At a certain point in the evening I finally sit down. It’s crazy how much I go, when I think about it, and through days that feel like perpetually catching up just to keep my head above water, I somehow cross things off my to do list. This weekend—the yard and the encroaching, high summer suffocation that only the dog days can bring. I’m grateful I made myself learn how to replace the string in the string trimmer. And to cut the grass. The meditation garden had been taken over by the most hateful of invaders, honey vine, but I managed to beat it back, sort of like I did with John Henry’s beard last weekend after we got home from camp.
It was one of those days when the windows fogged up from the inside. And a thunderstorm sits over my head as I write this—at least I enjoy hearing the lightning as long as it’s not too close.You can almost see the drops of water hanging in the air. In the American south, we attribute our youthful skin in part to the humidity—or maybe it’s just hard to concentrate on flaws through the mist of sweat that covers everyone. But there is no place in the world that feels more like home to me—I am a sea level child. I’m also a child who appreciates how frizz-free her hair is in the mountains.
Anyway—here are a few things of late.
John Henry had a great time at camp again this year. He has changed quite a bit since his first year, and his no-holds-barred, up for anything spirit has become somewhat more cautious, but change is part of parenting. Anyone who’s a parent knows everything is a moving target—you get one thing sorted and the next thing rises to the top of the pile. Teenage years often bring anxiety. So we’re working with what we have and making sure we meet John Henry where he is. He’s so strong and has such a kind, gentle spirit. It’s a privilege to be his mama. Simply put, he makes me a better person than I otherwise would be.
I’ve been trying all day to watch the entirety of Notebook on Cities and Clothes by Wim Wenders. It’s a documentary of sorts on Yohji Yamamoto, the avant-garde fashion designer, but is also an exploration of how fashion can flow into philosophical enquiry. The discipline displayed by both artists is captivating to me. I’ve been thinking about the art of editing all day—we do it all day, every day. You can find Notebooks on Cities and Clothes on the Criterion Collection channel.
Elegance is refusal. —Coco Chanel
I received The Calamity Club as a birthday gift and have just begun reading it. Right off the bat, it’s quite engaging. I love a big, fat, book that I can’t put down. So far, it’s shaping up to be one of those. If you read The Help, this is by Kathryn Stockett, so you’ll find her voice immediately familiar whether you read it with your eyes like I am, or if you’re listening to it like everyone else seems to be. The Atlantic said we’re in our post-literate age—that fewer of us actually read books than don’t. No shade intended—I simply can’t listen to audiobooks without dozing off, no matter how good they are. It’s the aural equivalent of someone brushing my hair. I just drift away into some hypnotized state…
Mercury Retrograde has been interesting and quite active for me. And the shadow period that started on Friday (the last day of retrograde was Thursday) has stirred the pot significantly. There’s a patience that comes with this time of life that I like a lot. Where I used to be a person that had to know as much as possible as soon as possible, I am now far less consumed with trying to figure out the future. Thank God.
The tomatoes are good, the peaches are good, and isn’t it something to experience the succulence of a ripe piece of fruit sending juice running down your arm as you bite into it?
I realized earlier today, or I at least had the waking thought today, that change, though constant, sometimes hurls us forward all of a sudden and we shift our awareness to a state that would’ve been unattainable before this moment. Growth doesn’t always announce itself. Sometimes it just is.
I plan to savor the few weeks I’ve got left with John Henry before he goes back to school, while preparing for the full-tilt earnestness I’m bound to feel come September. The first hint of fall has me buying notebooks and implementing self-improvement plans. The difference might be that these days, I’m not so hung up on improving as I am on appreciating where I am and what it took to get here.
The more you know, the less you need.
Peace. Love.
Allison
Timely! I was finally climbing onto bed, anxiety setting in over never getting caught up when I thought I have not checked my email in two days. Your brilliant writing was the first email I opened. I feel better knowing I am not alone. I put my two severely autistic sons to bed and then remembered I forgot to shave one of them. Tomorrow they return to their day programs, one in Andover, one in Medford, I am driving them as I took the summer off from being a severe special needs early childhood teacher in Lawrence, Massachusetts-the immigrant city. ICE raids the past school year almost caused me a nervous breakdown. Then to Arlington, to help my only sibling, my big sister with stage 4 bone and breast cancer. Then back to two programs to pick up my boys. You made me feel not alone and Thank you kindly for that Allison xo
MRG was especially wacky for me this time. My TV and cable acted up several times, and so did my phone. Don’t know why Mr Mercury was so mad at me.