Home...Revisited

Pabst Snow Picnic with my siblings

I am writing this on the last day of Winter, 2010.  I have been thinking about Home this week.  Home in the sense of people, places and things.

A year ago, I prepared to fly down to Austin with my sister to revisit our old town and attend the wedding of friends.  I had not flown in several years and had since experienced a slow, creeping anxiety about flying.  I wrote about my experience getting back on a plane in my blog post, "Why I Am Not at Home On a Plane."  Strange that a year later these feelings are resurfacing, spurred by a dream I had several days ago about flying to China with a friend and not being able to board the plane out of sheer fear and panic.  As mentioned in my blog post from a year ago, before getting on the plane again, I had to come to grips with why I really, truly, and honestly am afraid to fly.

My mind treats flying as if it is a treacherous journey full of peril, like going to the moon.  Many people I know treat flying with the same ease as riding a sleigh "to Grandmother's house we go."  Why my mind can't see flying as what it is - one of the safest ways to travel - is a mystery.  But it is not just about the act of flying on a plane for me, it is ultimately my fear of dying manifested in a tangible form - something that I do while living that reminds me of my vulnerability and the fact that, yes, I am going to die one day, and so is everyone around me.

It's no wonder then that I cling so fiercely to things that seem constant, stable, and true: my simple life in our farmhouse with my husband and dog; the thought of sleeping in my own bed with just them in the room with me; my siblings, friends, and family who live close by; trips to visit my parents, sister, Grandmother, aunts, uncles, cousins, in places that I've known my whole life.  There is nothing unusual about just wanting to be home, whatever home is to you in that moment.

So why do I seem to revisit these thoughts of home every year when the world is just awakening again after a long winter?  Perhaps it's just my recent dream that happened to spark these feelings again.  Or perhaps it's hormones, a passing mood, a last moment of reflection and introspection as the pensive season of winter dies again.

I do know one thing for sure: I cherish these places and people more than anything, and more than ever, as adulthood forces me to face my own vulnerability and fragility in this world, and the mortality of those around me.  I never let a day pass without spending time in face-to-face, meaningful experiences with real people (not the computer screen) - and animals - doing real activities: sampling new foods, romping around outside, sharing a laugh around the kitchen table, playing music together on a stage, toasting life over glasses of wine, taking walks with my dog and husband, giving hugs, being honest, sharing emotions and memories, playing board games, writing songs, having picnics in the snow, hosting dinner parties with almost more dogs than people...

...and for now I just want all these things in my little corner of the U.S.  I travel quite a bit with my band and because most of my family lives 3-5 hours away.  I lived and traveled around the world as a child (Norway, France, Europe, etc.), and all over the country in my 20s (Boston, Idaho, Austin).  I do love to travel and experience new things, but my instinct at this point in my life as I enter my 30s, unpredictable as instincts are, is to simplify and focus on things that are close, immediate, constant, and that I've known my whole life.

As Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros sing: "Home, yes I am home!  Home is wherever I'm with you."

Turning 30: I'll Cry If I Want To

I lay on the lawn chair like a sack. My head was heavy from a happy-birthday cold and a few too many last-night-to-be-29 drinks the evening before. Was this really my 30th birthday? Shouldn't I have been feeling at the pinnacle of health and vibrancy on this day of days? Could the day have snuck up so quickly, and why couldn't it wait until I had time to shake this stupid cold?

The morning sun twinkled against the white plastic chair slats as I smashed my cheek against them, staring languidly down through them to the grass below. At least it was warm in the sun, and I didn't have to accomplish anything in particular today. I had grown accustomed to this feeling of listlessness over the past several days; I barely had the brain power to contemplate my passage into 30-dome.

I suppose the old and wise would tell me that this is exactly how life is going to be from now on. They would say, "Life is full of disappointments. Just accept that things aren't always going to turn out how you want." I tell you, no matter how many times I turn that adage over in my mind, it still remains unacceptable to me. There has got to be more to life than surrendering helplessly to every disappointment.

I never planned to be anywhere else than the lake for my 30th birthday weekend. And despite my cold, and the fact that several people who planned to come to my party had to back out, I (underneath the gloom) was utterly content to be there surrounded by my family. I had had more than a few moments of feeling sorry for myself during the week preceding the big day, and my family members, in their undying effervescence, cheered me greatly. After all, wasn't 30 when you stopped crying over people not coming to your birthday party?

The next day, at my party, my husband surprised me with a sparkling, retro, baby blue and cream reissue 1950s electric guitar. In the midst of my wallowing, I had almost forgot that there was going to be celebration - and presents - with my family and friends surrounding me. There was no longer any room, or time, to feel despondent. When I pulled the wrapper off that shiny guitar, I wept into my hands, completely taken by surprise. Everyone had stopped what they were doing when they saw the large, wrapped package emerge from the cottage. And now, as tears streamed down my cheeks and a big smile began to form on my face, they watched expectantly and then applauded as I held the guitar up exultantly for all to see. I gave my husband his well-deserved hug and stepped out of the gloom.

Perhaps this is exactly how life is going to be from now on (and always has been). Just when you think life has completely trashed the party, through the mess come the most beautiful moments in the shape of shiny electric guitars, elderflower liqueur, tears of surprise, those darling faces of your family around you, or a friend driving through the dark for 5 hours to see you in the last hours of your birthday. We must never take these things for granted. Luckily for us, life will never let us.

For your enjoyment, here is the series of photographs of me opening my guitar (taken by Ricky MacPherson):

Ryan gets his hug

My Danelectro

Ryan even made me a sweet card with my face superimposed!

Christmastide

Yesterday, the freezing rain in the forecast suddenly turned to snow outside our window. In Southern Pennsylvania, snow is often more of a blessing than a common occurrence, so we settled back to work thinking it wouldn't last. But it continued, and our first real snow of the season covered the trees that line our road. The lantern outside our back door wore a little elf's cap of snow, and our dog stepped tentatively out the back door sniffing the new white stuff.

A year ago, we had just moved into this house and were barely able to get unpacked, wrap presents, and, of course, throw our holiday party. Hosting is one of my favorite things, so that was top on the priority list. It acted as a nice housewarming as well. A year later, we are very settled here. It has been nice to get started earlier with the Christmas shopping, and the planning of our holiday fête, which we hosted last Saturday.

I remarked recently to my husband how often over the past year of living back home I have looked around me and thought blissfully, "Gosh, my life is so great." I think a major reason for this feeling is that so many of our visions have come to fruition. Living on the other side of the country was an adventure I would never give up, but it made us yearn for things, some of which we couldn't quite put our finger on. Being back home has shown us that many of those things were waiting for us right here in our own hometown. I believe Ryan and I make a good life for ourselves no matter where we live, but this place has allowed us to put many of the puzzle pieces together that were once a bit scattered.

We see our grandparents frequently - even my grandmother and relatives in upstate New York are in very close proximity compared to when we lived in Texas or Idaho. We see our parents and siblings as often as possible; two out of my three siblings live here in town now. They are part of the core of our social network. As are our friends, some who live in our town, but others who come from nearby cities and remind us of our past city lives.

Even my dream of having a band has been coming together in the past month. My sister and I have added two lead guitarists/mandolin/lap steel players, bass, and drums to our outfit, The Hello Strangers. This is something I'm really looking forward to in the coming year.

I love the Christmas season for many reasons: the cheer, the little gifts and treats to pass around, the special times with family and friends, and the magic of bigger things we cannot quite explain. I love the feeling of looking back at the past year and counting blessings, while also looking ahead to the next year of life and being given a fresh start. I am grateful everyday for the things that I have, and try not to take any of it for granted.

This Christmastide, may you look back in fond remembrance and look ahead to a year full of promises and surprises.

Happy Holidays!

***************************

Christmas sweaters bring Christmas cheer!
My sister and her beau spread the holiday spirit at our party this past Saturday:

Ode to a Grandmother

When there is laughter in the heart, what joys can remain stifled?

Few words can describe my Grandmother, Marion, as well as this photograph can. She's the life of the party, the bubbles in champagne, the mischievous twinkle in an eye. She loves penguins, Irish Cream, and peanut butter and sweet onion sandwiches. She putters around the kitchen, humming like a trumpet out of the corner of her mouth (Yes! We have no bananas!). She loves all things QVC. She has eleven grandchildren, ages 2 to 29. Christmas is still magical at her house. She sews, knits, quilts, bakes, and stays up all night reading just one more chapter. She has a million house coats! She cries when she laughs (so does my Mom), pushing her glasses up onto her forehead so she can wipe her eyes.

She defines the word whippersnapper. She's one of a kind!

What more can I say? This picture says it all!

Remember today who you love the most, and take them not for granted.

Is 1 the loneliest number?

I am alone tonight for the first time in a very long time. Being completely alone is a feeling that I always have to adjust to, like stepping into a hot bath. I grew up in a family of 6, and have always relished the feeling of having many people around me. Even now, I thoroughly enjoy having overnight guests and hosting parties.

My brother got married this weekend, and our farmhouse became the hub for almost every activity, aside from the wedding of course, including the bachelorette party, the bridal preparations, the after-party, and the after-picnic. I said hello to many, then said goodbye to many. Most people left yesterday, including a dear friend who is moving out of the area. The rest left today, including my husband who is working as a rock climbing photographer for 2 weeks. On top of all this, my sister moved out of our house and into an apartment with her boyfriend. I knew this would eventually happen, but didn't expect all these elements to happen at once.

Therefore, it goes without saying that the transition from "in good company" to "just me and my dog" was a bit abrupt. My fridge is full of wedding leftovers (beer and cake galore), and I have no one to share them with. I cannot look forward to my husband sleeping beside me. My friend, Fred, will not be coming over this week for our usual Thursday night music rehearsal (he is the one who moved). My sister won't be coming home from work at the restaurant late at night and making a pot of ramen noodles.

I am alone. But I am not lonely. I am surrounded by family and friends, have fun plans for the week, and will inevitably reap the benefits of being forced out of my comfort zone and doing things that my husband tends to do (like mow the lawn). Life goes on even though I have said so many goodbyes in the past two days. New eras begin as others end.

And as I fill my shopping cart with meals for 1, I look forward to uninterrupted hours all to myself...and to the next party.

Do you think 1 is the loneliest number?

Where Is Your Water?

Photo © Ryan Smith

Edward Abbey’s Desert Solitaire begins: "This is the most beautiful place on earth. There are many such places. Every man, every woman, carries in heart and mind the image of the ideal place, the right place, the one true home, known or unknown, actual or visionary. A houseboat in Kashmir, a view down Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn, a gray gothic farmhouse two stories high at the end of a red dog road in the Allegheny Mountains, a cabin on the shore of a blue lake in spruce and fir country, a greasy alley near the Hoboken waterfront, or even, possibly, for those of a less demanding sensibility, the world to be seen from a comfortable apartment high in the tender, velvety smog of Manhattan, Chicago, Paris, Tokyo, Rio or Rome - there's no limit to the human capacity for the homing sentiment."

When I was attending Berklee College of Music in Boston in the late 90s, my lyric writing teacher, Pat Patterson, began every semester by asking each of his students where his or her “water” was. He would explain that salmon have a homing device inside their nasal cavity that collects a tiny bead of water from the stream in which they are born. As they make their way to the ocean, then begin the long journey back to spawn in fresh water, this bead allows them to know when they have reached their home waters once again. Though I am not sure as to the scientific evidence of this, I am still drawn to the idea of each human having a “water.”

During the two semesters I took lyric writing with Mr. Patterson, I would invariably say “Mercersburg, Pennsylvania” when asked where my “water” was. At the time, I was dreadfully homesick for my hometown, and the life I had left behind, and these emotions only strengthened my homing instincts toward this place. Since then, I have had the great fortune to add several other locations to my list of “waters.” I am open to the idea of having several, though if I had to pick one, Mercersburg would be it. It is my one true home.

This place holds all the dear memories from my childhood, growing up in the most wonderful family, with siblings I enjoyed playing with (so much so that when we would have a snow day and got to stay home from school, it was the thought of getting to play together all day that made us squeal with delight, not necessarily the snow). My mother would have classical music playing, or my father jazz. The smell of cooking food floated through every cranny of the house. All was right in the world when we were together in our house on California Street. This was before the tough years of college, when I couldn’t understand why I should leave my family who I wanted to spend every moment with, and the town I loved so much. It was before the realization of many big dreams, and enormous responsibilities. It was the simplicity of living that I have sought ever since. It is the reason I returned again and again, and now the place in which I wish to stay, possibly forever. But I had to swim to the sea to know this.

Other locales that are near and dear to my heart?

• Highland Lake, Warren Center, PA - a magical summer home for my whole family, relatives, and cousins on my mother's side. I have spent whole summers there, or just a week at a time, throughout my life. This place is literally and metaphorically one of my most precious "waters." It's a close second to Mercersburg.
  
• Bainbridge, New York – hometown of my Mother, and the place where I continue to spend my Thanksgivings and Christmases. It is the Currier and Ives, picture-perfect image of Yankee winter holidays, and a place I continue to develop a relationship with.
• Walton, New York – hometown of my Father, where my Grandparents’ big, white house was the muse for big imaginations, lots of baseball games, picking blueberries, and walking through sunny fields and gardens.
• Moscow, Idaho – where I finally escaped the confines of city life in Boston and experienced for the first time the vast, natural beauty of the Northwest, met wonderful friends, explored my hippie/outdoorsy side, and learned about the many inner workings of the two-year-old (12 of them at a time, actually).
• Austin, Texas – my second “hometown,” where I still live in my dreams, longing for the excitement of this charming city when life on the “farm” seems slow; where many long-term friendships were formed, and where my relationship with Ryan was given the room it needed to blossom into a marriage.

Of course, I can think of many places I have traveled to or visited that sparked a flame in my heart, but never had a chance to get to know beyond a brief, albeit lovely, encounter. Regardless, I am continually piqued by the instinctual nature and influence of the homing sentiment in our lives.

As Pat Patterson would say, “Where is your water?”

A Time and Place for Unhealthy Foods

My family hails from upstate New York, specifically the rural areas of Bainbridge and Walton, East of Binghamton. This is a land where nut-brown wood paneling and maroon vinyl adorn the bowling alleys and bars where my family gathers over the holidays. It is often bitterly cold outside during this time, the sun slanting early over the hills and the snow dust swirling like a lace curtain over the winding roads. Thus the cozy, dark corners of my Grandmother’s house and the local bars beckon us to gather there and linger for hours. This is vacation, after all, so I am always primed for a respite from my tidy routine. Good timing, since glistening popcorn balls, ribbons of strudel, scrumptious cakes and pies, succulent bacon, buttery mashed potatoes, golden fries and spicy hot wings suddenly besiege me. My sensory organs are piqued, my stomach ready to be commiserated and cheered.

I try to allow myself these few days away from my normal standards, but I am inexorably facing feelings of guilt deep in my psyche all the while. Why? Because I know too well the potential havoc these foods can wreak on my anatomy, and the environment to a great extent. But does it ever strike you as unfair that some of the best tasting foods are the worst for you?

No, I say, I will not be a patsy to my country’s gross obsession with fat and calories. It obviously has done nothing in the way of halting the spread of obesity and greed. Therefore, when faced with a platter of fried chicken tenders and fries that someone has ordered at the bowling alley my family often haunts during the holidays, I indulge in the name of tradition and celebration. It wouldn’t be fair to deny myself the full package of this experience, to not allow the wonder of comfort food to work its charm! The smell of the wing sauce, the glass rim of the beer bottle on my lips, the bowling saddle shoes on my feet, the sight of my family gathered together – the whole throw-my-reticence-to-the-wind experience must be fulfilled and relished; or these artifacts and scraps of nostalgia that illuminate my present life will fall prey to the wolves of dereliction. The scaffolding of my past will begin to decay with neglect. Thus, I indulge with reflection and gratitude, taking only enough to keep the wolves at bay, and leaving room for new memories to grow.

So go ahead, throw caution to the wind! Put an extra scoop of whipped cream on your hot cocoa and let the memories in!

How do you indulge and reminisce?

(Photo: My mom and I enjoy some holiday libations this Thanksgiving)

Creature Comforts (Part 3): Paring down, Thankful Eating

This topic happens to fall on the week of our national Thanksgiving celebration. I write this from my Grandmother’s house in upstate New York, where my family has gathered over good food and drink to give thanks for all of life’s bounties. I was initially going to entitle this post, “Mindful Eating,” but upon realizing that Thanksgiving is but a day away, I will deliver my simple message via a short prose, so that I can get back to celebrating with my family, and so can you.

I love to eat. Food is undoubtedly one of my favorite things. I admit, however, that I don’t always “respect” everything I put in my mouth, most often because I am aware that the ingredients may not be all that wholesome for my body but at that moment I am too tired, too hungry, or too transfixed by the sweet, glorious crunchy sugar coating (for example) to care. What follows is usually a mindless devouring of the food in front of me, briefly satisfying as it goes down my throat. But in the end, I am left with an empty hole in my gut, as if the food I just held in my hands was only a mirage in a vast, empty desert. This is a habit I work hard to change, but I can't always expect perfection. Special occasions such as Thanksgiving, however, are great opportunities to put change into practice.

This Thanksgiving, as you sit down to this special meal with your family, take a moment to look at each delicious item on your plate. Imagine the time and energy that has gone into each bite. Think about the people you love who have prepared it, and if you took part in the preparations, give thanks – to God, to the universe, whatever your preference – for your ability to help. Be not just mindful of each bite, but thankful as well. Consider this your one chance to enjoy each bite, chewing slowly with focus and intent. Consider this likewise your one chance to observe the people who surround you, giving thanks for each of them as you enjoy this meal together. Do this today and everyday after.

After all, taking one day at a time, one bite at a time, and one celebration at a time, is the essence of paring down. It means choosing simplicity, but never accepting an empty hole in your gut – the great paradox of balance. So if you love your mother’s pumpkin pie that you get to eat but once or twice a year, don’t deny yourself that extra slice. Being thankful means relishing as well as slowing down. It means filling the void with simple gifts.

Happy Thanksgiving!
Larissa


How do you give thanks everyday?

Summer Holiday

Photo by Ryan Smith

The lake bottom is cocoa brown as my canoe whispers through the water above it; my oar is a spoon in silky hot chocolate. The tips of pine trees cast patches of morning sun along the edges of the bank as I peer down into the water. A glimmer of something in the muck catches my eye, perhaps a remnant from one of our many water games over years of summers here. I pass over a twisted log that has lived at the silty bottom as long as I can remember, like an ancient, slumbering frog that we imagined might suddenly open its lake-scum eyes as we dove down just for the scare of it and swam back up again, reaching for the safety of the sunny sky above. This sludgy floor is the dusty treasure chest holding all the mysteries, dreams, and memories of every sunrise and sunset between the months of May and August during every summer of my life at Highland Lake in Northern Pennsylvania.

Summers cannot exist without the lake, and the lake cannot exist without summers. Our time spent here is a sensual experience through and through. The season is allowed to fully bloom into itself, and so are we – my Parents, Siblings, Cousins, Aunts, Uncles, and Grandparents, who congregate here every year for days and days of summertime delight. The lake enkindles each of our senses: a bare foot padding over damp earth and moss, the wind chimes twinkling in the boat house as waves lap softly against the bow of the sailboat, chicken “speedies” on the grill (a local favorite) with peachy Finger Lakes wine, the gray outlines of bats swooping between the pines and over the water as the sun sets behind the trees, and the smell of the wood stove in the cottage on cool days. All these experiences exist for us now and tomorrow, but they are also steeped in the past, conjuring up memories that enrich every moment.

Each of us has a special place we long for or go to for refuge from the big, wild world. It may be as vast as a park or as small as a pleasant corner or sitting area in the house. Highland Lake serves this purpose for me; I know my family members who stay at the lake during the summers would say the same. We are so lucky to have it. Where is your special place in the world?

Please note: I apologize for having been away from my blog for a good while...I have no other excuse than that I was at the lake. I hope to get back to my regular writing schedule now that the summer holidays are winding down. Thanks as always for reading!

The Road of Life

"On the road of life, it's not where you go, but who's by your side that makes the difference."

This was the quotation on the inside of the card I gave my husband for our anniversary last weekend. In our years together, we have traveled (and lived) all over the country by car and, thus, this quote seemed fitting as an expression of my feelings about him and our relationship. Well, we have come to yet another interesting turn in the road of life. We have decided to pick up our Austin roots and move back to the Appalachian mountains from whence we came. Yes, we are moving to Pennsylvania!

This has long been a goal of ours, as we have been living away from home for a decade. But, like the twists and turns of the road, one can never quite predict how or when one's goals may come to fruition. We made our decision rather abruptly, two days ago, about a month before our apartment lease will expire. Yet, it seems this is how things must happen sometimes: in the blink of an eye, as if life is suddenly going 90 miles and hour. Despite the speed at which we feel these things often come to pass, it is with peace of mind and joyful hearts that we make our decision. This is, after all, how the tires feel as they hug the curves in the road, you gripping the steering wheel: unfathomably fast, but true in purpose.

We have driven the route from Austin, Texas to Mercersburg, Pennsylvania and back 19 times (one way). The twists and turns of the route have become ever-familiar over the past four years of driving home twice a year. We have our favorite pit stops and landmarks, stopping always at the same Cracker Barrels for breakfast (with winter stops being particularly fun since they often have a fire in the fireplace), always ordering the same thing off the menu (the Old Timer's Breakfast with hot coffee and tea), and remarking on how the black to white employee ratios change as we move from South to North and vice versa. Our 20th trip North in July will be our last on this route, at least in this era of our lives. Surely we will return to Austin in some fashion, but the chances of us making the trip under these circumstances are slim. And so we end another chapter of our lives and start a new one. The feeling is much akin to passing over state lines on a long road trip home; leaving the past behind and driving headlong into the future.

We will greatly miss, but always appreciate, our friends here in Austin, all the wonderful people we've met, and the fun things that we have done. Living for three years in the same city as my younger sister, for example, has been a dream come true for me, one that I have tried not to take for granted. I know I can leave this place knowing that I've made the best of the city and the people we know here. I have made many an effort to "keep Austin weird", swam in Barton Springs Pool, hiked on the Barton Creek Greenbelt more times than I can count, frequented the Alamo Drafthouse Cinemas, eaten a plethora of breakfast tacos, and two-stepped many a night at the Broken Spoke (Chaparral rocks!).

I have spent most of my time here loving this city. I remember our first night in Austin, falling asleep with a big ol' grin on my face! But my heart always seemed to be calling me home. Having a husband who grew up in my hometown has made it even harder to be away, since we both know many of the same people and pine for the same place on this earth. Perhaps moving home will be just another pit stop in the long journey of life, or maybe we will find it to be a perfect home base from which to go out and have many new adventures. Regardless, our heart strings have been pulled for many years by hundreds of goodbyes to family and friends, watching the mountains of our home fade in the distance as we drive away yet again. We will drive the road to Mercersburg this time knowing that a few goodbyes in Austin will yield a hundred hellos at home. I'm ready for this, as bittersweet as it will be.

Photo by Ryan Smith