Oh (dear!), Christmas Tree

I don't know what it is, but this is the first year I don't feel pressured to do anything quickly for Christmas. Perhaps it was my own self-imposed wishes over the last Christmases to do things just right, to get the Christmas cards out early, and to get the tree up before Thanksgiving.

Perhaps it's because both my boys will be flying the coop within about three months of each other and I don't feel the urge to make things perfect or the same. Because, in a few short months, that "norm" will come to a screeching halt.

You might want to check in on me when that happens. I realize all parents go through this. But, after losing my beloved dog last year, and then both my boys this coming new year, well, let's just say I'll feel alone in the family department unlike anything I've ever felt.

A friend of mine just wrote about this same thing. It's like we've transitioned to a different phase of life, and, to be honest, I hope I never go back to the old way. I'm done striving.

This year, as far as Christmas goals, has been the opposite of every one of those previous tenets of my life. And I'm so glad it's different. Because my time isn't as pressed as it has been (working several jobs and keeping track of the kids and our lives), my need to get things done has altered. It can't help but change.

Christmas cards? Well, you'll be lucky to get them by Christmas, to be honest. I've sent out a few to family, but that's it. Sorry about that (but not really.)

Christmas gifts? Normally, I've purchased and wrapped all of them by December 1st. I realize this is over-the-top and excessively perfectionistic, but when work and family collide with the holiday, there are too many things to do to sit by and let it pile up. Such is the life of a working mom. So, I always felt like I had to stay on top of things just to survive.

This year, I just finished buying the gifts and again, I'll be lucky if I get them all wrapped by the 23rd. I'm not feeling the calling to do that anymore.

Christmas tree? For the last decade or so, the tree comes out right after my youngest boy's birthday, the 16th of November. Because one month of the Christmas tree is too short. This year? We just got it. Perhaps this is a new normal for me now.

Speaking of Christmas trees, we purchased a permit to chop down our trees on land that needs a little deforestation. But because we here in Northern California have had so many wildfires, the land available to do the chopping has reduced significantly.

If you squint, she doesn't look too bad.

We were relegated to a small portion of land to choose from and when it comes to those sorts of confinements, you get what you get. Because of that, our tree is the most Charlie Brownest of all Christmas trees we've ever had. And you know what? I love it. She's still a beauty. She's a tad waifish, but all the same, she's beautiful. For $10, I have nothing to complain about.

This year is a different Christmas but different is also good. It's not always welcomed, but it is good because it forces us to grow, change, and evolve for the better. Next Christmas is going to be even more foreign than this one without my boys at home.

I've slowed down my Christmas living this year and am enjoying every second I have with family. I'm doing it all with a slightly anorexic tree, late Christmas cards, and no presents under the tree (yet), but man, does it sure feel good.

It's going to be the best Christmas yet. I hope you have a wonderful Christmas... one as gentle and slow as it needs to be. ♥

The Lost Art of Conversation

Back in the days of yonder, say 1899 in late June, the Saturday Evening Post printed an article about the "lost art of conversation." You can read it for yourself. 

Why was this such a problem for the fine folks of a century that was nearly turning 1900? 

It all had to do with reading. Yes, reading. As in, too much reading was causing people to not talk to one another.

It strikes me funny that reading was the problem behind their lack of conversation. Yet, I can see how this could be thought of as detrimental to society. Because what else could stop a conversation? Before books, there was nothing one could do if they were bored that would mentally remove them from the room.

I suppose women had their sewing, but they probably talked while they sewed. And it's why quilting groups are popular, even today. You get together to create something beautiful but you also get to talk, conversate, laugh, and enjoy each other's company at the same time.

As the writer of the 1899 article said, "The very act of reading is unsocial. It is a kind of melancholy barbarism. If you look about you in a railway station, in a streetcar or a 'bus, you will observe that everyone is reading.... Conversation is in a way of becoming a lost art.... We have such a precious deal of reading to do that conversation is out of the question."

Reading books, on a train (the nerve!) stopped the conversation. Reading was a way for one to turn into oneself, an escapism into a world of one's own, where the need for talk wasn't necessary. In fact, it was discouraged. How could one read and talk at the same time? 

Today, we can only hope that people are reading. Because, while reading has declined, that's not our biggest problem now. If the writer of this article could have only seen how little reading we actually do anymore, he would've scrapped the article altogether.

We not only don't read anymore but are instead on our phones. The reading "problem" of 100 years ago is a problem I wish we had. We scroll, text, and email, instead and we do it all day long. Can you imagine going to an airport and seeing everyone with a book instead of a phone? 

I just got back from visiting some wonderful friends who have since moved to Florida since I last saw them. It was a wonderful time of much talking and laughing. What happened to our phones? Well, I can tell you that other than the random email, or text, or other than some necessary business communication, we weren't on our phones. At all.

All four of us, for the better part of four days, were lost in the art of actual conversation.

We also did this a couple years earlier with another set of friends in Idaho. Three days of talk and laughter and amazing conversation. It was energizing and life-giving, and because of both of these trips, I understood the force behind the concept of this article. He understood that community and conversation, that communication and connection with each other is where we thrive and grow. It makes us well.

In the context of all things, I sincerely wish more people read. Having a face in a book is leaps better than having a face in the phone (unless you're reading a book on an e-reader.)

So now that I'm back home, with the option to scroll mindlessly wherever I go, I want to change that. When I take a walk by myself, the phone stays in my pocket. How many times have I walked by someone after the fact, and realized I had my nose to the phone and didn't even see them? So rude, so pointless, and so very selfish. How much am I missing around me all because I can't sit still for a few minutes without my phone entertaining me?

If you've actually taken a moment, to get off your phone in an airport, it's astonishing to see all the heads looking down into their hand while they wait for their flight to arrive. Most are not reading a book. They are all watching something on that little screen. Every man, woman, and child.

The average person spends 4.5 hours on their phone every day and younger folks, up to 6 hours. This means, conservatively, that most of us, if we stay on this horrible trajectory of time-wasting, will in fifty years have spent 9.5 years scrolling.

All I can think about is what books aren't being written because young people are scrolling? What art isn't being drawn, sculpted, or painted? What music isn't being composed? What major scientific discovery is waiting to be unearthed but hasn't yet because little Johnny is watching YouTube videos?

We are wasting away; we are becoming the most unproductive society; we have lost all creativity. And I don't want to be a part of the demise of us.

So, I have a list where I can interact more and scroll less.

• At the gas station - don't whip out the phone, look at the people around me, and maybe, I know this might be hard for some, but maybe smile.
• In the grocery store line - talk to someone next to me.
• At the post office line - talk to someone next to me.
• At the airport - talk to someone sitting next to me.
• Cooking a meal - leave the phone alone! Don't cook eggs and scroll at the same time - I will burn those eggs. Mmm. Yummy.
• At home - lessen my screen time. Use my time to create, make, become, and discover.
• At the shops I frequent, with a line out the door just to check out - check the email once and then watch the other customers, look for spare change on the floor, and be available in case someone needs my help with something. (I get lots of people asking me their opinion of what they're buying once we're in line - they tend not to ask if I'm on my phone. Interesting, huh?)

Yes, this means an introvert like myself has to talk more. But, I don't need to give up the phone entirely. Instead, maybe give it a rest for five to ten minutes. Look where you're standing; look at the people near you; look at the way the sun is setting out the window while you wait to pick up your dinner.

We'll always have technology, but we can choose to not let it rule our social lives. We can put that phone where it belongs: away. The phone is a slim box of metal and plastic that doesn't need to be at my face for me to function well. (I know, young people will  be amazed at this, but it's true.) 

If you still need your phone, fine. I get it, we all do to some degree because that's how our society is now wired. But, we can surely do something about the time spent on it. Instead of 4.5 hours per day, lessen it to 3.5. Then work your way down to 2.5 hours. Put timers on your phone. Something. Anything.

I venture to say that we should read more, scroll less, and more importantly, find people whom we can see face to face. Let's have those conversations, let's forget about our phones, let's talk and discuss and have a conversation that needs to happen.

Today, the lost art of conversation isn't due to reading books, but instead due to smartphones and tablets. Let's bring the conversation back and hopefully with it, we will bring back the tenets of slow living and re-infuse true creativity - from books to art to science to cooking - back into our lives so we can give an honest account of our lives one day.

I don't know about you, but I sure have no plausible excuse for 9.5 years of scrolling when I meet God one day. That's 9.5 years wasted and gone.

If there's anything I got out of my trip to Florida (and watching everyone at airports on their phone) it's this: Less phone, more conversation.  That's it.

We can do this.

Dictionary No More

Do you ever hold onto something that you might need? Something that may be a perfect fix for when you're in a jam? That twisty tie that closes something else in need of closing; that cable you knew you needed to keep because a different electronic needs it.

That one pair of jeans you were sure you were going to get back into.

We're all guilty of this ubiquitous idea that we're doing the right thing by holding onto something "we may need in the future." It's frugal, it's smart, and it's rational thinking - because hey, how many times have we gotten rid of something we should've kept, right?

RIP, my dictionary

As a self-proclaimed minimalist, an ideology I've been holding tight to for the last seven years or so, this goes against my current philosophy. Yes, it's good to hold on to certain things in the household I know I will use. Like the plastic bags I need for cleaning out or taking out the garbage - despite the ban, again, that our state will be imposing - I use them, need them, and when I get one, I proceed to stuff it in the plastic bag drawer in our kitchen. These plastic bags will be used. I can guarantee you that.

But, how many plastic containers do I need to hold on to? Leftovers can be put in glass dishes to refrigerate. How many boxes do I need to hold onto to recycle? (I do use boxes all the time for shipping, but surely not all of them).

And here is my most recent example of holding onto something I will never use again: the dictionary.

For twenty-five years, I've lugged this thing around from home to home, knowing - without a doubt - I would use it. And in the early 2000s, used it I did. I used it to write my master's thesis on the veracity of the book of Esther for my Humanities degree (with an emphasis on Literature, thank you very much). I used it as I began to write freelance for my burgeoning career. I used it when an author bushwhacked me with a word I'd never heard of. 

Which was constant.

This may be a throwback to my Gen-X ways (we didn't have smartphones, which means we didn't have dictionary apps on our non-existent smartphones), but, why was I holding onto this book? Why did I insist that this five-pound work of art was necessary anymore?

Language is a beautiful thing. A larger vocabulary helps us to communicate how we feel. But my youth, which is no longer an active participant in my life, insisted I keep it even when I didn't need it.

I took it out of my bookshelf just a few weeks ago and told my husband I was going to donate it. Truthfully, I should've recycled it. Except for a few teachers or professors - or vintage lovers, like myself - no one will buy this from the local thrift store. It will sit in obscurity, fading away into the background of modern life.

I knew it was time to get rid of it when I realized I hadn't used it in over a decade. While this is a bit sad, it also isn't. The dictionary is in my e-reader so if I want to look up a word, all I have to do is tap on the word. It saves me minutes. The dictionary is also an app on my phone. What used to take a minute to plow through in book form, now takes seconds on the tap of a phone. Yet, for a book lover like myself, letting go of the dictionary feels like I'm committing a crime; surrendering my baby, if you will.

But, time is of the essence, after all. Or, that's what they say.

I realize getting rid of a dictionary is the opposite of slow living. But, alas, hear me out. When you're reading a great book, and the tension is thick, and the protagonist is about to find out the meaning of their existence and I have to stop to look up a word, having the handy dandy dictionary app allows me to slow my reading speed for a few seconds rather than a few minutes.

And for every voracious reader, this is of the utmost importance. I need to know what happens now.

While the physical dictionary is a mass of fond memories for me, it's not like I won't use the dictionary at all. It isn't obsolete. Rather, I've just found a newer - and better, I might add - way to look up those obfuscating words that render a reader stupefied. 

While everything changes, and while I'm not used to the blank spot in my bookshelf without it, this book of words has helped me learn everything I've needed to learn about my basic lexicological education. 

If you have one of these on your shelves, it's okay. Don't feel bad. You can let go if you want to. I held onto it even though I hadn't used it in years. Sentimental reasoning is a fine reason to keep items we don't use. It's not logical, but it's why we do what we do.

Here's the moral of the story: If you haven't used an item in over a decade, odds are good you don't need it.

Dictionary, my book of all books, I will miss you. But, I'll see you online. And while I can't use you as a weight-lifting component anymore, the weight of your influence will always be with me. 

 

Always a Work in Progress

My youngest son, who isn't that young (he'll be 18 in two months) came to me just a few days ago and said something profound. He said: "I'm not really naturally good at anything."

Of course, I did my motherly return of "Oh son, of course you are," and reminded him of how good he was at a lot of things. But, what he was really saying was this: "It takes a lot of work to do something better than average."

I actually congratulated him on becoming an adult right then. I had to point out to him that at the young - but maturing - age of nearly 18, he's realized he doesn't know everything.

A lot of great stories in this book.

In fact, if I was reading him right, he was actually telling me he didn't know much at all. Which is huge. This is practically like clouds parting and the sun coming out huge. He was finally - finally, after years of him telling me (and not telling me) that he "knows" everything, as most young boys do - understanding what life was all about.

Life is unfair and life is hard. And in the end, we're going to be average or below average in many things. 

I told him our goal is to do the best we can and continue to improve - even if it is in minute amounts - on all we do, learn, see, have, and become. 

I told him I didn't know how to do anything great either. I've been writing professionally for over twenty years and I am still learning how to write. I'll never have it all figured out. I don't even know who I am and what I like, most days. 

When I hear someone say, "The older I get the more I realize I don't know anything," I hear it as the mark of maturity, which is essentially where my son is at. It means he is ready to learn. He understands humility. He has the chance to transform - through a lifetime - into the person he needs to be because he doesn't think he has it all figured out.

Guidepost's latest book, Transformed by His Grace, took a story of mine and it just came out. Last week, I received my author copies.

My story is about a chance meeting with a friend whom I never would've chosen to have as a friend had I not been open-minded about it. Today, years later, we're still friends. We're unlikely friends with different backgrounds, but great friends nonetheless.

I know nothing about everything, apparently. I can't even pick out friends that would be a good fit for me. God has to intervene! 

A friend whom I would've walked right by because she wasn't like me ended up being a much-needed part of my life. I am a better person because of this chance meeting. 

But after decades of writing (also called rejection), I'm finally getting a steady stream of published works. It's been an arduous journey, but it is worth the time it takes to learn something and learn it well.

I told my son that I am still learning how to do everything. I'm not naturally talented at the things I want to do, and most people aren't. 

All of that talent takes time to acquire. And for me and my writing, I'm still acquiring it. Sure, I'm getting published but most days, particularly when I'm working on my longer stories, I shake my head and wonder how it's possible to be such a bad writer.

Being open to rejection, being open to doing things wrong, and being open to correction are all attributes of a great person. Because if we can keep going despite those things, we are malleable which means there's room for growth.

But, I don't like it. Any of it. It's painful, embarrassing, demoralizing, and humbling. But knowing I can slog through the hum-drum of life, forging through the forests of average to get to the place of above-average, keeps me going down the path that's laid out before me.

I am a constant work in progress and that's the place I probably will be in for the rest of my life. But being willing to change - and allowing for constant transformation - keeps me both human and hopefully, a better human.

That is all I'm trying to tell my son and it's a beautiful thing to see he finally understands it. 

Drinking Coffee │ It's the Little Things

I've been drinking coffee regularly since I was thirteen years old. 

Why thirteen? Because in my family, that's when girls stopped growing... hence the logical conclusion that caffeine wouldn't stunt our growth.

Was I fully grown at 13? Did it stunt my growth? 

I'm not sure. Those are irrelevant points. What was relevant was that I was in on the ritual. I was finally ensconced in the love for roasted beans and hot water. Though it was a bitter and strange taste, the familiar words "it's an acquired taste" stayed in the forefront of my mind through it all. 

I would acquire this rite of passage no matter the cost (halitosis and insomnia).

And by golly, wouldn't you know it, I'm a coffee drinker still.

I come from a family of coffee drinkers, actually. I suppose many people can claim this feat. We all drink coffee and we all tend to drink a lot of it. But I can legitimately claim this one a little more than others because my mom is half-Finnish.

Finland ranks first in the world for coffee consumption. It's such a part of their lifestyle that a coffee break is mandated into their daily work schedules the way tea is a part of the British culture.

So when my oldest, who is currently twenty-three years old and living with us still (he's leaving me soon - getting married) rolled out of bed and poured himself a cup a few mornings ago, there was a metaphysical shift. I could feel it. I could see it. I could hear it!

As I strolled past him to get my second cup of coffee, he lifted the cup to his lips, drank long, and said the words every coffee-drinking mother longs to hear: Oh, wow. That tastes so good.

And I knew. I just knew - right then and there - things had shifted. He was now "one of us." The way he said it got me. I'd never heard him so happy to take that first sip.

For the first time since he'd started drinking coffee (yes, at thirteen and yes apparently it's also a rule for boys in our family, too) he understood. And what was it he understood? 

It was this: He had graduated to the desire for coffee to meet his comfort needs.

That was it.

Plain and simple. Coffee was now his go-to medicine, therapy, warm blanket, and happy juice all in one cup. As a quarter Finnish, I couldn't be more pleased.

I began thinking about how he would add coffee to his life; his future life with his bride.

• Having a bad day at work in the ambulance (he's an EMT)? Drink a cup of coffee.
• Need to figure out how to assemble the newest piece of Ikea furniture for the living room? Drink a cup of coffee.
• Want to beat your parents at Pickleball and need to watch a few YouTube videos to do that? Drink a cup of coffee while you watch.

They say to train your children in the way they should go so they don't depart from it.

Well, I'm happy to note, that my oldest child is officially ready to leave the coop. 

I've taught him how to be a good human being and to follow God's path for his life. He graduated from University and found the perfect bride-to-be. He's doing everything right. And now, he gets coffee.

My work here is done.

I told him to register for a coffee maker on his wedding registry. He's going to want that comfort through the good times and the bad; for better and for worse.

And you can be sure, I'll be buying that coffee maker for him.

Drink coffee and carry on...

The Way to Gratitude

I was going through some old papers the other day. The kind of papers that one stuffs into files and drawers thinking "I may want to look at those one day" and then proceeds to ignore them for decades.

I realized I had been wrong as I separated the papers, ephemera, brochures, and announcements. The bulk of those old papers didn't mean a thing to me now. Which was annoying because they had been taking up space for years.

So, I tossed bags of old college assignments, elementary report cards, and the like and came to a freshman government class essay assignment. In this particular paper, I garnered an "A." 

As I thought about this class and the professor, while I reread the essay, I remembered why I'd kept this paper. There was a good reason. It was an example of what to do for the rest of my life.

Here's how that freshman government class began:

This was before laptops - it was all old school so my "laptop" was a notebook and a pen. Looking around the tiny classroom, I knew it was going to be an interesting semester. 

And that was putting it nicely.

The room could barely be called a room as roughly 15 desks and chairs were crammed into it, and only a portion of the room was used as a classroom. The rest was for storage. Extra chairs, tables, desks, and wastebaskets were piled to the ceiling.

It was as if this was the leftover room, and they had turned it into a classroom because they needed the room after all. We were pretty much an afterthought.

But as an undergraduate, this was a required government class. There was no way out.

I had already been to my English, math, and history classes and they were decent. So far, the college has been treating me well. Sure, I didn’t know a single soul at the school, and taking general education classes was notoriously boring (and necessary), but after meeting the professor of the government class, I changed my mind. 

This was going to be a horrible semester. 

He was droll and enjoyed listening to himself talk. I was positive I was going to fail the class, or at best, get a “C” out of it.

I don’t think he smiled once that first day, and as the semester progressed, I was certain I still hadn’t seen him smile. So, no laughing and no smiling was his thing. I began to wonder if I could drop the class... yet I knew I needed it. 

I had to find the good in this scenario, but what was there to be grateful for? 

After striking up a conversation with a girl a seat in front of me in the following weeks of class (and finding out we had a mutual friend in common - my sister!), it made for a bearable three-day-a-week class. If I had her, we could make this work. I could be grateful for her.

In between breaks, before class began, we would commiserate over the way he conducted class.

“I don’t know if he understands how bad he is,” she said in a whisper. He hadn’t walked into the classroom yet and we were discussing whether or not a laugh, grin, or even a bad joke was possible from him. 

“Well, I think he does. I think it’s what he’s all about,” I said. “I’m not sure what happened to him, but life is very serious for him.”

“I don’t know,” she said, “Maybe he’ll walk in and tell us a joke today; maybe he’ll come in laughing; maybe he’ll come in with a huge ‘Good morning, class' and talk to us about something fun.”

I snorted. No way.

He walked in, opened his briefcase, said hello, and entered into his soliloquy for chapter 12 of assigned homework. He passed back papers for us to look at and rambled.

When my friend looked back at me, she rolled her eyes. "Wrong again,” was the look on her face. There would be no joke from him today. 

The comical tone showing up on her face hit me the right way every day so really, all she had to do was glance at me and I wanted to burst out laughing - quite possibly with snot coming out of my nose.

Having her in that class saved me. 

I had found something to be grateful for, my friend; my fellow-freshman-moaning-about-our-teacher friend. But, there was a term paper coming up. I was worried I wouldn’t meet his expectations. It wasn’t like we had to write the world’s best paper. But we did have to write something that he would approve of.

How did one do that for a professor as stringent and straight-laced as him? 

I read over his syllabus for the tenth time hoping for a clue to writing a paper he approved, but there wasn’t anything else to glean.

So, I focused on being grateful for the ability to write (I was an English major, after all) and wrote the best paper he’d ever seen. I wrote from the heart, not just what he wanted to read, but what I felt - even if he hated it.

The following week, he went over each student’s paper in class. I groaned internally. There were only 12 of us in the class, so he had the time to do - and say - whatever he wanted. With each student, he briefly explained what they wrote about, and handed it back to them. I squirmed. What would he think of mine? 

“Now this paper, this was interesting,” he said. “The writer took what we talked about and gave her approach which was strong and to the point. I thought this was actually a very well-written paper. Who… who wrote this?” 

I must've heard him wrong. Was he talking about my paper? I raised my hand somewhat sheepishly. “Me.”

He looked surprised. I wasn’t the most talkative in this class because it bored me. He bored me. He probably assumed my writing was as church-mouse-ish as I acted. Not to mention, I spent more time trying not to laugh at my friend's face than paying attention to what he actually said. 

“Well, it was a very good read," he concluded. "Well done.” And I swear I saw the smallest smile form at the corners of his mouth.

He passed the paper back to me, while my friend just looked at me with surprise. She mouthed “What?”  in disbelief. I collected my thoughts and sighed in satisfaction.

He wasn’t an engaging teacher, but being grateful for what I had – my friend, and my writing - got me through it. It didn't matter that he didn't smile, make a joke, or make the class fun to be in. I passed that government class with flying colors because I focused on what did make me smile. 

Do I remember anything from that class? Not really. But I do remember I aced that paper. And almost thirty years later, I still look at that paper in awe. 

That “A” made my day and it reinforced my behavior that gratitude for what is good around me - even if it all looks bleak - (along with writing from the heart) is always the right thing to do. 

Gratitude creates a way out of every situation. And I still hold to this conviction today.

Also, don't be an idiot like me. Don't save three decades worth of unnecessary paperwork. Save only the very important things - like that "A" paper - and get rid of everything else. 

Save only the things that bring awe and happiness.

Anything is Possible if You're Not in a Hurry

A few years ago, my husband and I got comfy on the sofa, made some popcorn, and on a cool fall night, watched a movie called Sully.

Oregon Coast

This movie is based on an actual person: Chesley Burnett “Sully” Sullenberger. He was the guy who landed the plane in the Hudson River. You know, the pilot who saved everyone’s life on a plane that went down after a bird strike! 

The movie was fantastic. As usual, Tom Hanks did an outstanding job portraying a real, likable, and based-in-real-life person, pilot Sullenberger.

While the movie was riveting from start to finish, one single line from the whole movie stood out to me. It stood out to me so much, that I wrote it down almost immediately after the movie (into my phone) so I wouldn’t forget it.

While the Character Sully is talking to someone early on the phone, he says, “It’s all about the timing. You can accomplish anything if you’re not in a hurry.” Or something very close to this.

Those words were like a bolt of lightning hitting me in the heart. 

Those words were Truth. 

I tend to believe (like others) that if I can’t have success right now then it’s not worth obtaining. I'm so ready to have what I want and have it now, that I'm unwilling to wait for the very thing I want even if it takes time to achieve. 

This new concept of slowing down made my mind spin. It was like a long-lost secret that had been buried in a treasure book that had finally come to life for me.

What if I actually took that advice? What if I chose to take that approach to everything I did in life? Would I see results if I slowed down?

The only way I would know for certain was to do it. But the way to do this had a two-fold approach: I had to focus on what I wanted to see happen, even though I couldn't see the final product yet. And I had to do it in a slow, methodical way.

I had to do things at an unhurried pace even if it felt like everyone was getting ahead of me. Even if it felt like I was leaving myself behind.

I decided to implement this “not being in a hurry” thing into my vintage clothing business first. I started to grow my inventory piece by piece, increasing it steadily and gradually, and now nearly eight years after seeing that movie, my business is more successful than I’d imagined it could be.

I began to write that book I wanted to write. And page by page, though it felt like a snail’s pace, it began to emerge. I completed it and made this "impossible" thing a reality. 

Now, it's just a matter of editing and submitting it (albeit slowly) to finally get it to where that book needs to be.

Little by little, things accumulate. Much like the incredible tenets of compounding interest. 

I began to believe in this for my marriage and friendships. I began to believe I could have what I wanted if I was smart enough to be patient about the process in whatever my heart desired.

It's kind of like perfecting a golf swing. My husband has been doing this for years, even changing his swing. It's a slow process but it's one he's willing to work at - constantly - to make it a reality even if it takes many more years to accomplish.

Other trivial things like collecting vintage dinnerware, are a perfect example. They're pieces I told myself I was only going to get through thrifting and yard sales. I didn't want to purchase them via retail. I didn't want to spend the money. And because of that, I literally had people tell me this was an impossibility. That "you can't find this stuff in thrift stores anymore."

That only made me want to prove them wrong. And I did.

Over three years later, I have hundreds of pieces of my vintage Pyrex because of daily persistence in looking for them, thrifting them, and patiently going from thrift store to yard sale – and often coming out empty-handed – and creating the collection I could see in my mind.

Even my health, and the few issues plaguing me, while they’re not healed yet, I know they’re on the way. I’m doing all the right things to become well.

The hardest part with health is not only the desire to be healed but also waiting for that healing. Yet, if I keep taking it one day at a time, and choose to keep working at it (probably the hardest part), results will come. 

Even if it doesn't come, doing the best I can with what I've been given is up to me.

The movie, Sully, wasn't the biggest blockbuster or the highest-grossing or the most Academy-award-winning-est movie ever made. But that single line changed my outlook on everything around me. It borrowed deep into my heart as a bit of wisdom I never want to forget.

Sully, choosing to be patient with his actions while flying a plane that was going down, probably saved his life and everyone else’s on board. Calm patience is life-giving and life-saving. And just like Sully said, "Anything is possible if you're not in a hurry."

This concept is counterculture to what we see, hear and read. According to the latest Nike commercials, we should want to be number one and we need to be it now. And if we don't want that, then we're losers. In reality, nothing could be further from the truth

Good things take time. And guess what? We're still doing great things even though we haven't reached our goals yet. We're winners when we slow down. 

This is truly the ultimate in slow living.

If we take that desire for success - in whatever we want - and slow it down, and invite ourselves to steep in what we're doing - not as a race to the finish line, but a journey to the goal - we're bound to succeed.

-Heather

Blog & Book Pairings:

Miracle on the Hudson: The Extraordinary Real-Life Story Behind Flight 1549, by the Survivors

Sully: My Search for What Really Matters - The Untold Story Behind the Miracle on the Hudson

Slow Living: Making the Most with What You Already Have

Sometimes simple things can be profound.

Take my pool, for example. Last week, we had some of the hottest weather - for an extended period - in years. It was hot. 

It was hotter than hot. The average was about 105 degrees for ten days in a row. It wasn't pleasant.

What was pleasant was my pool. 

Here in Northern California, a good 15% of homes have pools. But, having a pool - like any good thing - gets old.

Not un-liked, just old because it's there. It's familiar. 

And it's easy to forget the significance of a pool ... until you need one.

Like, really need one.

Last week, good old "being happy with what you have" slapped me in the face and stuck its' tongue out at me. It reminded me that having a pool - despite the extra costs during the year - is worth it.

Want to know how often I regularly go in the pool on any given summer anymore? Maybe once. Maybe.

All last week though, I went in the pool every day. 

I don't swim much anymore in part because my boys are older (and aren't swimming at all), in part because the novelty wears off, and in part because as I age, getting in and out of a swimsuit isn't as fun as it used to be.

A little glance at the extra fat in areas I didn't use to hold fat is slightly discouraging.

But last week, oh yes, last week was different. 

Instead of ignoring my beautiful pool, I went in it. I used the very thing that originally sold me on the house 11 years ago! I walked right into that pool on day one of our heat wave and kept going in every day of that week. 

Here's what I learned from my extracurricular activity: I'm missing out and it's my own fault.

All I could think about while I was floating around the pool on my back was, "Why haven't I been using this thing? Look how wonderful it is."

Then I did something else I don't normally do. I got my hair wet. 

I dunked my hair into that bath of cool water, swam under the surface and across the pool like I used to as a little girl. 

I didn't worry once that chlorine was now in my hair, or that I had to do my hair, or that my hair wasn't going to be the way I wanted it for the rest of the day. I didn't care. 

And it felt wonderful.

Then, I did another thing: I got a pair of my boys' goggles, slipped them on, and surveyed the water from underneath the surface.

As I pulled myself under the water, I looked at the glimmering sides of the pool and the way the sun reflected and refracted from below the surface of the water.

I moved to the darker side of the pool and noticed the temperature change.

These amazing things were all here and have been here the whole time and I'd been ignoring them.

I picked up a loose screw (probably from our pool sweep) and made a note to tell my pool person about it (a.k.a. my husband.)

It was magical. 

Being under the water, with goggles, with my hair wet was one of the simplest and most fun things I had done in years.

I felt young again. 

And then I wondered, Why do I stop doing the things I love? Why do I complicate my life by giving away that option of fun-filled youthful activity as if I wasn't allowed to do them anymore because of my age? 

I'm only hurting myself when I do that.

I miss out on the little, spectacular, golden moments of my life because I stop appreciating the small things for what they are.

There's nothing like hopping into a pool when it's hot. (It's even better if it's your own pool you've been neglecting.)

There's nothing like diving into cool water and getting your hair wet. 

And if you really want to feel like a child again, wear goggles while you're toodling about the water.

Slow Living is about living a simple life. But that simple life is about appreciation for what we already have, right now, without having to go out and buy something, change something, or upgrade to something different.

So, how can we add more of this to our lives? How can we remember to remember that what we already have is a treasure trove of delight?

We have to look at everything with different eyes. With a vision for appreciation.

We also need to remind ourselves to go back to doing things we love.

That expensive bottle of wine you've been holding onto for "just the right time?" Yeah, that time is now. Go open that baby and make a nice meal with your significant other - and make it happen tonight.

(And use that fine China you only use "for special occasions" while you're at it.)

Those roses that sit on the side of your house? Go smell them. No one's going to smell them for you.

Use that espresso machine every day .. the one you paid good money for. 

Take classes on what you love doing from dancing to baking to woodworking. Remind yourself what you love to do and go do it.

Sometimes, we have to relearn how to see things from a youthful perspective too. To let our hearts tell us what we love to do. And when we do, we find we have good things in our lives waiting for us to grab hold of again.

For me, it meant going swimming once more.

So, don't be like me and forget about your backyard pool. Instead, get in there, get your hair wet, wear the goggles... and enjoy every bit of it.

Lethologica and Me: Why Jeopardy is a Lost Cause

I don't know if you've ever watched an episode of Jeopardy.

If you haven't, well... you're missing out on intelligent people answering trivia in the form of a question. We're talking walking brains who can give you an answer about any random thing on almost any random subject.

If you have, then you know what I mean when I say Jeopardy is a show unlike most.

Jeopardy is one of my husband's favorite shows. We've been watching it together for years. Decades even. 

I think he loves it because it's a challenge. But the other reason he loves it is because he knows how to play it.

i.e. He's a genius.

Me, I am a literal imbecile who can barely remember the day's events let alone random trivia that I've accumulated in my brain over the years.

So for me to watch this show, it equals amusing frustration.

That above comment about accumulated trivia implies I've actually accumulated said knowledge. And while I'd like to believe I do have something filling in the lobes of my brain, I'm not so certain they like to show themselves.

They love playing hide and seek with me. Especially when I need their assistance.

Here's what I mean. When my husband watches Jeopardy, he responds with the (correct) answer probably 90% of the time.

When I watch Jeopardy, I answer with phrases like "It's that guy; it's that place; it's that thing!" 

That's not an exaggeration. I'm seriously not kidding. I know what I want to say, but cannot think of the word.

My recall is hideous. I know the stuff; I know the answer (albeit at a 10% accuracy rate) but I cannot - for the life of me - recall it in the appropriate amount of time.

And for the record, the appropriate amount of time is about five seconds before you're allowed to ring in with the answer.

After a couple decades of watching Jeopardy - my recall and right answers are still at a miserable 10% - but my husband has increased his useless trivia talent and now has even more correct answers to combat our television set with. 

Some folks are born with high IQs, others are great at recalling useless information, and some people just know a lot about a lot of things.

They're the folks on Jeopardy.

They're the people like my husband.

But, with my aging brain, I honestly find myself wanting to laugh at the entire purpose of Jeopardy.

Who can remember all of that useless stuff?

And why?

So what's a brain like mine supposed to do? I just sit there and try to absorb every answer and question and try not to groan at my husband's continually perfect answers.

(What is, "I married a genius, Ken.")

Some people aren't born with the highest IQ, others aren't so great at recalling useless information, and some people know a little about a few things.

They're the more "common brain" folks who will never ever get to be on Jeopardy.

They're the people like myself.

(What is, "A lethologica.")

When I saw the definition of what a lethologica was, it was like I had found the perfect description for myself: The inability to remember a particular word or name.

That is me. I have lethological tendencies. 

I have the recall of a sloth. 

The info is in the brain but there's a very slow filing system for recall.

When you live with a smart person, you learn to accept the fact that you'll never be like them. I'll never find my answers like he does; I'll never solve riddles or puzzles the way he can. And it's something one can choose to stay mad at. Or not. 

I haven't. I've accepted his and my brain's realities eons ago. He's a smarty pants.

I'm not.

And instead of cringing at his smartness, I've learned to stay mesmerized by his brain and use it to my advantage. Most often, if I'm trying to remember a name or place of something at any given moment, all I have to do is give a few very vague descriptions, and by golly, he knows exactly what I'm talking about.

That really is genius. 

So, all that to say: If you want to feel like a fool, watch Jeopardy. 

If you want to feel a greater fool, marry a genius.

But remember this: God gave us all different brains. Some retain better, some understand better, and some are better in other areas of the brain, like, empathy, and creativity.

I celebrate his brain with wonder. And instead, just wonder about mine.

I don't know if I'll even remember the word lethologica if this came in the form of a jeopardy answer despite me writing an entire post about it.

Jeopardy is a lost cause for me.

And my saving grace is I'm just smart enough to recognize it.

Dare to Dream and Then Do Something About it

I've written on and off for Guideposts for the last ten years. I've been in many of their compilation books and it's a joy to write for them.

But getting into their devotional books has been something of an unattainable goal... until a couple of years ago. I've always wanted to be a part of their devotional writing team, but I couldn't find a way in. It's on the competitive side.

But, I'd finally had enough of wishing for something and decided to do something.

I went out on a ledge and did what a writer is not supposed to do... I contacted an editor to audition to be a part of one of their devotionals after the deadline had passed, after the editor no longer worked in that department, and a year after the "call for submissions" went out.

It was risky. 

It meant I could get a nasty email in reply, or worse, no reply at all. 

That's not what happened though. The editor allowed me to submit for the following year's devotional. 

And I was rejected.

As is the work life of a writer, rejection is a part of the business. But, since I was on an edgy roll, since I knew now it couldn't hurt to take yet one more step further into the unknown, I contacted the editor a year later who had replaced the former editor (there are a lot of changes in the book world, all the time, constantly) and asked to audition. Again.

She let me, and this time, the editor accepted my work.

Two years later, this devotional is finally out and I just received my author copies two days ago.

I'm happy to report that dreams do come true... they just don't come true sitting around waiting for them. I had to make them happen.

I'm also writing for their 2026 devotion and hopefully for the foreseeable future.  

This beautiful 365-day devotional book is called All God's Creatures; Daily Devotions for Animal Lovers. Animal lovers? Hello, this is 100% me and so many other people too.

If I could, I think I would write about dogs in every single devotion. My love for dogs is a tad over the top. And I don't care. But, it might hurt the birds, deer, squirrels, and owl's feelings if I don't write about them too.

Which is why I'm talking about this book. 

My Owlie, my resident owl, is in this devotional book. I wrote about finding him just like I wrote in my previous post.

I'm so proud of Owlie. Now, the whole world can read about him.

The book is available on Guidepost's website and should be available via Amazon soon.

I have plans to write for their other devotional books if they'll let me. I'm currently banging down that door.

For months, editorial personnel shifts have prevented me from contacting any editors about that. But, I won't give up. 

Here's what I've learned through this herculean task of trying to get published where I want to get published: If I really want to accomplish something, sometimes I have to take an indirect route. But the point is I TAKE the route regardless of how difficult and uncomfortable it is.

Dreams come true. They especially come true if you take the opportunity to do something about it.

As Mark Twain once said, "The secret of getting ahead is getting started."

If you're waiting on a dream, now's the time to get started; now's the time to do something about it.

Keep at it, and get creative, and you will find a way to come through the other side.

Our Resident Owl

We have an owl outside our bedroom window.

It began when my husband set out to remove the old cable dish and box from our roof two years ago that no longer served our television purposes.

Cable dishes - large or small - are not exactly the most attractive thing to look at. They look like a UFO attached to the home. After all, this dish transmits to and from space, with a saucer-looking shape. I mean, that's an Unidentified Ariel Phenomena (UAP) if I've ever seen any. 

Don't get me started on Skinwalker Ranch. If you've watched this show, you'll know what I'm talking about. If you don't, well... you might want to (if you're into UAPs and all that.) 

We innocently started watching this show a few months ago, binged all the episodes in a few weeks (like 6 seasons) and they got us... hook, line, and sinker. 

The show is hokey; it's absurd; and comical. There may be a little bit of phenomena happening, but probably not to the degree they're implying. But, now we're hooked. We can't not watch the show. 

I suppose it happens to the best of us...

Regardless, my husband set out to remove the UFO from our roof one day and as he got closer to the dish and paraphernalia that went with it, he noticed two large eyes looking at him.

Actually, the eyes weren't that large. Our resident screech owl is small, maybe about 8 inches tall, and weighs half a pound. But his eyes look impressive. One look from him, and you know he's zooming in on our face just like we zoom in on a photo from our phones.

The owl was tucked inside the box (that went with the dish), wondering why we were disturbing his sleep. "Um..." says my husband diplomatically, "I don't think I'm removing the dish or box today. If ever."

I stopped raking leaves and looked toward his direction, him on a ladder looking into the UFO. "What are you talking about?"

"We have an owl. An owl is living in the cable dish box thingy."

Sure enough, this sweet little guy took up residency in the shaded, shielded, part of the roof that had a bathroom, a living room and wouldn't you guess it, cable TV. From his perch, he has the best view of the entire yard. A room with a view.

We left him alone, my husband backed down the ladder, and he has his space all to himself now.

I ingeniously named our owl "Owlie." And for two years, he's been a fixture in our old cable dish and box. 

He killed all our rats, a feat worthy of his little stature. As soon as he did that, I viewed Owlie as a God-send. 

We were having a rat issue. The rats were outsmarting us, blindly ignoring the traps we'd laid out for them (the nerve). But Owlie swooped in (literally) and took care of them. We haven't had a problem since.

 A few months out of the year, we think he heads off to find the female persuasion, live with her, and make little Owlies. That's fine. Nature has to do its thing. But, I must admit, when he's not around, I miss him. I feel like our backyard, if it's not being watched, needs to be watched!

Just last week, after being gone from us for four months, Owlie returned. 

I was so excited you'd think I had just seen a real UAP. Owlie was back, ready to return to his patrol of our yard, and I couldn't think of a better way to start the summer. 

When it comes to living a full life, it's "slow living" things like this that make life wonderful. Nature meeting nurture: Owlie meeting our UFO ...and choosing it.

While our cable dish still hangs uselessly from our roof, looking like a UFO, we have an owl who wants it for himself. And as far as I'm concerned, that's fine by me.

Owlie will always be welcome in his little corner of our home.

My Gram

My grandmother Lulubelle and grandfather Ralph

Just today, I came across photos of my grandmother and grandfather (my dad’s parents) and it made me stop what I was doing (canvasing my boys' rooms for errant laundry) and sit down (on the floor), forgetting the world around me. 

The photos were probably from the 1940s. You’d think as a vintage clothing seller, I would be able to tell instantly what year it was, but I wasn’t sure. There was no date on the photos, nor the location, but if I had to guess, I’d say the photo was taken in the mid ‘40s

My grandmother was a beauty and I miss her. Seeing her instantly made me think about the first time she met my firstborn. I wasn’t sure if she knew she was holding her first great-grandson. But I wanted to believe that she did.

“Look,” I said, “He loves being with you, Gram.” 

My son was only a few months old, and he was the first great-grandchild of the family. The two of them meeting was a momentous occasion.

She stroked my son’s soft skin, comforting him with the occasional “Oh,” as he whimpered, while she held him in her lap. Gram seemed completely normal; as if she could say to me, “He’s just beautiful, honey.”

But she said nothing because she couldn’t.

Gram loved caring for anyone who needed it. Serving was her gift. But after the stroke, she wasn’t the same. I’m sure it was torture not being able to hold and kiss my baby the way she could’ve done it just a year ago when the ravages of a stroke hadn’t yet happened.

I wondered if she despised everything that came with the change. Did she yearn to tell us to stop fussing over her? Because overnight, things were suddenly all so different. Nothing was the same anymore. Not for us.

And definitely not for her.

She couldn’t move one entire side of her body, she couldn’t form words anymore, and she was no longer the grandma I had grown up with. And yet, she looked the same. I could see that she was the same strong woman I’d always known.

I wondered what she thought about on the days we didn’t see her. Was she lonely?

The nursing home was incessantly busy but I wondered if the constant noise bothered her. Did she ever want to turn off her neighbor’s television? It was loud enough for neighbors three doors down to hear.

Gram had a window to look through, but I wondered if it was enough to assuage her gardening longings. The flowering tree was beautiful and I hoped it sufficed now that she no longer had her yard to tend to. But, did it only serve to remind her how much she was missing in the world she once traversed?

I’m sure she had to think about her old home; the one with the garden she and Grandpa tended to for nearly twenty years. She had to dream about picking the zucchini, tomatoes, squash, and beans. Every summer the harvest was full and overflowing. She loved her garden. But she loved giving it away even more. 

My sisters and I would help her pick cherries from her cherry tree, water her plants, and feed her cat even when she didn’t need our assistance. She and grandpa let us "help" when surely, they had it all under control.

I wondered if she remembered all the breakfasts she cooked for us grandkids. The days we’d spend at her house playing hide and seek, pretend store, and board games. 

And what about us playing her marimba, the organ, the piano - all the instruments she and Grandpa had in their home? Could she still hear our disjointed melodies?

In all honesty, that was probably something she didn’t want to think about. The cacophony was intense.

I wondered if she thought about us helping her set the table for meals and watching her cook? Did she think about her son and daughter? The old days of raising them in Iowa?

She and Grandpa lived a slow life back when it wasn't a thing to aspire to. It was all they knew. And their slow living not only made them happy but it made everyone else around them happy.

Maybe that's why I desire the slow-living lifestyle so much. It takes me back to my grandparents... as if I'm living an extension of what they used to be and do.

I wondered what she would say if the stroke hadn’t taken her voice or where she would go if the stroke hadn’t atrophied her legs and arms. Did she think about her old days as a missionary, going by boat or plane worldwide and embarking on trips to Liberia or Indonesia? 

Though she must have had a lot of memories floating in and out of her mind, the way we floated in and out of her assisted-care room, I wished she could have known that I think of her now more than ever before.

My oldest son will never recall her. Only the things I tell him about her. My second son never had the chance to meet her. 

But it doesn’t matter. I have stories of her love locked in my heart; I have memories of her care etched in my soul. And the prayers she prayed for me resound strongly with the peace present in my life today. 

Gram lived a life separated from herself; one that was more in tune with painting the interior of her church -- when she was seventy-five years old -- than getting her hair done or going out to lunch. Her heart was dedicated to me as a granddaughter, and all of her family. It was also completely devoted to God.

I don’t know if Gram cares about any of that anymore. Being in the presence of God sort of puts things into a different perspective.

But her legacy surrounds me. The blessings she bestowed on all of us as the family matriarch were unprecedented and something I can only hope to aspire to when I become a grandmother one day.  

Thank you, Gram. For all of it.

Live Simply

I just received this beautiful cross-stitch from my friend for my birthday. She made it for me! And it sums up my life goal perfectly: Live simply.

Living a simple life is something I’ve had to work for. While I wish it came easy, choosing the simple life requires cutting things that take away from my goal of living a simple life.

Over the last seven years, I’ve slowly transformed my hectic, consumeristic, keeping-up-with-the-Joneses lifestyle into a peaceful, simple, and minimalistic one. And I’ve never been happier.

But getting there was not easy, and it required - and still requires - a constant willingness to say no to the world's calls. From getting rid of social media I don’t use, to not buying things I don’t need, learning to be content with what I have, and shifting from fast living to slow living, it was all a challenge to work through.

At times, it still is.

But now, I don’t want it any other way. I love my simple closet; I love my minimalist kitchen. I know where everything is and I love everything that surrounds me. The chaos has quieted and I don't want to return to that loud, busy, expensive way of living.

My goal of living a simple life isn’t to have as little as possible with a self-imposed poverty mindset. It’s about waking up my heart’s eyes to how good I already have it. I’m finding that the less I have, or desire to have, the more grateful I am for what I do have. It’s like learning to appreciate something you love while you still have it (which is an astounding skill to acquire.) It’s not taking my blessings for granted. It’s seeing how good I have it all the time.

Through my minimalism and simple living journey, I’ve found the Goldilocks of balance, and it's about living a minimalistic lifestyle. When I have the right amount - when I appreciate what I have and desire less stuff (and more of what I already have) - I find my whole world is balanced. I have it all. Satisfaction with what I own, have and use is like finding a treasure vault. I am rich beyond my wildest dreams.

My biggest takeaway since turning to a more minimalist mindset is this: We don’t need much to live fulfilled lives. Maya Angelou put it best when she said, “We need much less than we think we need.” Exactly.

If we shop our closets rather than head to the store for the latest trend, when we give away the items we don’t wear, when we pare down to what we love and only use what we love, our lives become simple and peaceful. 

Less becomes so much more. 

When I’m focused on using what I have, wearing what I already have, and not looking to shop my way to satisfaction (which will never happen, by the way. We will always want more), it is suddenly so clear how much I have. And more often than not, I not only have what I already need but have more than I need.

So, how can I stay this way and keep my peace?

Get out of the consumeristic circus. Forget fast fashion. Don’t buy into the latest trend (literally). Get off social media. Be content with what I have, and then I can watch how God provides for every need. 

Less is so much more. And I write about it often to remind myself why I'm doing this and how to stay in this lifestyle.

For me, I've given up some social media, minimized the things in my home, let go of jobs that didn't work well with me; and said no to social commitment (and yes to others). This frees up valuable time and space - including mental space - so that I can instead do things I want to do: read, garden, thrift, help neighbors, exercise, and be with family.

The list goes on and on.

What can you let go of to live a life more simple?

Simple Living │ Pretty as a Picture

Sometimes, a blog post is best presented as a meme, a photo, or a piece of art.

As with today's post, a meme/ art/ whatever you want to call it, this is what caught my attention:

As the saying goes, "A picture is worth a thousand words." 

I'm not sure who created this image. If I knew, I'd credit the artist. This was another "mindless scrolling" image that popped up on my phone.

But what I love about this post is that every one of these "luxuries" makes me want to ensure I'm doing more of it.

With simple living - focusing on the things that mean something to you, that give you meaning and value - and focusing less on keeping up with the Joneses, if you want to do all of these things, you can.

But you have to get rid of the extraneous activities (i.e. keeping up the trends) to get there. You can't do both and expect peace. Something has to give.

If you want simple living, you must immerse yourself in what that entails.

Simple living doesn't mean living with less, it means living purely with what gives you life. This means (to me) doing the best things in the world; things that satisfy your body, mind, and soul.

What resonates with you most in this picture? I want - and mostly do - all of them. I might add "drinking a great cup of coffee" to the list, but that's just me.

Do you want to do all of these verbs? Do you already do all of them, or do you need to add more to your life?

These are the real luxuries. Not fancy houses or cars or designer clothes.

This it is. This is where your riches are. In peace, having less stuff, and instead gaining more experiences.

Now you know.

Sewing and Slow Living

I have trouble finding pants that fit me.

This sounds like the bane of every woman in America, but for me, it's because of the inseam.

I'm tall with petite measurements so finding pants long enough is a neverending chore. The waist will fit, but the length looks like I'm treading flood waters.

And choosing the "tall" option doesn't work either. I'm not tall enough for that. 

I'm right in the middle; I don't fit in. Sort of how I feel about all areas of my life, but that's for another post...

I came across a pair of pants that fit great last week. Linen pants: perfect for summer. The waist and hips fit great, but the inseam was a good inch too short. Like normal.

This time, instead of suffering in silence, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

At home with the trousers, I took out my sewing machine with the intent to fix my problem. I know. A sewing machine? Yes, me, who isn't a sewer was going to fix my hems.

I bought this basic beauty about 20 years ago and use it maybe once every five years. But by golly, I wasn't going to let my inexperience hinder me. I was tired of pants not fitting.

After rereading the instruction manual, it all came back to me: how to thread the needle, refill the bobbin, all the things a seamstress would know in Sewing 101. I took out the hem and re-hemmed them with a now more perfect inseam.

It only took about ten minutes (most of that was spent figuring out the sewing machine again) but let me tell you... I've never felt more proud of myself.

Sewing is slow living at its finest. Sewing, reusing clothing that I could've given away because it didn't fit, reworking fabric, taking my time ... it all encompasses the slow-living concept. 

The simple hemming of my pants made me feel like I could conquer the world.

I'm not a real seamstress. I can mend holes in wool sweaters and sew on new buttons. I can occasionally hem my trousers (as I just found out). But a sewer, I am not. 

My mother and mother-in-law know how to sew. They're the gifted ones who can make clothing out of a single piece of lifeless fabric into something that fits and looks incredible.

I also have many friends in the vintage clothing world - friends much younger than me -who know how to sew and sew well. So, the talent may have waned over the years, but it's still very much alive.

Is sewing in my future? Probably not. Though I would love for it to be.

But do I feel just a little bit more tied to my ancestors of yore, when buying cheap clothing on Amazon was not only "not a thing" but an unfathomable concept?

Yes. I feel 1000% percent better about myself. I'm living the slow living way, which goes along with me selling vintage clothing, and living a simple, minimalistic lifestyle.

I'm not a future designer, but I now feel capable of being able to hem pants to fit me better.

There's no perceptible value in that feeling. It's the priceless result of me learning how to work with my brain and hands and not let the monster of short inseams scare me forever.

Self-sufficiency does wonders for the soul. 

And apparently, hemming pants was all I needed to feel like I could take on the world. 

Highly recommend.