Archives For thoughts

Cherries on Top

Mary Liz Ingram —  March 20, 2014 — Leave a comment

Today was sweet and sour.

Beginning with morning cereal and milk, the day quickly spoiled as the scent of sewage came wafting from my laundry room.

An unusually complicated, multiple detour, traffic battling drive to work added a splash of vinegar to the mix.

Already a day in bad taste, heavy circumstances added a heavy helping of more nastiness to the recipe of the day.

Come midday, this unpleasant parfait of rotten luck took a better turn.

Plumbing troubles swiftly fixed with only a kind charge of creative trade pushed the stinky mix off the plate.

The sun shone brighter, my heart felt lighter, my prospects were certainly more palatable.

A successful elementary school talent show added a simple sweetness to the afternoon.

The evening topped off with a warm family dinner, a gift in good taste.

A surprise entree by a knowledgable waiter added a touch of culinary adventure.

The end to this sweet and sour day was a bowl of cherries – literally.

A fun treat from a generous waiter.

A much needed reminder.

No matter what blunders and sewage may come,

“Life is a bowl of cherries.”

And meant to be enjoyed…

Bowl of Cherries, marker

Bowl of Cherries, marker

 

Spring Prelude

Mary Liz Ingram —  March 19, 2014 — 2 Comments

Morning 1

In the Mist, watercolor & ink

In the Mist, watercolor & ink

It is a gray spring morning, damp and cold, when new buds are barely making a show.

Branches like gnarled claws, grasping into the mist that shrouds my morning drive.

The air is still and heavy, a floating moisture clings to my hair and coats the ground, muffling and capturing the sounds of waking birds.

A calm beginning, a waiting quiet, resting before the bright burst of spring.

 

Morning 2

Cherry Blossoms, ink doodle

Cherry Blossoms, ink doodle

A sleepy morning takes its turn, as warm rays burst through the heavy clouds.

Yesterday’s fog is lifted and I close my eyes to the renewing glow.

Cherry blossoms turn their face to the sun, opening bit by bit as winter fades.

Hope arrives as dreary days pass away and nature drinks in the light.

Penny

Mary Liz Ingram —  March 14, 2014 — 1 Comment

Quick snap of downtown B'hamWe load up in our late ’80s Dodge minivan, wearing floral dresses stitched by our Granny’s tight hands, with our long hair tied in ribbons. Heading down Red Mountain Expressway, we see the city as we turn the corner.

Nearing the 2nd Avenue exit of downtown Birmingham, my sister and I plaster our noses to the window, waiting for our weekly glimpse of Penny the dog wagging her tail.

Growing up, my family attended the beautifully historic 1st Presbyterian Church of Birmingham, Alabama. We had certain landmarks to look for with each 12-minute journey from our suburban home into the heart of the city.

We always watched for Vulcan, Sloss Furnace, Penny the dog, the castle apartments, and on the way home we loved stopping for a Pete’s Famous Hot Dog.

So here’s my tribute to one of the many Birmingham icons, the Gold Seal Dog Food, and later Birmingham Hide & Tallow Company’s “Penny the Dog.”

Recently restored and moved to the new Region’s Park, home to the Birmingham Barons baseball team, Penny will continue to be a childhood memory for even the smallest Birmingham residents, like my three funny kids.

Penny, 11x12 pastel on card

Penny, 11×12 pastel on card

Love

Mary Liz Ingram —  February 16, 2014 — 2 Comments

“Love was made for me and you…”

I can hear Nat King Cole and see flowers and hearts and mushy, huggy love all around me.

Valentine’s Day has come around again.

The aftermath of children’s Valentine’s parties clutters my counters with tiny cards and candy wrappers, my toddler’s art work adorns the mantle draped with kid-painted heart garlands, flowers from my Valentine smile from the den table.

I really like Valentine’s Day. Many curse it, blaming Hallmark for sucking us into consumeristic spending traps. Many find it a lonely day that highlights something missing. But it is about love, and we all have that, in some form or other.

It’s a good day to show it, to whomever you love. Love is a big deal. You know when you love someone. You can’t help it.

This year, I have a Valentine and three tiny Valentines. I also made sure to tell my family and my friends “Happy Valentine’s” because I love them too. Love is bigger than a boyfriend, a girlfriend, a husband or wife. Love is for all of us.

Love looks different to different people, too. It’s not our job to say whose love is right and whose is wrong. We’re all human; we all know love. So let’s show a little more of it. A little more understanding for unknown struggles, a little more patience with those we don’t know, a lot less pointing fingers and telling others what to do, and a little more minding our own business and loving our people. It won’t hurt much, I promise.

Valentines from our daughter, colored pencil

Valentines from our daughter, colored pencil

From the mouths of babes…

The first conversation we ever had with our kids about homosexuality was about our neighbors. Two women who live together in faithful partnership. We simply told the kids that our neighbors love each other, but some people don’t think that’s okay. That was that.

But our eldest said, “Well that’s dumb! No one can tell you who to love!”

Smart kid. I agree.

 

Homemade Valentine cards, a family tradition:

My Hero, watercolor & ink

My Hero, watercolor & ink

 

For my 3 tiny Valentines

For my 3 tiny Valentines

If You Weren’t Afraid…

 

Kids are Fun

Mary Liz Ingram —  February 13, 2014 — 2 Comments

I love my life.

I just have to say it.

Sure, most nights I collapse on the couch in exhaustion. Yep, some days are pretty rotten and I want to pull my hair out. My kids fuss at a me at least a few times everyday, sometimes it seems to be most of the day. I have to change a lot of gross diapers, do A LOT of laundry (the bane of my existence), constantly take out trash and wash dishes…you know, all that rotating, never-ending domestic stuff. I have to squeeze in showers on busy mornings, and rush off to work with frazzled hair. I get cranky and fussy and bossy and pitiful when my poor husband comes home, and he assuages me with cookies to bring me back down to homeostasis. I get dates mixed up when I have too many meetings and tasks at hand, and I get behind on returning calls and art association blog posts. I take a lot of Advil and I have a dirty car.

But I. LOVE. MY. LIFE.Messy Fun

And nothing reminds me more than a tea party with my 1 year old.

The simple joys of being a kid. Nibbling plastic cupcakes and sipping pretend tea. Playing. Laughing. Drawing. Painting.

It makes all the rush and dirt and stink of the have-to’s just a small part of the program and not the real show.

…That’s the way it should be, I think.

"Nora's Tea Party," 6x6 watercolor doodle

“Nora’s Tea Party,” 6×6 watercolor doodle

 

Southern Snow Day

Mary Liz Ingram —  February 12, 2014 — 2 Comments

Today is a snow day…but so far it’s a rainy cold day.

We are all waiting and watching the weather, snow supposedly approaching.

Here in the South, snow causes paralysis. You can’t go anywhere, as my previous post of being snow-stranded attests. And if that’s not enough, take a read through last year’s hairy adventure driving home in the snow.

So… it’s a big deal if we might have 4 inches of snow this afternoon.  We’re all home from work and school, some hoping and waiting for snow and some crossing their fingers we miss it (can’t blame them, after our last episode).

I personally love a snow day and adore the falling snowflakes, despite the chaos it can cause. It is a magical thing here in the South; a gift that is never guaranteed. Some winters we have no snow; some only a few flurries; and rarely do we have a big, dangerous event. Remember the ’93 blizzard, anyone? Sleeping by the fire in our den, eating smokey-tasting soup cooked in our fireplace day after day, carving paths through the snow for a lost duck and a cold neighbor… for a week without power…. Fun times.

Feeling the impending winter doom hanging over us in the gray, clouded sky, wondering if we will actually see a snow flake or not, this morning I read an article by Rick Bragg, aptly entitled “Dixie Snow.” Speaking of the wonderment we Southerners feel when it snows, he writes:

I still feel it, some, when I see children rush into a snowfall that could not cover pea gravel. I see them using spatulas and spoons to scrape up enough snow to make the saddest snowmen you have ever seen, more red mud than anything else. They last a day, or a morning, and then become forlorn lumps. I have seen children make snow angels in what, mostly, seemed to be slick gravel. But I love to see them try.

-“Dixie Snow” by Rick Bragg, in Southern Living January 2014

It’s true. Countless images of my kids (okay, okay, and me…) come to mind: rushing outside at the first sign of snow, trying to catch some on your tongue before the flurries stop, making snow angels in a half-inch layer of snow while getting mud on your back, making tiny snowmen just to show you can. It’s a special gift, the magic of snow, when you don’t get to see it everyday.

But as the saying goes, “make sure you have plenty of milk and bread”…

"Snow Angel," 6x6 watercolor doodle

“Snow Angel,” 6×6 watercolor doodle

Keep Dreaming

Mary Liz Ingram —  February 10, 2014 — 1 Comment

Sunday morning, lots of PJs, snuggling and drawing. The 2014 Winter Olympics play on the TV, a recording from last night replayed for the kids.

My 8-year-old videos the already-recorded figure skating on a phone, enthralled by the young Russian who spins so fast you lose sight of what’s what.

Videographer, ink doodle

Videographer, ink doodle

 

My 6-year-old draws pictures of snow boarders and dreams of flipping through the air (something, I would argue, he already does off of my furniture).

Dream Sketcher, ink doodle

Dream Sketcher, ink doodle

The baby watches and rocks on her horse, periodically coming to see the drawings I’m doodling while sipping my warm coffee.

Horse Rocker, ink doodle

Horse Rocker, ink doodle

You know, it’s hard being a parent.

Being responsible for the nurturing and raising of a child, not to mention three. Responsible for encouraging talents, providing opportunities, while still keeping life carefree and simple and full of freedom to create and explore. So many, especially Americans, pack out their weeks with back-to-back extracurricular activities on top of homework and high demands for excellence. I’ve always promised not to buy into the crazy-busy schedules, letting my kids try one activity at a time.

But then I had three kids.

In a week of 7 days, extra stuff fills up the afternoons faster than I thought. What should they try? Dance? Piano? Gymnastics? Soccer? T Ball? …..

Swaying between doing nothing and too much, I let the Olympics inspire me this cold winter morning, and I signed up my flippy, head-standing, hands-walking son for gymnastics. It just felt right.

Ninja Training

Ninja Training

On the plus, the gymnastics teacher has tried out for American Ninja Warrior, one of my son’s actual dreams (he has trained by walking down the walls of the hallway, climbing door jambs, setting up courses in his room).

So it’s a go. And it works because it perfectly coincides with my daughter’s dance class. Knocking out two birds with one stone in one afternoon.

*Slow Exhale*

It’s a tough thing to be somewhat in charge of helping your child’s “dreams come true.”

I’m going with gut instinct and crossed fingers.

And lots of love.

Ice Skating Dreams, original photography

Ice Skating Dreams, original photography

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you
Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you
But in your dreams whatever they be
Dream a little dream of me

-Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong, Dream A Little Dream of Me

Intermission over, the curtains raise. The mother enters.

Scene 3: Piano & Jumper Cables

Another night passes and we find the mother once again fixing breakfast in the kitchen. Boosted by the happy ending of her suspendered adventure of the previous day, her outlook is bright.

The work day commences and comes to a well-ordered end in time to make an early carpool arrival – ensuring a timely appearance for her daughter’s second piano lesson. In line for half an hour, with snacks prepared and resting thoughtfulness underway, she sketches and thinks and waits.

Rear View Mirror Doodle, ink on napkin

Rear View Mirror Doodle, ink on napkin

Ah, the cars crank and brake lights glow. Ready for the slow crawl around the corner towards the school, she turns the key. Tick tick tick – nothing.

tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick – nothing.

Nothing, Nothing, NOTHING!!!!!

It’s too much. It’s the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back.

With wide, glazing eyes she waves the moving carpool line around her unmoving car. She calls her husband and her mother and her stamina fails.

She cries.

She sits in carpool line and cries. Pitiful.

Knowing the eagerly awaited piano lesson will be missed, she sits deflated and calls the instructor. But wait! Cancellations have been made and another lesson time is available whenever the mother can get there! Saved from the tears of her daughter on top of her own, another surprise approaches.

A kind stranger, circling back, pulls in front and signals for the mother to pop the hood. With jumper cables and an understanding smile, with his bouncing daughter watching from the back seat, he starts her car! Again, the mother cries, but this time overwhelmed by the kindness of others.

The day is saved and the mother carries on.

 

Scene 4: Sanitized Lungs

Night falls and the tired mother sinks into the couch, a glass of wine and a heated blanket. Surely, surely, that’s enough fun for one week. With an inner pep-talk, she tells herself that tomorrow is Friday…just plain Friday. Work and done.

Morning comes and father is ill.

With little sympathy where there should be more, the groggy mother impatiently fusses at father for not taking his medicine. Upon further discussion over medicinal locations, and the lack of discovery, she exclaims in short-tempered exasperation “You’re a MAN!!!” and stomps to the shower. Poor father, getting the brunt of a bad week at 6:00am.

With a haggard disposition and weary eyes, she puts her head down and pushes through the day. A pendulum of kindness and frustration, she tries to regain her balance and clarity. She takes father to the doctor, with three silly kids bobbing and chattering behind her.

Lysol

Lysol

The diagnosis seems a cruel joke: severe flu and bronchitis.

Father is settled onto the couch, as quarantined as one can get in a small home of five people. The mother takes a deep, careful breath and puts on another metaphorical hat, dosing medication and spraying lots of Lysol. A spaghetti dinner and chicken noodle soup are readily provided by friends, and the mother continues to scurry back and forth around the house, tidying and germ-killing and care-taking.

Sitting at her desk in the quiet of an afternoon family rest, the mother reflects upon the strange, yet ordinary stories of a long, long week. There always seems to be a snag, a hole, a bump, a crash that must be navigated. She knows you can’t change it, you just have to take what comes and find some humor in each adventure. It helps her carry on and find a warm spot to rest at the end of the day.

Curtain closes.

“Maybe we do the right things, maybe we do the wrong, spending each day, wending our way along. But when we want to sing, we sing. When we want to dance, we dance. You can do your betting, we’re getting some fun out of life.” -Some Fun Out of Life, Madeleine Peyroux

Tired Tiara, charcoal sketch

Tired Artist with Tiara, charcoal sketch

 

Check out the previous installments:

Such is Life, Act 4 part 1

Such is Life, Act 1

Such is Life, Act 2

Such is Life, Act 3

Old Rusty Train

Mary Liz Ingram —  January 26, 2014 — Leave a comment
Speeding along, with rhythmic persistence, miles covered by churning wheels.
Barreling forward to each destination, no unplanned stops or slowing on the horizon.
Without forethought, the emergency brake is pulled, a screeching, steaming, crashing halt.
With a wheezing sigh, the train lies still.

Always moving, never resting, the time had come to stop. No phone, no work, no have-tos. I pulled the emergency brake on my full, ever-pursuing busy life.

As I approached my front door and weekend respite, I felt the embrace of a self-chosen hibernation. Once the door closed behind me, nothing or anything lay ahead. Quiet, rest, refueling was expected.

But that’s not how a train stops without warning.

More like a shaking, grinding, shuddering, momentum-stopping standstill.

Welcome to my Saturday morning: the aftermath of a much-needed break from everything.

I slept…I puttered…I slept…I puttered…I ate at my parents, then returned to climb in bed at 7:30pm. My head hurt all day, like being purged from the addiction of busyness.

Come Sunday, I felt clear. I felt calm, rested, connected in a real ways. Detoxified of stress, anxiety, pressure, burdens, I began to recover and reemerge with a more restful, more mindful perspective. A greater goodness crept into my tired should. My thoughts settled on family; I said “yes” more to my children. Half-formed thoughts stirred and stirred.

I followed the free string of my thoughts, now cleansed of distractions, and found myself thinking of our stories. My heritage, how I came to be here through my family. We seem to listen so late, wait so long before grasping the value in the stories of family. I decided it is time to listen more intently, to learn the stories in the lives of others. To understand the paths of my family that kept converging until mine began 32 years ago.

Like a magpie, I’ve collected treasures: symbols of the past, bits of history, connections to another time and place. I looked at a few of my favorite things and ended my weekend journey with a crock pot of taco soup and a dinner visit to my grandparents, where my children played dominoes with my Paw Paw and my baby sang “Wheels on the Bus” with my grandmother. It was  a night that unexpectedly glowed. A moment that would not exist if I hadn’t stopped and listened.

I found a different peacefulness from pulling the brake. It equipped me with a new grounding that helped me survive the tangled week to come…

At night, especially on these clear, cold January twilights, I hear a distant train whistle blow. Signaling approach, calling goodbyes, reminding us to pay attention. The train pushes on, going places in the darkness with light bright and pace steady, knowing when to stop, when to refuel and when to commence another journey.

Old Rusty Train, 8x10 pastel

Old Rusty Train, 8×10 pastel

 

Falling Leaves

Mary Liz Ingram —  November 5, 2013 — 1 Comment

Watching the asphalt, lost in thought.

Automatically winding my way through the canopied landscape to work, sinking in plans, the weight heavy; not seeing, just moving.

Suddenly blown back, breath caught, time slowed, curve elongated, eyes opened.

A second stretched into a seemingly physical pause.

Like cold air to the lungs I woke up.

The trees were like glass, the sun rays palpable. The leaves fell slowly across my view, drifting gently to the ground.

A sense of peaceful melancholy was thick… an understanding sadness, a recognition of life’s complexity, a sense of purpose, or duty, to help the falling gently to the ground.

My mind was haunted with metaphor. The inevitable decay. The grace in falling. The beauty in a life well lived. An acceptance of difficulties. The need for gentle hands to guide unexpected descents. The hope of coming renewal. The recognition of the seasons of life. The determination to aid the process of rise and fall. The need to care for the falling leaves…

One at a time, reaching out for this one, then turning to let that one land safely on my palm; now another, and another, and another.

Taking them as they come.

Calmly, peacefully catching them as they fall, without distress or worry or questions. Just because it is. Because they are.

Whispering, whispering, whispering, whispering
As I pass myself down to my knees.
Whispering, whispering, whispering, whispering
As I fall through the willow trees, and I said.

Who will care for the falling?
Who will care for the falling… leaves?

Autumn shades, calm my shaking hands,
Tender, cool breeze, keeps me where I am.
Suddenly here, when I want to scream,
Autumn calms me down, keeps me in my dreams.

Keep on falling down, they keep on falling down,
Keep on falling down, keep on falling down.
-excerpt from Whispering, Alex Clare

Falling Leaves, pastel sketch

Falling Leaves, pastel sketch