May’s Poem

Do you remember the little series of poems by Molly O’Connor D’Antonio that I was publishing each month?  I missed a few during the crazy spring, but yesterday, after carrying two sleeping beauties up the stairs after a long walk (stroller ride) on a hot day, I found her latest musings, shared above.  The more times I read it, the more beautiful it seems. Enjoy!

Inherited Beauty

The funny thing about buying a house is that it doesn’t come with a user guide.  Even vacation houses have a little guestbook for people to share the highlights of their stay.  Can you imagine a little book with a  message from each person who owned this old house, a little glimpse into their lives and their experiences here?  How fun would that be?

We’ve had such a blast trying to figure out, say, where the light switch for the little lamppost near our sidewalk was (in the basement, naturally) and why the electricians who “completely redid all the electric in the house” used frayed cloth wire from the 1900′s for the wiring in the bedroom (ahem).    But among all the idiosyncrasies of this house there is a lot of charm.  I have to admit, I’m even developing a little keenness for some of the quirky little things that were on my “to eradicate in the first week” list.  But here is one of my absolute favorite things we’ve inherited with the house: a crazy beautiful, mature climbing rose scaling the lattice on our porch.

I cannot even count the blooms, and there are hundreds of little buds still to come.  I feel like I’ve inherited the reward for others’ faithful stewardship of this sweet plant, and hope earnestly that I can keep it thriving.  Any tips from my gardening guru friends?

Sowing Seeds of Thankfulness

Three weeks since we moved in, and for the first time, this afternoon both girls are napping – actually full fledged asleep – at the same glorious time! Can you sense my smile beaming through your screen?  I’ve told several people that I feel like time stopped, and I lost weeks of life when my sister passed away earlier this spring, and now with the temperature threatening to climb into the nineties tomorrow, I feel like time has been racing forward without any reprieve.  We’ve been swept up in the chaos of purchasing our first home, packing, moving, unpacking, and the endless projects this almost centennial house affords.  So today, in the quiet, I feel like I’ve been hurled out of tornado, and have landed in a lovely little home, with a sweet summer breeze wafting through the attic, where I sit perched for a few minutes of solitude, and the extra gift of time to write!

I am learning, in this transition, probably for the 457th time in my life, the value of the discipline of thankfulness.  The other night, as I scrubbed and Murphy Oil Soaped our dining room floor for the first time (I know, I know, almost three weeks after moving in… what can I say?), I was grinning from ear to ear, that this was our floor, that we had a house, with jobs to do to take care of it.  And it occurred to me that I would probably not feel such elation at the prospect of cleaning this house forever.  There’s so much novelty to playing house.  I see it in Laura, who tells strangers she meets that her new house has an attic, but really, we’re all enjoying the newness (except maybe Ellie, who has been largely contained by a combination of Pack & Play/exer-saucer/Johnny-Jumper/Crib rotation for the past few weeks). It’s easy to be thankful when something is new and exciting.

I know there will be a day when scrubbing floors and yard work feel more like prison bars than a gift. So I am working on the practicing thankfulness now, so the habit is well developed, and rooted in me when that day comes. I’m practicing by remembering to give thanks, to actually express it- to God, to my husband, around my kids.  I’m practicing by letting gratitude simmer and mull in me, by thinking on the good, the lovely.  And I’m practicing by giving thanks for the things that have been and continue to be hard about this move, because I want to give thanks in all things – the good, the bad, and the ugly.