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Book List: 2021

‘Unraptured’ – Zack Hunt (Theology)

“The Answer Is…” – Alex Trebek (I greatly enjoyed this book and the insight into the host of my favorite quiz show)

“The Way Home” – Mark Boyle (I read half and skimmed half. The concept intrigued me; living without technology. My heart longs for this, but then again, after reading half of it, I began to wonder if I really would like life without technology. Some, yes, I can easily live without. Others, ah, it’s difficult. But this guy takes it to the extreme extreme).

‘Yes, You Can Get Pregnant’ – Amiee Raupp (This gave me a fresh perspective on fertility issues and the reason I went gluten free in February 2021. However, I have yet to become pregnant)

‘Pioneer Girl: An Annotated Biography’ – Laura Ingalls Wilder/Pamela Smith Hill, editor (Holy moly…I’ve always been a fan of Laura Ingalls Wilder and reading this was a super fantastic treat. I loved all the annotations too and the insight into more of the time, places, culture, history. And reading it before visiting DeSmet, SD was very timely).

‘Time Traveler’s Wife’ – Audrey Neffenger (Reread. The first time I read it I wish I had written it. Loved the concept, the way he travels through time, their relationship, the fact he’s a librarian and she’s an artist. However, this time I was like, ‘This book is weird‘. It’s not very clean morally to say the least. I still like the concept, but I was not so enamored with it during my re-read).

‘To Live Again’ – Catherine Marshall (This book…my heart…I’ve had this book for years and I read it at a time when I really needed it, ie, after my dad passed away in January 2021 — even though I actually started this book the September before).

‘Adorning The Dark’ – Andrew Peterson (Simple writing, but he writes with honesty and heart about God and living a creative life. Very music focused as he’s a singer/songwriter, but pertinent to other types of creativity as well).

‘Flowers for Algernon’ – Daniel Keyes (How the heck did I miss reading this book until now??? Fascinating, intriguing, absorbing. I used to work as a shelver at the library when I was a teenager and would see this book all the time. I always wondered about it, why it was considered a classic. Now I know).

‘The Solace of Open Spaces’ – Gretel Erlrich (I read most of it…I like the title better than the actual writing. Her memoir of living in Wyoming).

‘How to Not Always Be Working’ – Marlee Grace (Eh…I liked some of her tips, but honestly, some of it seemed like a lot of, well…work).

“A Man Called Peter’ – Catherine Marshall (I’m pretty sure my parents owned a copy of this book when I was growing up and I always wondered who Peter was. A biography of the late, great preacher and Senate Chaplain Peter Marshall. I liked it, but since this was Catherine Marshall’s first real book — not one she edited — I felt it lacked some of the depth found in her other writings. Just my opinion).

‘On the Way Home’ – Laura Ingalls Wilder (Her diary of their trip from DeSmet to Mansfield, MO)

‘Green Money’ – D. E. Stevenson (Reread from 20 years ago or so. This book cracked me up. I found it delightful and funny and oh, so 1930’s British).

‘The Baker’s Daughter’ – D.E. Stevenson (I went on a Dessie kick this summer. Re-read and enjoyed.)

‘The Blue Sapphire’ – D.E. Stevenson (See? Three in a row. A fun re-read).

‘Jesus with Dirty Feet’ – Don Everts (Oh, so good. Simple, easy read, yet profound and made Jesus all that more real to me)

‘Two-Part Invention’ – Madeline L’Engle (Really, really loved. I so enjoyed her history and life prior to being a famous author. So many things I found out about one of my favorite authors and the realization that yes, she was a published author, but she still had to cook dinner for her family. Very relatable!)

‘West from Home’ – Laura Ingall Wilder (Also on a Wilder kick this year it seemed. Letters she wrote to her husband while visiting San Francisco)

‘A Room Made of Windows’ – Eleanor Cameron (Kids book. Re-read. Liked the bits about writing. 🙂 )

‘Christy’ – Catherine Marshall (Marshall kick, too. LOVE this book and really love her writing).

‘And Both Were Young’ – Madeline L’Engle (YA fiction, re-read. Since it was semi-autobiographical it made more sense after reading ‘Two-Part Invention’)

‘The Night Circus’ – Erin Morganstern (Another re-read and another book I wish I had written. Magic realism? Oh, my-lanta…I had been dreaming about reading this book since I read it the first time in 2014).

‘The Summer of the Great-Grandmother’ – Madeline L’Engle (How many L’Engle books did I read this year?? This was similar to the ‘Two-Part Invention’ as it was autobiographical non-fiction. Very good, but also hard to read after dad’s passing)

‘Disciplines of the Beautiful Woman’ – Anne Ortlund (I’ve had this book since I was a teenager and even though some of the concepts are outdated — like, who carries a large three-ring notebook around with them?? — the principles are challenging).

There you have it folks. My 2021 book list. I read a lot of Wilder, Marshall, L’Engle and Stevenson. Halfway through the year I realized that many of the books I read are by female authors. I mentioned that to my husband and was like, ‘Why?‘ He didn’t necessarily have any major insight, except for that maybe I identify with how they write. Could be.

To the Next Generation

We need you.

We.

Need.

You.

We need your smile, your laugh, your joy in the little things.

We need your youthful enthusiam and passion for life.

We need your dreams, your visions, your hope.

We need your purity, your innocence, your unblemished outlook onlife.

We need your ideas, your endurance, your willingness.

We need your energy.

We need you to never give up.

No matter what this world throws at you, never give up.

Talk to someone who is trustworthy, let others know how you are feeeling, find friends who love you for who you are and will listen to your heart.

Learn and listen from those who are older than you, who can give you advice, wisdom, guidance.

From one generation to the next, we want you to know how much you are loved.

We see your beauty, your sincerity, the struggles you go through to be who you are.

We see your compassion for others, your tears you think no one sees, your awkwardness (And know that it is ok).

You are a growing person and growth does not come without pain and trials.

But we want you to know that through all your tears, struggles, beauty, awkwardness, compassion and growth that you are loved.

No matter how old you get, know that you are needed, you are loved, you are worthwhile, you are valuable, you have something to contribute to this world.

Then, later, you can give your wisdom, your experience, your stories to the next generation and let them know that they are indeed needed, loved, worthwhile, valuable.

Most importantly, in everything you do, say, give and are…whatever happens in your life, stay close to Jesus.

Commune with Him, love Him, thirst for Him, follow Him with all your heart and soul.

Obey Him, listen for His voice in every situation, sit at His feet and learn from Him.

(He is one who is ‘older’ — ageless, timeless, who can give you advice, wisdom and guidance)

Ask Him about difficult things you are facing, confide in Him, seek Him, enjoy Him.

This truly is life and wisdom to guide you throughout the difficult terrain of this world.

Always stay close to Jesus.

And always, always know that He loves you.

Room for Mistakes

Do you leave room for mistakes in your art? In your life?

My niece, the one who likes to draw, was showing me her latest pictures a few weeks ago. They were adorable, detailed pictures of animals. In one of them was a cow, ‘…with a bird on his head?’, I asked.

‘Yep’, replied my niece.

Ah. Ok.

‘It was a mistake’, said my sister. ‘Amelia used to get upset when she made a mistake and I told her to try and make her mistakes part of the picture’.

I see. And so we end up with a cow who has a bird on its head.

But I think that turning our ‘mistakes’ into part of our ‘picture’ in life, so to speak, is good advice.

Do I leave room for mistakes in my art? In my life?

At my day job there is very little room for mistakes. We sell our beachwear through Amazon and part of selling through Amazon is having them fulfill items from their warehouse. Which means we have to send them items from our warehouse so they have something to send to customers who purchase them.

If we don’t play by Amazon’s rules in what we send them (ie, correct number of items sent, correct UPC code, correct whatever-else-needs-to-be-correct) then it messes with our metrics through Amazon which in turn keeps us from being a top seller with them which in turn hurts our business sale-wise. It’s a whole thing.

Lately I’ve been doing the Amazon order, getting items picked off our shelves and ready to send to them. It’s one of my least favorite tasks at work because it does have to be so precise and there isn’t any room for mistakes. I feel the pressure, the stress, and I don’t like it. Not to mention that if I do make a mistake, sometime my boss isn’t too happy about it (Grace, please, grace. It’s not like I mess up on purpose, gee wiz).

This is one of the reasons I didn’t care for ballet lessons when I was a kid. I didn’t like the preciseness, the age-old traditions, the perfection, the this-is-the-way-don’t-mess-up-or-you’ll-have-to-do-it-again. In ballet there’s only one way and no room for mistakes. Although I am thankful for the foundation of dance that taking ballet gave me, I didn’t stick with it for very long, prefering the more fluidity of modern, or jazz, or tap. Preferably tap. And although tap can be precise as well, as all dance really can be, it didn’t have the strictness that I felt with ballet. There was room to improvise, to actually move freely, to flow with the rhythm, go with the beat, to create something new within a framework of more specific steps and sounds (Ten-point riff anyone?).

My point? Do you leave room for mistakes in your art or life? If not, how can you give grace to yourself so there is freedom to make mistakes? How can you learn from them, or, even better, make them part of the picture?

The Second Rule

I often say to myself that the first rule of writing is to write.

I say that when I don’t feel like writing or want to write, but not sure what to write or how to start.

‘Ok, so write. The first rule of writing is to write, so write.’ And I do.

I write whatever comes into my head, like morning pages, and soon I get in the groove of what I want to say and it gets easier.

And there’s always the delete button so I can edit the rambly stuff later.

This month I’m doing NaNoWriMo for the first time. I’ve wanted to do it for years, but haven’t actually taken the plunge. This year is it. I’ve started. I’m going for it.

I have a co-worker friend who is doing it as well (She’s the one who mentioned it and urged me to do it. We can encourage each other!) and this past Monday (Nov 1st) she asked me how I was doing with it, though we had a just started, and I said I was feeling stressed about it. It’s supposed to be fun, so why am I stressed??

I think one of the reasons I felt stressed was because I was writing, yes, but I was just finding the story…I didn’t have any outline or plot or anything…just some scenes in my head that I was trying to get out that were cool, but didn’t really go anywhere.

My friend said that she had taken the night before and outlined a brief scene synopsis and plot line to help move the story along. Oh, good idea. I need to do that.

I told my husband that later and he was like, ‘So she Storyboarded it’.

Oh, yeah…of course. Why didn’t I think of that?

I don’t consider myself a fiction writer, although I love reading it. Writing it is challenging for me.

So later that night I took an hour or so to write out a scene synoposis and, OMG, people, that made all the difference.

I took a scene idea and just started writing and BAM, magic (Ok, I still struggle, so maybe not magic, but better than it was).

So…the second rule of writing?

Create a storyboard or scene synoposis.

I don’t think I’d try to start a fictional story again without one. I’ve learned.

I know the second ‘rule’ sounds super-duper obvious, but sometimes I need things pointed out to me.

First rule of writing: Write.

Second Rule? Create a storyboard/scene synoposis.

There you have it folks. That one’s for free.

What to Expect in First Grade

Lately my sister has had a hard time with her oldest child and curbing her ‘potty mouth’.

I told my brother DeAndre that Amelia had a potty mouth and I could see his brain thinking, ‘Potty mouth? Curse words? Amelia?’

I clarified, ‘Like poo and toots and things’.

‘Oh‘.

This summer, at one of our family Sunday times (Why do all the best stories happen then?!), my husband was talking to Amelia and telling her what she should expect going in to first grade.

The initial conversation happened in the living room, and I was in the kitchen so I didn’t hear all that was said, but soon Amelia comes into the kitchen smiling and giggling.

She looks up at me and is laughing so hard she can barely talk, but she manages to say just one word that sounded like ‘Fartballs.’

I’m thinking…’Did she just say...fart…balls…??!?!?’

‘Did…you say…Fartballs…?’, I asked, trying to control a smile.

She nodded and repeated it, giggling.

Oh, dear. I think I need to have a talk with my husband. I walk into the living room and I’m like, ‘Uh, Adam…? What are you telling Amelia?’

‘I’m telling her what to expect in first grade. You know, toot sounds and spit balls and things like that.’

“Oh. Because she turned ‘toot sounds’ and ‘spit balls’ into… uh…ummm…’fartballs‘…” I had to work really hard to keep from laughing.

Unfortunately my sister was not around that Sunday and Amelia got into a lot of trouble when she went home and told her mom her newly coined word.

Adam and I had a good laugh about it when we got home.

On subsequent Sundays similar events continued.

One Sunday, in the course of conversation with my sister-in-law, I made the innocent mistake of saying ‘artsy-fartsy’ when Amelia was present.

Her ears perked up and her eyes lit up and she says, ‘Artsy-fartsy?!?’ with a grin on her face.

Oh, no…I take it back…! Ooops...*gulp*… :)! And I tried not to laugh.

Or just last Sunday I was holding her baby sister Esther and cooed, ‘Oh, sweetpea…’ to Esther.

Except it happened to be within earshot of Amelia and she repeats, ‘Sweet pea…?”.

I’m pretty sure her brain translated it as ‘sweet pee‘.

School has started and Amelia is now in the first grade. She doesn’t have any classmates to egg on her potty mouth or for her to influence other kids, simply beacuse she’s homeschooled. Maybe it’s for the best. 🙂

Missing Piece

I’ve been processing things (ie, life) with a therapist.

With a lot going on inside me and my overwhelm with things outside of me (Job, biz, family, volunteering, marriage, etc) having time to process all of these things with someone who has a outside perspective is incredibly helpful.

Today, feeling very stuck and at a dead-end in a way with fertility issues and my job/biz.

I always feel that if I didn’t have a ‘job’ that I would be happier. This is what I have been processing with the therapist.

So we talked about this. Is it true? WOULD I just be happier if all I had to do was my biz and art stuff???? She asked why didn’t I just do that?

And I told her that I had done that for three years (When I was first starting my biz) and there was still this sense of purposelessness.

(I talk a lot about being purposeful and purposefulness and I try to live that out, but sometimes there’s still a sense of purposelessness in my life that I struggle through. Being real here).

My therapist mentioned that it sounded like there was a missing piece. Yes, I want to create and make and have that be what I DO, but when I did that (And a lot has changed since then, mind you, I’m not in the same place) there was still this sense of a loss of calling. I was doing ‘what I wanted to do’, but it wasn’t satisfying. Or it was, but only for a time (Till I realized how hard business was. I say that tongue-in-cheek).

What was that missing piece? That was her question for me.

My answer?

Community.

Community is the missing piece. Community is the missing piece.

Sure, I was online often, FB biz groups or some Zoom meetings (Pre-COVID, FYI) and I learned a lot, I was doing social media, trying to connect with people…but it was all, or mostly all…virtual.

I missed community. In-person, face-to-face community.

Yes, I had my husband, but he worked during the day. Yes, I had my extended family, but I didn’t live with them. Yes, I had friends, but I didn’t see them everyday and I didn’t live with them (Probably a good thing). Yes, I had my church, but that seemed to be regulated to Sunday mornings and one night a week.

I missed community in the sense of ‘We’re all working toward a common goal’. Like co-workers (Uh, in-person co-workers I may have to add). So, I got a job (And then quit that and got another part-time job)

My question is: HOW DO I have in-person community in regards to my art and creativity?

The therapist even mentioned that if I had kids and was a stay-at-home mom I would still need that in-person community and support system.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

If I was a stay-at-home mom and ran a small art biz, all doing things I love and enjoy, I WOULD STILL NEED in-person community.

Missing piece. We are wired for community. We need each other. Like, in-person, face-to-face need each other. It is satisfying and fulfilling and purposeful.

Grace-Filled Art

I was over at my mom’s house this past Sunday.

My sister is in the middle of moving houses and so her and her family are living with my mom until they sell their current house and buy a new one.

My sister’s oldest child, my sweet niece, who I’ve mentioned a few times, is such a little artist.

I mean, the kid does hardly anything except draw.

She’s inspired by what she sees and then draws it. For example, a couple of Sundays ago at my mom’s there was a huge spider on a big old web on the front porch. The next thing we knew my niece was at the dining room table drawing a picture of the spider. Or, I showed her some watercolor flowers on Sunday that I had made through Fodder School and her eyes lit up and she’s like, ‘I want to draw those!’ and she did.

This past Sunday my niece was showing me her drawing book. This drawing pad (A nice drawing pad, I might add) was at least halfway, if not more, filled with pictures she had drawn. Not only were there these sweet pictures, but she was telling me the story that went with each picture. An artist and a storyteller. Some of the pictures had a little story written on the opposite page.

Mostly my niece is a realist and she’s inspired by nature. She has pictures of giraffes and lions and mice and bugs and penguins, with trees and lakes and what-have-you. Anything in nature is up for grabs and open to interpretation by a six year olds imagination.

She even drew a picture of a praying mantis jumping in a pile of leaves. People, this is CUTE!! This is imagination!

She drew a Summer Scene and a Winter Scene. In summer all the animals are out and about playing, in winter all the animals are hibernating. The stuff she draws is adorable and detailed to boot. I love it. Absolutely love it.

The next day I was telling my husband how I hope she keeps this wonder and imagination and passion for what she loves. That if she pursues art as a career or in school that some well-meaning teacher doesn’t put a wet blanket on her imagination or her creativity. I hope her teachers are kind and encouraging.

I hope she doesn’t become hard on herself. I hope she doesn’t become a perfectionist. I hope she gives herself grace. I hope she always looks on in delight at what she draws.

For me, I’m learning, always learning, how to give myself grace in what I make and in my art. I’m always learning how to let go of perfectionism. I’m always learning to not look at what others make, what others do, but know what I make and what I do gives me joy and pleasure and that joy in creating is mine alone. No one shares it, because no one shares my specific experiences in what I make. I know that the Lord is with me in and during those art making times, leading me, guiding me, creating with me, thorugh me. It’s Him and I and I and Him together, working, learning, making, doing, enjoying.

The same goes for your joy and your art making experiences. They are yours. They are precious. Sharing those times with your Heavenly Father, having Him work through you, in you in what you make and create can be life-giving. Give grace to yourself in your art.

Home

When I was 13 years old my parents moved our family from one house to another.

We moved within the same city, only a few miles from where we had been living.

That was a hard move for me.

From the time I was born, until I was thirteen, my parents lived in six different places.

My first home was the house my parents bought when they first moved to St. Louis. A grand three story brick building with space and room to spare (House #1).

When I was a couple years old we moved because my brother and I got lead poisioning due to the lead paint in the house. And so we moved; first to one apartment (House #2), then in with my grandparents (House #3) for a summer while my dad worked full time to rehab the older house so it would be a healthier and safer environment to live in and raise his family.

When the old brick house was sufficiently rehabbed, we moved back in (House #4) and lived there until I was six.

My parents then rented out that house and moved into an apartment (House #5). This was mostly due to the fact that my dad got a job working for the Archdiocese of St. Louis as a custodian for the local Catholic church that we attended as a family. Part of the work arrangement, and/or agreement, was that we could live in the old convent that was part of the church’s multiple building complex. So, for three years we lived on the third floor of an old convent, in the small three bedroom apartment that was formerly the living quarters of the Mother Superior.

After three years, my mother was done, done, done with the small space (A tight squeeze for four rowdy, growing children and two adults) and wanted her own house back. So, we moved back into the house my dad had rehabbed (House #6).

I always think my childhood was odd in the fact that 1. I lived in six ‘different’ places, but three of those places were actually the same house and 2. I lived in an old convent (Which was super, super cool for a kid to live in. Maybe I’ll unpack that in another post).

As I mentioned earlier when my parents decided to move when I was an early teen, it was really hard on me. Over the years I’ve heard a lot of people tell their life stories and many times there is a big move involved. Now, this particular move wasn’t so big (As in a cross country move or out-of-state or country move), because, as I said before, it was only a few miles from where we had been living.

But for me, in my tender teen years, it was a big move. And I think that was because I loved where we had been living. I loved that old, big, spacious house. It meant a lot to me. Not only because my dad had put a lot of work into it, but I had a lot of memories there. Some of my very earliest memories were in that house; it was special to me in a way that even now I find hard to explain. It was my Home, with a capital H. It was where I felt like I belonged. Comfortable, secure, famliar, safe.

I never really understood why we made that move. Almost thirty years later I still don’t really understand it. Maybe I’m not supposed to understand.

Earier this year my mom mentioned that ‘our old house on 9th Street’ was for sale. Over the years there have been quite a few owners of that house, with an open house accompanying the sale. I’ve never been back. I’ve had chances to see it again, but I haven’t taken those chances. With as much as I loved that place you would think that I would jump at every opportunity to see the inside again.

My reason for not going back was because when we left I wanted it to remain in my mind the way it was. The way it was when we lived there. I wanted it to stay, in a way, pure in my mind. I didn’t want the memories touched. I wanted to always see it the way it was, the way it had been. To me, the way it always will be.

Last Friday my brother mentioned that there was an open house for ‘our old house’ on Sunday. He was going with his family. He was excited to go, to see it again. Was I going to go?

I debated. I told him that I haven’t been back (He had).

But I really and truly debated going this time. Other times, it was a hard no. This time…this time…maybe I was ready. I’ve grown up. I’m married. It’s been almost thirty years. Maybe my husband would like to see where we used to live. Maybe I need to see the house, to get an update in my mind of what the house looks like in 2021 (Not 1993). Maybe I just need to do it. Maybe I’m ready.

I looked the house up on Zillow after talking with my brother. I looked through some of the pictures…but I couldn’t…I couldn’t even finish looking at all the pictures. Somehow my heart hurt. Maybe it seeing them was too close for comfort, especially after losing dad.

So, Sunday came and Sunday went.

And I didn’t go.

Yesterday I was processing…feeling like I had perhaps missed an opportunity.

Maybe I should’ve gone, to heal a thirty-year heart and soul wound, to perhaps finally gain some understanding of why the move was made.

What would it be like to be in the real, physical space again and not the one I’ve kept in my heart and mind all these years?

What would it be like to walk up the large front staircase again? To be in my old room; the one with all the windows? What would it be like to truly see again the beautiful hardwood floors my dad put in, with the alternating colors? To see the basement where we played many, many games of pool over the years, where I built my dollhouse, where we did laundry, to be where my dad’s old workshop was, to see the old cellar? To be in the attic again where we had our school room, play room? To be in the small crawl space, to smell the comforting scent of old wood that had been warmed by the sun on the roof? To see the etched windows my dad had put in the bathroom; the old claw foot tub?

But I didn’t go.

I had to realize, as I was debating with myself over the weekend, that the memories I have of that place aren’t going to change. The house itself has changed; inside, outside, who has lived there…all that has changed. But when we lived there, how it was when I was there, was how it was and my childhood memories that I have in that space are what they are. I’ve never wanted to spoil those memories. To me I’ve always thought that seeing it in the present day reality would somehow spoil them. But in fact, the memories of that place are a part of my life, of who I am, and I can’t change them. They are a part of me. They are a part of my story.

I don’t know if they’ll have another open house this year. Maybe if it sells again and another opportunity presents itself for me to see it up close and personal I’ll take it. Maybe not.

Wanting

“You see, I want a lot. Perhaps I want everything.”

This line from a Rilke poem could also be a life motto for me.

I want a lot in life.

Maybe everything.

Sunday morning I lie on our bed thinking, while my husband gets ready for church.

I lie there…thinking…knowing there are things I need to do (Finish the laundry, brush my teeth), but I want to decorate my house, or paint the chair in our bathroom, or redo our lightswitch covers, or…I want to bake cookies and travel to Charleston, SC because I’ve never been there, I want to write a book and have children and own a boutqiue and rehab houses and own a smoothie shop and have a thriving Etsy shop and aromatherapy business and to do all these things at the same time.

‘You see…

I want a lot.

Perhaps…

I want everything’.

This is nothing new. I distinctly recall feeling the same way when I was in India for a summer many years ago. I wanted to travel to Australia and own a house and get married and be a dancer and run a theatre group and be a missionary and my question then was, “How do all these things work together?”

Do they all go together?

‘You see, I want a lot.’

They fit together under the heading of LIFE.

And yet, in direct contrast in this wanting and desiring things in life, to go and do, are the words from Psalm 73, ‘Whom have I in heaven but You? And earth has nothing I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.’

And, oh, how that echoes in my heart. There really and truly is nothing I want or need or desire besides God; He fully and abundantly satisfies all my wants, needs and desires. And yet…

‘I want a lot…perhaps…everything…’

It is ok to want and desire, to have a thirst for life. We are created to live. Not just sit passively and watch the world go by and our days slip by without feeling, emotion or desire. Of all people, those in the household of faith should thirst and desire for more of life.

Sometimes it feels overwhelming though and which path do I chose? (Do I bake cookies or fly to Australia or bake cookies in Australia?!?)

God always leads though, and always leads aright.

Daydream vs. Reality

The Birthday Daydream: My husband and I would get up early, grab a bite to eat at home, then head over to the Kaldi’s coffee shop on DeMun and purchase my favorite hot drink, a chai tea latte. Drink in hand, we’d cross the street to Concordia Park, sit on a bench, chat, sip our drinks and revel in the cool morning air. Once our drinks had been enjoyed, we’d head over to Forest Park and do a nice long walk, still in the cool morning and under a beautiful blue sky. After the walk, we’d head over to a nearby library and browse the shelves for a good hour, choosing a big stack of books to take home. We’d head home, but stop on the way for some lunch. Having arrived home I’d lie on the couch most of afternoon, indulging in the books I had just gotten. The rest of the day we would just relax, maybe go out to eat, play a fun game or something in the evening.

My drive to work three mornings a week passes close by the Kaldi’s coffee shop, Concordia Park, Forest Park. This daydream of what I wanted to do on my birthday has kept me going through long work days for the past couple weeks. This, this is what I want to do on my special day. Drink a chai tea latte, walk, enjoy the cool morning breezes, chat with my husband, read books. This daydream was probably responsible for me having my head in the clouds at work and making a few mistakes…yikes…

The Birthday Reality: My husband and I get up fairly early, grab a bowl of cereal and a cup of tea. We head over the Kaldi’s on DeMun. My husband is driving, but he’s not overly familiar with this area of the city, so I have to be a ‘backseat driver’ and give directions (Why didn’t I drive?, I wonder). The morning coffee line at Kaldi’s is out the door and honestly, as much as a chai tea sounds amazing and I haven’t had one in a good while, I don’t want to wait in line. So, we skip the latte and Concordia park and drive to Forest Park. Once there we do take a nice long walk (And try not to get run over by packs of runners). Halfway through we stop at the visitors center for a bathroom break and end up getting two cups of hot black tea at the little cafe there (So long daydreams of a chai latte). We take our tea and sit on a park bench in the shade and chat, however the morning coolness has burned off it’s getting warm. We walk back to our car, me trying to keep my fair-skinned husband in the shade as much as possible. Once back at the car, we head to the library, but have to drive around a bit before finding non-metered parking. At the library we browse, maybe 20ish minutes because at this point my husband is getting hungry and I can tell his patience is wearing thin. I check out a book on card games, maybe we could learn some new ones. There were many beautiful looking books I could’ve checked out, but my mood was one of, ‘I don’t want to overwhelm myself and not interested in putting more on my plate by checking out books on crafts that I’m not going to make, or decorating books because I don’t want to compare my house that I like to a house I’ll never actually own’. From the library we drop off some handmade soap to my aunt’s place, and on the way home we stop at Egg (Brunch place, amazing, and if you’re ever in STL, check it out. Yum). Back home I start laundry and making salsa for canning (So long daydream of relaxing on the couch with a stack of books). We relax some in the afternoon (After the salsa making) then go to dinner at Fitz’. We had coupons for dinner and free floats (OMG, they’re the size of my head…I couldn’t finish it all).

All in all a good birthday day, with lots of texts from family friends, ecards, some phone calls, cards and gifts.

But, the daydream vs reality.

Daydreams aren’t bad, but some things are better left unplanned. I had to let go of expectations throughout the day because I had built up something in my mind over the past few weeks and, of course, the reality didn’t quite match up with the daydream. The reality was good, but maybe it would’ve been better if I hadn’t been looking forward to a chai latte and lots of books? I’m ok with this though. And maybe another day the latte and books will happen; one that I haven’t built up in my head and will be spontaneous and spur-of-the-moment. And maybe I’ll enjoy it better?