Archives For life

All Hung Up

Mary Liz Ingram —  October 18, 2013 — 1 Comment
Me: I just read on Uber Facts that 1 American consumes as much as 32 Kenyans! Look at me! I use as much stuff as THIRTY-TWO Kenyans!? (holding out my arms to draw attention to my wee self)
Stephen: Well, that’s probably an average American. You only consume as much as 22 Kenyans.
Me: (pouty look for him making fun of my shrimpiness)

But seriously. On my quest for less (stress, stuff, waste, and let’s face it, laundry), I feel a bit overwhelmed. But I decided to just start somewhere.

With a mountain of unfolded laundry staring at me, I started in my closet.

Easy enough, I thought. Less stuff should mean less to clean, right?

So I picked out the stuff I don’t wear often. Feeling proud, I decided to have another go. So I pulled out some more. Repeated process two more times. Threw in the towel.

Next day, I felt the need to purge the hangers again. Found a few more.

Third day since my decision to take this journey to who-knows-where to end up at some fuzzy better place, I poked my head in the crowded closet and dug out some more things to give away.

So let’s add that up: 4 purges the 1st day, then 2 more times. And I still have tons of clothes.

Interestingly enough, I find myself obsessing over my wardrobe the past two mornings more than usual. I probably asked Stephen 10 times if I looked ok. I mean, really…it’s the silliest. It’s like I’m having clothes withdrawals or something.

I’m not completely clear on what’s going on here at the Ingram household. But I’m not worrying too much about clarity at this point. I’m just going with it. I feel the urge to be a more responsible human. I chose a place to start: living with less…first choice, clothes. Should be easy peasy…I mean lots of people have no food, for pete’s sake. But good grief, what a silly problem! We spend a lot of time choosing our outfits. We think that our clothes define us. Now, I’m not showing up to work in a grubby old t-shirt, but I also don’t need a closet packed with choices. This initial purge is intended as a starting place, not just to make room for new clothes (the usual impetus).

That’s where I am right now. So we’ll see.

We are literally hung up on crap. It snags us and holds us back from things that are important; it distracts us from doing greater good in the world. It hangs us close to selfishness and keeps our eyes on what we want, what we think we must have.

So I’m giving away lots of clothes and, when I’ve finished, I’ll take another step and see what happens…

Blue Dress, pastel on card

Blue Dress, pastel on card

 

Things were whirling out of control.

Every day was an exercise in survival. Lots of take-out dinners, scrambling to complete daily tasks, to keep up with the rotating chaos of laundry, dishes and trash. I could feel life slipping through my fingers, days passing by without significance.

It made me sad.

I love life. I want to feel it, breathe it, enjoy it, relish it. To soak up the moments wherever I am.

I declared war upon stress and overload.

I formulated the first stages of a peaceful plan of attack, which has been in action for a week or two now. Small steps to get me going in the right direction, as I detail a larger front to find a more permanent peace:

1. Worst Case Scenario dismissal

Awake with anxieties, I started asking myself, “What’s the worst that can happen if…” I found that the answers were never as terrible as the stress that was boiling in my busy, responsible mind.

2. French Music & Open Windows

For the past week, each morning as I pull out of the driveway I roll down the windows and crank up Carla Bruni’s Little French Songs. It is so nice. So relaxing. To feel the cool Autumn air in my hair, on my hands, listening to music that transports me to Paris, reminding me of a bigger, wider world…happy sigh… I feel the sky open up above me, and I feel my feet more firmly planted in my place. I notice the rays of sunlight wash over me as I drive the beautiful winding roads, and I am ready to live life with my eyes open.

With my car fully loaded with kids one afternoon, I brought them into this peaceful experience. In the rear view mirror, I watched as my 5 year old son closed his eyes to “see” what the songs brought to his mind. They thought it was awesome. On one song, they felt like birds in the clouds. Then things got more elaborate. They envisioned a funny king penguin with an ice crown on his ice throne, and ice palace with penguin servants who slid down ramps on their bellies. Yep. I asked them to draw their penguins later:

A few days later, my son asked me “Mom, can you roll down the windows and turn on that music so we can breathe?”

Pretty much sums it up.

3. Vision Adjustment

When I hit the peak of stress one afternoon, I was sitting in the car waiting for my daughter’s dance class to end after two failed attempts to run errands (due to uninteresting, but irritating complications). While we waited, my son hung out the open window, singing away to the world, completely oblivious to any cares. My stress evaporated as I watched him, and I gained a new perspective.

Taking a step back from the to-do list and noticing the real, tangible situations around me has helped tremendously… looking at the clouds, the people, the fallen leaves instead of passing by on a mission to somewhere else.

“Pay attention, just for a moment. Think to yourself, This is my life, right now. I need to remember.” -Roxana Robinson

4. Up and at ’em

This one is tough. But everyday after I (or more correctly my husband) drag myself out of bed at 5:15am, have that waiting cup of coffee (my requirement for getting up an hour earlier than usual), and wake up a little, I find reward. I have about 45 minutes to just sit, sip coffee, do whatever I want or nothing at all. No getting ready, no requests from kids, no noises, no demands. My husband writes on his blog, and I sit in a leather chair in my warm robe sipping coffee. It’s nice. It starts the day in peace instead of hurry.

“Stillness in your body leads to quiet in your mind.” -Elona Landau

We’ll see if I can keep that one up…

My Favorite Chair, Ink sketch

My Favorite Chair, Ink sketch

Swept

Mary Liz Ingram —  October 14, 2013 — Leave a comment

This morning a giant metal claw scooped up our huge trash pile and hauled it away to the dump.

Normal procedure for a Monday morning in our suburban neighborhood, lined with rows of cute little homes, shade trees and garbage cans.

But it hurt this morning.

Little dirty tractors that had been left in the yard too long; IKEA cups that never made it back inside; wood from projects with kid-hammered nails poking out on all sides; sand buckets with cracked sides; empty dog food and grass seed bags; old crocs and dirty garden gloves; and of course plenty of sticks, wisteria vines and leaves.

Watching the little green tractor escape the claw and roll into the street actually made me tear up a little. For several reasons.

The first is sentimental, picturing my little boy rolling it through the dirt, now it’s being crunched by the garbage man…the usual weepy mom stuff.

But more so because of our shocking wastefulness. So much waste, just sitting on the side of the road. An embarrassing pile of American garbage. We buy, we play, we forget. We want, we get, we abandon. We accumulate so much, we have to throw away.

We regularly purge our home. It’s small and crowded with humans and pets, so there’s not lots of space for junk. I just put a big bag of who-knows-what on the porch for donation last Saturday. But the house is still full of junk, and we just keep filling it back up.

I’m reading a book right now with the tagline “An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess.” We as Americans are surrounded by excess, and we always have our hands out for more. We may be thrifty (I am the queen of hand-me-downs, if I do say so myself), but we still crave more, more, more.

I feel swept away in the current of life; we’re all going the same direction, and we’re getting there fast. Too fast. So fast we miss tons of life, so many experiences, because we’re always trying to get to the next place.

We rush, we buy, we use. I want to scream STOP! and get a grip, a hold onto something that will help me pause. Moments flash by in a flood and I’m caught in the current, getting glimpses, a few deep breaths before diving in again. I want to control the current, but it is impossible. How can I work with this current of time and days, to use my strength to chart my own course? To avoid the whirlpools of excess, to escape the “habits of the mind,” and find more peaceful waters?

I simply don’t know.

But I want to.

And I aim to try.

So stay tuned…

Repetition

Mary Liz Ingram —  October 10, 2013 — Leave a comment

Repetition. Sometimes it is spirit-crushing monotony; sometimes it is a rhythm.

Lately, as my husband and I have been collapsing on the couch each evening, we have discovered a more defined explanation for our weariness. It occurred to me that all day we slowly and repetitiously teach. We train the puppy, “no bite, no bite, no bite, no bite.” We teach the baby, “sit down, sit down, sit down, sit down in your high chair.” We teach our son to read, our daughter to spell and learn place value to 1000 (in 2nd grade?!). I teach preschoolers to respect their teachers, follow the rules, be kind to others. My husband teaches teenagers to discover themselves, to make good choices. Teach, teach, teach. Over, and over, and over.

It may sound like I’m being negative. It is tiring sometimes, this repetition. But I do not intend negativity. It is a gift, to teach. To mold and shape and grow. It requires a growing patience, which I am trying hard to acquire more deeply each day.

In reflection upon this discovery, I reclined on the couch in a quiet moment and scribbled down a quick, unrevised poem.

Repetition

Drip,  original photography

Drip, original photography

Teaching every moment
Teaching at work
Teaching my children
Teaching my dog
Teaching myself
Like a constant dripping
Reminding the same behaviors
Reciting the same words
Watching for signs of answers
Proof
Slowly shaping
Gently molding
Patient work
That doesn’t end
A gift
Often unrecognized
To others and ourselves
So we remind ourselves
Teaching brings goodness
Careful
Thoughtful
Intentional
Patient
Teaching

RTR?

Mary Liz Ingram —  October 8, 2013 — Leave a comment

In my 32 years, I’ve traveled to many countries: Jordan, Syria, Italy, France, Ireland, England, Mexico, Jamaica, Bahamas, Belize, Canada…I love it.

Since I had kids, my traveling days have been pretty nonexistent. Until recently.

I prepared myself for a new foreign experience. I don’t speak the language, and my eyes have ignored the culture as much as possible.

I loaded up in the car with my handy tour guide, an expert in the field and walking guidebook.

Dressed for cultural assimilation, we began our 40 minute journey… to Tuscaloosa. On Gameday.

If you are a Southerner, you know what I’m talking about. Football is different down here. Fans go ALL. OUT. I have never cared for nor watched football on my own initiative. In elementary school on “team colors day,” I was confused and appeared lame in my regular attire. Just recently a man bagging my groceries asked me “Do you go for Alabama or Auburn?” When I replied neither because I don’t really watch football, he was aghast and blurted out “What is wrong with you!?” For serious.

But this time, my husband won 4 tickets to the Zone, so Bama shirts on, we loaded up 2 of the 3 kids and headed to T-town.

Wow.

Gameday rides

Gameday rides

Moving down the interstate with throngs of fans, caravans of crimson and white cars decked out in flags & houndstooth magnets, my husband tearing up when the kids instinctively boo the opposing team driving past in buses…This is a new experience for me.

My nature rebelled, asking me why I’m wearing this bill board of a shirt, but I’m taking one for the team…my team, i.e. my family. My trusty tour guide was openly hoping for a conversion to take place in his anti-football wife. His actual words were: “I’m hoping the tradition, the pageantry and the beauty that is Alabama football takes root and you become a diehard fan.”

Um, never.

We did have fun. I went “all in,” wore the shirt, wore a “Beat Everybody” pin. The stadium is a giant monolith, the crowd crimson and dressed to the nines. I was definitely immersed in a culture unfamiliar. But I’ve done it! I’ve been there, seen what there is to see, stood in a mass/line to take a picture of my husband and kids with a statue (still weird…). I have experienced a big part of “my South” that I had been missing. Not a convert, but I at least gave it a taste.

Whew.

Sweet home Alabama 
Where the skies are so blue 
Sweet Home Alabama 
Lord, I’m coming home to you

Passing it on, ink & colored pencil

Passing it on, ink & colored pencil

Tipping Point

Mary Liz Ingram —  September 29, 2013 — 2 Comments

Wow. September 8, huh? I used to be so good at posting…every other day, every 3 days. But this time I’ve waited a whopping 21 days – almost an entire month?!

How did that happen, we might ask.

Well, I’ll tell you.

This happened:

Ruby, 8x8 pastel

Ruby, 8×8 pastel

Because 3 kids, one a baby, at least 2 jobs a piece, not to mention a cat and 2 other dogs, weren’t enough responsibility for my husband and I. Apparently not.

Ruby is my tipping point. Google gives a handy explanation: “Tipping point, the point at which an object is displaced from a state of stable equilibrium into a new, different state.”

Yep, it is definitely a new and, ahem, “different” state we are now experiencing.

But seriously. We love this little pup, our miss Ruby. We may be in the throes of puppy potty-training, “No Bite!” yelling, toy eating, mischief making, vet billing puppy-hood, but she is already spoiled rotten.

And it was quite an adventure to get Ruby.

With the kids riding blind, we took them about 40 minutes out on a secret mission. We turned at the blue mailbox and met a great friend and fabulous co-worker at her in-law’s farm. And there was little Ruby.  Before we left, we visited some chickens and were chased by some goats. All in all, it was a grand adventure (thanks Mrs. Tina!!).

Here are a few photos of our newest addition:

 

Age of the Dinosaurs

Mary Liz Ingram —  September 8, 2013 — 1 Comment

Long ago, in some of my earliest yesterdays, I took a trip. Amidst mouse-eared balloons, sky-painting lasers & flying elephants, we approached the dinosaurs.

My father ushers me into place with the rest of my family. We begin our journey to the Mesozoic Era…the age of the dinosaurs.

Entering in darkness, unsure of what lay ahead, we creep tentatively under huge palm leaves. Something red is glowing up ahead, huge moving shadows warn me of coming doom. Dinosaurs.

These things are huge. They are moving. They are not stationary models, replica skeletons. In my 6 year old mind, with widened terrified eyes, if I’d know the words, I would have been saying “holy s$*#!!” If I wasn’t held in by a lap bar and my dad, I would have been in full on flight mode, running hysterically through the dark in a desperate search for 1987. Horror. Terror. I thought these guys were extinct?! But there I am, trapped in dinosaur land, eyes squeezed shut in hopes I’d survive this slow moving train of death.

All the while, as heart palpitations and sweat consume me, hysteria setting in, my poor Dad is trying in his logical, parental way to force me to look at these monstrous, man-eating beasts, promising they’re not alive.

Um, did you SEE them? They’re chewing on leaves and roaring for pete’s sake!? Not real?! You are kidding me!

Somehow these people don’t understand the situation. We are all going to die. Eaten by dinosaurs at Disney World. Perhaps crushed by a giant foot, chomped by a tyrannosaurus….who knows what horrific end awaits?

Well, so maybe I was mistaken. We made it out alive. Shaken and scarred for life, yes, but alive.

Traveling from the Jurassic period (or Triassic, Cretaceous…who knows?!) to present day, one week removed, you arrive at my 32nd birthday. One night over dinner, the kids asked me if I’d ever seen dinosaur bones. Well, yes, I answered, they are in museums. After a quick google, I announce that there’s a stegosaurus skeleton at a natural history museum an hour away.

So we take a trip. To see dinosaurs. On my birthday.

Call it motherly love, parental sacrifice. I STILL do. not. like. dinosaurs.

But we came, we saw, we photographed, we cheesed, we went. There were more dinos than I expected. Gross.

But the kids were AMAZED. I guess it was cool.

But they give me the creeps. Thanks Dad. 😉

Dinosaur & Hubby, ink & colored pencil

Dinosaur & Hubby, ink & colored pencil

The one and only drawing of a dinosaur I will EVER do…

A few photographs from our adventures at the Anniston Museum of Natural History:

It’s a morning routine:

Coffee in one hand, a small hand clasping the other… A garish pink stroller pushed by the strong hands of my husband, two baby hands below holding the chosen toy… Two more little hands jauntily holding onto the straps of a super hero backpack. We putter through our neighborhood in the fresh morning air, a family of 5 strolling our way to school.

We notice the cicada shells, the pine cones, the mosquitos trying to attack us; we follow the sidewalks and talk to the dogs. Then we notice the clouds.

We pause. We stare.

There’s a glowing feather in the cloud covered sky.

Thanks to the glories of technology, I can snap quite a nice picture using my phone. Encouraged by my hubby, I tweet my photo, adding a mention to our fabulous local weatherman James Spann. I must’ve acted fast, before everyone else in Birmingham starting snapping photos of the cloud feather, because he posted my photo on Facebook, and I feel ridiculously proud to have over 600 likes on my little ol’ picture. Hee hee!

Come to find out, our “feather” is a cool and rare cloud formation known as a Fallstreak Hole or Hole Punch Cloud. Pretty neat, and very beautiful!

FB fame

Vacant

Mary Liz Ingram —  August 28, 2013 — Leave a comment

A vacant desk waiting for that quiet moment

An empty chair waiting for creative companion

A tired artist waiting for a calmer day

A busy mind waiting with gathered thoughts 

Waiting through the new starts, the new schools, the busy days

Waiting for the rhythm to return, the mind to be renewed.

Vacant, original photography

 

Those Days…

Mary Liz Ingram —  August 22, 2013 — Leave a comment

Marriage is bliss.

But sometimes you act like a horse’s behind, stubborn as a mule, a jack…well, you get the point.

My husband and I had one of those days a few weeks ago. We were tired, cranky, just plain obstinate. Sometimes it’s best to go to your separate corners for a bit.

In one corner, he typed away on his blog.

In the other corner, I drew a mule. Fitting form of venting, I thought.

It worked, too.

We both felt better, hugged and made up, and I now present to you one of my newest pastels, “Horace.”

Horace, 8x10 pastel on card, $175 framed

Horace, 8×10 pastel on card, $175 framed