Author: Erin

I write - all the time - mostly random thoughts on that which makes me happy every day of my life.
Words in Sentences

Heaven @ Bellingham Breakfast Table – 7.4.20

by ErinLeave a Comment on Heaven @ Bellingham Breakfast Table – 7.4.20

Last night, I laid my tired body down next to my husband’s. I was tucked in close with my head on his chest, against his t shirt. He grabbed my shoulder with a squeeze and started to pull the last bit of energy out of my body. I sighed and he continued to squeeze around my shoulder blade. Squeeze, pull, squeeze, pull. Heaven.

Completely heaven.

We got married in the morning, took a walk and went to Whole Foods in the afternoon. Our youngest daughters, Kara and Lucy, made us a dinner of club sandwich split for two, raw veggies and ranch, watermelon and fried egg & potatoes.

They served us on plates we painted a few days before. We had our favorite beer (Bloke – from Twin Sisters here in Bellingham, WA.) We played Mario Cart with Aria, Ellen and Maddox. We were husband and wife even in Mario Cart, encouraging and supportive, sharing responsibility… like when he would steer with the joy stick and I would get to hold down A on the Wii controller and close my eyes.

We are sitting in our breakfast nook at the moment. He, across from me, on the electric guitar. I am on my last half cup of coffee.

The sun is out and the sky is blue. My hair is about dry from my shower and the candle smells of pomegranate and evergreen: a smell of Christmas.

We are relaxed and married.

Just like the squeeze pull of his hands on my shoulders, the guitar playing right now through these speakers (accompanied by the birds out the door behind me) is so soothing. So relaxing.

There are a lot of things I could say. A lot of story to tell and laugh about, to share. A lot of potential thinking about best ways to share and the meaning our marriage has – not only to us – but to those we invited to support us, who know what a treasure we are to each other.

But, you know, when I think about the best idea. The best way to announce. The best way to connect. The best way to invite. Well, I have learned and am learning the true best is to not pursue a best way, no more right way.

Without the fanfare of tradition and expectations, we witness the subtle shifts of our commitment against our status quo. This is refreshing and a gift in itself.

Our marriage right now is wide open – a blank canvas – open for connection and invitation. Its aerobic nature, its exuberance, is potent and palpable to the five people we most want to witness love.

When it is time to celebrate with others, we will celebrate gladly. If there is blessing to come, it will come.

If there is opportunity in our creative life, it will blossom from our time creating.

If there is adventure to come next, we will stumble upon it.

If ever I knew a taste of peace, I know it now.

// God, you are so good to me. Really really good to me. //

DavidandErinSocialMedia-6

Photograph by Stephanie Freels 

 

 

Words in Sentences

Unapologetically Present – 7.2 @ Bellingham… in bed.

by ErinLeave a Comment on Unapologetically Present – 7.2 @ Bellingham… in bed.

I wanted to be a meteorologist for quite a portion of my childhood life until I learned that they did not get to pick the weather.

Though I expected there had to be some ratio of rainy days to sunny days, that I was going to have to pick “freezing” one day just because, I was particularly inspired by the idea of picking out the perfect weather for perfect moods… celebrations… events.

***

As I wake up here on grey day #3, I feel a tinge of relief that people have not traveled all the way up here to have a several days without the Washington sunshine.

I could imagine myself apologizing and feeling responsible for the weather. I could hear my friends who lived up here at some point in their life reassure me with their, “girl – we knew what the likelihood was – it’s fine! It’s gorgeous.”

Golden hour would be no guarantee for our beer garden concert. Our morning coffee ceremony really would have required folks be as comfortable as I hoped they would come. Blankets of mix a matched colors. Hats if you need them. Your favorite jacket over a festive shirt. The irony of having over thought your outfit to be covered in a $8 Walgreens poncho. You know, that sort of thing.

***

Personally, I am not unhappy about the grey. I find the bright grey sky makes the ferns beyond vivid, I feel them breathing. The fog over evergreen silhouettes gets me every time and I love a good grey day walk in the woods.

Brown, green and grey are power colors. Sacred.

As I continue to process the theme of control that I started sharing on this blog last night, I feel the need for growth especially now. Whatever kind of experience I am in, I feel my growth calling me to allow the story to unfold exactly as the weather reveals: to be prepared for but not bound by things like overcast, timing or moods.

You know, things of the greater connected world of experience completely beyond my control.

Sometimes the trait of a maximizer can create a mindset of management instead of a mindset of navigation. Prediction takes precedence over opportunism. Maybe even causing grief where and when you could be experiencing something new.

I think realizing what you are trying to control and make perfect is a phenomenon in and of itself: it combines your senses (wow, I feel anxiety) + requires your observation (here are the things at play) + your reflection (why?).

For ever and for always, this brings yoga forward: balancing the effort and the ease. When that edge of control is sharp, I feel it – and I back off. I relax. I think of what is reasonable. I trust the fact I feel anxious means I value something. I find the balanced – open – flexible way to value that same thing but without controlling.

I more easily come to middle ground.

And ….

I feel a lot less pressure than when I thought I was God.

It really is completely magical to me
Grey Day Smiles
Words in Sentences

A Shrimp Taco Away – 7.1 @ Bellingham House Kitchen

by ErinLeave a Comment on A Shrimp Taco Away – 7.1 @ Bellingham House Kitchen

It is amazing to me how many ideas I have on how to control things.

I have had half a million ideas on how to control the food in this household in the last half hour alone (each time prompting the first line of this blog post).

I have had ideas on how to curb what the teens eat out of the freezer at midnight. How many flaming hot cheetos makes sense to eat in one sitting… How to balance kids wine with watermelon, why you should finish this bag of chips first before starting a new one…

It is true: I do find actual joy and solace in gems like how long big batches of popcorn stretch and perfectly hiding David’s rhubarb raspberry pie in the refrigerator.

And though I will continue to tuck Oreos away on top of the fridge, I grow in my desire to be more like David. David tends to shrug and laugh more than me, even when we are “almost out of snacks already”.

Even though he can grow annoyed by the incessant teenage grazing, his response is more “damn kids” as he pours the crumbs of the Doritos down the hatch. It loosens me up. I like being like that better than trying to control things. :)

***

I was tucking away a water bottle when I thought of my mother. I had just had one of those creative ways to shame come to mind and I was instinctively compelled to change my thinking. My mom would get so stressed out in the kitchen sometimes. And, because life is inevitably stressful and over the kitchen sink *is* the perfect place to cry, I don’t want to waste stress free days allowing anxiety about how the ice cream is gone.

Like for sure ice cream and anxiety are not supposed to go together.

Today was a marvelously relaxed day. The weather was perfect for being inside and keeping the kitchen humming. Eat, drink and be merry. No need for anxiety.

***

If I spend my time coming up with fun little rules and red tape, not only do I risk the joke being on me when the food I wanted them to avoid goes bad… I miss out on sharing the laissez-faire vibe with my soon to be husband.

If I was talking to the kids right now on how to make midnight meal decisions, I would not be  writing and taking little peeks up to look over at him: enjoying a shrimp taco at the counter and watching the end of the Blackfish documentary.

It’s not the kids’ fault that I find self identity in an organized fridge and a clean kitchen floor. Nor is it their fault that I was raised with four others on a potluck budget, where you bank on church events for feasting. My love of a well run kitchen can sometimes take precedence over my actual love for them. And – for obvious reasons – I challenge that as wrong thinking.

I have a feeling as I keep letting go of my grip and desire to manage the snot (nod to COVID) out of the kids and, instead, replace that grip with being present and communicating: serving them and encouraging them, that I will resemble more and more my childhood best friend’s perfectly cool mom.

Laid back, comfortable behind the kitchen counter, a steak sizzling on the cast iron grill behind them. Ask her for a ginger ale or a pizza and you’d get a “sure, babe” through an afternoon buzzy smile.

See? Doesn’t that just sound so much better?

The end. :)