decision.  The men, who, until that moment, had been quietly engaged in their back-breaking labor in 100 degree weather, stopped, looked up, and smiled.  They immediately began addressing Aiden as “little man,” inviting him to sit on their tractor and speaking to him about what it means to work hard.  It was like something out of an old southern novel.  I couldn’t bear to see them working so hard in this desperate heat, being so kind to my son without offering them something in return.  So I went home and brought back iced tea and popsicles.

I was greeted upon my return with phrases like, “Thank you kindly, ma’am!”  “You’re too sweet.”  “You’re gonna tempt me to go find an easy chair.”  As the conversation blossomed, I discovered that the men were brothers.  Two of TWENTY children born to their mother, who is currently 89.  There were 13 boys and 7 girls that grew up together in Pocahontas, MS.  The older of the two gentlemen, who didn’t look a day over 50, if that, said he was 70 years old.  And still working hard every day.  “What would I do with myself if I stopped?” he asked.  He recounted as he pried floorboards off the deck with a crow bar, sledgehammer, and brute strength how he was trying to teach his grandchildren to be eager workers, but “they just aren’t raised like they used to be.”  But he always let them help whenever they were willing.    The “younger” brother bragged about his family and seemed ashamed to need the help of his older brother, but explained that he has had health problems and just can’t handle it alone anymore.

The longer we spoke, the more filled with respect I was.  These men were humble and kind.  Lived a simple life, worked hard, and made no excuses.  They knew the value of family and earning their keep and would not give up even in the face of age and adversity.  Yet somehow I find myself worrying on a regular basis about things like money and time and health, when in reality we have plenty of all three.  It is amazing how perspective can change one’s outlook. 

As we were getting ready to leave, the younger brother mentioned off-handedly that he “thought sure it was [their] kind that lived across the street . . . black folk, that is.”
“But you know,” he said with a grin, “you’re the first people to come visit us in all the years we been workin’ this yard, so I guess you’re our kind after all!”

Seen it all before?

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In my varied attempts lately to inspire and intrigue my son, I often find that I just as effectively intrigue myself.  Things that, according to majority of people you talk to, should not make any significant impression on an adult (since we’ve all seen it all before), will have me buzzing with inspired energy for days.  I take my son to see all the airplanes at a small local airport, for instance, and he is so overwhelmed by the glory of it all that he nearly hyperventilates.

And as I watch him, I realize that I am excited too.  I am reminded of the feelings that I had when I was a girl.  The excitement about flying.  The desire to become a pilot.  But it’s not just nostalgia.  It is here and now.  A childlike embracing of the present moment.  Maybe I am not two years old, but I have never seen the cockpit of a plane this close before, and darn it, it’s cool!

I am also inspired by the kindness of the people that we encounter.  The immediate drive of these people to share their passions with a small child in the hopes that it may become their passion too.  A local fireman who just had his first son, eager to practice his new role on this enthusiastic toddler, will do nearly anything to impress him.

How often do we see this kindness, this passion in the people we encounter day-to-day?  It is so beautiful that I feel like I have connected myself to these lives.  They have forever made and impression on me and hopefully we have made a small one on them as well.

Everyday Discovery

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Today, I visited a place that is almost too fantastic to be believed.  There was a veritable jungle of strange and exotic plants never before seen, with flowers ranging in color from stark white to violet  to bright red and yellow.  And not only that, but there were enormous insects.  Lady bugs as big as basketballs, dragon flies that could lift a puppy and carry it off, and butterflies of wildly different colors soaring overhead.  There was rain that would start at the drop of a hat and then stop almost as abruptly as it had begun.  Not to mention the water fountains of all shapes and sizes.  And next to those you could find many small, sandy beaches with tiny statues propped up in the sand.  Why were they there?  Were they the tribute of some miniature race of people to their ancestors or deities?  This theory could be supported, perhaps, by that fact that there were tiny tractors next to many of these small beaches.  The bugs in this place were easily larger than these tractors, whose purpose remains a mystery.  As I continued to walk, my senses were overwhelmed by the glorious aroma that permeated the air.  Pungent and sweet and vivid.  My mouth began to water as I realized that the smell was fruit.  Not like any fruit I had ever seen before, but fruit none the less.  The array of shapes, colors, and sizes was dizzying.  From fruit the size of my hand to fruit the size of my head.  Some round and soft, others hard and oblong, and still others spiny and ugly as though they were begging not to be eaten. Mountains of fruit, as far as the eye could see!  And it didn’t stop there.  As I explored this strange place further, I discovered that there was also a staggering amount of vegetables, nuts, and grains.  Each forming their own little mountain, although their smell was not nearly so alluring.  And everywhere were I looked, people were busily milling about with their heads down.  Sniffing and poking and prodding.  Looking up only if they happened to bump someone or something else and only long enough to mutter, “excuse me”.  It was almost as if they didn’t realize what a strange and exotic place this was.  As if they just took it for granted that a place as magical as this should exist in the middle of the city.  I hope I never become one of them.  As we were driving away, I looked over my shoulder trying to take note of something I could identify this place by, so I could be sure to find it again.  There was a big sign I had missed as we arrived that read, “Farmer’s Market”.  Since I cannot yet read, I don’t know what it meant, but I will remember what it looked like and I WILL find it again.
– A two-year-old’s first experience of a farmers market.