I’m enjoying a quiet week - very few appointments, kids mostly well and ready for school break, fewer evening activities. My body sighs in relief. The world is still on fire and it’s hard to know what is helpful to write. I pendulum swing between that’s enough rage for now, we need a break …but then, how dare you even think of writing about anything else? I love that angry part, the part that cares so much, so deeply. She just wants less suffering in the world. But for now, I’m going to follow the gentle nudge of the cards.
The 6 of Cups is the card for this week. A card of childhood, innocence, nostalgia and when it comes up for me - my inner child. In the traditional card, two people (most likely children) face each other and pass a cup of flowers. Whether they are an older relative looking at a child, or two siblings, there is a sense of friendship and connection. The flower looks similar to the white rose we see in the Fool card which is the start of our journey and a call to innocence and adventure.
Last week I started listening to Tom Lake by Ann Patchett. I knew nothing about the book, but I wanted fiction and I trust Ann implicitly. And it’s read by Meryl, so you had me at hello.
I didn’t know how much I needed this book. It is such a welcome relief for my nervous system. I would describe the book as maternal and mundane and it is just so tender. I don’t want to give you too much, because part of the magic for me has been listening to the story unfold without any expectations, but it is a story about 3 sisters coming to stay at home at the start of the pandemic and asking their mother to share stories from her past. Oh, and it’s set on a cherry orchard in Michigan (swoon).
I think I love it for the same reason I absolutely adore Greta Gerwig’s Little Women. I’m just a sucker for a story about sisters. I don’t have any sisters and if I’m honest, not many close relationships with the women of my family. Some days that absence feels like a loss, and stories of close female connections always feel like a balm. I watch it with my kids surrounding me on the couch and cry my eyes out, in a good way.
We need balms right now. We need sweet care and moments to recharge. We need rest. Just because we can access news and information and suffering all day every day, doesn’t mean we should! So I’m taking the medicine of the 6 Cups and finding ways to hold my inner kid. I’m leaning into the things that bring a sense of warmth and safety to my heart. Top of list - stories about sisters picking cherries and walking the dog and swimming in the lake…
I have three girls of my own, and reading about adult siblings who are close and cherish each other brings me deep deep joy. Stories about the simplicity of childhood, about everyday mishaps and heartaches, and about the stories that mothers share or choose not to - these are the ones I can sink into like a warm bath on a winter’s day.
The stories that are familiar will always be our favorites.
Ann Patchett, Tom Lake
Tom Lake has also transported me to my own childhood. I remember growing up on a rural farm - a hundred year old house surrounded by corn fields (not our fields, but still). We had a wood burning stove and on cold mornings I would race downstairs wrapped up in my quilt to get dressed fireside. And on dangerously cold nights we would line our mattresses on the living room floor and hang sheets in the doorways to keep the warm air from escaping. I remember tending to a regular rotation of animals - chickens, turkeys one year, a duck I brought home from school, rabbits when my grandpa trapped some in his yard, and cats. Always cats.
You know what else is familiar? The longing for home. That tender knowing that the thing you were so quick to run away from in adolescence is now a siren song. “Ask that girl who left Tom Lake what she wanted out of life and she would never in a million years have said the Nelson farm in Traverse City, Michigan, but as it turned out, it was all she wanted.” I remember outdoor expeditions through the neighbor’s woods and now all I want is for my kids to fall in love with the earth. I begrudgingly loaded wood with my brother into the cellar, and all I want is for my kids to feel a sense of place and purpose. I remember watching the sunset over the field on nights where fireflies danced. Now when I’m most overwhelmed, I long for the wide open spaces of Ohio cornfields1. I long for that place where the dark endless night kisses the earth.
Nostalgia is a feeling of longing. Wistfully. Heart-achingly. Tenderly. We remember fondly, but we also remember because that time is long gone. Or like Suzie Chang says, “it’s as if our hearts place a golden filter of affection over the past2.” I have the unfortunate tendency to dwell on the negative aspects of my upbringing but the truth is the beautiful memories nourish me more3. And even the fond memories shift and bend like the the ripples in a stream, ever-moving and changing into the present.
There is no explaining this simple truth about life: you will forget much of it. The painful things you were certain you’d never be able to let go? Now you’re not entirely sure when they happened, while the thrilling parts, the heart-stopping joys, splintered and scattered and became something else. Memories are then replaced by different joys and larger sorrows, and unbelievably, those things get knocked aside as well. Ann Patchett, Tom Lake
So this week’s assignment is tend to your heart with simple joys. I’m walking through lots of leaves. I’m painting4 and cooking lots of soup. I took the tween to the Eras Movie & cried because god, music really is magic. The teen has been playing Part of Your World on piano so I can sing along at the top of my lungs. I’m listening to funny podcasts and playing monopoly with my kids after school homework be damned!. I’m listening to the music that made me5 and crying a lot. I’m filling up my cup with sweet tears to water my blooming heart.
I realize this time of year is difficult for many, so please go gently. I discovered that (yay!)
is on here and she wrote so sweetly this week about how you do not have to be full of cheer.
“Mundane and tender” is such a perfect description of Ann Patchett. I hadn’t thought of those words before but that’s exactly how I feel slipping into her books.
“I watch it with my kids surrounding me on the couch and cry my eyes out, in a good way.” YES. We watched it this weekend! Or the first half. We are such lightweights we have to break up the longer ones, lol. Love your list of taking care. Loved this whole post. 🐇 Also yes to a childhood turkey?!