There’s Still Time for a Summer of Love

This is me linking up, as one of my favorite things to do, with Finish The Sentence Friday. This week's topic is: It was the summer of...

If there’s one thing I know, it’s that summer’s magic is real – enticing, reaching, and drawing you in its embrace.

Sometimes, I’m the type to sit and wait for something amazing to happen. You see, I’m a lucky person and I’m able to skate by on luck and charm and brief powers of inspiration. It doesn’t last, though. It wears out – like a light – and then I’m left shivering in the dark. Every time I step out into the light, I believe I surround myself with more warmth and stamina – enough to keep me surrounded when the light goes again. My light. Summer’s light. It all comes and goes – and I’d like to believe we’re all building our own light boxes and filling them with objects and subjects. Luck and time run out so fast..

..but summer is magic, and maybe, so am I.

If I measured out my life moments, both good and bad in terms of seasons, some of the biggest moments would fall into the summer category – the sudden death of my father, meeting my husband at JFK Airport, and the birth of my firstborn, Scarlet. The summer of 2018 is supposed to be a magical summer like many magical summers. The thing is, it’s not going to happen if I sit back and wait for it. It’s spurts and bursts of inspiration, to eventually settle into a hopefully long-lasting momentum. That starts with me. I have to take that first step and reach my hand up and out to be pulled into the light.

  • This is the summer I was supposed to have that buff bikini body. Now I know I’m naturally slim, but that doesn’t mean that tone is my friend. You know what is my friend? Ice cream and mashed potatoes. So the buff summer body may never happen, unless I really want it to, but it’s all good because I have a body and it’s summer. Voila – summer body! And this body is strong and proportionate and gives me way little in the ways of aches and pains, and in the grand scheme of things I know that one day I’ll look back on photos of my 30-something body and have to adjust my glasses. I’ll say to myself:

“What a hot body you once had!” Now pass the mashed potatoes and cake.

  • This is the summer my Twitter account was hacked, and in all of that panic and rebuilding, I learned how awesome it is to be 100% me and to have real followers who like my late night ice cream eating/Hallmark movie watching tweets.

  • This is the summer I was supposed to get a zillion page views, but it’s summer, and not everyone wants to read my dribble. So this is the summer I realized it’s all ok. If you build it, they will come. So build it strong, and they will stay.

  • This is the summer I was supposed to believe in myself, but I’ve learned that maybe we all are just halfway portraits of self-belief. Other people have no trouble telling you what they can do. Well this is the summer I’ve learned to tell you what I can do. I can take photos of your child and rebuild smashed Twitter accounts and write with my heart and make fun and quirky recipes and rebuild from smashed lenses and smashed hearts. There are many things I can do, to do for you!

  • This is the summer I was supposed to get the guts to rent a cabin alone or not alone in the middle of nowhere, Maine with waist-high wading boots and a rented or bought zoom lens. It hasn’t happened and still could, but instead I’ll count the victories that are either booked or done. Cape Cod. Photographing my dad’s 50th reunion. Starting the process of renewing my passport. Renewing my driver’s license without swearing in the RMV. Booking a wedding, and many portraits.

Magical baby steps.

  • This is the summer I was supposed to find work/life balance, but instead I worried too much about Twitter accounts and page views and slept through so many cuddle opportunities with the kids and the dog. Yet, the kids were happy. Our jobs have allowed us to send them to some pretty awesome camps. They are memorable, loved and engaging. Sometimes it feels like all I do is work and hide, rinse, repeat, but every foray into the world is only broadening my own little world.

It’s not failures or missed opportunities. Not yet, oh no. It’s missed steps and dissed steps and ebbs and flows and victories and setbacks. It’s missteps and mistrusts and rebuilds and re-trusts, all leading to the same place – where I want to be.

Where I want to be.

This is me linking up, as one of my favorite things to do, with Finish The Sentence Friday. This week's topic is: It was the summer of...

This is me linking up, as one of my favorite things to do, with Finish The Sentence Friday. This week’s topic is “It was the summer of…” And there’s still time to write yours. Come link up with your spin: HERE.

There’s still time for a summer of love.

I’m a Wild and Untamed Thing

This is me linking up, as one of my favorite things to do, with Finish The Sentence Friday. This week's topic is

I wake up in my bed, and it’s like it has swallowed me whole. I can feel myself sinking – spine in mattress.

My arms are thrown above my head – straight up like I’m doing a cheer. I can even feel my hands wiggle like jazz hands as I’m coming back from the breathy grip of a dream. I’m always just below my pillow with my neck at a slight angle. I’m not yet old enough, or I’m still too limber, to feel any soreness from the stiff neck even five minutes past wake up. I can tell it’s coming, though, like a hot breath on my neck – that same hot breath that takes me from jazz hands dreams into the bright white gasping morning. I wake up every day in this cushy, beautiful, joint-purchased marital bed and I wish I were more.

my bed

Did you know that underneath the sheets and underneath the dreams and underneath the top of my head, there’s long been white hair growing. Not even gray. It’s been there for 15 years and will no doubt turn me into the long white-haired woman. I don’t feel old. I feel 17 and 27 and 37 and 77. Sometimes my chest feels heavy like something is resting solidly on it.

There’s a feeling of amnesia every morning – waking up unsettled, almost unsure, nearly breathless, and tangled in sleep and sheets and dreams of mystery people and touch and joy and fear and pain, and it’s way more powerful than the feelings you feel during the day. It has to be. Your waking self has to suppress them, and numb them, and push them back between the sheets, at least a little, because how else would you survive your day? You’d be screaming with laughter and pain, and you’d be pawing and clawing the walls and standing on your head and upside down. You’d be a force. You are a force.

This is me linking up, as one of my favorite things to do, with Finish The Sentence Friday. This week's topic is

We’re all wild and untamed things, though. We wake up perfect and tormented and achy breaky and fragile and strong and hopeless and hopeful. We look up at our ceilings and notice paint trims and watermarks and future dreams. It’s all there.

We might say a silent prayer. We might say loud affirmations.

Then, feet on the floor. Head in the game.

my bed

I go to bed cold and I wake up hot, as if heat spreads from deep dreams and underlying themes.

my bed

This is me linking up, as one of my favorite things to do, with Finish The Sentence Friday. This week’s topic is “My Bed..” (5 minute free writing) And there’s still time to write yours. Come link up with your spin: HERE.

My bed. What would you say about yours?