Camera Roll

Have you looked at your camera roll recently? We, or maybe I, use my phone for snapping pictures of everything from coupon pricing to recipes, work notes, to do items, and precious memories of beach days and dreamy sunsets.

It seems a little crazy for someone born in the 1970s, that most of us have a camera in our hand or within arm’s reach for the better part of every day.

There were so few pictures of me growing up that for a period in my early teens (because of a lack of photo evidence to prove otherwise) my sisters had me convinced my place in the family was secured by a seemingly random adoption.  Somehow, I believed my parents voluntarily took in a third daughter, only to be followed a year later by a home-grown fourth baby girl. Sisters can be simultaneously protective and brutal, much like a bulldog protecting its food.

There are a total of ten photos of me before reaching school age. The State of Michigan school system jumped in at that point and started keeping proof of identity photos in my official record to further ensure that my place in our sleepy little town wouldn’t go wholly unnoticed.

This got me thinking that I have taken more photos in one summer than there are family photos documenting our early years.

How extremely fortunate we are to be able to capture the first time we meet a new grandbaby. Not just one photo, but a documentary of the entire trip. His sweet smiling face and the beautiful way his momma and daddy light up when they talk to him.  We don’t get to visit enough, but the photos keep my grandma heart bursting with love.

Aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, and cousins gather, and more photos are taken to cement what has become a tradition of wood cutting and dinner with family. Across generations we see the photos. Bittersweet snapshots of people we have sadly lost too soon and would give anything to have just one more conversation with.

At a moment’s notice we are able to digitize the smallest twinkle of an eye lest we forget to lock it into the confines of our fragile memory.  My camera roll is filled with beach days, Lady Bug golf cart rides, new playgrounds, sunsets, camp days and on and on.

These digital memories will someday provide evidence of a playful Gummie (my grandma name) in her earlier years, first Homecoming dances, remembering Gummie and Papa's house and the little place under the stairs that was strung with Christmas lights and filled with couch pillows.

Technology can be both a blessing and a curse. Used in moderation and at the appropriate time we can use pictures to document our ever-changing and growing lives and families. Still photos and videos of our busy toddlers and pre-teen awkwardness will spark conversation in the years to come.

I have four large totes of printed photos in my basement. About half of the pictures are of people I recognize. The rest are photos that have been passed down from my mother's side of the family. Unfortunately, the names and faces in these photos have been lost to time and memory. Most of them have no date, no name, no location, making it impossible to identify the people in them. Picture taking 75 to 100 years ago was a big event, why didn’t anyone think to identify who was in the picture?

The digital convenience of today won’t result in bins full of snapshots of people you don’t know. However, without proper curation, the names that accompany the smiling faces will be gone before we know it.

Take some time to upload your photos and store them with names and dates. Do this so when your family is reminiscing in years to come about how wonderful Aunt Lorraine was and Grandma & Grandpa Marcotte bore 15 children, they can put a name to their faces.  So, your children’s, children’s, children will know how we treasure family and time together.

Bad at Goodbye

The weather has changed from the picturesque bright blue skies of Autumn to the wind-swept gray days we expect of an Upper Peninsula October.  The days that strip the beautifully colored leaves from the trees and scatter them, bare branches are left to shoulder the snow load that winter will inevitably bring.

It seems I almost always make big life changes in the Autumn.  The drastic change from summer to winter emboldens me to shed my leaves and embrace the new opportunity of a job, home, or life.

I have been writing about the why and what is happening as I embark on my new adventure to help and care for others connecting and organizing homes and lives.  To make this big giant leap I had to leave my job.  I loved my job, it was challenging and pushed me to learn and believe in myself in a way that I didn’t know I was capable of. 

So here I am venturing out to do the bravest thing I have ever done, and I am terrible at goodbyes.  Both big and small goodbyes have always left me with cringeworthy afterthoughts of what could have been said or done differently.

Thursday was my last day of work.  Many people stopped to say goodbye, with kind words and a few teary eyes.  One special co-worker sent a lovely note that hangs on my refrigerator.  I will miss these people, good hardworking salt of the earth people.  Doing what is right even when it is difficult because it is the right thing to do. 

When you work together for long enough the stories of our lives seep into everyday conversations.  The good stories of babies, puppies, weddings, and star gazing.  The hard stories of graduations, college drop-offs, divorces, break ups, passings of loved ones.  In all of the jobs I have held, I carry the memories of those stories of those really hard times and the most joyous of moments.   

I am terrible at goodbyes.  I hate for anything to truly end.  So I will finish with this. Thank you, my fellow co-workers, for allowing me to be a part of your story, for sharing, for laughing, for crying. Thank you for your patience and understanding and for allowing and making space for positivity and every day! See you later~

COMMUNITY

I have been thinking about how separate we have become as a people. Life moves so fast, constantly something to do or be done with change at every turn. For myself I look forward to quiet time with nothing expected of me. This thirst hits like I have wandered in a desert with no water for weeks on end.

My sweet granddaughter described some time she spent this summer doing nothing as “rotting.” We have corrupted self-care and healing by thinking it is a luxury. There is guilt and embarrassment that a break was needed. There is nothing wrong with holding space for yourself to be quiet and calm. I can present my best most present self after a purposeful time of quiet thoughtfulness.

This need to be slower and more purposeful pulls at me. Lately, more than any other time in my life, I am drawn to the need to create calmness and participate in community. True caring seemed to happen authentically years ago when people visited over the back fence or dropped off a freshly baked pie just because. People used to create community by stopping in for a visit to share whatever was going on in their lives and there were people there to listen and to help carry the weight.

I am guilty of scurrying between back-to-back meetings, passing co-workers and friends in the hall and saying “Hi, how are you” while I keep walking. Shamefully when I think about it, I have asked that very question and not even slowed down, probably not even listening for the answer, definitely not honoring them.

I am going to do better to be better. I pledge to listen and hold space for you, your big ugly scary feelings, for your joy, and heartbreak for your grief. For your wild crazy ideas and your laughter. A pledge to look people in the eye and open myself up to vulnerability!

This community, this tribe of people are out there waiting for you, waiting for me. We are better together, stronger, and more capable of creating depth and meaning in this incredible world. Lend a hand to your neighbor, help a friend decorate for Halloween, hold a door open for a stranger. Start small to create big change!

Anniversaries

Today marks the 4th anniversary of my mother's passing. My niece and sisters wrote beautiful tributes on Facebook, and we all remember mom in our own special ways. Mom passed away during the COVID pandemic, and the last few months were filled with anxiety about contagion and unpredictability about the future.

I think back to that time of uncertainty and her passing and wonder how we managed to keep it together. Work was remote and that allowed for some flexibility in caring for her as she had moved in right down the driveway into a little mobile home that was fixed up just for her.

In the spring of 2020, as she started to decline and hospice care was imminent, her walks down the driveway became less frequent. She wanted something to help make getting out of the house a little easier. Specifically, she wanted wheels. Something moderately cooler than a mobility scooter and less zippy than a Lamborghini. Since her vision was poor and she honestly was never a great driver, I hadn't put it at the top of my priority list.

She however had mentioned it enough times to my husband that he put it at the top of his! Once he was on board the other boys started to search every Facebook listing and for sale site they could to hook Nana up with some wheels. It didn’t take very long and a slightly abused Packer green and yellow golf cart was wheeled up the drive way!

Mom was never one to do anything small. She was gregarious and lovely, and sometimes difficult to be with. In every aspect of her life, she presented the biggest and brightest version of herself. On this particular day, she decided that the golf cart, which was going to be painted anyway, should be painted to look like a ladybug.

That one wish to have a Lady Bug golf cart set the wheels in motion for a feverish golf cart revitalization project. It was dismantled, sanded, primed, primped and painted. Spots were ordered, personalized license plates appeared, antenna were fashioned and lastly eye lashes applied.

She was so enormously happy she drove and made endless laps in our drive and hers with her oxygen tank strapped on the back. Grandkids and great-grandkids took turns driving and letting Nana drive (for those brave enough). She loved that Ladybug Golf cart. She and a particularly spunky Cousin almost ran out of gas on one adventure out of bounds. We may have broken a few of the social distancing protocols near the end, but it was worth it!

It didn’t take much to bring that happiness to her in those last few months. It wasn’t really the golf cart that did it. It was the freedom it provided and the love she felt from those who cared for her.

Life can change in an instant. I am so glad we were able to help mom in her passing. It was difficult and exhausting and one of the best hardest things I have ever done in my life.

When you have a few minutes in your day look for something special to do for someone. Hold a door, give a compliment, offer a smile it may just be their Lady Bug Golf Cart moment!

It started here….

It started here on this porch. The thoughts of community and taking care of the people you love and those you don’t even know you will love yet.

I remember from a young age when this porch was really just an enclosed entryway with a wood stove, a porch swing, and an aging grandpa rocking away the hours while stoking the stove. My people take care of their people!

My dad, the youngest of 15, and his siblings built an apartment connected to our family home so my grandfather could live comfortably surrounded by family in his advancing years. It wasn’t always easy to find consensus with so many siblings. They somehow managed and I believe were able to take care of him the best they could until his passing. There was another grandpa who lived there afterward. The father of a dear friend and neighbor, who wanted to be close by to help care for him as he aged and passed. That tiny apartment was the perfect spot. Next, these small rooms became a tiny home when I became a young mom welcoming a sweet tiny baby girl. Once again my people showed me, that we take care of our people.

In the way that my parents took care of the sick and the newly born, they took people in for community and fellowship. They offered friendship, endless cups of coffee and homemade treats to those who came to the porch or kitchen table. Counseled and debated serious topics and told and retold stories and memories of years past.

This is where it started for me, the pull to do something a bit bigger. Not bigger in that I am going to build sky scrapers, bigger in that the things I really want to do have more depth and meaning than a perfectly appointed graph or spreadsheet (although I love both). Bigger in a way that I can make things a little bit easier. Grab the groceries and cut the vegetables so you can get to the nursing home to visit grandma or clean the house and change the sheets so there is a little bit of time left at the end of the day to make a call or visit a friend. I can also make the graph and prep the spreadsheets and expenses for you so you can make it to the basketball game and not have to work over the weekend!

What can I do to help? Where are you stretched a little thin?