Is Happiness Overrated?

Recently, I read somewhere the following:

“It’s overrated,” my ex said. “What is?” I asked. “Marriage or divorce?” -“Happiness”, he said.

Happiness is such a big word. We are taught to achieve happiness in our lives, but what exactly is happiness?

Over my 5 decades I have discovered there are many kinds of happiness, and some are very much related to the age you are or the place you are.

Remember birthdays when you were little? Best-thing-ever! Now, I don’t really care much about my birthday and certainly don’t lose sleep over it the night (or weeks!) before, giddy with excitement. Or certain vacations? A cappuccino in Venice? That’s happiness!

Now, happiness comes and goes. And dare I see that can be heavily influenced by hormones? Gotta love that middle age body and mind!

The other day, I cried, twice. Once, because I felt sad. I went to the grocery store and saw a man get out of his car at the gas station across the store. For a split second, I thought it was my brother. That would have been extremely weird, as he lives in a different country (and drives an electric vehicle!). But just seeing this sort-of-look-alike, made me feel sad and miss my brother, and the rest of the family. I had to stay in my car for a few seconds to compose myself before getting my groceries.

After the groceries, I drove to work. The commute is amazing and might be one of my very favorite drives. And it dawned on me how incredible fortunate I am, living on this beautiful island and seeing this amazing view of the Atlantic Ocean while just doing errands. That made me cry too, but of happiness this time.

I have been working a lot less lately and that is hard. I have to learn to adjust to my new position, going from being in charge to someone only working as a substitute, when needed. But I was needed this week, which gave me a great feeling.

And the weird thing is, it also gave me a bunch of energy. Coming home after work, changing into my work clothes, and working on my bathroom project, or going down into the basement workshop and turn some wood.

That is true happiness! Music going, very much also depending on mood and just being in my own little happy bubble.

Today was a bit less happy at first. I kind of got into a funk and couldn’t explain it. (Hormones again?). I turned up the music and started deep cleaning. Nothing will get you out of a funk better than dancing with your mop and ending up with a clean kitchen (even if it is the kitchen at work). 

I came home and took the dog for a long walk. This is when I do all my processing and self-reflection. Are you happy? I asked myself.

-Boomer enjoying the view-

Difficult question. I think I am. I should. I live in a beautiful home, am still married to the guy I met 28 years ago, have three wonderful grown children who are healthy and doing well, a lovely dog, time for myself and time for work, I have my health and still both my parents. What is there to be unhappy about?

I am happy. I truly am. Even when some days I feel it a little less. Even when I am in a funk.

And I don’t know if happiness is overrated: I think it is nice to feel happy and to actively achieve that feeling. Whether that feeling is what is called happiness, I do not know. I guess as long as you try to create that feeling, you are going to be okay.

For now, I think I will pour myself a glass of Scotch. That always gives me a very happy feeling too!

And tomorrow’s happiness might come in the shape of a long walk, a finished project or the simple activity of eating dinner together as a family. Or listen to my niece sing on Spotify. Smile!

What I learned during my latest DIY-project

There is something empowering on doing your own projects and renovations. Or do I just say that to justify my choice of doing my own projects rather than trying to find a professional?

It’s not that I am that good at it, but living here, on this island in Maine, has one big down side. There are not enough trades people. And if you are lucky enough to find one who will actually return your call, they probably can’t work on your project till next year winter.

So after years of consideration, planning and ideas in my head as well as watching countless YouTube videos on the subject, I finally decided to bite the bullet and just do it. I was raised with a ‘can do attitude’ ( thanks, papa: If you can envision it, you can build it!) and I have some basic skills as well as some good tools to tackle this project, at least the beginning of it (I’ll keep you posted on the progress and when I get to the plumbing parts, I might have to find someone to help me).

The project in point is a renovation of the existing master bathroom. In the Netherlands we would call the current design a pijpenlaatje which roughly translates to “pipe drawer’ but is mostly used as a metaphor of small, narrow spaces. If the Dutch are good at anything, it is use of space, and every time I took a shower, I couldn’t help thinking that the design of our bathroom could be better.

Currently, it has a massive vanity set with a ‘his and hers sink’. Why? There is only two people using this bathroom and the times that we are both in there at the exact same time are limited. As in rare. As in almost never. And even if hubby was shaving while I had to brush my teeth, we have plenty of sinks in this house to make that happen.

There are also two large closets, while the vanity barely has any useful storage due to the inefficient design. My thoughts are: remove the closets, change the vanity with one with one sink and two sets of drawers, be more efficient with space and storage and we should be all good.

So the first thing that has to go is the build-in closet.

-This is the closet that I removed. Here, the door and part of the trim are already gone.-

This is what I learned from that project:

• Things are never as easy as they seem to be on YouTube.
• Projects are also never as cheap as you think they will be.
• Not every Youtuber is actually as skilled as they want you to believe they are.
• This new safety glasses I found are a life saver: they have a reading part in it! (great for the 50+ DIY-er)
• It truly helps to be ambidextrous: left hand work is great in a right-angled corner and vice versa. Also, when one arm is getting tired, you still have the other one!
• Good music is a must.
• The person(s) who built our house was/were very trigger happy with the nail gun. Why there had to be over 25 super long nails in a beam to hold up a closet will remain forever the question. As for taking those nails out, this will be felt for a while in my shoulders and neck….
• When re-doing a bathroom, just know there is always shit in the way. And I am not talking about the brown stuff. Why the hardest to remove nails always seem to be behind a toilet or a pipe, I do not know, but let it be known facts.
• If you think you’re cool by Karate Kicking out a sheetrock wall, you might be, but you might end up with a huge bruise on your shin.
• If you are using tools or advice from your father (or grandfather), they will be with you in spirit and guide you through the tough parts.
• If you think you can finish a certain part of the project in an hour, make that one day or maybe even two. You will always find something unexpected and things will take much longer than they should be (especially if you have to remove 25+ super long nails from one foot-long beam (okay, maybe three foot, but still…)
• When you encounter a particularly difficult part, it helps to take a break with a good cup of coffee and figure out how to tackle it. Problems are just obstacles: you can overcome/ solve them. (Like how to saw above your head: I came up with the solution to mount two thin strips of wood on either side of the cut area, so the saw would glide in between this. It truly helped me!)
• The one good thing of Covid is that now I have plenty of facemasks. When working with dry wall, you want to wear one!
• My new shop vac looks like a beast and sucks like it too (in positive terms!) Plus, no cord, so to entanglement. A good shop vac is a must, especially when working with sheet rock. (Truly, I should be sponsored by Milwaukee. Milwaukee people, please reach out! I’ll recommend your product while you give me new tools, deal?
• If your project for the day takes a few hours, so will the clean up. Or is that maybe because I still want to use the bathroom while working on it? And dry wall dust, is there anything worse?
• When you start your project, keep reminding yourself that you are awesome, and you can do it. Someone has to believe in you!

I am going to nurse my aching body now with a nice Scotch. Or Irish, I’m not picky! (Maybe even a good ol’ American Bourbon). Keep checking back for the progress (if there is any…fingers crossed. I do have to work this week to pay for this project, so don’t expect anything super nice within the first two weeks!)

Forever young

One of the best ways to notice your own aging, is to visit a place you haven’t been for a while and meet up with people you haven’t seen for a bit.

For me, this is the Netherlands. I grew up in this country and lived here till I was about 28, when I moved to the US for the first time. We had two kids and moved back about 3 years later (even that short time away seemed like it had been forever: suddenly our ‘home’ country used a different currency, the Euro instead of the trusted Guilder, had just had its first political murder in over 2 centuries and friends of ours ‘suddenly’ also had become parents). We only stayed for 3 years: the ocean was pulling and with now three kids we moved back to Maine permanently in 2007.

-Just a typical Dutch landscape when it was dry enough to go for a short walk with my brother and fam-

It took more than 4 years before we could come back for a visit. The kids were 2, 3 and 5 when we moved and 6, 8 and almost 10 when we first made it back. There is no better way to feel your age when you haven’t seen little kids for a while.

Kids grow up fast and a 2-year-old is very, very different than a 6-year-old.

I am back with my youngest daughter, who is now 18. It had been 6 years for her since the last time she visited the Netherlands and her family. Her cousins, all around the same age as she is, looked very different than how she remembered them from 6 years ago. To them, she looked very different as well.

-Eagerly waiting for the plane that will bring us to the Netherlands-

Why is it that we ‘forget’ our own aging? In her mind, her cousins would look like the middle schoolers she had seen last, while she was very much aware of her own changing body and looks.

For me, it was pointed out mostly by people I had not seen in 10-25 years. People I vaguely remembered from my childhood, but were now, just like me, in their early fifties. Boy, did I change as much as they did? (The answer is probably yes).

Also, TV stars. Presenters from the news or evening shows, still going strong, but somehow looked their ages (despite make-up). I noticed myself thinking multiple times: “Wow, that person aged a lot!” or “Sjeez, what happened to him? He looks ancient!”

Family members I had not seen for a while had aged too, of course. Suddenly, aunts and uncles looked like how I remembered my grandparents to look. Truth is, time doesn’t stop when you move away.

I like to believe that the ocean air and island life does me good, but lately I have noticed that even my mirror reflection shows signs of aging. I wonder what these people I met this week thought about me. We can’t stay forever young despite the wish to live long.

Trips like this always put things in perspective for me: the different lifestyles and the cultural differences of the two countries I know well and the people living in it help me appreciate myself, my home and my life in general.

I have never regretted to leave the Netherlands and built up my life in Maine. Maine is a magical place and there is only one month I don’t like living in Maine all that much (it’s not a secret or even uncommon: ask any Mainer or person living in this vacation state and they will most likely give you the same answer. Hint: if it was not a leap year, it would now be that month).

But showing my daughter the place of my roots can be bittersweet sometimes and seeing my cousins grow up while I barely know them is sometimes a bit hard.

The worst of it is the fact that my parents also age. I have been fortunate to visit them at least once a year, sometimes even two times over the past few years, but age they do. Last month, I had 4 of my friends going through tough times, when they lost their mother or father, and I became very much aware of the fact that this is likely to happen to me. It’s at moments like that that I am not fond of living so far away from them. But at the same time, I feel incredible happy I get to spend a huge chunk of time with them, very different from the time my siblings spent with my parents. They will come over for a coffee, a dinner at most and leave, back to their own lives. I, on the other hand, can follow their entire daily routines from breakfast to brushing our teeth for bed. I get to wood-turn with my father, for multiple days in a row, walk with my mother, do the groceries with them, wake up and have my morning coffee with them and my last glass of wine for the day at night.

I would normally not see them like this, from morning till night, and I love that special time. It might be short, two weeks at most, but it is very valuable for both me and them. And seeing some people from long ago, looking old now, sometimes is the cherry on top. ‘Cause let’s be honest, I don’t age like that at all 😉.

-Me after my hair appointment in the Netherlands. Much cheaper here!-

Dirigo, Love ME

I am hurt.

Not in the physical way like others last night who were brutally shot without a reason, not in the raw emotional way some of my “neighbors” in Lewiston are hurt right now, with a sudden loss of loved ones.

But hurt nevertheless.

In Maine, we are all neighbors and Maine always felt so safe. Far away from Big City Drama, where people help each other in tough times, whether it is due to weather or other difficult circumstances.

Last night, the Unthinkable happened and one of the largest mass shootings happened right here, in Maine.

And up till now, the suspect is still at large.

Schools and offices in the area closed. Even UMO (University of Maine in Orono) closed. My son’s classes were canceled, and he was advised to stay home. We received notices from our local high school and even here, 148 miles away, after school activities were cancelled.

At work, the atmosphere was somber and our President held a meeting near the waterfront of our campus, spoke beautifully and people were hugging each other. We are Maine. We are strong. We held 1 minute of silence and after that, I took in the view and although I felt safe, I still hurt.

-Without thinking, this morning I grabbed a sweatshirt from my closet. Turned out to be my Maine shirt–

I have family and friends back in the Netherlands who have asked me if it is safe to come to America.

We are not a country at active war, we do not have a terrorist group leading this country, but we need to admit that America has a very large problem. These kind of shootings do not occur in other countries.

At home, I kind of look in the distance and my daughter said to me she understands I am upset. She said she is upset that it does so little to her and her generation. Since she was in third grade, they were exposed to Active Shooter Drills. Last year, she had to shelter in place for nearly 5 hours when her school was dealing with an active thread.  She has told me before that the place she is most likely to get killed is probably the school. Or maybe her work (at a local restaurant).

How can we accept this? How can we let this happen? How can we raise a generation of kids who are so very well aware that no place is safe?

Last night I couldn’t sleep. This, this shooting, this was close to home. Too close. When I read about mass shootings, it always hits me. The uselessness of it all. The ease with which these people have access to weapons no one should own. The reactions and discussions it will bring, time after time. We have had enough thoughts and prayers. When you are not sure if your six-year-old comes home from first grade due to a school shooting, when you need to be worried about going to a bowling alley with your family, when you can’t feel safe when getting your groceries or saying your prayers in your church, there is a serious problem.

We can’t have the NRA fund politicians who need to vote over these matters. I can’t accept the Second amendment as an excuse. This was written in 1791, a time where assault rifles were not yet invented. These people would not have amended this knowing the consequences, of that I am sure.  Nor was it intended for the excuse it has now been used, over and over again. After each mass shooting where innocent people lose their lives, politicians come together again and turning in circles, not wanting to lose their money from gun supporters, not infringing upon laws that don’t make sense.

I am hurt. Hurt for the people in Lewiston. Hurt for ‘my Maine’. Hurt for all other people all over the US who have been affected by mass shootings with assault rifles. Even if they survived, even if they were there but the bullet shower missed them, their lives have changed forever.

I am hurt and sad that my children’s generation grow up with a sense of ‘normalcy’ of something that should never ever be considered normal.

I am hurt and sad, knowing this won’t be the last shooting this year and there won’t be a better gun control law any time soon. Dirigo. Maine’s motto. I hope we lead the way. Not next year, but right now.

Two more sleeps…

Two more sleeps…

Funny, how one simple sentence can be so differently perceived.

I’m finishing up my stay with my parents in the Netherlands and I mentioned to my mother: “Two more nights before I go home.” She looked sad and wished it was different.

When I spoke with my daughter on the phone a few minutes later, she said: “I miss you” and I said that it was only two more sleeps before I would be home with her. She was thrilled.

We moved from the Netherlands to the US now almost 16 years ago. It took about 4 years before we had enough money to go back to the Netherlands to visit family. Four years is a long time, especially with young children. They grow a lot in four years! I vouched I would not make it that long again. And when it was difficult to organize a trip with all 5 of us, I decided I would make the trip alone or with one child at the time. And so far, I have been able to visit my parents almost every year and this year even twice!

I came in February for a quick visit when my middle child was also in the Netherlands, and now again, in October.

My parents are getting older (my mom just turned 75, and my dad will follow in a few months), I have a bit more money that 16 years ago, which makes traveling easier and it is much less complicated to travel alone than with 3 small children. My children, now almost all adults, can manage fine 8-10 days without me while my husband is working, and they can help taking care of the dog and the household.

-Small farm house we spotted on one of our walks with my mother-

Going back to the Netherlands to visit my family has now become a more or less regular routine and I plan to keep this up. Some people here will ask me if I like “going home” but I don’t see it as going home. For me, it truly is to visit my family, and sometimes friends, and “going home” is something I do after my trip, when I fly back to the US.

-Some things are just true about the Netherlands, like seeing windmills and shuttered brick houses!-

The older I get, the more important I value these trips. Where 6 years ago, I often wished I could spend more time with my parents and I wished how my parents could be more like grandparents for my kids, my siblings could be more of an aunt and uncle and the cousins could all play together and have sleepovers, now it’s just important to me that I spend some quality time with my parents. We talk about the good old days, but also what was hard for them when they raised us and what has been hard for me, raising my kids in the US.

I realized that by moving to another continent the relations my kids have with my parents are different than the relations my nephews and nieces have and vice versa, but I try not to dwell on that too much. What’s the point in that?

Years ago, when I was still reading books to my kids aloud, I came upon the Dr Seuss sentence: 

“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile, because it happened.”

Dr Seuss

I live by that and taught it to my parents, nieces, siblings, my own kids.

The opportunities we now have to fly, to Facetime, to email, to call, are already so much better than a few decades ago. And yes, it is quite a trip from Maine to Drenthe and back, but it is doable.

And when I am at my parents, and when I see my siblings and their kids, I often think how different things would have been if we had not moved away. Would my daughter have been best friends with my brother’s or sister’s daughter, who are around the same age?

Would my sister-in law’s son and my eldest son have gone to the F1 race together, knowing they are both crazy about F1 racing?

Would one of my kids have developed certain hobbies that would be of super interest to my parents and spent time together doing that?

We will never know. I don’t regret moving: I love my life here and the possibilities this life has given me. Of course I miss my parents and my other family and some old friends, I miss certain aspects of the normal daily routine in the Netherlands which are absent here (like accessibility to everything by bike), but I also embrace the things my kids got to do, just because we live here and not there (all my 16+ year old nieces and nephews are so jealous on the fact that my kids drive and even have cars!). And yes, sometimes I wished there was a device you could get into and step out 15 minutes later at my parents’ house.

This last trip I left my house on Wednesday afternoon, spent the night in Portland, took the 1:30pm bus to Logan airport in Boston and landed at 8 am in the Netherlands on Friday, arriving at my parents’ house at 12:30pm their time. As neither of us lives close to an airport, it does take two days to get there and going back is always a struggle to make it in one day.

I get my mother’s sentiment. She enjoyed my company, and we did amazing things together. I get my daughter’s feelings too: she missed her mama and also kind of wished she could have come with me.

I am already planning another trip, this time with my daughter. And I already know it will feel like it is too short, no matter how many days I plan. And at the same time it will feel a bit too long, as my live on this side of the ocean continues and I am not there. That’s both the difficulty and the beauty of living on one continent with a foot in another. But I am not crying (not yet at least!). I am looking back already on all the fun things we did, the quality time I spent with both parents in different ways, the things my father could teach me about wood turning and the conversations with my mother and the beautiful walks we made together. The laughs and conversations with my siblings, their kids and my great-nephew. The hugs and cuddles.

-Despite the busy schedule, my father and I took the time to do some wood turning and he taught me how to turn a bowl!-

I am looking forward to receive hugs and cuddles from my husband and own kids now, my dog going wild because I came back, the beautiful Indian Summer here at home and routine and work. I am grateful I could take this trip, see my parents, spent time there.

I smile because it happened.

-Curious cows on one of our walks surrounded by ‘free-range chickens’ in a field-

The Day I Didn’t Want to Adult

Adulting, it’s such a weird concept.

I worked my tiny behind off for 8 days straight without a break and the first thing I do on my day off is clean the house, catch up on laundry and pay bills.

It’s necessary, of course, and I have seriously slagged in everything for the past 10 days.

There is so much dog fur on the floor: it looks like we have a shaggy carpet. This is also true for the windowsills (why do dog shedding and busy times always seem to go together?).

All laundry bins were full and neither kid did their share the past week either. One was too busy with school and then gone for 4 days, the other is just, well busy. With his own things. Because he doesn’t really need to adult just yet.

So here I am, 8 o’clock on Monday morning. I already started the laundry, paid some bills while drinking my morning cup of joe and am about to go onward with the vacuum and dustbuster.

Adulting…

-Even the cleaning gloves tell me to just have fun-

When did we forget to have fun? I want to play. The weather is beautiful: crisp fall morning, the leaves are starting to turn. I want to grab my dog and roll in the grass, throw leaves or apples at him, and do a cartwheel (I was never able to, not even as a child, but that’s beside the point).

Instead, this dirty house stares at me, hard and mean, the stacks of papers on the table beg me to organize them and the blinking light on my answering machine urges me to deal with these messages.

I will! I promise!

But not without fun! I am going to lace up my sneakers (good footwear is important while cleaning!) and crank up the music. I will make it fun! I will sing along while cleaning and vacuuming, while folding laundry and running back and forth with piles of clean stuff.

I will make my bed, clean the bathroom, do a summersault (I am able to do those!) on my king sized bed, and you know what? I will actually put the flanel sheets back on. Why not? It’s my party, it’s  fall, I have all day and I will do what is needed, but do it my way.

Hey, that’s a good song to start with. Nothing beats a bit of Frank Sinatra on an early Monday morning. You know what? I should make a play list. For fun and cleaning at the same time! Great idea, and maybe share it. One more Whatsapp to my niece, who is alway off on Mondays too. Oh, maybe we can call! For just a few mintes (that never happens, trust me…). And while I am at it: I should try to fit everything in my suitcase for when I am leaving in 10 days. Check if I need to buy some more presents or other necessary items. Oh, I can go to Ellsworth and do some shopping today!

-Good excuse to walk to the end of our road to snap this STOP-sign picture-

STOP!

Adulting, remember? House cleaning, bill paying, things like that. The rest will have to wait.

As for that music, just start and thankfully Spotify has great playlists already.

Signing off, to clean the house!

Falling back

It is September.

September!

I don’t know what happened with June, July and August. Where did the summer go? Was there even a summer?

Judging by the lack of color on my legs, still Maine-vanilla, I doubt it.

There was a lot of rain and humidity. And I was busy. Very busy. I spent most of the summer inside in a kitchen.

My kids were busy. Either with field studies (the eldest), or with working multiple jobs, mostly in restaurants (the other two).

Our nightly dinners became obsolete, with nobody to eat here, except for my husband (who honestly was quite happy with a sandwich or leftover and an episode of Star Trek).

Those dinners used to be the pilars of our family community. The time of day we discussed what we did and revealed plans for the next days. Where we coordinate car pooling, laundry day, use of kitchen and minor things that kept us busy.

My life felt like chaos without it, not knowing when which kid would be home and where people were.

Did I finally deep-clean my kitchen, one of them would use the kitchen the next day for a messy, sticky project, leaving me utterly frustrated. 

Had I finally time for a dinner at home: family members had other plans and I was alone with an empty fridge.

Did I think I had a moment for myself, others were home or brought friends over or decided to work from home that day.

As a mother of older, (nearly) adult kids, I know that “letting go” is part of my task as a parent, but I found it hard, not knowing where my kids where and with who.

I am a relatively easy-going parent who grants the kids lots of freedoms, but some days I felt there were no rules at all and our life was one big free for all.

And now I flipped the calendar to September. The first red leaves appeared in one of my maple trees. The school bus comes through my street again. Things are starting to slow down.

I waved goodbye to one of my last big groups to feed at work. I am cutting back my hours to my initial 20ish hours a week.

I have started to organize and clean my house and surroundings. Cleaned the fridge. Stocked the fridge. Organized the pantry. Bought ingredients for weekly dinners.

We have had a few sit-down meals with at least three people, sometimes even 4. We are getting there. Life will not be the exactly the same as it used to be, with only one more kid here fully at home, but I feel more in control.

My favorite season is about to start: Our Indian Summer. Lovely days, less humidity, bright colors and cool nights. Best of all, a routine, a calm.

Life is getting a little slower. I take it.

Summer is great, perhaps, but I like this much better.

The Art of Letting Go

Busy.

Lately, that’s the word I use when people ask me how I am doing or how I’ve been.

Busy.

What does that mean, actually?

For me, it means that I started a new job in a new field (see previous blogs). The job was supposed to be easy most time of the year and busy during the summer months. But additional seasonal staff and a manager would be hired, the seasonal cook from previous years would return and so, despite the fact that the summer gets crazy around here, we would have many hands and divide the work accordingly.

• 

  Busy Bee

And yes, I had a kitchen assistant who slowly but surely found his footing and gradually became more able to take certain tasks out of my hands and into his. And then the new hired manager started. He lasted 8 days, did more damage than good, came in with a manic type of energy and left me feeling like a hurricane victim. And on that exact same day, while I stood in the dining hall with a bit of bewildered look, thinking what to do first now the manager walked out, I received the resignation notice of my kitchen assistant.

We had one more week before the craziness of the summer would start and I had no staff…

I agreed to work 40 hours over the summer rather than my 20-25h initially expressed, and talked to my husband and kids about our changed household balance. Me working full time, two of my still-at-home- living kids both working in the service industry might make it hard to fulfill our common household tasks , from vacuuming to feeding the dog. There would be days that only my husband would be home at dinner time, there would be days that my son would have worked 4 late shifts in a row and needed to sleep in, so I couldn’t vacuum at 9am before my shift would start. There would be days my daughter would work two jobs in a day and wouldn’t have time to do anything, not even giving the dog a walk. There would be days that I would work a 12h shift.

They are old enough now to help think about these things and plan with me, but all these changes left me feeling busy.

Physically I am busy: working 40+ hours, clocking more than 20.000 steps a day, running around at work, trying to be the manager, cook and kitchen assistant all by myself and do it at a ,much smaller scale at home too.

But most of the business came from inside my head. I was trying to do 50 million things at the same time, thinking about work while at home, messing up at the grocery store, because I couldn’t think of what I bought for myself or for work, trying to be one step ahead of everything and staying in control.

I had to figure things out, and teach myself some important skills. I have now nearly adult kids: they are actually perfectly capable of taking care of themselves in almost evey situation. They can plan their own transportation, their own meals, their own schedules and -gulp- solve their own problems. The house is not falling apart: it doesn’t look always as clean as I would want it to look, but so far, no one has run away from it, people have not declined to come in, my plants are still alive.

The laundry does get done: I learned that if I wait long enough with doing it, someone else might need a garment and does the laundry instead. 

The revelation! I can let things go! I don’t have to be a master puppeteer and hold on to all the strings!

It took a while, but I am now at a point that I can be at work and not think about things at home and be home and not think about work.

My kids can call or text me and I can answer: “Try to solve it yourself: I am too busy”. And they will solve it!

I still have time to walk my dog, cuddle with him, give my husband and kids attention, even though it might be at odd times (early for my husband, late for my son, somewhere in between for my daughter).

Eventually things in the house will get cleaned, if not by me, it might be by whoever has that day off and also can’t stand the dirty floor anymore or the clutter on the kitchen bar.

Everyone in my family is perfectly capable of taking care of things. They always were; I simply liked to take care of it before they could.

I discovered if I leave me To-Do list laying around, eventually it will get done. It might not be done by myself, or the way I would want it to, but getting it done matters.

It wasn’t them: it was me!

Yes, I am busy, but I am mostly busy to reinvent myself and finding my new balance in my work-life relations. And I am getting it! (Even took the time to finally write a new blog post, look at me!)

The Art of Letting Go. Took only 50 years to learn it, but hey, who’s counting!

-The Art of Letting Go-

Wolf moon in a black&white photo

Yesterday, I took the dog for his last outing of the day. It was about 10 pm and it had been snowing. The day before we had ice rain from dawn to dusk, causing a crusty layer of ice on everything outside. Now this ice was covered by a layer of powder and although the trees probably don’t like this very much, it was a lovely sight.

Donning my ‘dog walking hat’ (a nice warm beanie with build-in led light) I was prepared for the nightly walk. I was walking carefully, not sure where the icy spots under the snow would be.

But after eighteen winters in Maine, I kind of know how to walk in these conditions and we were on our way. I realized I had not yet turned on my light and I didn’t need to: it was a full moon, Wolf moon, actually. The first full moon on  a Friday is apparently called the Wolf Moon.

Friday evening’s full moon is also often called the “Wolf Moon” because wolves were more likely to be heard howling this time of the year.

( According to the Farmer’s Almanac, it was believed that wolves howled due to hunger during the winter. That thought has since changed over time.” Is what I found on the Weather channel website)

I didn’t hear any wolves or even coyotes for that matter: just my own crunchy footsteps and the soft jingle of Boomer’s tags on his collar.

My few neighbors had already gone to sleep, their houses dark. But I could see the houses and the trees covered in snow, even the black dog without a light. It was overcast, so I didn’t see the moon in the sky, but she was there, casting her silvery light all around me.

It felt like I was walking in an underexposed black and white photograph. The stillness around me, the magical lights and snow, the soft noise of ice covered branches swaying; it almost became too much. I felt overwhelmed with a deep gratitude towards the world, towards living here and I had this deep, deep sense of total happiness.

We turned around at the end of the street, the only house with the lights on was our own. I remembered those black&white photographs in the late eighties, early nineties with one colored item in it. This is what my house looked like in the moonlight. A black and white photograph with one Christmas tree filled with colored lights and a red house.

Even if I had brought my phone, I know I wouldn’t be able to capture this, but there is no need: It’s in my head, I have seen it, felt it, experienced it.

The Wolf moon must have given my dog an unusual amount of energy for this time of the day, because as soon as we were back in the yard, he lunched for his stick in full play mode. “Oh sweetie, it’s sleeping time, not play time”. But I couldn’t resist either and unclipped the dog and threw the stick into the silver night, a black spot running after it and happily returning with the stick.

I thanked the dog for returning the stick to me, I thanked the moon for making this last walk of the day so special, I thanked myself for appreciating it and I had not realized how much I had needed this, this deep feeling of gratitude.

Goodnight moon.

Goodnight house.

Goodnight.

Have yourself a stress-free, little Christmas

Pre Christmas

While sipping my espresso carefully (it’s hot!), I take a moment and let my thoughts wander.

My dog lays in his bed, still slightly groggy and in pain from yesterday’s encouter with a porcupine. Outside, the night makes place for morning and the sparkly snow in combination with the soft morning light makes it look spectacular. Like a true winter wonder land.

The decorated Christmas tree shines too and upstairs I hear my daughter getting ready for school. Looking around at the messy dining room, I don’t feel flustered or frustrated.

I feel full of love.

My son came back last night, his suitcase still downstairs. I already texted with my other son, who will be here late today. All my kids back under one roof!

The espresso taste divine and I realise this was the best (early) Christmas gift my husband and I could have given each other.

Life is good.

I have everything I need (almost) here. Three healthy grown-up children, a loving husband, great coffee, a cute, but dumb dog that cost me nearly $500 yesterday, but looks at me so lovingly, that I instantly forgive him!

A warm house in one of the most beautiful places in the world.

Recently, I watched a Christmas movie with my daughter. Not a very original story: woman hates Christmas, falls in love with someone who is crazy about Christmas and even still believes in Santa. Sitting here now, in the early morning, I can relate to both concepts.

Christmas has become so commercial and with it, so stressful. All around me I hear people giving frustrated comments about gifts they still need to buy or wrap or both, lines at the store and post office, gaining weight due to all the cookies and treats etc.

Stop and stand still! Sip your coffee on a snowy (or sunny, rainy, windy, grey) day and enjoy what you have. Reflect on what you did, stand still by good news, and think about the spirit of Christmas and what that means to you. Do you really need to bring home made cookies to everyone in your street or would a hand-written Christmas card do the same trick? Could you limit the amount of present or gift experience insteas of material things, like movie tickets, a day trip or something like that.

The woman in the movie didn’t necesarally hate Christmas: she didn’t like the “Social enforced traditions”. The man didn’t really believe in Santa, but rather in the spirit of Christmas, the fact that people hum to the same song in the story, how it brings people together, the general sense of unity and being crafty.

I feel content with the way we celebrate Christmas. It’s relaxed, there are no expectations of expensive gifts or a ton of it (now the kids are older, they buy gifts for the other family members themselves and so we end up with 4-ish gifts each: more than enough in my opinion.

I make three stacks of the few things I bought for the kids and wrap them as one present each. I will place them under the tree in a few days, but for now, I keep them in my closet. I’m done and ready for the holiday.

Christmas

I clean up the dining area and decorate the table with a simple red runner and our Christmas napkins. I slice the ‘Stollen’ I buy each year from a Deli nearby. I had plannened to make croissants, but the boys requested monkey bread instead. The smell of butter and cinnemon, in combination with the fresh brewed coffee gets me in the mood. I re-arrange some of the gifts under the tree. It’s always more than I expect: the kids like to wrap every little thing and there are at least 6 gifts for the dog!

I place underwear and socks and some chocolates in the kids’ stockings and hang them on their chairs. I hear the shower: one is up already. I know we will eat our breakfast together at the table soon and then retreat to the sitting area in the living room to unwrap presents, slow and deliberate. As if the universe wants to contribute to my good mood, snowflakes are gently falling outside. My Christmas jazz playlist sounds in the background, I scroll through Facebook, noticing a lot of people on the island are still without power. How lucky am I. A warm house, fresh coffee, my kids under one roof…that’s all I need!

Post Christmas

I I fold some laundry and put the dishes away. We had a good meal last night, but we usually have a good meal! I bought a Bison steak for my only meat-eating kiddo and he liked it a lot. The rest of us had a meat-alternative that was tasty and the roasted brussels sprouts with fennel and cumin are always a hit. I made pears poached in red wine and for dessert I served a little serving of dairy-free gelato, an espresso, and a small éclair on a plate. Looked fancy and was enough.

We don’t have an excessive number of leftovers, because I like to cook only what I anticipate we eat. I don’t have to clean that much, as we didn’t host any more people than the five of us. None of us need to feel bad about having eated too much or gained weight, as yes, we did have cake yesterday, but just one piece and that and the little chocolates in the stocking was it in the sweets department.

I don’t think my kids are complaining, I know my husband isn’t! Looking back on the holidays, I feel so content. I am happy with the thoughtfull gifts my kids picked out for me; I am happy they liked what we picked out for them. We had a wonderful Christmas Eve dinner party at my son’s girlfriend’s house (who also celebrated her birthday on Christmas Eve) and we had a wonderful Christmas here in our own home. We played the new boardgame the kids bought for us, our son made a very spectacular cocktail, including a whole presentation he learned in bar school and after dinner, I had a little dance party with my kids and snuggled on the couch with my daughter.

To me, this is the perfect holiday. No stress, no debts, no guilt about eating too much, doing too little. The spirit of Christmas was very much present, whatever that means, and it didn’t get ruined by mass consumerism, travel stress, or forced social obligations.

Happy Holidays and here’s to 2023!