Monthly Book Report: You Could Make This Place Beautiful by Maggie Smith

 Maggie Smith is a poet and writer whom I found via the Internet, I think via Instagram but maybe Twitter, back in the before Elon days.  That I found her first via her poetry is interesting because I am sometimes an impatient reader of poetry.  Over time, I read more and more of Smith’s work and when this book came out earlier this Spring, I was eager to read it. 

It’s labelled a memoir and in certain ways, it is that.  It’s Smith’s story of the end of her marriage and what comes next; what she learns to make of the life that remains for her and especially for her two children.

So much of the book resonated with me.  Smith writes with clarity and intention about the end of her marriage and the pain of the loss.  She sorts out the matter of being a mother and a wife and the story is about how she finds her way forward as a mother who is no longer the wife.  She writes of feeling that a family of herself, two children, and a dog, feels impossibly smaller; smaller than just the subtraction of one, the husband and father who left.   

I’ve made this journey myself, not as a wife but as a partner.  At the time, my child was around the same age as Smith’s youngest.  Like single mamas everywhere, Smith finds that the days blur into one another, a frenzy of the activity involved in caring for others with very little time left for oneself.  But it is in the finding of one’s self, and the nurturing of her, that Smith finds her way forward.  This path is paved with both grief and a deep and abiding sense of happiness.  That the two can occur simultaneously is a lesson that I learned all those years ago when JT’s other mother left. 

I’ve thought about that time and those years a great deal lately.  Part of that has surely been the reality of my life as a parent right now.   A great deal of it is associated with the ending of my relationship with T.  First nine years and now eleven years of time with another human being whom I thought of as a partner for life is a lot to think about; two losses that I sometimes feel as failures on my part.  I am again at work to find myself on the other side.  I did it before, as a mother of a young child, and now I am doing that without needing to care for a little.  It’s different this time around, in some ways harder and in other ways easier.  I am not thinking about my obligations as the mama of a young child but I am certainly thinking about my son as I look toward the path ahead.  This time, I am aware that I will likely grow old alone, that plans for my future that once seemed like my bedrock turned out to be gravel.  

I’ve re-paved the road before and I can do it again.  Though I don’t know Maggie Smith, her book seemed like a friend who can help and that was a great comfort; a reminder that I there is a strength at my core that can see me through.

Real Life Conversations at School: Middle School Wisdom edition

The backstory: As we wind down the school year, my 8th grade class had an in-class work day for their final project.  Long ago, I learned that workdays are more functional with a soundtrack of music and so I loaded up a playlist.  The first song that came on was my most favorite song of all time, “More Than This” by Roxy Music. I put the class on warning. 

Me:  This is my favorite song of all time.  If you hate it, keep that opinion to your self. 

Student K: Do you remember when you first heard it?  

Me:  I do.  I was in college in my frosh dorm and someone played the album.  I’d heard the song once before but hadn’t heard it since on the radio….my hometown did not have a radio station that played that kind of music and so I wasn’t sure who sang the song.  When I heard it the second time, I wrote down the name of the band and the album and I bought a copy.  I’ve loved it ever since.

Student K: It’s your soulmate song.  That’s such a nice feeling, isn’t it? 

Me: What a wonderful phrase.  I will think of it forever.  Well said, K. 

Internet, don’t believe that Middle Schoolers are moody and difficult.  They are amazing, delightful, and brilliant.

The Morning Commute

For 21 years now, I’ve been making a morning commute in New Jersey.  That’s no small matter - a daily drive in the most densely populated state in the union is no joke.  Jersey drivers are a testy, impatient crowd.  I thought about that this morning as I watched shenanigans in the traffic circle that nearly resulted in three cars smashing one another.  Gratefully, I was not involved.  Happily, no accident happened - good for a lot of reasons, including the fact that it would have backed up traffic, the only thing any of us care about in the morning.  Seconds later, I missed a light thanks to a meandering fellow driver who was not on his game.  I passed him on the right as soon as the opportunity arose because that’s how we roll here in Jersey.  I made the jug handle light that is the last turn before school, slid into the parking lot, scored my favorite parking spot, and walked into work grateful that I arrived safely.  Because, New Jersey.

The May Juggernaut

I often reflect on the fact that May is - hands down - the best month in New Jersey.  Days can often be warm - but not yet sweltering - and nighttime sleeping weather is cool enough that a quilt and blanket keep me cozy as I sleep with the windows open.  Birds sing me awake in the mornings and the days are steadily getting longer.  Plants and gardens are looking splendid, with hostas, peonies, irises, and rhododendrons at their best.  The scent of my neighbor’s lilac bush perfumes the day into the  golden twilight.  

May is all those things but it’s also the last full month of school and the days are crammed full, accompanied by a to-do list that gets longer and longer, seemingly resistant to completion of anything. My Middle School students are alternately energized by the blissful weather and then exhausted at the idea of doing a single damn thing.   The end-of-the year is in sight but not quite within reach and they can be overwhelmed.  I understand the feeling; I’ve been known to read an extra chapter when I should just turn out the light and go to sleep.  The front porch calls to me with a siren song of temptation and I don't bother to resist.  

For me, the countdown to the close of the school year officially starts today.  There are 13 days between me and the sweet freedom of June 8, punctuated by the long weekend of Memorial Day, which will be a welcome respite.  As the busy days fly by, I will count them down and look forward to the bliss of Summer’s freedom.

Cooking Journal: Snack Tray Supper

May brings all the gloriousness of Spring in full bloom, usually with with enough warm weather to reliably plan suppers on the back deck.  At Sassafras House, that often means firing up the charcoal grill for burgers or chicken.  Just as often, back deck supper is a plate of cheeses, salted meats, crackers, nuts, grapes, carrots or marinated veg, some kind of jam (three cheers for fig jam, by the way)….whatever I have on hand, set on a plate or wooden board and enjoyed with a chilled glass of wine.  I know that the Internet calls this kind of thing a charcuterie board but for me it’s snack tray supper and it’s delicious. 

I’ve been known to enjoy a snack tray year round but somehow May’s arrival makes it so much better.  A snack tray on the back deck is not just good supper, it’s a meal that’s meant to be savored while we sit outside with laughter and the ease of a warm evening.   

Searching for Certainty

Earlier this month, I read Maggie Smith’s You Could Make This Place Beautiful.  It will be this month’s book report and I will write at length about the splendidness of this memoir.  I can’t stop thinking about the lessons of life that Smith shares.  One of the things that she says so well is that finding yourself, and taking joy in doing so, doesn’t mean that you don’t mourn what has been lost.  That truth is so much a part of my world these days.  I like myself and I love my solitude.  Those are both really good things.  But it’s still true that I now look toward the future without the certainty of a partner; of a life together.  I am sometimes quite happy in the moment.  I know with certainty that the end of my relationship with T was the right path.  But I am still afraid of the uncertainty that lies ahead.  We will not grow older together; the happy adventures we once daydreamed about together will not happen.  Together is gone.  I grieve the loss of a certain future even while I am grateful for the peace of not coming home to dark moods and an unfathomable anger.  I miss the shared intimacy of a joke; a phrase; an experience that brought laughter.  I once thought of them as the solid building blocks of a life together; they reflected a shared history that now lingers in the air, untethered and uncertain.  I sometimes struggle to make peace with that, as if I am trying to put together a puzzle even though I know for a fact that some of the pieces are no longer in the box.

Gratitude Journal: Pot of Impatiens

I know someone who calls daily gratitude the “glimmers” in her world.  I like that way of thinking about gratitude.  For me, moments of gratitude are often a glimmer….a moment or more that feels good and happy; when the stars feel aligned and I experience a sense of contentment and peace.  I start this week with much to be grateful for.  Chief among them is the Mother’s Day celebration that JT organized for me.  I felt loved and cared for; understood and appreciated.  It was a day I will remember and reflect upon for many years to come.  

As of this week, my houseplants have been moved outdoors to soak up the warm weather and on the front deck, impatiens and geraniums keep the plants company.  That is such a happy thing in my world.

I can spy this terra cotta pot of impatiens from the rocking chair on the porch; from my cozy reading chair in the living room, and outside when I pass by the front door.   I see it when I leave home in the morning and when I come home in the evening.  The pot is just the right amount of aged; the flowers are verdant and bright and every thing about it fills me with gratitude.  That’s happy!

What is Mother’s Day to a Single Mom?

I became a single parent the year JT was 6.  The separation happened in June so it wasn’t until the next year that I had to experience Mother’s Day on my own.  Mother’s Day is a strange holiday when you are a single mama.  There will be no sleeping-in, no breakfast in bed, no sweet card made by your child, no gift from a loving partner grateful for the ways in which you mother the child you share.  That Hallmark version of Mother’s Day is so distant from the reality of the life of a single parent that the idea seems laughably unreal.  And it’s a bitter chuckle at that. 

When I was in the thick of my single mama days, Mother’s Day passed by with nary a thought.  I couldn’t afford to wallow in the ways the holiday made me feel left out.  After all, there was laundry to wash, a lawn to mow, and grocery shopping to organize.  I wouldn’t have had time for breakfast in bed even if it were forthcoming. 

And it wasn’t forthcoming.  

That reality was mostly a secret, however.  There is no space for mamas like me in the world of Mother’s Day celebrations. When people would wish me a Happy Mother’s Day, I would say thank you.  If anyone asked about my plans for the day, I lied and made up a story about those plans.  The first Mother’s Day on my own, I went to a Quaker Family camp with my friend S and her son D.  It was lovely.  Soon after that, my ex and I came to a parenting agreement that meant JT would be with her every 2nd and 4th weekend of the month and with me for every 1st and 3rd weekend.  Just like that, I’d solved the Mother’s Day problem by spending it on my own.  I continued to lie if anyone asked about my plans - there was no need for them to be exposed to my sad little reality.  I would have welcomed their kindness but would have recoiled at their pity so I avoided the whole landscape. 

When T was first in my world, she took me garden shopping and made me breakfast on Mother’s Day.  It was nice - the first celebration that actually made me feel special.  By the last few years of our relationship, she’d tell me to go garden shopping on my own and then she offered to pay me back for the flowers.  At least I got flowers, I reasoned.  But Mother’s Day had returned to form. 

In advance of Mother’s Day 2023, I’ve seen moms on-line getting impressively angry about what they truly want for Mother’s Day: an actually decent national parental leave policy, serious and significant gun control, action on maternal and infant health, affordable, good quality day care; a Constitutionally-protected right to make decisions about their bodies…it’s a lengthy list of requests that reveal just how very little this nation actually cares about mothers.  And make no mistake: not nearly enough of our leaders give an actual damn about the lives of women. 

The honesty of these expressions has been freeing for me.  This week, when people asked about my Mother’s Day plans, I told the truth:  Mother’s Day isn’t really a big deal when you are a mama on your own.  If that is a deflating notion for them, I haven’t felt bad about it.  At age 55, I’ve grown weary of being the woman who makes everything okay for people while suppressing my own feelings.  I am over that bullshit.  I’m not mean, but I speak my truth. 

I approached Mother’s Day 2023 in my usual manner: I made a plan to look after myself.  I bought some fruit syrup for the waffles I will make myself this weekend.  I picked up a cute postcard at a shop a few weeks ago and set it aside to admire on Sunday morning.  I am all set for Mother’s Day. 

After all this time, the funny thing is that my 23 year old son has told me that I should be ready at 2 pm on Sunday.  He seems to have a treat planned.  I’m touched and charmed but also afraid to hold that hope.  After so many years of not-very-special Mother’s Days; Sundays in which I swallowed my feelings and got on with life, I’m a little nervous at the glimmer of hope I feel.  I hope it works out.  When it comes to feeling valued and cherished, I am more fragile than I seem.

Update: JT took me to dinner and then to see a play, Agatha Christie's Murder on the Orient Express.  It was a special and lovely Mother's Day, and that was really nice.

Real Life Texts with KO: Friday in May edition

The Backstory: In the world of schools, May is a juggernaut to be survived.  Getting to the end of the week feels glorious but not all Fridays are created equal.  Yesterday started on a rough note.  I texted my sister and my mom a report.

Me: This morning at 5:45 am, the downstairs toilet clogged.  I fixed it and thought ok…day gets better from here.

Me: At 6:45 am, I discover that Lucy has puked in my bed.  I don’t want a do-over for Friday, I just want it to be over.

KO:  Friday needs to pull its shit together.

Me:  Truth.

Update: The day did improve in that it eventually permitted me to come home from work, cut the grass, wash the sheets of my bed, and dream of sleeping in on Saturday.

Style Journal: Outdoor Living

Come May, I begin to organize the front porch and back deck for the outdoor living season.  Well before May, I am daydreaming about being outside with my face turned toward the light and warmth.  Both the porch and the deck expand the reach of my home and offer a comfortable place to read and relax.  

I have a collection of house flags and I decorate the table on my front porch for every season.  But I pull out all the stops for Summer, which starts when I choose two hanging baskets for the iron hooks on the porch pillars.   

Then I fill the plant stand by the front door with flowers.  This year, I’ve a collection of bright pink geraniums and lighter pink impatiens.  The hanging baskets have heartier New Guinea impatient in a shade of purple.  The front porch is large enough to house all of my houseplants for the summer and they thrive in the warmth and shaded sunlight of the Summer season.  There’s a rocking chair and I will spend hours here in the next few months, reading, resting, and generally enjoying the company of my flowers and houseplants.  

The back deck looks out onto my lush backyard and the fairy garden.  Under the limbs of old man tree, the deck has shade enough to remain cool for big chunks of the day.  

A few years ago, I used my Covid teaching bonus to buy some Polywood chairs and they get a lot of use in the Summer, tucked into the corner and perfect for napping in the sunshine.  

We eat many a grilled meal at this table.  

The back deck also gets flowers.  This year, I started with some pots of begonias to keep me company as I wait for the canna bulbs and zinnia flowers to bloom.  This year, I have five pots of zinnias…..it’s probably too many but I have daydreams of being surrounded by the flowers and I’m looking forward to Mason jars full of zinnia bouquets.

The older I get, the more I love outdoor living.  For most of the cold weather season, I look forward to the days when I can sleep with the windows open and sip my morning coffee outside, where I find peace.  I'm determined to soak up that peace this Summer and that is very happy to contemplate.

Finding My Way Forward

It’s been six since months since T blew up and our life together came to an abrupt end.  I’ve had a lot of time to reflect.  The challenge before me is not being on my own.  It’s finding the space to look after myself; to identify my needs and embrace caring for myself because I know, really know and truly believe, that I matter.  That means supporting myself, slaying my demons, and learning to believe that I am enough on my own, because I am, not because of the things that I do for others.  I tell myself that I am worthy but I need to truly believe it and shut down the inner voice that sometimes tells me I am not..  Daily I look in the mirror and remind myself that I am enough, that I mean something just because I am, not because of what I do or whom I look after.  When I had a partner, who I am felt relational - I am someone’s person; they are mine.  That creates an ‘us’; a ‘we’ and it felt valuable and important.  It gave me strength, even as the relationship was failing and I knew I was not being loved or supported.  My head knows that I matter without an ‘us’ or a ‘we’ and daily I remind my heart to find and know that strength.

Among the Trees: A Celebration of May

Of all the months in New Jersey, May is by far the loveliest.  Trees have begun to leaf out and lawns are a lush, verdant green.  In my yard, some tulip flowers in the northern-facing flowerbeds are still standing tall, I have iris flowers, and the hosta leaves have begun to open.  Later in the month, there will be peonies and rhododendron flowers.   Daytime temperatures are often warm while the nighttime weather is perfect for sleeping.  In short, May is lovely. 

This year is no exception and we’ve had sunshine this week.  The blue skies and fluffy white clouds feel like they are here to feed my soul just when I most need two feel the light.

The Waiting is the Hardest Part

 On my own, I know that I must take care of myself so that I can look after the other people in my care.  I’m good at caring for myself and I enjoy the planning involved.  But it requires effort and space to consistently do it with happiness,  without feeling lonely or sometimes downright sad.   

I think that time will make this better.  But right now I struggle to dismiss the thought that I have never been enough for a partner to stick it out for me.  That I tried my best to do that for both of my long term partners is a comfort of sorts.  I now recognize that neither was able to do that for me.  It’s a realization that’s hard to sit with because it makes me feel like I was never enough and never will be.  That is the feeling that I must confront and, I hope, dismiss.  I think that I will be able to do so when I am stronger than I am now.  

And so I wait, sometimes not very patiently.

My Daily Floral Greeting

In late November, Fall Me set to work planting tulip bulbs.  Spring Me is reaping the happy reward of those efforts.  The tulips greet me in the cool May mornings. 

They welcome me home in the afternoon. 

They have been making my days quite lovely and when I see the flowers I send a silent thank you to Fall Me, whose advance planning is paying happy floral dividends.  

Blueberry Hill

I have a preference for soft sheets; really soft sheets.  There are two ways to achieve the level of comfort I desire.  Method 1 is to buy sheets with a thread count in excess of 400.  This results in immediate softness (yeah!) but sheets with a high thread count are often not especially durable and they are pricey.  Method 2 is to purchase a quality percale sheet, usually one with a 250 thread count.  After a year or two of frequent use and washing, the sheets will soften up nicely.  Method 2 requires patience. 

Last Spring, I bought some blueberry print percale sheets from LL Bean.  They were not cheap and at 250 thread count, they weren’t immediately soft, but I knew that with time they would be heavenly.  I also knew that the softening would come upon me gradually, but I am a patient woman.  I change my sheets every Sunday, a habit I learned from my mom.  This week it’s the turn of the blueberry sheets.  I’m a woman of a certain age and so the middle of the night finds me needing to use the bathroom.  Last night, when I crawled back into my nest, I realized that the blueberry sheets are getting soft.  I’m going to call that a happy victory.

May 1: Terra Catta

A few weeks ago, JT and a friend went to Grounds for Sculpture , one of those gems of a place that is tucked into a corner of New Jersey.  They had fun and brought home this charming planter for me.  

I immediately named it Terra Catta because of course I did.  It’s the perfect size for a transplant from one of my other plants and I’m giving a new shefflura a try.  If that doesn’t work, I know that a pothos will and I’m a woman with an abundant pothos collection.  

Terra Catta will please me for years to come and that’s happy.