damn this oppression

The WP, in her third summer at the Clinton Presidential Center's Culinary Camp. She visited a sustainable farm, learned how to create dishes in a food truck, and rolled sushi. Won't someone please end her suffering? 

So far, the Warrior Princess has had an enviably cool summer, filled with a variety of learning opportunities and experiences. She has baked cupcakes alongside accomplished pastry chefs, completed a 5K, learned to write computer code, visited water parks, participated in a food truck challenge and a creative writing camp, and become a certified babysitter. So naturally, she's totally pissed off.

We were backing out of our driveway on our way to her pediatrician for her annual physical before a ridiculously fun week away at camp when she broached the subject.

"Mom," she began, "there's something I've been meaning to tell you."

She had my attention. "Sure, sweetie. Shoot."

She paused briefly, gathering her thoughts. And then, wrinkling her little nose: "I've had, like, all these activities this summer." The word "activities" carried a whiff of disdain.

Calmly, I applied the brake and leaned in, adopting the open, nonthreatening body language I learned in my former life as a counselor.

"Tell me more about that," I said in my best encouraging tone. "Tell me how this summer full of enriching activities has been a hardship for you."

Crickets.

"It's okay," I continued, smiling empathetically. "I'm here to listen. The privilege of rich and varied summer opportunity is indeed a heavy burden. Please, share with me the details of your suffering."

The look that crossed her face was priceless. Like, okay, you got me. 

I kissed her on the side of the head and drove her to the doctor. "In fairness to you," I conceded, "I get what you mean. Next week you don't have anything scheduled. Sleep as late as you want. Swim all day. Do what you want, when you want." She was happy about having some time for...whatever. And I get it.

It's just the reality of two working parents. Plus, left to her own devices, she'd spend her summer vacation plopped down in front of a video game, only showering when forced.

She is just like me at that age. Super-angsty, for no discernible reason. Hormones. Ugh. Bless her heart.

No. Bless MY heart. I am screwed.

the odd grand gesture and the things we didn't say

Making the rounds on social media yesterday was this incredible Missed Connections post on Craigslist.

Of course, because I am hopelessly, unapologetically, and often irrationally romantic, I desperately hope that somehow, she saw this (and surely she has, if I have and now you have), contacted him, they made a coffee date, and perhaps fell in love again.

Were they nervous at the prospect of seeing each other again after so many years? What has she been doing? Is she married, maybe with children? Is she happy? Is she perhaps available, and will they make plans to see each other again? When they sat down together for the first time since college, were there awkward silences, or did they pick up as though no time had passed at all?

In the intervening years, did she ever think of him, this young man of whom she was once fond enough to marry on a dare? Or until they shared that brief, stunned glance on the L train, was he just somebody she used to know?

These are the thoughts that followed me around all day yesterday, and that got me wondering how many people are walking through everyday life haunted by old loves. Hearts are broken every day, of course. We hurt, we mourn, we cry until our eyes and heads and hearts ache, and eventually we get up, dust off, move on, live life, fall in love with someone else. Sometimes we're all too glad to leave someone behind - someone who was mean, maybe, or careless or nasty. But sometimes, you genuinely love someone and it just doesn't work for whatever reason. You have to walk away, or they have to walk away from you. And no amount of wishing things could be different will make it so.

You move on, because you have to. But every so often, it enters your awareness that you have a ghost following you - even falling in love again doesn't seem to shake it off - and there are so many things you wish you'd said but didn't.

So, I hope the intended recipient of this poignant and lovely Craigslist ad saw it and was suitably charmed, and that today, maybe as I type this, they are sitting across from each other in some coffee shop somewhere, catching up, maybe even falling in love again. And if they're not, I don't ever want to know, because the thought of this grand gesture being wasted would just annihilate my tender little heart.

There are not enough grand romantic gestures anymore, in my considered opinion.

Which brings me to the other scenario that sometimes happens when lovers part: It didn't work. It wasn't supposed to. Or maybe you loved someone, and they just didn't love you back. That happens. It happens all the time. And now ALL THOSE THINGS that never got said are just there, taking up real estate in your head.

For those poor souls, well, an opportunity for technological catharsis exists for you, too. The internet highways and byways are littered with broken-hearted, jilted lovers, those left behind. There are words left unsaid. And a lot of times, those words are bitter. Don't worry, there's a place where the poor heartbroken bastards can put all that - short, anonymous notes to former flames. There's a lot of stuff that probably sounded to the writer like the perfect comeback when he or she was still drunk, but now, it's just kind of ridiculous. Upon scrolling through these short little expressions, though, I found this one. There's a ghost following this one for sure. And it made me think of our couple on the subway.

1. Hey

   • 5 days ago
   • 291 notes
   • View More
   I thought I forgot about us. But then we bumped into each other and I wondered if it would’ve been okay for me to hug you and say, “Hey, I once loved you.”

Or...not.

winter morning

I come from a long line of confirmed, even passionate, winter-phobes. My dad hated winter because it was too dark and cold to play golf. My mother hates winter because it might ice, causing tree branches to snap and make a mess and frozen pipes to burst and when she can finally get a plumber, he will charge her a goddamn fortune, and she already has plenty to worry about, thank you very much. My brother moved to Southern California, opting out of winter altogether.

I have always hated winter because I live in the South, where the slightest threat of one flake of snow or ice turns grocery shopping into a full-contact sport. It turns the roads into a dystopia of ice, potholes, and collective vehicular stupidity. It shuts everything down, wrecks my yard, and screws with my plans. And here in Arkansas, snow is rarely the fluffy kind that you can romp around in. It mixes with ice and slush and freezes over at night. The kids still want to play in it, of course, and we must let them, which means a Facebook news feed full of tons of adorable photos of kids on toboggans pulled by four-wheelers or smiling proudly beside anemic, slushy, seemingly meth-addled, 15 inch tall snowmen. It also means nonstop piles of wet, cold laundry.

This year, though, my attitude toward winter has started to shift. I first noticed it a few weeks ago during an ice storm. I had been burning the candle at both ends and in the center for months, with no end in sight. As the freezing rain fell and glazed everything over, instead of feeling the sense of dread that usually accompanies such weather, I felt a sense of relief. This would break the free-fall. This storm was an escape hatch, and I had no idea how desperately I needed one. I suddenly found myself doing something I'd never done before. Instead of dread, I felt gratitude, as though a friend had come to rescue me. I embraced it.

After that, despite a polar vortex that brought single-digit wind chills, I did not find myself stomping around, resentful of the cold. I just pulled my cozy snow boots out, dug my cashmere-lined leather gloves out from the bottom of the "winter chest", added another layer, and went on with my life. Early morning workouts went on as normal. Lunch with friends. How about this cold? I take joy in my newly-established winter routine: if I don't have an evening meeting, I come home, start a fire, start a kettle, start dinner, hunker down with the WP and the dog. I feel warm and happy.

I have recently learned that the Danes have a word for this thing: hygge. It has no direct English translation. It's more of a feeling - of coziness, warmth, camaraderie. In Denmark, winters are long, brutally cold, with about six hours of sunlight a day at winter's peak. Yet Danes are, according to the United Nations, the happiest people on earth. Their cold winters provide opportunities to lean in, hunker down, eat, drink, be merry, appreciate each other's company, or just sit by a fire with a cup of coffee and appreciate the quiet beauty of winter.

This morning, my alarm went off at 5:15. I got out of bed, threw on a comfy pair of drawstring pants and top, rolled out my yoga mat, and did a slow but challenging yoga practice. Midway through my practice, I received a text message from the WP's school - they're on a two-hour delay. Beautiful. I finished my practice, made myself a cup of tea, took a nice hot shower, moisturized (that's so important in winter, you know), wrapped myself in the Colonel's softest plaid flannel robe, and crawled back into bed. It is raining, softly. The blue light of morning and a candle on my nightstand provide the only illumination. Outside my window, the Japanese maple in my front yard has been transformed into a twisted, crystalline statue, a darkly romantic still-life of branches encased in ice.

Everything is quiet. Lily briefly pokes her head into my room. Mom? she asks. What time is it?

It's a little after seven, I tell her.

Isn't it a school day?

Yes. You don't have to be at school until ten. So you can go back to bed for a bit, if you want.

She smiles and exits as quietly as she had entered. Quiet once more. There are few things I love more than a dark, quiet morning that starts very, very slowly.

Winter, I think we are going to be friends after all.