Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

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impermanence

Yesterday afternoon, Handsome walked into the Apartment where Jess and I had parked to do some serious conversating. He announced playfully that between the dogs roughhousing and panting like monsters and the women talking nonstop, the temperature inside the house had risen five degrees. Ha! It might actually have been true. Once again, #sorrynotsorry

On Day 2 of Jess’ Farm Retreat, we swam, made frozen treats for the chickens, chased the dogs tirelessly, made Bean swim in a tiny inflatable pool donut, fed extra soft grass to the horses, discussed legiterally everything, made sprinkle sugar cookies via Joy the Baker, made homemade pizza from scratch, and watched a movie at the end of it all. Somewhere in there Jess managed a good old fashioned summertime afternoon nap, much needed and hard earned.

We had planned an art project like painting or scarecrow constructing, perhaps macrame, but got pleasantly sidetracked making the chickens’ frozen scraps treats. This is when the topic of impermanence arose. It was such a careful, loving task, walking around the farm collecting colorful flowers, herbs, and bits of fruits and vegies, then cleaning out the kitchen for more. We chopped everything and Jessica arranged it beautifully inside a bundt cake pan before filling the pan with water to freeze. All of this preparation for a treat that will freeze overnight and be toyed with, melted, and consumed tomorrow morning. A brief pleasure, an impermanent gift. But still joyful. We talked about the monks who work so hard on their intricate chalk mandalas, only to sweep them away once finished.

Have you seen Onward yet? Oh gosh. The three of us (five of us if you count the dogs which you definitely should) watched it tonight with our homemade pizzas and sprinkle cookies. It is not just cute and funny, it is also one of the most inclusive, soothing, loving Pixar films so far, with many beautiful messages. We all really loved it, and I actually felt a warm touch of grace for having seen it exactly on this night, exactly in this life chapter, exactly after a series of heavy conversations Jess and I have had this week.

I am not certain what tomorrow holds for us, both in the broader life sense as well as in the what will be doing on Friday sense, ha! But I know what our prayers are. I know what our values are. I know what binds us together and what fuels our work and our play. I know that Love is worth every bit of our trust and that magic is real.

Sweet sleep, friends! Thanks for checking in!

XOXOXOXO

in a continuum, where does the story begin?

“The good news is that the heat seems to be exhausting our five million grasshoppers. Wait, let me back up…”

I was around nine years old, barefoot and in the middle branches of Mom’s mulberry tree, right there on the west edge of the house against our neighbors’ driveway. My hands were stained black with the wonderful inky juice, my skin brown from summertime and my hair probably tangled in the back. I was worried that something deep and important was wrong with me because I could never figure out the correct beginning of any story. I was fundamentally flawed, though I didn’t know the word fundamental yet.

I marveled at how people could just dive in and tell any story fluidly, discerning with confidence how to begin the tale and what details to include. To me, to my nonstop thoughts and conveyor belt lines of questioning, every beginning was really just the middle or end of something else, everything was very literally connected. Nothing, not even in fiction books, had a believable and well formed boundary.

It’s why I still have trouble telling stories. I never know where to start. What history can be excluded, can just be trimmed away as if it didn’t happen, as if it doesn’t matter any more.

What details matter not just to me, but also to the listener or reader? What details would be missed, if I attempted some economy? What precious context supplies the understanding that makes all the difference?

Nothing happens in a vacuum, and no man is an island. We all affect each other, and we are all affected by each other. That’s not a flaw; it’s part of our wonderful design.

As for how you tell me stories, tell me everything. Leave nothing out. I want to hear it all, even if it barely seems relevant. I want to understand the background stories, the moods and flavors, the weird implications, the spider webs of complicated stories that led up this exact moment.

The grasshoppers are numerous, but they are slowing under the weight of Oklahoma summertime. And the tomatoes are thriving. Tonight we ate a pretty delicious galette made with a few of those tomatoes plus fresh garden basil and a parmesean-cornmeal crust.

And we sat with and loved on our friends whose story is changing. Not suddenly, and not in a vacuum. I do not grasp where it begins, really, and maybe they don’t either. Tonight, though, we have this part of it, of this one part of a big and complicated story that is far from over. This moment in a continuum, this chance to do the next right thing.

I very much wish that someone would have told me, at nine, barefoot in that mulberry tree, that it’s ok to not know where a story begins. No one knows. We just get to dive in right where we are and pour ourselves out lavishly.

“You never know how hard it will be.
You never know when it will end.
You can’t control it.
You can only adjust. And, he added,
No one gets through it on their own.“
~Angel, Born to Run, Christopher McDougall

nobody’s sad at hooters

Jess and I spent the morning together, handling some pretty heavy emotions and navigating startling black skies, shattered by webs of lightning. The weather came out of nowhere, like so many storms in her young life, and her sister’s.

Does anyone remember that wild hailstorm through which Joc and I once drove, on our way to Colorado? It descended out of nowhere, was violent and scary for a few minutes, then it ended just as suddenly. We had to look in the rear view mirror to confirm that we had, in fact, just seen it. There it was, behind us, and we kept driving. I will never forget it. It still reminds me how suddenly a life storm can come and go. How succinctly our traumas can be put behind us. Chapters close, and we move forward.

Back to this morning with Jess.

As our time together was winding down, we drove east across south Oklahoma City toward her house. I exited the highway, turned into a parking lot, and said, “I’m taking you somewhere.” My idea was to find a delicious treat at a really cute health food grocery store we both like, in lieu of eating brunch at a restaurant. (#covid)

The parking lot also fed into a Hooters restaurant. Jess very calmly said, “Oh you’re taking me to Hooters?”

I said, “Yes obviously. Nobody’s sad at Hooters.”

“Sounds perfect, let’s go!” Peals of laughter. Much more lightning. Even blacker, lower skies.

Brackish waters.

Was everyone in Oklahoma as surprised by today’s storm as we were? It built steadily then absolutely raged. We were braced for the Heat Dome of the Apocalypse, but instead, all of daybreak’s sticky blue atmosphere collapsed beneath black, woolly shelf clouds. We felt chilled. Even the biggest trees fell subject to straight line winds. Torrential rain, flash flood warnings, even one rumor of tornado conditions.

I can’t stop eating dried mango! Or pecan praline crumbs!

And if you could have any of the following iconic cars, which would you choose? I want the A-Team van, obviously. Fools pitied, and all.

Handsome is currently in the city for a few hours, then once he returns home we will begin our anniversary staycation!! Next week we will mark 19 years of wedded bliss and adventure. While it’s customary every summer for us to spend at least part of our anniversary week at the farm, doing our favorite staycation things, this is the first year that ten or so days “alone” will follow 118 days “alone,” ha! So more than ever I am taking a good honest look at how to be deliberate about quality time and relaxing together. The biggest difference of course will be that he won’t be spending the weekdays on Commish business.

I’m excited! We are definitely staying home, but somehow it feels like we are packing for a trip?!

This reminds me that I have been wanting to tell you guys about our game, “This Hotel…” It’s a way we encourage each other to more fully enjoy our home bound life. Rather than focus on the sometimes annoying facts of a relative quarantine, we try to magnify some of the hard work we do to keep things comfortable and happy, luxurious and fun for each other. Examples:

“This hotel has great coffee service. I love that they have it ready so early! Most place you have to wait until 6.”

“This hotel is so pet friendly, like really pet friendly!”

“This hotel has a really cute pool boy. I wonder if he gives massages…” : )

“This hotel’s nature walks and gardens and animal refuge are so relaxing, and we are so remote, it’s more private than I expected…totally worth the extra money.”

“This hotel has so many great snacks! I love that we don’t have to drive to town to find something. And I heard that they grow their own produce, and those eggs from breakfast were fresh.”

“This hotel has all the best movies, for FREE! And have you seen their free library? Any book you could ask for!”

“Ahhh this hotel has the best pillows. And so many extra blankets for when you turn down the air at night!”

“Did you see that on Tuesdays they have outdoor painting? And on the weekends they make s’mores and have storytelling around the bonfire? I think they have bicycles you can rent, too.”

“Free laundry service? This hotel is amazing!”

“I love the room service here. This hotel has great food. And And I love the boutique atmosphere. We can really be ourselves.”

You get the idea. It’s fun and silly but wildly effective. Try it! Staying home for weeks and weeks and weeks might have its challenges, but if you are diligent and imaginative about how you create and maintain your home, then, outside of actually experiencing a new city, home can far surpass any hotel. It just takes a little perspective shift and some silliness.

It’s now almost 2:30 p.m. The weather is calm. Our only storm damage is a toppled hammock. (#wewillrebuild)

Sadly, I have now eaten so much dried mango and so many bits of pecan praline that I must brush my teeth again. Wishing you the best Friday evening friends! Thanks for checking in.

Please remember that grief and joy can coexist
that you are strong
and that every thing is survivable.
XOXOXOXO

thunderstorms as hints that miracles are coming

Happy Fourth of July! Today is our 112th day of Covid Quarantine. Are you celebrating today and tonight? We opted for avoiding crowds, possibly driving later tonight to watch a small town fireworks display from a distance. Then tomorrow evening, part of my family will join us at the farm for swimming, sparklers, and a good outdoor meal. I am pretty excited for that. We are all good at making the most of bizarre circumstances.

Our sky last night, just before sunset, was everything we needed. I had just spoken with Jess for almost an hour, trying to absorb her grief and fresh anger and help her navigate an exponentially difficult season (is there anything easy about 2020 for my girls?). Her heartbreak is absolutely heartbreaking to me. I have not spoken with Jocelyn recently, but she too is on my mind and in my prayers constantly. As always. I know she is hurting in deep and inexpressible ways.

Last night after that phone call, Handsome and I walked around outside, looking for an Amazon delivery that was delayed, giving thanks for a million different amazing blessings. We saw bright, dense storm clouds far on the horizon. These do appear pretty often but dissipate without coming to fruition. We asked aloud for rain, saying both to each other and to God how wonderful an overnight thunderstorm would be. Then we walked some more. Then we closed up the farm, made coffee for morning, and went to bed.

I’m telling you this because God answered overnight. It was just a thunderstorm in the wee hours of the new day, a musical surprise heavy with rain and absent hail, but it was exactly what we wished for.

Sometimes I feel like small, specific answers like this are encouragements that the big ones are coming. And friends, we have some big requests right now. I imagine you do, too.

This morning I cracked open an old book I first read in my late 20’s. Not quite a devotional, it’s a daily entry style book geared toward women: Simple Abundance by Sarah Ban Breathnach.

One of the passages I explored was about being purposeful in the pursuit of happiness. She writes about the differences between dreams and expectations and explains some mechanics of releasing to the God the exact results of our hard work. “Living your life as a dreamer and not as an expector is a personal declaration of independence. You’re able to pursue happiness more directly when you don’t get caught up in the delivery details.” I love that.

My workout today was split between the very very very crowded lake (so crowded I ended up leaving) and the treadmill. I felt great! Seven easy miles with a low heart rate, comfy feet and legs. You might like to know that on my drive to the lake I came upon a herd of cows blocking the road. There were at least 15 calves in the group, all teeter-tottering and scampering. As oblivious to pandemic as yesterday’s wild meadows.

The cows were easily herded into this abandoned, fenced yard.

“Drop by drop fills the tub.”
~French proverb
XOXOXOXO