11 Years and Seven Months

Last week I placed

a call to our telephone

company about some

internet problems I'd

been experiencing.

The conversation opened

with the customer service

representative saying,

Thank you for being

our customer for 11 years

and seven months.

That simple statement

left me speechless for

a moment, as I quickly

did the math.....

Yep, he was right.

As a child who moved

at least eight times and

a married adult who has

moved another seven,

that acknowledgment 

stopped me in my tracks.

It was a blustery day.

I had my pear spice

candle burning and

the windows glowed with

autumn's reflection.

The wind howled

outside and the crows

cawed noisily. I felt

warm and snug and

so appreciative of my

house of 11 years

and seven months.

Preparing a cup of tea

and settling in front

of the computer screen,

I kept thinking about

those words ~

that span of time ~

and all of the happy

family memories that

have happened here.

My daughter was in

kindergarten when we

first moved in.

My son was two and

the house was baby-

proofed.  We still find

the little outlet covers

on overlooked outlets,

from time to time.

Now my girl is a senior

in high school.

I have waved them both

off to school, every day, from

 the front door window of

this house.  For the first four

years, my little guy waved

with me, yearning to be

boarding the bright yellow

bus with his sister.

Next year, he will be

riding alone.

I am so grateful for

this house ~ our home.

Even though I know

it is not our forever

place and that we are

really just caretakers

for future families and

future memories, I feel

such a surge of love 

for these four walls.

11 years and seven months.

I never dreamed it would

be this long, but so

very

very

thankful that it has been.

It always amazes me to think

that every house on every street

is full of so many stories; so many

triumphs and tragedies, and all we

see are yards and driveways.

~ Glenn Close

What stories does

your

house tell?

xo

Suzanne

Embracing Sabi

The Japanese have a word, sabi, 

which connotes the simple beauty

of worn and imperfect and

impermanent things; a weathered

fence; an old cracking bough in

a tree; a silver bowl mottled with

tarnish; the fine color of rust.

~ The Fine Color of Rust

P.A. O'Reilly

I have always been drawn

to things with history, patina or

age.  Flea markets, antique

malls, thrift stores or vintage

shops always put a spring in

my step and make my pulse

race as I cross their thresholds.

via Instagram....privetandholly

Over the weekend, we had the

pleasure of hosting one of my

oldest and dearest friends, 

Fiona and her 11 year old girl, 

Bella, my God daughter.

Fiona and I have known each

other for 25 years.  We worked

together in a Chicago bank, where

I was a newbie in the investments

area and she was a college intern.

We have championed each other

through sunshine and shadows, even

after my little family moved away.

Like me {and my own daughter},

Fiona and Isabella love to hunt for

treasures.  A good part of their

three days here was spent in the

car as we traversed country and

suburbia, hitting all the best places

to uncover new finds.

Our third musketeer from those days

together at the bank, Kathleen, 

has started chemo and could not 

travel.  She loves to junk, so we

chose some unique finds that will

soon be in her hands.

On Sunday evening, Fiona and I

 designed necklaces for us all to wear, 

using vintage components, in 

solidarity

with our sweet friend as she once 

again travels this difficult journey. 

via Instagram
{241 = Two friends supporting one}

After squinting at jump rings and

lobster claws, jewelry pliers in hand,

our creations were finished.  Snapping

a picture for Instagram,  I said on 

a whim, 

Let's take one of us.

via Instagram

Looking at this image, it occurs

to me, that we are now both sabi, 

as we have acquired 

history, 

patina 

and age : )

And this is the thing:

We like it.

We like the comfortable feeling

of being inside our own skin.

We like not worrying about what

others think of us.

We like having friends who knew

us then....and still love us, now.

It's freeing.

We are sabi women, imperfect,

weathered, but embracing this 

beautiful life that is still spread 

before us like a gift.

Such a gift.

xo

Suzanne

{Dedicated to 
Frank N. }

The Gift of Time

I'm at that point in life ~

two teens

one husband : )

one dog

under 

one roof ~

where it's crazy busy.

So busy, in fact, that

I have to schedule

phone chats ~

write them 

on the calendar ~

with those who 

mean the most 

to me.

I was savoring one

of these very calls

last week, with one

of my dearest friends,

Kathleen.

For those of you who

have been asking for

an update, Kathleen's

breast cancer {despite

a double mastectomy in

2010} has returned.

She started chemo 

last Monday.

Her doctor has assured

her that while today,

there is no cure for 

metastatic breast cancer,

it can be treated as a

chronic condition.

I've been really thinking

about how I want to

spend my time,

she confided to me.

Less to-do lists.....

She's planning to write

letters to her two 

young teenagers.

Just in case.

To be opened on your

wedding day.....

To be opened when you

become a parent....

When did you first

become aware of 

your own mortality?

My mom says that hers

came into focus when 

she was eight years old,

riding her bicycle.  Wind in

her hair, racing along,

she glanced at the gutter

and spotted a dead bird.

It's unusual to see these

tiny creatures still 

and silent.

Something clicked 

and she realized,

I won't be here forever.

My time on Earth is finite.

These days, as I lay in bed each

night, thinking about how

I'm going to spend my time

the next day, I am keenly

aware of the fact that we are 

doing exactly that ~ 

spending our time.

It's not a 

limitless 

account.

And I am oh so cognizant

of the fact that I don't want

to just spend it, but instead,

invest it.

Invest it in doing things

that make my heart sing,

that lift the spirits of others,

that show those who I love

that they mean so much to 

me, and that make a 

difference 

in this world.

Yes, work still must be done,

groceries purchased, dogs

fed, floors washed, 

leaves raked.

Life's time for doing.

But.

That other time; our

free time, is a gift to be

spent wisely, richly and

passionately....

until the day the balance

has been completely 

drawn down.

This golden autumn day,

I'm investing in an extra-

long walk with my pup,

Gracie, grateful for these

amazing colors and the

time I have been given

on this equally 

amazing planet.

Life is only precious

because it ends, kid.

~ Rick Riordan,

The Son of Neptune

How are you investing

your gift of time?

xo

Suzanne

Mama Bears

There's a certain

ferocity

in motherhood.

 ~ Celeste Zappala

I clearly remember

my first, ferocious

maternal stirrings.

Not for my babies,

who would come

later, but for a black

mutt with a white

chest who we named

Winnie, after another

brown-eyed beauty

on a TV show called

The Wonder Years.

Her wide-eyed puppy

expression, her oh-so-

soft fur, the too big for

her body paws.....

I found it all so, 
so

intoxicating.

Early on in our puppy

parenthood, I went to

let Winnie back inside

from our gated yard and

found the yard empty,

with the gate open.

The adrenaline coursed

fiercely through my veins

and before I knew it, I

was outside, frantically

calling her name.

She was in the front

yard, greeting children

on their way home from

school.  Relief poured

over me and as I led Winnie

back inside the house, I was

struck by a realization.

This dog had stolen my

heart.  I was officially a

mama bear, ready to protect

her cub, and I would never,

ever, be the same.

Even if you do not have

a pet or children, you may

have experienced this

ferocity when caring for

an elderly relative.  

Your heart tells you, 

I will do whatever it takes 

to protect this one who is 

so dear to me.

Mama bear love.

via

I was skimming Pinterest

last week while listening

to a TV show, when a

picture caught my eye.

It was a little child looking

proudly into the camera

with a teddy bear.  The

picture was linked to a

website called 

The Mother Bear Project.

via

Intrigued, I clicked on the

image to learn more.

The Mother Bear Project

gives love, comfort and

hope to children in emerging

nations who are affected

by HIV/AIDS, with the

simple gift of a hand-knit

or crocheted teddy bear,
signed by its creator.

via

For most, it's the only

toy they've ever owned.

As I read their stories and

reactions to the 
unconditional love 

that their teddys

symbolized, I felt it.

That ferocity.

That mama bear love.

via

The sensation of wanting

to wrap these little ones in 

my arms and let them know 
that they are cherished.

I am hopeless with knitting

needles, but once upon a

time, I knew how to crochet.

I sent away for the crocheted

bear pattern and in two days,

there it was, in my mailbox.

It's not going to be the fastest

teddy bear ever created, but

it will be filled with this 

mama bear's love.

I hope it's just the first

of many that I turn out.

To join me in this sweet,

sweet project, click here.

Mama bear love.

Have you felt it?

xo

Suzanne