I have to say this.

I grew up in Indiana. Northwest, in Hobart, next to Gary. I thought I grew up in the state of Chicago. We were south of Lake Michigan and had the Dunes National Lakeshore nearby. When I was younger, I was embarrassed by the corn fields and "the Midwest" stereotype, and couldn't wait to leave. Typical for young people. The grass is always greener, etc. But now I know better- because people in the Midwest are content, they are honest and they are loving. Not all of them, but the ones I know. My family, my friends. Not perfect, but I know them. I trust them.

Growing up in Indiana- I was not deprived of culture. I cannot stand when people assume that if you're from the Midwest you are somehow "lacking." How dare you. How dare you say that if someone stays in the Midwest it means that they don't know any better? That they don't have the benefit of your wisdom, your knowledge, your...whatever. What is it that they think we missed in Indiana? Art? Had it. Education? Had it. Diversity? Had it. Music? Had it. Scenic landscape? Had it. Water? Had it. Sports? Had it. I cannot think of what was missing. Snobs? yeah- they were there. Racism? Yup. Liberals? Yup. Conservatives? Yup. Religion? Yup- all of them.

I have lived all over the country and there are commonalities- the rich, the poor, the ignorant, the well-meaning, the shallow, the bigoted, the martyrs, the drunk, the lazy, the hard-working, the people I wish I could be more like.

Was my life perfect in Indiana? No. Would I move back there? Absolutely. It's not an option for me, but given the chance- I would. The smell of the corn in the summer, the apples in the fall. The bitter wind in the winter and the sound of the robins in the spring. I would go back.

Edit

Christine gives me a hard time for not posting enough. So here is a quickie before I get ready for work. These were the blogs written in my head this week:
Feeling peaceful.
Being angry.
Losing confidence.
Frustrated with "art."
Love my job. Hate my job.
Loving Matthew: Christine- turn your head. I stop at home between meetings and Matthew asks if we are alone. I say- only for a minute. He asks-do we have enough time? I say- not enough to do it properly; to which he responds: I'm ready to do it improperly. I love this guy.

I'm trying to do something nice for his parents' 5oth next weekend- even though they are unaware (I think). Grace is cleaning out her room and donating clothes. Heavy sigh. I'm trying to keep my job, but my paranoia is rearing its ugly head. My eldest is 25 today. Rosie had a job interview. Emily is far away. Life keeps moving, but I'm frozen.

Ok. Ok.

I've been reading blogs every day while on vacation and not posting anything. Well, not posting anything physically. What you need to know is that I do all of my projects and blogs and chores in my head. There, they are complete. I may seem like a slacker for not finishing things, but they are complete- in my mind. I write a blog everyday. I finish a painting or a calligraphy piece- every day. I am actually quite busy in my little brain. Putting it down in physical words or on canvas seems redundant. I have already written this. So it seems insincere and not spontaneous when I type it. I like to write things once. It flows out of me and onto the paper or into Word, and there it is perfect. Leave it alone. If you edit it, I am offended. There is a reason it is written that way. Rarely has someone made significant changes that I agree with. I know this sounds rather obnoxious and "prima dona" but the words and their arrangement is mine.


Vacation has been interesting this year. We are 16 people in two condos- next door to each other, yet it seems like we are on separate vacations. Normally we rent a house in New England and we are all together- though we were on different floors a few years ago. Still, it felt more unified. The family is growing and new members have joined us. There are babies to accommodate, young adults who get bored. They are too young to go to bars, and too poor to do anything but hang with the family. When they wander away, I have this image of Natalie Holloway, and the press judging me, "How could you let them go off on their own? You are a terrible mother and this is your fault."




We know next year we will go back to New England, but there are pluses and minuses to everything. There is spectacular golf for the men-folk. The ocean and beaches are so much nicer here. But it is damn expensive. Holy Christmas! Groceries, dinners, clothes, tours, etc.

We did go into Savannah for the day. Gorgeous. Hot, humid, but gorgeous. The architecture, the history. I can see Matthew and me going there for one of our little anniversary excursions. But not for a few years. We have some major expenses projects coming up.
Onward and upward.

Mother of the Bride

While my head is trying to focus on the fundraiser (which should be a blast- when it's over!), I am distracted by my daughter's engagement. People have asked me if she's going to be a Bridezilla, and I just smile. She has her father and me to thank for her anger and impatient disposition. But I know she wants to keep this simple and affordable. And she's relieved to finally be engaged- not that there was a question of "if"; just "when."

So, after it was officially announced on her fiance's Facebook page, and people started weighing in, I put the information on mine as well  (several days after the proposal). Oops. MOB mistake number one. I hope that's the last one, but 15 months is a long time to go without making a mistake. We'll see what happens.

Meanwhile, we're preparing for the fundraiser, and prom, and an engagement party, and a graduation party- and my baby's graduating.... all in the next four weeks. Is that enough time to process all of this? Did they do this on purpose so I don't have time to stop and think about these transitions? The oldest engaged? The youngest leaving the nest? No more PTA meetings? Bake sales? Concerts? Permission slips? Even though the house isn't empty, two of my children will be so far away. Hard to believe. Just yesterday (literally, yesterday) Christine and Grace were hitting each other in church. For years I have been rolling my eyes with embarrassment, and now... I can't imagine not having them sitting there, next to me, driving me crazy. Thank goodness for chatting, and texting and Skype- Emily can still give Rosie a hard time- all the way across the country. And they'll all be home for Grace's graduation. But that's it. It's really happening. That transition where families are only together once or maybe twice a year. That is so strange to me. For twenty five years we have all been together, all the time. Should I have done a better job at alienating them so this would be easier? Ah well. They're independent AND they like being around us. Who could ask for more?

MOB Promise #1: I will not post the details of the wedding on Facebook without permission.
Promise #2: I will offer advice when asked; I will make faces when I am not.
Promise #3: I can't guarantee I will always agree with you, but I will offer you a margarita to change your mind.
Promise #4: I will not be part of the stress of this event. (see margarita above)
Promise #5: I will make more promises as they become necessary.

too much and not much

Moments: Trip through Tennessee, Illinois, Indiana and Ohio. Saw Uncle Jim, Aunt Jan, Nora, Jessie, Pedro, Alex and Leo; then Grandpa Wilson, Aunt Peg and Uncle John, Laithan (I never spell it right), and Joann; Brother Tom and Tish and Lilly and Sam; and then Grace's second mom Mary, Doug, Ian, The Abaffy's, and a bunch of people we used to know.

Preparing for DCAD & the Renaissance. Some days you want to walk out. Other days you're making wacky trophies or voodoo dolls in the gallery. Not enough time to get everything done, but tis the season of the hamster wheel.

Two weeks where the yard was perfect- the dogwood and red bud trees were in bloom, renegade tulips appeared, creeping phlox I had planted a few years ago, irises that were never transplanted from a pot, but bloom anyway. Then heat and rain and heat and rain- enough to make the shrubs go nuts and the weeds on the patio explode. Argh. But we have a plan of attack for the yard. The fountain is in, and MJ cleaned the little pond. There is already a lily getting ready to bloom- with no effort from us. Kind of like the kids.

Trying to not start thinking about Grace moving away, Emily being gone and Christine's big day (though it's very hard not to look at dresses).

Still reading Ellen Langer's books about mindfulness. This one is about being an artist and how ANYBODY CAN BE AN ARTIST!! How I hate the rules surrounding art. And I doubted myself when someone asked how my piece would be considered art. I said that it wasn't. I said that it wasn't!!!! But it was. I knew I wanted to create something fun and romantic. I gathered my favorite things- paint, gel medium, shells, glitter, stencils. I started with a color reminiscent of a beautiful platter MJ bought me- it was made with crushed mother-of-pearl, so it sparkled. A lovely shade of green- a little yellow, but not much. I covered the canvas with the green paint, then morphed into aqua, and finally into a deep teal at the bottom of the canvas. I painted and swirled and pushed the paint. I used a beautiful Moroccan-esque lacy stencil at the top -in gray. I put a few touches of German-glass glitter and jewels in specific spots on the gray. I added an argyle stencil on an angle towards the bottom. It reminded me of schools of fishes. I covered the bottom with shells, and stars and glitter, but very tiny ones, and incorporated a bit of handmade Japanese lace paper into the corner. It definitely mimicked a net. I went back and added Botticelli's Venus rising from the water. Very subtle, but as a Virgo, I tend to love Venus images. I felt her freedom, just as I had with the Renaissance theme this year- not being held back, and allowed to create my vision of an event. I finished with three small canvases that had a beautiful Dylan Thomas quote about loving like the depths of the sea. I attached them to the large canvas. So my whimsical, decorative canvas actually did have meaning and depth. It brought me joy while I was creating it. That is art. It is art. And it's my art.

Day One- first half

Easter morning, Matthew woke up an hour earlier than he intended. His digital alarm clock was purchased before Congress changed the dates for changing the clocks. So, instead of getting up at 4 a.m., he had gotten up at 3. Mass was at 6, and we were leaving at 5:30; in the grand scheme of things- whatever.


Mass in the darkness of St. Anthony in the Hills was interesting. Years ago, we tromped through the hills of Southern Ohio on someone’s property who had the most Christmas lights in Ohio. Carrying baby Grace, we all stopped to look at each Christmas scene and admired the plastic baby Jesus. But then the scenes turned into the life of Christ, ending with a very bloody Jesus on the Christ. Just in case we had forgotten the “reason for the season.” Merry Christmas, girls. Try to erase that from our little heads.

The outdoor amphitheatre was huge and we all sat on promotional seat cushions so we wouldn’t be in direct contact with the cold cement. A blow up Jesus with a tiny head was laid out, before burial in the tomb. From that point on, it was actually nice. The Scripture was read by a narrator and the characters waved their arms to indicate that Jesus was over there, but not over there. The gospel was the same Scripture and the homily was given by a very senior priest with a thick accent. He retold the Scripture. But he did say that this was the single most important event in human history. Whether you believe or not, it would very difficult to argue with that statement.

We headed home for breakfast. Eggs benedict, 4- cup salad (I didn’t have marshmallows), polish sausage, etc. We had a chocolate cake with Vienna torte frosting for Rosie’s birthday, and we gave her a mandolin for her present. Clean up, final packing. We were on the road.

Sybil? Sybil?

     I was reading a series of books by Ellen Langer, an Ivy League psychologist who runs experiments on people about perceptions and writes books about "being mindful." She started painting and found much joy in just creating. No training. No MFA. Just pure enjoyment. But when she painted the same item more than once, it lost its charm. Its spontaneity. Before she was aware of the feeling of putting the brush to canvas. It explains why I like to do things once. After that, the fun is gone. There is no more discovery. Doing multiples for craft shows was a chore- not a joy. I had cleaned out my studio a few weeks ago, and started buying more books (it is truly an addiction) and found one about crowns. I made ONE several years ago, but the paper and glitter and ephemera in the book made me want to get up and make something.

     So I did it. I painted a canvas and added glitter, shells, more glitter and (ready?) more glitter. So much fun. Two days of painting and gluing and glitter. SO fun! No expectations. No guilt. And a bit of  "in your face" to those who "define" art. And frames.
     And as frustrated as I am with work, little victories help. Checks that come in; a pledge over the phone; a cookie bake-off; an egg drop. Michael Kaiser (?) from the Kennedy Center said that to keep staffs happy you have to give them reasons to stay. I'm not sure if anyone in leadership is going to make this happen, but I know my co-workers/conspirators can keep us moving forward. Most people don't leave right before a big project- they are invested in it and want to see it through. Well, in nonprofits, there are always projects to see through. A lot of projects. And a lot of guilt. I'll push through as Christine and Roberta recommend, and dream on my own time.
   We are preparing for Easter and for our trip. First, Rosie is heading to the store for the fourth time. We're going to sunrise mass and then coming back here for Easter/birthday breakfast. I must say, I spend more time preparing for colored eggs and breakfast than I did on Lent itself. We're making her birthday cake in the shape of a lamb, but with the vienna torte frosting. I think I'll hot cross buns too. Never seem to get them done for Good Friday, but maybe Holy Saturday?
     Matthew, Grace and I will leave around noon for Tennessee- Nashville, Murfreesboro and McMinnville. Grace had convinced herself and us that this is where she needs to go to school. So far away. But I think for her this is a good thing. A big university, close to the music industry; the "real" college experience. Of course, I'm panicking because of the alcohol and rape cases on campuses today. Did you know that if you say "I'm sorry. I'm an alcoholic and I need help," that the school will feel sorry for the rapist and not kick him out? How is it that if you're drunk and set a lab on fire, or rob somebody, you can't say "I have a drinking problem," and get away with it? But you can kill a young women's spirit/soul/being and all is forgiven? Coed dorms. Alcohol. Drugs. One in eight girls are abused on campuses. So scary. And she will be so far away.
     Focus. So Monday, we get a tour of the school. Monday night, we get to see Uncle Jim and Aunt Jan and their home. He said the dogwoods are blooming. Tuesday is Nashville. Wednesday we'll go see my Grandpa in southern Illinois. He said Poplar runs north and south and Main Street runs east and west, and he's on South Land Street. Haven't seen him since Tom's wedding. Wednesday night, we head to Tom and Tish's new house in northwest Indiana, where I grew up. Friday we visit Grace's second mom, Mary, in Chillicothe, Ohio. We lived there for almost 11 years before coming to Delaware. When I landed my first "real" job (it was politics, so Matthew never considered politics "real" jobs:), Mary took care of Grace. Mary and Doug were wonderful friends, and I can't wait to see them!
   Now I must shower, bake and pack. The sun is shining, so I have some energy. The homes around us have beautiful flowering trees. The forsythia is in bloom, as are the daffodils. I think we picked a good week to travel.