This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine...

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Mother's Day Gifting and Explanation to Previous Post

I gotta say, I'm really loving Shutterfly.  Ever since Salamander was born, it's become more important for us to have physical prints AND convenience.  When I was looking for a birth announcement to send (it turned out super cute) I recalled my cousin's recent announcement came from Shutterfly, so I checked it out.  Not only did I get announcements for everyone at a good price, great quality, and fast turn around, but I was rewarded with fifty free prints to boot.  For the price of shipping I got fifty 4x6 prints in matte, which is by far my favorite part of the whole deal.  I usually hate glossy prints for my own collections.  

So, while I normally am not one to give free advertising (I did get a bonus of $10 off my next order as incentive to post the image above) when I love a service, I'm not shy about spreading the word.  (Just ask any of my friends or family about bogs boots and they'll tell you.)  

Hit these guys up if you need photos printed, cute announcements or invites made, custom address labels, custom mother's day (etc.) gifts.  I've done all of that with these guys in only four months! Phew!

Mother's Day Gifting

Happy Mom Collage Mother's Day 5x7 folded card
Find unique Mother's Day cards at Shutterfly.
View the entire collection of cards.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Ending and Beginning at Once

Every life, [Tomas] Tranströmer writes, “has a sister ship,” one that follows “quite another route” than the one we ended up taking. We want it to be otherwise, but it cannot be: the people we might have been live a different, phantom life than the people we are.

A couple months ago my friend, Anna Pulley, shared a link to the advice column, "Dear Sugar," at The ("The online cure for Ritalin").  The advice that week was to a young woman who was struggling to overcome her demons and get down to brass tacks so that she could, finally, "write like a mother fucker."  The post was probably one of Sugar's more famous posts.  I immediately cried, and then printed out the whole column so I could have it at hand whenever I need a kick in the proverbial pants.

Sugar is a writer, wife, mother of two and in her early forties.  I don't know what else she writes besides this always perfectly timed and deliciously tender advice column, but then again, I haven't researched it.  Her advice columns are full of charm, wisdom, and lovely affections like calling the writer of the questioning letter "sweet pea."
And so the question, sweet pea, is who do you intend to be. 
Advice column #71, which came out last Thursday, is from a man in his early forties who, along with his wife of the same age, is trying to honestly figure out if he (and she) should conceive children and become parents.  I'm going to try to refrain from summarizing the reasons he gives as to why he's torn, because you can go read it yourself, and because I want to talk about standing at the docks, myself, staring at those sister ships and how I'm wondering which ships are ghosts, which have already left port, which may be coming in.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

It Starts Out Emo, but Really Gets Swinging in the Second Half

It's just after 6:30AM.  I am at the desk in the purple room and before me are the splayed out remnants of a once lovely jade plant.  I began this plant from a small cutting while living on Rock Street, I think, though it could have been on High Street.  Either way, that's damn near ten years ago.  The jade survived the moves from Michigan, to Illinois, to here and did very well last summer on the back deck. Now, after surviving my nearly killing it twice previously, it is near death once more.  When I began this paragraph I thought I might say I didn't care, anymore, whether the plant was revived or not, and how that the death of something that has been with me more than seven years was somehow metaphorical for my life, but as I wrote, my attachment to it resurged and I thought of how very little effort it would take to bring the good luck succulent back.  And that feels aptly metaphorical for my life too.

Writing, this therapeutic writing is a rare breed of constancy in my life span.

I go through the daily motions now and aim at the best choices I imagine, but if I set down and ponder what I'm doing I feel at a loss - or lost.  What am I doing? I'm a wife and mother all of the damn sudden!  Who is this; cooking consciously balanced meals, learning about the cognitive developments in a five month old, keeping to a cleaning schedule?

Oh shit.  Why hello familiar face in the mirror, you've put on some weight.  No wonder - really, with all my new baggage.

I did pick this baggage out myself, didn't I?  Wasn't I deeply tired of my one hand-me-down bag, cycling the carousel alone?  Didn't I long daily for newness and family ties, constant companions?

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Journal Entry, Abridged: Here Again, Gone Again

Here I am, again, back to square one, again.  Back on track, again. Maybe I can comfort myself with the hopeful idea that every departure from my best intentions (and to the happy, if sick, land of total indulgence) is accompanied by an even more quick return.

Saturday, April 9, 2011


This is a poem I wrote in my new favorite cafe, which sits just below my new favorite yoga studio.  I go there every Sunday morning at 8:30 to practice yoga and then share conversation and yummy foods with new friends.  I've found my church.

update 4/10/2011  Thanks to my friend Angie for reading this and sharing her insights.  Based on them, and on some of own hunches, I have edited this poem a third time to what you see now.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Cause It Makes You Smile and Giggle

Here's a particularly lovely email from my mom.

I am UPSing Salamander's bank today.  Of course I wrote a note then forgot to put it into the box.  So......

Sal - think of Grandma Korey when you're saving your pennies.  Have Mom and Dad put the bank high up for you until you are older.  I knew you just had to have this cause it makes you smile and giggle and you don't know yet but I always say "If you're not laughing you're not living." Counting the sleeps until I can hold and kiss you.  See you soon.

Love and hugs
Grandma Korey
She will be here in seven "sleeps" which is a way of counting time devised by my Aunt for my cousin when she was very small.

Friday, April 1, 2011

A Few Notes on Daily Beauty

Some signs can't be ignored.
The vacuum must be left where it landed
when you picked up the book to check the date.

The normal floor inhabitants must be left askew,
baby bouncer on the bed, dog bowls on the dryer,
kitchen chairs in the living room.

You've wondered why it seems that one author's
voice is following you around.
She's there again today in your borrowed yoga magazine
from last spring.  She was there in that radio program,
chosen based on it's byline, which didn't mention her.

You have to let things fall where they may sometimes;
because the baby's asleep, the fighting cats separated, the washer
filling up.  Take this chance.  Let the wind blow through the tightness
that's accrued during this week and open, open