Sunday, April 6, 2014

Low-Key Sunday Notes

These photos are from almost exactly one year ago.
It's just that I'm really timely. I'm just exceedingly relevant like that.

Also, I haven't taken many pictures, lately. All the photographers seem to have left 5th Street. 
I mean, what will I share next year if I'm not taking them now???


Siley desperately wanted to pose like this.

Speaking of my inherent knack for eternal relevance, the most magical moment happened last Thursday night while I was dipping my chip into the salsa bowl with two of my besties.

Friend 1: So, how was Dallas?
Me: So good, so wonderful, blah blah blah, there were Instagram celebs there.
Friend 2: What's Instagram?
Friend 1: It's like twitter, but with pictures.You take pictures and follow people...
Me: Hahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
Friend 2: I still don't get it. Just, what's the point?
Friend 1: I don't know, really. My brother-in-law follows me.
Me: (crunch crunch crunch) Hahahahahaaaaaaa! (I love you!)

That brief blip on the radar of life cured me of months of pent-up smart-phone inadequacy.

People, this is why the internet only gets us so far. I've met some of my favorite people in all the stinking land on the internets. If I were to get married right now, I would be wrangling a few blog ladies into strange, A-line bridesmaids dresses. Cyber-friendships have steered me delicately and hilariously through some of the darkest days of my recent life. They have shored me up and really known me in a shockingly short amount of time. They have understood me uniquely and challenged me gently.

But there's this whole other thing, where we scrabble together one free evening every couple months and catch up on all the dailies with local ladies and sometimes they read my blog but often they don't and it's all so okay. We're bound by my husband's history, by years and tall tales and proximity and motherhood. We're connected by our faith and our worldview. And our love for salsa. And our ignorance of what's cool.

This afternoon I finished A Million Little Ways by Emily P. Freeman. It took me months. I don't know.

It was one of those books that needed to be doled out. In my experience, this is usually a very good sign.

I also think timing can be everything for books, and lately, I've spent a lot of hours thinking about my art.

Why is it so hard to say "my art"? Try it. I'll wait.

But the thing is, we all have art to offer the world. The world needs our art. The universe and our communities and all our people depend on it. Can we really believe that? I wish we'd try.

I was uprooted by the words in this book. I was filled and settled and underlining like a mad fool.

I don't want to over-think everything, or bend the will of my art into something it's not. I don't want to believe art has to be fancy, that it has to be my most unique offering. Because sometimes, art is sauteed cabbage, offered with love. Sometimes it's the simplicity of a moment where the chips are warm and I feel completely a part of. Sometimes it's the bend of late daylight across the leaf of a houseplant or a little boy's hands covered in the kind of dirt that can only mean Spring finally came for us.

The ease with which I am able to release the art I was made to live seems directly related to my willingness to embrace wonder.  - A Million Little Ways

Amen, Sister.

That frozen wonder is starting to thaw and I think I see my art running back to meet me again. I need to haul the big camera out again and start taking a harder look at this world I'm in.

It's spring break here, and I can't wait to see what we discover.
Happy New Week, Friends and Dreamers.