A deep dive into information overload and our choice to sink or swim.
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Plus, a recipe for your Super Bowl party!
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We’re all in the mood for a melody.
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A sore right shoulder. A noisy kitchen appliance. And November 9.
These three things actually could save my life.
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How many times have you asked for a recipe and then, when you pulled it from your files, forever connected it to the person who first shared it?
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Ellie was feeling the weariness of carrying another baby. With three little girls already, she hoped this fourth one would be the boy her husband so wanted to help carry on the farming someday. Of course, she wouldn’t trade her girls for anything, but it was common knowledge that a girl couldn’t become a farmer. Farmwife? Yes. But farming was a man’s job.
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By the time we got to picture day, my anxiety had rubbed off on everyone. We were all uptight, cranky, and not in the mood to smile. My kids were unruly and mischievous. In response, I was impatient and irritable. The only thing that rose higher than the pitch of my voice was my blood pressure.
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Because there were three full chicken coops on the farm, I spent my Saturdays gathering eggs. While my friends laughed about Saturday morning cartoons at school on Monday, I grumbled about the injustices of being a farmer’s daughter.
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How was your week? Here's a rundown of mine, some recommended memoirs, and a story about work and rest.
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Next winter, when I’m retired from my school job, every day will be like a snow day! I can sleep in. Take a long bath. Read lots of books. Watch lots of shows. And even though I might deserve a life of leisure after 35 years as a speech-language pathologist, I’m already a bit uneasy about the prospect of that much downtime.
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I can still picture it. We’re on a plane and I have the window seat. After hours over the Atlantic Ocean, the landscape that appears below is the prettiest shade of green. Of course it is. After all, it’s called the “Emerald Isle”. Our dream trip to Ireland is about to begin.
Except that it doesn’t.
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What this is about is the right that every individual has to communicate. Our freedom of speech is so important that our forefathers included it in the first amendment to our constitution. Still, with rights come responsibilities. And it’s what we do with that right, with our gift of speech, that matters.
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When my husband and I later visited the Big Apple in 2015, we spent over four hours at the World Trade Center 9-11 Memorial. Thinking back, I remembered my high school days and how I had seen the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, and other New York landmarks.
But I couldn't remember the World Trade Center. I wondered, "How is that even possible?”
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You know how it seemed like everyone was choosing a “Word for 2020” when January rolled around? Is it too late to jump on that bandwagon?
It may be cheating for me to pick my word of the year when the year is two-thirds over, but hey, I still have four months to make it my focus. And maybe I’ll carry it over to 2021, in which case I’m four months early! So I’m going for it.
Without further ado…
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When it’s all over, I want to remember how strange, different, and in many ways how beautiful, life was in 2020.
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I wonder what good stuff I'm missing when I’m not paying attention.
During this unprecedented pandemic, we would all do well to pay attention to the good stuff. To put our devices and media and entertainments away and listen. To place productivity on pause and pray. To lay our anxieties and fears aside and practice mindfulness instead.
There is good stuff happening right now.
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Whether our days are too slow or too fast, too empty or too scary, the change has been sudden and shocking. And more than a little unsettling.
How do we adapt when the tempo of our lives has changed so drastically? When the mood has gone from happy and buoyant to melancholy and ominous?
I don’t have the answers.
But I have noticed in difficult times, people turn to music.
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We are sisters. And sisters care for one another. They laugh together. They listen and advise. They hold each other up when life gets hard.
But is it always rosy? Of course not! We’re still sisters, after all. And sisters have history.
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