These Things, Vol. 1

The monthly one

Finally the snow is coming in waves on the wind for February. Finally it’s cold enough to add the extra blankets and serve meals of rich sauces, hearty potatoes, and crusty bread. Finally winter has settled in comfortably for the final homestretch, burying the hellebore buds and silencing the peeking noses of the spring bulbs.

I’m thinking ahead to this year — how I can engage more intentionally with you, with the release of my book, and commit myself to writing more consistently in a space that ebbs and flows.

I’ve never been good at predictable creativity, which Jon Acuff would argue in his book “Finish” that that’s a terrible excuse. So today I’m giving this the old college try and risking failure in the face of anyone who stumbles upon my attempt at consistency. So here is a format I hope to bring to you once a month or so — some beauty, some tension, some book stuff. These things.

Beautiful Things

My father texted me late the other night that he just ordered a canvas print of one of Van Gogh’s paintings. This is one thing I share with my father that I don’t seem to have with anyone else in my life — a deep love for classical art and music. We traded favorite paintings and links for awhile. He told me what he knows about the painting he purchased, why it was his favorite, why it was Van Gogh’s favorite. I love Van Gogh, for all of his brokenness and humanness.

Last fall, my husband and I traveled to Italy and we went to the Vatican. I was able to spend a tourist-amount of time admiring the Sistine Chapel with about 500 other people. I craned my neck back as far as it would go and made myself dizzy spinning in a slow, silent circle to try to take it all in. Seeing such famous work in person felt surreal to me — as though my brain couldn’t quite comprehend that this was it. This is the Sistine Chapel. You’re standing in it. I kept getting distracted by the other people around me who kept talking above the requested volume level, who tried snapping photos after we had been told repeatedly to not do so, kids who cried, and a smattering of other people who were trying to force the same experience as me.

But then I thought of my father. His love for Michaelangelo’s work. How he always wanted to go and probably won’t be able to do so now. And suddenly, in my heart, I was there with my father. Every moment he had encouraged art and beauty in my life was wrapped up in these moments as I stared at the scenes around my head. All that to say, I’m thankful my father still buys me art history books and asks me “So when are you going to start painting again?” I’ll never be Michelangelo, but I am Bruce’s daughter and he loves me and that’s enough.

The Tension

We are preparing to bring in new ducks and chickens this spring, so appropriately, one of our chickens dropped dead in the coop a few days ago. This is a normal part of chicken keeping. This is the normal part of life around here. It’s beautiful and also what are we going to do with this dead chicken? We’re stuck in February, knowing spring is a ways off still but seedlings are sprouting and growing under the lights in our pantry room. Winter is defiantly staying but spring is coming no matter what. I feel this tension in all things lately — in between job titles at my work, in between seasons, in between pant sizes, in between goals and plans — and yet, in these days of inbetweenness, we are living our very good and normal lives. We had to put our elderly dog down the week my book was released for pre-sale. I had to have my first book marketing meeting on her last night. We talked social media and how to make more connections while she laid on the floor 6-feet from me, unable to move, watching me as she always did. This is the tension — it is always good and hard, busy and waiting, sad and beautiful. This is the only way I know how to live.

Book Update

For as solid 30 minutes, the algorithm placed my book 2nd in New Releases on Amazon under Monty Don’s book. Don’t worry, I took a screenshot of it for posterity and to send to my friends who know who I’m talking about. I squealed with glee and shouted to my husband in the kitchen “Babe! I’m right under MONTY DON right now!” (I need you to know that my computer automatically corrects Monty Don to MONTY DON if that tells you my enthusiasm level.) My dearest, best friend of a husband looked up from his phone and said “Who?”

So I’m sharing that here. You can never trust an algorithm, I think, but I will take its flowers when it gives them. Even if it is for 30 minutes on a random Tuesday evening.

The book releases in July! I’m starting to put together a list of people who might want to read it in advance and leave a review. Those sorts of book marketing things. I have a lot of dreams with not a lot of time, and that feels immensely frustrating to someone who likes to get stuff done. Here’s hoping these cold and snowed-in February days force me to sit in the chair and get things done.

You can pre-order the book here. Maybe give me another shot at running alongside of the incredible MONTY DON for a few more minutes?

Thanks for reading these things, my friend. Come back for more writing, more posts, more beauty by subscribing to this corner of the internet.