Archives For thoughts

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

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

 

Trail of Stones

Mary Liz Ingram —  August 18, 2013 — 2 Comments

There are days marked in our lives with white stones. We can never forget them. Recollections, a very easy effort of memory, seem to bring back even in some measure the very thrill, the same pulsations and emotions, as were kindled into life by certain never-to-be-forgotten happenings. Time cannot weaken them. Whilst we have life the memory of them is eternal. And there are other days against the memory of which we have dropped a black stone. We shrink from anything which may recall them. No sacrifice would seem too great if only we could set the seal of oblivion upon those few hated hours. We school ourselves to close our eyes, and turn our heads away from anything which might in any manner recall them to us.

The Yellow House, E. Phillips Oppenheim

I close my eyes, and see my life in footsteps, walking down the path of my days as Hansel and Gretel, leaving a trail of carefully laid stones behind. Here I drop a small white stone, there a few more, here a black stone, another white; some large, some small, images of events through which I’ve walked in the moments that lie before today.

I sit listening to the story of an acquaintance. I do not know the stories of this life, but I see a glimpse that reminds me that stories lie tucked away in the speaker’s heart. I remember we all have a story, littered with joys and pain.

Trail of Stones, pastel on cardI read chapters from an old book, as I lay safely nestled in my bed. I am reminded that our journey is unpredictable and bound towards a mixture of triumph and tragedy.

While the black stones are unmistakable, they are but moments in our long life. The white stones outnumber and shine like goodness. No matter what stones lay on your path of life, life is long and deep and full of redemption.

My children grow and flourish, my family is held in love. My baby walks and dances to Elmo. My daughter grows too big for me to carry and prepares for school. My son spins on his head and enters Kindergarten. My husband publishes his books and holds me tight. My friends are close and full of laughter. My life is so good and so full, built of a journey taken step by fumbling step.

The ghosts that we knew made us all black and all blue, But we’ll live a long life. And the ghosts that we knew will flicker from view, And we’ll live a long life. -“Ghosts That We Knew”, Mumford & Sons

Trail of Stones, pastel on card

Trail of Stones, pastel on card

It Figures…

Mary Liz Ingram —  July 31, 2013 — 2 Comments

“Every person needs to take one day away. A day in which one consciously separates the past from the future…. A day away in which no problems are confronted, no solutions searched for.” -Maya Angelou, Wouldn’t Take Nothing for My Journey

Sometimes you just need a break… get away from it all, clear your head, breathe in life.

A couple of weeks ago, my husband and I celebrated our 11th wedding anniversary. He so sweetly surprised me by taking me on a long journey, far away to a Scottish resort.

Okay, really we dropped off our three kids at my parents’ house and drove 15 minutes to a lovely resort which felt very far away (and they did play bagpipes at sunset!). It was a fabulous 18 hours of relaxation and peace. We were both able to hang out in our respective spa areas for quite awhile and have a massage.

Now let me tell you something about Mary Liz and massages:

I’m a bit uptight. Massages stress me out a bit. I get nervous beforehand, and try my best, in my yammering stream of consciousness, to relax. But still…massages are lovely. Somewhere in between feeling awkward, wondering how many nasty feet the guy rubs a day, and finding my happy place, I began contemplating the human body: muscles, skin, shapes of calves…we people are pretty cool.

When we returned from our mini vacation, refreshed and ready to hug our tiny people, I felt inspired to do some figure drawing. 

Right down the road, there is a figure drawing class once a week in the evening. Unfortunately, that doesn’t work in my family schedule, so… I tried the next best thing. Home alone, kids asleep, I had to draw myself. I’m not a fan of pictures or drawings of myself, but you do what you gotta do to feed a whim.

So I present to you two self-portrait sketches, in graphite on paper.

Self portrait, graphite sketch

Self portrait, graphite sketch

Self portrait, graphite sketch

Self portrait, graphite sketch

 

 

 

Lounging

Mary Liz Ingram —  July 16, 2013 — 2 Comments
Chair with apple, graphite sketch

Chair with apple, graphite sketch

Sunday mornings are made for lounging, an always calming day of rest. 

We’re always on the go: working, playing, living. It’s important to me to also stop. To rest, to reset, to pause and refresh.

Some might say that Sundays are made for church-going, especially since we live in the southern U.S., aka “the Bible Belt.” My husband works at a Methodist church, a published and well-known youth minister (www.organicstudentminstry.com!). The kids and I get up and go fairly often, but not in a rush or in perfection. It’s taken me awhile, and much attitude-adjusting, to go without stress or pressure or guilt, to go without feeling a burden of expectations. This is also part of the South.

I’m just beginning to go in restfulness, often meaning my hair is still damp, my dress is comfortable, and I’m there with my family in peace. It’s hard to add another place to be, and sometimes staying home in quiet is most needed.

This past Sunday we didn’t go to church. We rested well together. We loved and laughed and lived. We learned about bugs and plants, we ate three meals at our table together, we built forts and unloaded the dishwasher together, and we took care of one another.

These things are important too.

 

 

Thrift Shopping

Mary Liz Ingram —  July 9, 2013 — 2 Comments

Me: “We’re going to a thrift shop.”
My 5-year-old son, very serious as he rubs his nose: “Where it’s $50 for a t-shirt?”

So… while he can quote it, my tiny boy seems to have missed the message in Macklemore’s “Thrift Shop.” We were about to change that.

The one rule for our outing: You must find something awesome.

Let the adventure begin.

First stop: Goodwill

First treasure goes to mom: awesome yellow sunglasses. 39 cents.

Yellow Sunglasses, Ink & Colored Pencil Doodle

Yellow Sunglasses, Ink & Colored Pencil Doodle

We tour the facility, finding golf clubs, E.T., piles upon piles of unwanted, outdated, almost unusable items such as cassette tapes, VHS tapes, gigantic TVs, broken vacuums, horrible coffee cups. Our tiniest thrift shopper was ecstatic over the baby toys which littered the warehouse. It was a junk wonderland ready for our perusal…perfect for a rainy day.

Bright plastic shades, blue hats, orange carts…pops of color found amongst the faded, cracking grays and browns of dust-covered discards.