A Wildwood Story

“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.” -Dumbledore

Everyday stories

Letter 6 {Coffee Memories}

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Dear Candace,

I had an unexpected memory sensation this week. After reheating my remaining day old French Press coffee (made by the ten year old as part of my special served-in-bed Valentine’s breakfast) I leaned over to inhale the delicious strong blackness and was immediately seated at my grandparents’ kitchen table. Grandpa and I were across from each other, coffee in hand poured from the always-on percolator. Grandma floated around the kitchen in her familiar manner. Never was there sugar or cream. I would sip slowly out of an old train-car coffee cup leftover from Grandpa’s days as a conductor. Sometimes when I visit diners in St. Louis I’m reminded of those cups-perfectly thick, not tall.

I’m wistful about those coffee conversations. Tuesdays with Grandma while Grandpa went bowling and shopping. Coffee before he left, coffee after he returned, Pepsi with Grandma and watching the Ellen show in-between. Fish and fries from Long John Silver’s for dinner. It was tradition-Tuesday was fish day for Grandpa! The ordinary and hardness of those Tuesdays is missed.

I’m thinking, too, about all the conversations we’ve had over coffee. Tears and laughter in our cups.  A lot of life has happened around coffee. I’m all nostalgic and grateful for that coffee-life right now.

Short but sweet and definitely sappy,

Rachel

P.S. If we ever have to stop drinking coffee because of some bizarre health reason or shortage in the world let’s try this instead. It looks strong and delicious enough to handle whatever we may throw at it.

Letter 5

Letter 7

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Letter 5 {Super Bowl}

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Dear Candace,

Monday

The Pride & Prejudice soundtrack is perfect for days when the sky feels like a weighted blanket. My candles are lit, my coffee is hot, and the house is blissfully quiet while the children are at their classes.

I should be cleaning. I should be grocery shopping. There are always so many shoulds, aren’t there? Instead I will take this opportunity to read, pray, reflect, write, and perhaps pour myself a second cup.

Last night Tom and the boys watched the Super Bowl.* The Fox Sports app was streaming it live so they were able to watch it for free, yay! As you well know, I have not an athletic bone in my body nor do I follow sports, much, but I am always okay with snacks and family time and the commercials are kind of great.

I put on comfy clothes and worked in the kitchen all afternoon and evening. I don’t usually tackle big jobs on Sunday afternoons, but on Saturday Tom installed LED lighting and the kitchen had vomited into the dining room. Several cabinets had to be emptied while he worked on the wiring, and naturally I decided to reorganize. If we’re gonna have a mess anyway, why not make it a bigger one, right?!? I found those espresso beans you gave me, hidden behind boxes of tea. My limited counter space caused a series of conflicting emotions as I determined what could stay out, what must be stored in a cabinet, what must go. It’s like pulling on a pair of too-tight jeans: I…WILL…MAKE…YOU…FIT…

Being two steps away from the living room meant I was present for the whole Super Bowl event even though I didn’t actually sit down and watch it. That’s the good thing about being in a small house-you’re only two steps away from everything. That’s the bad thing about being in a small house-you’re only two steps away from everything.

Favorite commercial? Definitely Christopher Walken’s bai ad because, well, three things: Christopher Walken, Justin Timberlake’s velvet jacket, cleverness.  Runner up? The celebrity Honda commercial because: sweet, sappy, just-keep-swimming inspiration.

Friday

I made it! This week included 60+ degree weather, -30 degree weather, my kids developing a fascination for skateboarding and begging to do it on the daily, the house across from us being condemned due to structural unsoundness, and my left eyeball swelling nearly closed because of an infection. In other words, the usual.

As part of his school, Drew was required to write a letter to the president. I remember doing the same thing as an elementary student, and the excitement of getting a letter back from the White House! Drew had a hard time deciding what he would write, but in the end he chose to include this in his letter:

“Do you like Harry Potter? The Harry Potter books are my favorite. If you have never read them you should.”

I suspect our Commander in Chief has NOT read them, and this is part of his problem.

Have a great weekend,

Rachel

*Using Amazon’s fire stick which is new to us and quite handy

Letter 4

Letter 6

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Letter 4 {Simply Tuesday}

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Dear Candace,

Everything has been chilly this week. The political climate, the weather, the man who didn’t hold open the door for me when my arms were full at the UPS office.

We have had a bit of sunshine, but only enough to raise one’s hopes before they are crushed down again. I think I need more vitamin D. I’m beyond Irish girl white now, I’m vampire flesh white. Do you think scrubbing with sugar scrub and applying some sunless tanner would help or no?

It’s possible I’m Winter Exaggerating again but I doubt it. How can one be thankful for the gift of each day and also beg for it to be over? This is my paradox.

I started the book Simply Tuesday. My eyes were welling up just reading the introduction.* Me, the non-crier. {It’s Winter Crying.} Anyway, I haven’t even made it to the first chapter yet I’m completely in love with Emily’s lyrical words (we’re friends now, her and I) and gentle offering of sweet water in days which feel dry, dull, listless.

“Someone once pointed out to me how, even though we always think of heaven as up-beyond the clouds, above the weather, and over the rainbow-it may actually not be far up.

‘What if,’ this person wondered, ‘heaven is simply one inch above the ground?’

It’s still up, but it’s not so far away. Instead the kingdom of God exists right here in the moments where we live.”

The kingdom of God exists even in the grayest Midwest.

All my love and some cheerful red lipstick,

Rachel

P.S. Our Christmas tree did not come down when I declared it would. It was almost a full week later before it got put away, and that mere moments before Edward arrived. In fact, he watched me organize and pack away the ornaments. Then I saw a friend post a picture of her cozy tree on Instagram-she leaves it up all of January and enjoys the lights, it’s very hygge-and I stopped feeling irritated at myself. Bless that tree (it’s now stuffed unceremoniously under the basement steps).

*Do you read Introductions? I feel obligated to do so, and usually enjoy them very much.

Letter 3

Letter 5

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Letter 3 {Fried Fish Hair}

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Dear Candace,

It’s quite late and the people in my house should be asleep but they are not. There is shifting and resettling and creaking. The whole house seems to sigh when our nighttime rituals are underway. I can hear Tom upstairs praying over the boys tucked in their bunk-bed.

I settled here on my bed to finish this letter to you and realized… I never started it! Between Tom being ill for a few days, extra office work demanding my attention, and all the Usual Things, I’ve been caught up in a small but consuming whirlwind. From Friday to Friday, it has been rather constant. I’m looking forward to a slower weekend, puttering around the house, enjoying family time. Tom is much better, too.

A friend from Indy is staying with us for a couple nights, and when I checked to make sure our guest bed was satisfactory (Hosanna’s bed; she usually sleeps in the basement when we have company) I noticed something odd. I had forgotten that, needing to store a box spring, we’d temporarily stacked it on a platform bed under a tall mattress directly beneath the slanted 1930’s attic ceiling. It gives the effect of “The Princess and the Pea.” Edward, our guest, is over 6 feet tall and sleeping atop that monstrosity. I hope he doesn’t hit his head on the ceiling when he turns over at night.

The whole house smells like fried food right now. I pan-fried tilapia in butter in my cast-iron skillet, which is my favorite way to cook fish. A liberal coating of salt, pepper, and garlic is best. Caleb fixed Tom’s garden potatoes for frying.* Fried potatoes and fish were one of mom’s famous meals she prepared from fresh rainbow trout a generous fisherman regularly supplied our family. Naomi joined us for dinner, too, and we reminisced about our well-loved fish meals growing up. It also made me think of London, with fish n’ chips served hot and salty sizzling in a paper cone. Happiness.

In the craziness of last week, I did manage to get rid of piles of kids’ clothes we no longer needed. Some I was able to sell, some I gave away. My house feels lighter, though my heart feels a bit misty. I can hardly keep up with the changing sizes of my children; it’s ridiculous. Caleb is almost taller than me!  This growing up needs to stop a moment. Time for them all to jump in bed and snuggle while I read a book, and they aren’t allowed to grow while I read. I’m too young for my kids to be getting this old. I’ll pick a really long book.**

Goodness, I’m tired. I’ll wash my fried fish hair in the morning and open the windows a bit.

Happy Friday,

Rachel

* I served vegetables to my family as well, so I get points for that, right?

**Are they too young for War and Peace? I’ve been meaning to get around to it eventually…

Letter 2

Letter 4

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Letter 2 {Sinuses & Laundry}

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Dear Candace,

I am writing to you in the depths of despair, as Anne would say, since my impacted sinuses are giving me no relief and I’m considering applying a small hammer to my cheekbones in order to loosen things up a bit.

Never am I so grateful for modern conveniences as when I’m sick. Tom can run to our nearby Walgreen’s to get whatever OTC meds I desire as well as the lotion-est of tissues. Additionally, my essential oil cache is being put to use as I frantically google, “how to transform your face from The Hulk into something more human with a drop or two of magic oil.”

{Later…} The apocalyptic ice storm turned out to be quite mild in our area, but we were happy to remain at home, drinking hot tea and being cozy. I was sick and lazy- Tom, on the contrary, his usual healthy and efficient self. He continued remodeling in our laundry room, and thankfully the power never went out during the Midwest Ice Event of 2017. Our hot water heater needed to be relocated, new drywall finished and painted, carpet tiles put down, all the things.

I’m no longer scared of my dungeon basement laundry area and might actually do laundry more often. {I’m trying to trick myself into believing that with the addition of white paint and turquoise jars, the whole thing can be a spa-like experience.} This week I’ve been working on tackling the enormity of  laundry piled up from when the room was under construction. We had an abundance of winter wear to be washed, too. (Ugh, wet gloves.) The kids are going to be responsible for their own laundry entirely. I really mean it this time.*  I’m redoing our whole system-out with the broken plastic hampers! No more dim lighting! Empty your pockets or suffer the consequences! Be cheerful and turn those socks right side out!  I’m getting over my passion for hating laundry and ridiculous OCD washing habits. You are going to be so impressed.**

What else? What else is that I’ve left the house only once in the last week. I’m feeling a little stir-crazy, but it’s also sort of wonderful after such a busy holiday season. I’m not sure how, but we keep eating leftovers. I feel like reinventing myself and my house this month. Winter nesting mode, I have arrived! You know what else is really getting to be kind of embarrassing? Christmas tree is still up.***

Please do not get the nasty cold I’m still trying to shake off,

Rachel

*Caleb has been washing all his own clothes this week. BOOM

** I might even mix different kinds of darks. Deep breaths.

***It’s coming down this weekend. Today I asked Caleb to pull the Christmas containers out of storage so I could pack everything up properly first thing tomorrow morning. JANUARY I GOT YOU

The First Letter

Letter 3

The First Letter

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Dear Candace,

You know that feeling of rising early on a cold, dark January morning and getting a few quiet hours of accomplishment in before the kids wake up?

Me neither.

I suspect I’m still experiencing holiday hangover-all the company, traveling, and late nights has affected me. I’m not besties with my alarm right now. In fact, I’ve gotten really good at turning it off and not realizing I’ve done so. Then I wake up much later than I intended, with a jolt, as if I’ve forgotten something important. It’s a case of my left hand not knowing what my right hand is doing. Literally.

I’m seriously considering moving my alarm far enough away so I have to physically get up in order to turn it off. That sounds like a lot of potential for accidental self-injury, though. I can’t risk another badly stubbed toe. I’m still commiserating over my last toe injury. Update: I don’t think I’m going to lose the nail, after all. No pastel nail polish for me; it’s all deep purple and blue shades the next couple months.

I should invest in one of those wake-lights. The kind that slowly bathes the room in a glorious, warm light, simulating a sunrise as the distant sound of ocean waves fills your waking consciousness. Perhaps a bowl of sand on my nightstand will add to the affect.

This reminds me of The Barisieur! Remember? It’s only the best invention ever-a bedside alarm clock which, besides having great style, synchronizes with the alarm settings to brew a cup of drip coffee right by your sleepy head. I’ve been following the project probably too obsessively since its inception. Apparently I’m not the only one who would love to wake up to coffee brewed directly on my nightstand since the kickstarter was a success. It can still be pre-ordered before it debuts fall 2017! I wonder if my husband knows this?

I’m rearranging the living room again. When Linda* was here, I began asking for her advice on what kind of book storage I should put in the one remaining usable corner (floating shelves? bookcase?) and by the end of the conversation we had moved and readjusted a few small pieces around the room that had been bothering me in their current placement.

There’s not a lot you can do in a small rectangular space lined with windows and door openings and only one spot for the piano, but I’m tweaking it again. Tweak.

Linda and Naomi** both encouraged me to choose white storage over black since it will tie in better with the rest of the room. It’s so agreeable when people tell you exactly what you want to hear. I’m feeling desperate about organizing the rest of our books. They need to get OUT of the basement.

Drew’s birthday is here! 10! The party last week for him and Sophie was perfect. What happened? We blinked, and now they’re both a decade old and reading fine literature.*** He wants homemade chicken pot pie for family dinner. My kids never pick easy stuff like frozen pizza for their birthday food. It’s all elaborate “steak with 6 sides and let us toast with sparkling juice” kind of meals.

Christmas tree is still up. Almost set Drew’s gifts underneath it.

Come inspect my living room when it’s done,

Rachel

*my sister-in-law

**my sister

***A Series of Unfortunate Events, Elephant & Piggie books, THE BIBLE

Letter 2

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People of Starbucks

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Spending time at coffee shops sends warming sparkles to my soul. It’s being alone with a book, writing materials, and hours stretched before me.  Present in a space where there are no laundry piles to distract, chores needing doing, and children requiring attention is restful and re-energizing. I love being surrounded by the rich smell of coffee beans and pleasant hum of other workers in their own, I hope, happy niche. I always put my earbuds in for some excellent background music (thank you, Spotify) and settle in contentedly to doing what I adore.

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Only, sometimes, the People of Starbucks rouse me out of my pleasant inward coziness and surprise me.

This particular morning, after dropping the children off at their Monday classes I headed to Starbucks to use my free coffee reward, anxious to get started on writing and craving the taste of a breve flat white on my tongue.

The Starbucks was small and limited in seating, but featured a large farmhouse table with chairs all around. Every spot in the cafe was crammed, save two seats at the table where a group of senior couples was enjoying a chat. I love older people, and hearing them talk and reminisce in the background is just the comfortable atmosphere I crave around coffee cups. I asked with a smile, pointing to a chair near a white-haired lady, “Do you mind?” and they jovially permitted me to join their table.

I set down my lidded coffee cup and managed, by some feat mysterious, to spill it on the table. A Tall doesn’t seem terribly Tall until you spread out half of its creamy hot mixture before a gaggle of elderly gents. Then it seems like a ridiculous amount of liquid, indeed.

One of the gents hobbled out of his seat, insisting he help me clean it up, and in the small area around our table, we bumped into each other and everyone else standing in line in an attempt to clean up the mess. 100 napkins later, at least I had a few hot sips left.

Their conversation resumed, and I began to settle into my muse.

That’s when the coughing started. Some poor soul, seated three feet from me, had a tickle in his throat. A tickle in the throat of a 250+ pound man over 6’2″ lends itself to a small roaring hurricane that shook my table and blasted on my face. After 10 minutes of this I began to desperately search through my bag for gum, a cough drop, anything to relieve this poor man’s throat. Finding nothing, I began to mentally ask Hurricane Cougher to please go home, tuck himself in bed, and drink some hot lemon tea. Occasionally he’d take his hacking outside or gulp down copious amounts of water, only to return and resume the miserable cycle.

The seniors at my table left, probably to get flu shots, and I was soon joined by a beautiful woman in her surely-twenties. Immediately I named her Audrey because her style was French and chic and expertly poised. I was insanely curious to know how she kept her red lipstick perfectly intact while she sipped coffee. Or was she actually sipping? I began to suspect the coffee was somehow floating into her mouth when she raised the cup.

My hands poised over the keyboard, I noticed her manicure and wondered if she took vitamins (and what kind?) since her nails looked extremely healthy and that’s when I realized my polish was in urgent need of removal. Also, I must stop doing dishes. I began to dream up scenarios in which she was a fashion blogger, home stylist, travel journalist, or French Spy.

Clearly, with Hurricane Cougher on my left and Beautiful Audrey on my right, I was accomplishing very little.

That’s when Harold sat down opposite of me, aheming and shifting his cane and generally rumbling as very old men with suspenders are wont to do. After a few sips, he settled his gaze on me and inquired, not rudely, “Well what are you doing?”

I eyed Beautifully Audrey in my peripheral. Undoubtedly she was completing massive amounts of work on her laptop while the photo I had been editing for the last thirty minutes was still staring at me wanly from the screen. I bet if my polish was brightly fresh my fingers would move faster. I wish he’d asked her, because I would like to know which of my scenarios was correct.

“Oh,” I answered. “I’m working on editing a photo.”

“Why?”

Uh.

“It’s not the best quality, and I’d like to make it look better.”

I clicked furiously on my keyboard and edited the photo-taken on my iPhone two years prior-as much as I could manage to do. This went on for a few minutes when finally Harold asked, rather loudly, “Can I see what in the heck you’re doing?”

I’m pretty sure the coughing abruptly stopped and Audrey’s fingers paused in order so they, and the entire coffee shop, could hear my reply. I turned my humble little Acer Chromebook around so Harold could see my picture of the Tower of London. At his prompting, I explained why I was editing the photo. It was for a blog post about my favorite spots in London.

Harold did not know what a blog was when he entered Starbucks, but by the time he left he was robustly informed. We discussed why one would edit photos in the first place, his trip to Germany, where his daughters lived (east and west coasts), and how old Europe is. He asked whether or not I was married, and sputtered into his coffee when I cheerfully told him I was the mother of three children including two teenagers. “But you aren’t older than 15 yourself!” he roared in amazement. Finding the older I get and the more everyone ten or so years my junior looks like a baby, I sympathized with his feelings. First the word “blog,” and then this.

We had a comfortable silence.

“This coffee tastes like charcoal,” he grimaced, staring down into his cup.

I suggested he start his own blog, about good coffee and exotic travel. He smiled. When, a few moments later, Harold and his cane prepared to depart we cordially wished each other a good day. I watched him shuffle out the door, having thrown his half-finished cup in the trash with gusto.

Being reminded of the time, I realized I needed to leave without finishing much of anything. Yet I felt richer for the experience, and grateful to have my world adjusted a little, thanks to the People of Starbucks.

Have you had any memorable coffee shop interactions? Do tell!!

Hello world!

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I’m suddenly aware of a strong sensation of bashfulness and awkwardness in attempting this first blog post. Oh dear. What HAVE I gotten myself into? This is what comes of telling friends you are going to do something by a certain date and now must fulfill your promise blithely made.

I’m Rachel, and I live with my husband, Tom, and three children in the greater St. Louis area. It’s small but cozy in our 1930’s home. Welcome!

“A Wildwood Story” refers to places I’ve lived-in the woods and wilds of Missouri-and my own personal life story of where I’ve been, where I’m going, and the happenings along the way.

What do I hope to share here? My values and passion for living creatively, exploring the world with curious eyes, and living a life of grace, good humor, and loving people.

I may very well edit this no less than 10 times, but here I have begun.

With a very big love-

Rachel

P.S. You can read more about me here.