the best thing about working is not working

After four consecutive days with some of the people I love most in this world, I am reminded of one of the great benefits of having a job: Time off is nothing short of heavenly. It is difficult not to fully appreciate being together when most of the time you are apart. It is difficult not to soak up every moment in the beautiful natural world when most of the time you're inside sitting at a desk. It is also difficult to go back to a working life. But, alas, a day of not working will come again. I can hardly wait.

the beauty of a filter

I brought our camera to the lake this weekend but I never unpacked it. I've been too enamored with the Instagram app and the filters that can be applied to photos taken with the iPhone. In my mind's eye, the filters make each image warmer and truer. Like I'm seeing through something two-dimensional to something so beautifully multifaceted, something living and breathing. Like I'm capturing what is most essential about each moment. Like everything is precious.

Spending a long weekend in a house with fifteen family members requires its own kind of filter. Sisters and brothers, parents and in-laws, nieces and nephews. There was work to be done—path mulching and wood chopping, porch vacuuming and dock scrubbing, boat launching and screen washing. There were big meals to prepare and clean up. There were discussions that got a little heavy. Like most families, we don't all agree on the same politics or theology. And we're all a little stubborn and opinionated. But we like each other. A lot. And we like to be with each other. A lot.

So we apply a filter. We still debate and discuss challenging topics. But we do it remembering that the person in front of us is not two-dimensional but so beautifully multifaceted. That what is essential in the moment is not winning the argument or being right, but recognizing that a close-knit family you can laugh with and play with and raise your kids with is something precious. And that, in the end, everything is best viewed through the lens of love.

what I found in the silence

This weekend I left my family and my computer behind and retreated with a bunch of wonderful women to LaSalle Manor. 40 hours without kids or responsibilities. 40 hours to be served, to share, to learn, to pray, to read, to be off the Internet, to sleep alone. Although it was all fabulous, one hour stood out. In the middle of Saturday afternoon, the entire group fasted from talking or engaging for one hour. We all agreed to total silence, and it was exquisite.

Sure, I could decide to be quiet at home. But there was something special about being in the midst of 45 other humans also being silent. I didn't wonder what other people were doing, if I was missing out on some fun activity or if I should be doing something else. I just shut my mouth and listened. For one incredible hour, I just was.

For part of the hour, I walked the path around the lake on the property and noticed everything. The way the sun sparkled on the snow. The creaking of the trees in the wind. The burn of the cold on my face. Every inhale, every exhale. For the other part of the hour, I tried to write down what I found in the silence. Words are inadequate, but poetry comes close.

I urge you to try it. Shut your mouth and your mind for one full hour. Take a walk and see what you find in the silence. I hope to do it often.

In the Silence

Cold settles into my bones,
burns my cheeks.
Ice cracks, trees moan, the frozen river flows.
I close my mouth and enter into nothing.

He comes to me:
You are loved.
Let go.
Walk with me until your heart bursts into flame.

For one hour I say no to distraction.
Breath, water, blood,
I need nothing more than this quiet.
No thing.

The sun tosses diamonds at my feet.
The river sings.
The trunks bow.

The unheard voice whispers:
You are alone
and never alone.
Do not worry.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Make space
for more of me.

30 beautiful hours in wisconsin

My fabulous sister Liz turned 30 last week and her husband flew her halfway across the country so she could celebrate with her immediate family this weekend. The sixteen of us spent two unseasonably mild October days on the lake, catching frogs, wading in the water, carving pumpkins, walking in the woods, playing cards, eating great meals and simply relishing each other's company.

Had anyone told my nine-year-old self, enduring the saddest days of my life in the wake of my parent's breakup, that my family would someday be an exceptionally beautiful, loving, life-giving home, I never would have believed it. Now I know. There are gifts that far outweigh the losses. And, despite what you may think in a time of grief, anything can be redeemed.

why our kids need to get out and why we need to let them

America's genius has been nurtured by nature—by space, both physical and mental. What happens to the nation's intrinsic creativity, and therefore the health of our economy, when future generations are so restricted that they no longer have room to stretch? One might argue that the Internet has replaced the woods, in terms of inventive space, but no electronic environment stimulates all the senses. So far, Microsoft sells no match for nature's code.
—Richard Louv, Last Child in the Woods

I'm trying to be brave, buck our fear-based culture and give my first grader room to stretch. Read more in my column in the TribLocal.

my mom made me go to this camp

Looks like he had an awful time, doesn't it? Months ago I signed Liam up for a nature/builder camp at my friend Liita's Little Bits Workshop in River Forest. I knew it would be a trek to get there every day and I didn't even know if Liam wanted to do it, but I wanted him to do it. Correction: I wanted to do it. I wanted to be six again and build a clock out of junk and hike into the woods and draw in my nature journal. Instead I got to do something even better. I got to see my six year old do these things and bubble over about it every day (in the tempered way a six-year-old boy "bubbles" over about anything other than LEGOs).


Some days Liam and I went on our own (him to camp and me to a local cafe) and some days we brought Elliott. Four out of five days we took the train. I think my boys would take the train somewhere every day of summer. I am trying to cook up some more train adventures. Maybe a new stop every week just for fun.


But really it was what was at the other end in River Forest that was the prize. Like this nature journal for instance. Liita made one for each kid out of old jeans - they put on the straps (made out of t-shirt "yarn") and sewed the button on the pocket (which held a pencil and whatever they collected, like Liam's pound of rocks). But the real work of art was what they drew inside.


Liam illustrated nearly every page with plants, trees, bugs and animals. Including what not to touch: poison ivy.


And what one would never expect to find in the middle of a suburban forest preserve: a buck. They saw two last week.

Every night Liam's high point of the day was "art camp." He was so proud of what he made and what he drew and what he saw. Even when I had to rouse him from sleep to hurry and get dressed and go, he never complained. Not a bit. He came home with a clock and a journal and a pocket full of rocks. Thanks to this camp his mom made him go to Liam came home seeing something a little more special about the world and the trash. Best of all, he came home happy.

the night before the last night of the year

Before we move on into the new year, I had to savor this one last memory of 2008. A slippery, snowy, night walk with Papa, pulling Liam in the sled through the silent white woods. Although covered in snow from head to toe, Liam never uttered a word of complaint or protest, confirming the fact that it was a truly enchanted night. We did hear complaint the next day, however, when we headed home and spun out on the road, five miles from the lake house, and slammed into a giant snowbank. We are very grateful to the kindness of strangers, many who stopped to offer help and one who finally chained our car up to his 4WD truck and yanked us out. Ah, snow and ice... friend of sleds not of vehicles.

new-fallen snow

Tomorrow is our last day in Wisconsin and we are expecting another accumulation tonight. Due to the strangely warm temperatures, our snow has melted at home, so we are grateful for these breathtaking glimpses of white. It's a Frost poem come to life.

aunts and uncles and cousins, oh my!

Today we celebrated a belated Thanksgiving in Wisconsin. Liam was in heaven, with a steady stream of entertainment and attention from his aunts and uncles, "who Tim," and cousins Samantha and Paige. Nothing is better than arriving at a place and feeling instantly embraced and at home, whether you are a four-year-old boy or a grown woman. Nothing inspires more feelings of thankfulness than being with my family.


Liam (in a bathing suit, following his cousin Sammy's lead - this is a lake house, afterall!) chatting it up with aunt Jamie.


Uncle Mark kindly playing horsey (although he does look like he's enjoying the pile up).


Liam packed his own bags and arrived with a bunch of random items from the bathroom - candle, shaving brush, comb, spray bottle, washcloth. He and Sammy spent at least 20 minutes playing "doctor and patient," gamely putting every item to use.


One of many duets.


Playing football with the big boys.


Cozying up in front of the fire after being out in the cold.


My favorite shot of the day. So, I am a little biased. But he's my boy.

(I did a lousy job of getting good shots of Elliott and Paige. Hopefully tomorrow!)