Archive | June, 2010

dear monday valarie

21 Jun

i spent way too many hours in the car this weekend, driving through the traffic trap that is pigeon forge, tennessee. needless to say, i talked to myself enough.

today, instead, i’m talking to my dear friend, valarie, who tied the knot this weekend with her long-time beau.

my friend, the bride

you decided a long time ago who you would be.

gracious, kind, self-sacrificing.

regardless of surname or situation.

even on your day, as you exemplified the glowing bride, you cared for us.

we stood with you, in yellow heels and blushing cheeks, as you began this new part of your life.

my knees knocked as i watched you take your vows. i felt out of place. intruding on your private party. a whispering bridesmaid noticed: we forgot to let out your train. the audience missed out on all that lace and loveliness. not that they could have handled any more than you already radiated.

i soon realized, i had the best view in the house. i got to see his face as he took it all in . . . took you all in. i saw him as the man you’ve always loved. and i forgot about the details, the storm that threatened, the stress of the week . . . your gracious spirit seeped into every moment of the day.

i sometimes think a woman is measured by her grace under pressure, especially the pressure of that one day so many years in the making. you were capital g, Graceful, and i know it was true to character.

to valarie & nathan! *clink*

dear monday me / june 14 2010 / on sprummer cleaning

14 Jun

the spring cleaning bug bit a little late this year.

maybe your internal calendar is dawdling, turning each page and season slower than the last, hoping to just stop. and rest.

in truth, the only difference in spring cleaning in the appropriate season and its delayed counterpart is the heat. sweltering, shower-proof heat.

so you carry your mini-fan around the house, plugging it in wherever seems most likely to fight the sweat. closets are not known for their ventilation.

quiet hours pass, and you remember other springs:

top 40 radio blasting in the purple, polka-dotted room, finally cleaning because you were finally grounded . . .

laughing with the first college roommate because the room had reached disaster levels and an all day cleaning bonanza was more necessary than final papers . . .

finding letters, tangled necklaces, t-shirts that smell like the friend you borrowed them from years ago. you feel guilty for trashing them, or re-gifting them to goodwill. you will forget them for sure if they aren’t there to rediscover next spring.

but then you remember. hoarders. and you throw away the tangible, filing the memory in the cozy part of the brain that never gets scrubbed clean.

quiet hours pass, what have you to show?

a check on your list, a trunkful of donations, a more organized closet, and a deep sigh.

next spring, or summer, will see the same sorting. it’s amazing what piles you can build in a year. choose to think of them as tokens instead of junk – and be sure not to skip a year, or momma h will have to ground you.

dear monday me / june 7 2010

7 Jun

your head is full of lists. they make webs with their busyness.

to-do. to-don’t. what-if-this. what-if-not. directions. misdirections.

serious plans & diddly-daydreams.

they all need a place, to dwell and fester.

but at times it gets crowded, and a vacuum to the ear seems the last resort.

unless . . .

unless the pen can step in, conduit from heaven, and sort it all out.

unless neatly organized post-its can really save the world. or at least your sanity. this week. for now.

write it down. sort it out. turn the webs in your head to lists on the fridge, in your purse, on your desktop.

alas, the head is free.

to think? to rest? to imagine?

looks like you will need more lists after all . . .