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Showing posts from September, 2014

New Pleasures in Old Things

F. Scott Fitzgerald — "Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall."

The transition to autumn makes old things, like dried-up leaves and harvest-time traditions and knitted sweaters pulled out of storage, feel new. And on a longer time cycle, being in one's 30s (hair starting to change color, skin drying and flesh ripening!) is a magical time in life when our ancestors a thousand years ago began to get really old (like, toothless, hairless, infertile, infirm old) and which is today, according to the Italians at least, just the beginning of adulthood. (Everybody is ragazze until age 30.) This year, I've been enjoying the hell out of lots of old, crunchy, dusty, fermented, dried-up, patina-covered, story-drenched things in my life that have been somehow transformed through the passage of time into fresh, novel experiences that carry with them that sharp complexity that only an aging process can deliver.

In my 30s, I've reached an age when I can experie…

This Is the Bed I've Made

...and I'm gonna snuggle under my security budget! Wait--what?

Yes, that's right. I've set my mind free from sleepless worry over money, beneath the cover of a scanty, rough, but serviceable biweekly budget.

For added comfort, I'm layering in my new smooth, silky, weekly and daily schedule sheets. Ahhhh, bliss!

The brain of a mother is a minefield of worries, and the brain of a creative person is a lightning storm of chaos. So despite what you might see on Pinterest, it's very easy for a creative mom's dreams to get paralyzed by a crushing sense of anxious insecurity.

I think this is why I'm such a plotter on the outside. I can remember that first day of middle school, when the teacher passed out daily planner notebooks and explained how we would have to track all our schoolwork and extracurricular activities. I remember curling my lip and staring at the thing with dread--not because I didn't like writing--oh how I loved writing!--but because I couldn…