When I was a kid, I spent a lot of time in our backyard. I'd be out there for hours practicing as much of my bars routine as I could on the swing set. I'd play with our dog Brittney or with one of the cats. Before Dad put the fence up, I'd wander around the corn field behind our property, watching morning glories to see if I could spot them opening or closing. (The farmer who owned the field did not like my wanderings, and I was afraid of him, but I liked that cool, dirty, peaceful wandering too much to let fear stop me.) Or I'd move my favorite chair (a rocking lawn chair with bright green floral canvas upholstery) into my favorite spot on our shady patio, the west corner by the peach tree, and read all afternoon.

Sometimes Becky would come outside with me, but in my clearest memories, I am alone—except I can hear the kids who live on the other side of the field. I was happy in my little backyard paradise, but I was also lonely. It's strange: I talked to Kendell just this weekend, when we went out to dinner, about that lonely kid, and how I can't really say she's just who I used to be since I feel like she's still here; then I found myself thinking about her again this Easter Sunday, when we sat on the patio together, eating dinner.

By "we" I mean a lot of people: my kids and husband, my sisters, my mom, my brothers-in-law, two of my nieces and one of their husbands. The little kids were playing in the grass, laughing and chasing and pushing the babies on the swing. While we ate dinner, I made sure to sit in my favorite spot on the patio, which I still love even though the peach tree and the chaise are gone. I especially love it on spring afternoons and evenings, when the sun hits the back of your head so you are both in shade and sunlight at the same time. It has long been a place of solace for me, that spot in the backyard. Perhaps even a holy place, sometimes.

I ate last because I was avoiding the first rush at the food, and then I took some photos of Haley with her boyfriend Adam who came to the party but had to leave early. When I came back to my food, all the grown ups and the teenagers had gathered around the table, and as I ate we started talking. Random stuff at first, and then something hard my sister is experiencing, and then, somehow, to our teenage exploits. As we talked and laughed, I found myself sitting back. Not talking, almost not listening to the stories. Just settling myself; just letting that specific moment sink into my bones so I could keep it, somehow, forever. Between my sister and my daughter. All of us laughing. Sharing sorrow and wisdom.

I always love my family. But in that hour of talking, laughing, crying a little, eating a bit, I loved them so much. Enough that I didn't mind my old ghosts being brought up (Yes, I did sluff an entire semester of high school my junior year), which sometimes bothers me. I loved them and I wanted to keep that feeling. I thought of my dad, who one day—perhaps a spring afternoon like this one, lovely and warm with just a slight breeze to keep the edge off, and the mountains still snowy and the grass turning green—stopped pruning the honey locust in the backyard and left his saw in the crotch; it's still there, every year swallowed a little bit more by living tree. I thought about last year and how I thought it would be the last year we did this, and how I am glad we had one more, just so we could have that moment. I thought about our strangeness and our wrong choices and the paths we've taken. I thought about all the things I hoped for myself and the things I still hope my children obtain.

I thought about that lonely girl I used to be.

I cannot say the loneliness is cured. But in that moment—it was gone. I held the memory of my childhood self in the cup of my mind and wished I could tell her, somehow: not always. There will be people you can't imagine yet who will love you.

There were Easter eggs this year, colored by my kids who were all, even Kaleb, slightly disinterested. There was a lovely service at church. I made my favorite cake; we had Easter baskets and chocolate and even Peeps. The kids hunted for eggs. But that time on the patio: that was Easter to me, the best Easter thing, better even than my favorite caramel-filled chocolate eggs. The sense of time folding which can happen in the places we felt something intensely, as if the emotion left an echo you can still feel years later. That old loneliness whispered to me, but I could whisper back to it something more comforting.

I'm still mired in work. Feeling a little bit overwhelmed, in fact, AND I missed a deadline because I wrote the date down wrong. But it's a good busy, and I am grateful.

But I also don't want to completely neglect my blog. So! A recap. During the past ten days I've:

• Eaten jelly beans until I gave myself a headache.
• Made M&M cookies with the spring colored M&Ms. Why do they taste better in pastel colors?
• Finished ten layouts.
• Almost finished the book The End of Your Life Book Club.
• Took the boys to see Jack the Giant Slayer. We liked it.
• Picked up dinner at Taco Bell twice. {hanging head in shame.}
• Visited two people in two different hospitals, each recuperating from surgeries.
• Shopped at Nordstrom! I miss having one close to me.
• Totally failed on my pi day goal of actually making a pie. The rasperries and blackberries are still in the fridge.
• Made green pancakes for St. Patrick's day. Except I didn't have anything but some very pale green food coloring, so they were sort of...well, vaguely green in an ugly sort of way.
• Realized I totally dropped the ball with one of my friends. I'm SO SORRY, Jamie!
• Made another pot of broccoli soup. (It's been my go-to meal lately even though only Jake and I really, really like it. But we both really, really like it.)
• Just about got all the stuff for Easter baskets. I still need to find a package of Army men, which are suprisingly difficult to come by.
• Made ten layouts.
• Ran outside a few times; suffered through some treadmill workouts; missed completely my sculpting class.
• Hated my lingering cough and thought about getting an antibiotic. We'll see if it's still around next week.
• Just about decided that I need to make another visit to the dentist; my stretch of capped tooth-filling-filling feels completely normal (FINALLY) but the teeth above them hurt.
• Had to run to the grocery store at the very last minute because I thought I still had a bunch of cans of coconut milk but I was out. Buying coconut milk at the last minute when you can't find it on sale is painful.
• Averted a puking crisis at church (not, surprisingly, one of my kids puking this time!)
• Listened to Imagine Dragons, The Lumineers, 10,00 Maniacs, Adele, Metric, Snow Patrol, The Black Keys, and  Alphaville.
• Had a good, long, ugly cry over THIS post Becky wrote.
• Squeezed in two episodes of The Walking Dead. I am not loving this season.
• Took care of Jake, who caught my cold.
• Slept not even close to enough.
• Wrote none of the blog posts knocking around in my head.
• Texted back & forth with Chris. I needed that!
• Under extreme duress, got rid of our home phone. I am NOT HAPPY about this choice; I hate being tied to a cell phone all the time. Plus, I loved our actual home phone number. So if you need me, call my cell. I might know where it is. (But probably not.)
• Did a little bit of family history research.

How have YOU been?

This week I had an unexpected {scrapbooking } opportunity pop up, but it's a tight turn around. So if I'm scarce around here, you'll know why. As is my wont, without much time for blogging I have a ton of blogging topics tossing around in my head:

1. My father's faith.
2. A rant about feminism and my religion.
3. One about parenting older teenagers.
4. February in review (yes, I know: we're halfway through March.)
5. Three book notes: the two Anna books by Kendare Blake, Refuge, and Into Thin Air.
6. The Terry Tempest Williams writing workshop I attended in February (again, I know: sigh)

But I've got to get this other stuff done as well! So I just wanted to note a couple of things about my life right now:

• I've had a little bit of writing success! I can't share the details yet...but it's rewarding to hear a "yes." (Also hard to write a bio note when you haven't really published much. It looks ok if you're 20 or 25 or maybe even 30. But 40? I feel lame.)
• This week Nathan decided that the pantry was bugging him. So he cleaned, reorganized, and wiped down shelves. I'm fairly certain that this proves who his Daddy is! :)
• Both Nathan and Jake are in track right now. It's been fun to see how their track personalities differ. Nathan likes the shorter distances, Jake goes a little bit longer. They both like the high jump! This year they have a jumping coach (last year they didn't), which has made a huge difference for Jake's confidence.
• Speaking of Jake. We had a conflict (via texting!) this week that was resolved so smoothly. He gave me a key to his psyche that I think will help me continue to understand him and to know how to respond without causing sparks (but still get my point across).
• Haley has become my kid I hardly ever see. Between track (she runs the mile and the 800 and HATES the jumping events), school, work (she is doing her pharm tech internship), and boyfriend, she's gone a lot. I think this is the reverse of how, when you're into the very end of your pregnancy it's hard to sleep---your body acclimatizing you for what's to come. Maybe the busy schedule is preparing me for when she'll be off to college in the fall? This is such a strange phase of life for me.
• I am feeling how Kaleb is turning from little kid to kid kid. He took a bath last night and it had been so long I had to show him how to push the plug up! (It sticks.) (And this isn't because he hasn't washed for years but because he usually showers.) It reminded me of how the bathtub was one of his happiest places as a baby; when he was grumpy (which was often!), I'd put him in the tub with some bubbles and his collection of rubber ducks and the grumpies would wash away. I am at peace with being on the babyless side of life, mostly. As at peace with it as I will ever be. But it is this strange sadness, knowing that my baby isn't anything like a baby anymore.
• Kendell spoke in church on Sunday. His talk was on the ten commandments. I'm as glad that it's done as he is, as yes: I did help him figure out what to say. It's interesting to me how differently people react over speaking in church. It's not a big deal for me (in fact, I actually enjoy it), I think because of my years of teaching. Kendell doesn't really get nervous during the talking part, he just doesn't like the preparation. And his sister told us that she absolutely refuses to speak in church at all, ever. I'm not judging. It's just interesting to see how people deal with it.
• I am finally feeling mostly-better after a fierce cold this week. Other than going to church to listen to Kendell's talk, I didn't do much other than lie in bed, reading and sleeping, for three days. I'm hoping today might just be the day I put my running shoes back on, as I can now take a deep breath without coughing!

OK, work calls. I wouldn't be sad if I were distracted here & there by comments. What is good in your world right now?

One of the things I do to keep me motivated to use my stuff is my New Stuff box. When I get something new, instead of putting it away in its appropriate color drawer, I put it in the New Stuff box (which currently is pretty stuffed with new stuff, as all the new CHA stuff has recently hit the stores here), and when I'm ready to make a layout, I start picking out supplies from the New Stuff box first.

The main reason I do this is because a lot of my scrapping energy seems to be caught up in the new stuff. I wouldn't have bought the new stuff if I didn't have an idea for how to use it, so if I follow through and try that idea on a layout, I use the stuff and I don't forget the idea.

It also helps to remove that "this new stuff is SOOOOO GOOD that I need the perfect photos to use it with" feeling. If you use it instead of waiting for something perfect, you lose that sense of "I need this to be perfect" which is, I think, a major downward spiral on creativity. Instead it becomes just one more useful supply (instead of the most perfect scrapbooking thing you've ever come across). Cut into that piece of patterned paper, tear off some washi from the roll, peel off a few alpha stickers and there you go: you're using the new stuff instead of idolizing it for its newness.

Once I've used some part of something new, then I file it into a color drawer. Often I cut things apart, so for example, a sheet of alpha stickers with red, yellow, and blue alphas would be cut apart and put into the red, yellow, and blue drawers. This used to stress me out, as it felt like I wouldn't be able to coordinate the individual things with other stuff. But that hasn't been the case; for me, it makes my stash much more usable because I have an assortment of, say, yellow shades to pick from when I want something yellow.

Here's this week's challenge:

Find the last three new things you bought. (NOTE! "New" doesn't always necessarily mean "brand new, hot off the press, never before seen by anyone else." Lots of my "new" stuff is older supplies I've bought on clearance. It's still new to me.)

Use all or just a portion of those three things.

Mix in something old as well.

Here's what I made:

(Lately one of my favorite techniques is using random strips of patterned paper to build up layers of color and texture.) (Also, I've been using some older photos. That coat that Jake is wearing in the photo? I just took it to D.I. last month because it was too small for Kaleb, to which he said "good riddance" as he hated the puffy coat.) (He didn't really say "good riddance" but if he knew what those words meant he would've!)

I used a lot of new stuff on this layout. I'm in love with the new Teresa Collins Stationery Noted line (The red stripes, the quote, and the ticket with the date on it). In fact, I broke my rule for this line: after I used some of it, I put it back in the New Stuff box because I want to use more of it ASAP! I've used it on several recent layouts. The red polka dot is new, and the red and grey alphas. The light blue alphas were from one (or maybe two) of the new Fancy Pants lines. The red ampersand came from my red embellishment drawer (I think it is from Basic Grey) and the "Life is So Good" strip came from my Words drawer. The multicolor polka dot was in my "make cards" scrap box.

How do you incorporate new supplies into your scrapping process?

"Shared joy is a double joy; shared sorrow is half a sorrow" is supposed to be a Swedish proverb. I'm not sure about the authenticity of the source, but it is an idea I have been thinking about lately.

Recently, my sister Becky has been experiencing something that, while the specifics aren't identical, is eerily similar to a trial I also went through a few years ago. "Went through," I write, as if it is finished; it isn't. In a sense it won't ever be. I'm being vague on the details because her story isn't mine to share, but the experience relates to grief. It is about the loss of possibility. About how hope can sometimes be a chain that holds you to something that is impossible to obtain through hope. About looking at things as they really are instead of how you so desperately want them to be. Accepting what is and letting go of the future you imagined: Hallmark doesn't make a card for that. 

For a few months, Becky didn't tell me what was happening, I think to spare me the resurfacing of my own heartache. (She has been properly chastised.) What she didn't know is that for me, revisiting the experience with the intent of helping her actually helped me. Being able to share someone else's sorrow because it so closely mirrors your own is a unique blessing of that sorrow. It gave something that was entirely about loss a sort of redemption, because at least I could share my process of mourning. At least I could tell her how I arrived at my hard-earned and sharp-edged peace. I could tell her honestly: this doesn't stop hurting, really, but your relationship to the hurt changes. You come to understand it; it becomes a presence in your life, hovering over your right shoulder until you wouldn't be yourself without it. What lingers continues to tie you to what you lost and become a sort of solace.

I want to give her what I know so that she doesn't have to travel the long pain of it—but I know I can't suffer for her. And I want her to learn different things, to let it make her more resilient and forgiving whereas it made me a little darker around the edges; more jaded and less trusting. I hope she can arrive at a place where she feels more dedicated to faith instead of slightly abandoned by it. And while I can't turn on the light or find a short cut through the darkness, I can give her the map I used. She will find her own trails and destinations, but perhaps knowing someone else has also walked in that strange country will strengthen her endurance.

I cannot fix it. I cannot give her what she wanted. All I can do is tell her yes. I felt that too. Here is what I understand now. In sharing grief, the sorrow isn't halved for anyone. But it is made easier to bear.