Let Being in Limbo Be Your Place

Last week, I boarded a jet plane to visit my youngest son, who lives in Charleston. That's a whole lot of miles away from where I live in Northern California, but when your son moves, you go visit him!

Charleston is a gorgeous city, chock-full of history and beautiful homes, with a slow living way of life that oozes from the brick walkways and overflowing planter boxes.

Before I left on this weekend trip, I was in a routine of writing in the morning and doing the rest of the day's to-do list after it. It was a perfect flow. I'm always the sharpest in the morning; the words seep out of my mind onto the keyboard without really trying.

I think it's because my brain has rested (but also worked like a zealot in dreamland), and the vocabulary and subject matter and formed sentences all cohere nicely into paragraph after paragraph. It's rather magical. But by the afternoon trickles in - maybe even late morning - that enchantment is gone. Evaporated.

I’ve been home for over a week and haven't been able to get back into my morning writing routine. I'm in writers' limbo of wanting to write, but not being able to do it the way I need to do it to be productive. And I'm slowly realizing that I'm just going to have to be comfortable with being in limbo, get over my "perfect" writing conditions, and write when I can. 

I'm also realizing that getting comfortable with being in limbo applies to every part of my life.

I don't like flying. It's not the flying per se, but the falling if the aircraft were to stop flying. I hate the thought of falling, and yet, if I don't fly, I don't get to visit my son, go on vacations, or live life. So, I'm going to have to live in that limbo of fearing flying but accepting I have to do it for the rest of my life. Limbo  

I don't like that my son is now living 3000 miles away from me. But that is completely out of my control. I will be in limbo regarding his distance for as long as I'm away from him. I love where I live, we aren't moving right now, and I know he loves where he's living right, so I'm just going to have to learn to be in limbo about that familial scenario indefinitely.

I'm a huge introvert, but I do so love a good party and will always feel left out if I'm not invited... even if I don't want to go. I want to be included, but until I get to the point where I don't need it, it'll always be an issue for me. So, I have to just accept being an introvert, and going to the party when I'm invited (even if I don't want to go), and be okay if I don't get the invite. Limbo.

We all live in limbo in many areas of our lives. Family relationships (having them or not having them), friendships - the lack of some, the disappearance of others, the keeping of ones we truly value. There is this give and pull, and balance of going after what we want but not chasing that which is no longer ours, or is no longer deserving of the attention we want to give it. It's a frustrating cycle. 

But, it's a limbo that we live with. We can't control what others do, only how we react to those actions. That's a huge limbo. And one I daily deal with.

I'll never solve my health issues totally and completely, and I'm learning that this, too, is okay. My auto-immune disease is at bay, but I'll never really know why I got it. That stupid ringing in my ears? I'll never know why I contracted tinnitus out of thin air. But the fear of it never going away doesn't bother me anymore. I've learned to accept my condition, lean into it actually, and adjust my life to my new normal. 

Living in limbo. I guess it's the "in" thing for now, or at least, that's what I'm telling myself.  And getting comfortable with being in limbo is both a worthy goal and a fine place to live. Once we choose contentment with how things are (not what we want), even if we're not huge fans of it (I'll never like flying, and I really wish my son lived closer like he used to), we realize being in limbo makes us feel alive. 

I can't feel pleasure without knowing pain. I can't know love when I’ve never known the absence of it. I can't know insecurity if I’ve only lived in security. But, once I’m comfortable with not having things simple, to accept the chaotic limbo life is, it becomes much easier to live a happy life. 

I now think of all this limbo-living as an education. And guess what? As I'm slowly discovering, the water's just fine.

 I guess I better get writing.

-Heather

Less or Fewer │ Mastering Language

Does it matter if you say less or fewer? According to the media, it doesn't.

The grammarian nerd in me is coming out strong these days.

Anyone else notice how people are using the word "less" more frequently when they should be using the word "fewer?" I suppose this sounds super snooty. I mean, who cares, right? We know what they mean.

Except that journalists who write news copy for the news say this. And advertisements everywhere, from radio to television, now say this. 

I understand the reason for it. I wrote social media content for almost two years, and there's a certain flow the writer needs to use to grab the audience. If you're using the word "less" repetitively, but then change one of them to "fewer," well, that just doesn't sound as good.

Except that it's wrong and it bothers me. I can't unhear it. 

My husband and I are constantly talking over the commercials or the evening news, yelling out "fewer!" while we set the table or cook dinner. It's comical how often it occurs.

Take an ad for a car company trying to sell you their overpriced vehicle. The voice over guy or gal will say something in that ad to the effect of, "less worry, less cost, less repairs (should be fewer), and less wear and tear," etc.

But, doesn't it just flow better if you say less as the adjective? Wouldn't it work just as well? In fact, it does work well. The argument is to keep the verbal momentum going and use the same word!

Apparently, after researching this, there's a lot of debate over when to use less or fewer, even though I'd learned, as a kid, that less is used for things that can be counted and fewer for things that are measured. Who knew?

I like what Merriam-Webster has to say about this: There's a commonly repeated rule about fewer and less. It goes like this: fewer is used to refer to number among things that are counted, as in "fewer choices" and "fewer problems"; less is used to refer to quantity or amount among things that are measured, as in "less time" and "less effort."

This is worded correctly! (Thanks, Joshua.)

But, as with all things, there are variations and colloquialisms to factor in. Our vernacular changes over the decades and centuries. Our language never stays wholly the same.

If you're interested in learning more about this riveting debate and the history behind these two competing words, brush up on your lexicology and dive deep into a Wikipedia article about it. (I started reading it and then my eyes started to cross, so I stopped ...)

Less or fewer. To be or not to be. Use what you want, we know what you mean. But as someone who was taught differently (and can't unhear it), I'm keeping my nerdish ways and using fewer or less as I should.

Side note: I still think the media overuses the word "impact." I wrote about this seven years ago. Today? It's worse than ever.

So, here's my take: Use less less, and use fewer more, just like we used to do back in "the good ol' days."

-Heather 

Slow Living is a Battle

Having been living a "slow living" life intentionally for years, there's something about living this unique life (a slow one) amidst this culture (a fast one) that forces me to course-correct fairly regularly.

The basics of slow living, like wearing second-hand clothing, or cooking and baking at home, reading, and taking walks as hobbies, are still there. My basic needs are fulfilled in a way that supports the slow life mentality. And I love it.

But I'm talking about my other everyday activities. If I'm not cognizant of the time I'm devoting to them, my intent will change. Slowly, without knowing it, I will revert to my old way of living, which consisted of cramming as much as I could into a day and doing far more than I needed to.

What causes this? 

I suppose it's because I'm living a slow life in a very busy world. I'm not "off the grid," so to speak. I live in a suburb in a cookie-cutter house. I'm not on ten acres. I can walk to the grocery store, a half mile from my house, rather than grow my food or milk the cow, and gather my chickens' eggs. I'm thoroughly trying to live a slow life in a fast community.

So that will always be challenging for me.

The slow lifestyle I've tried to carve out for myself and my family has the potential to be invaded, overrun, and occupied any time I give it a foothold. All I have to do is step outside and see the latest home improvement project on my neighbor's home to get me to think, "Do we need to do something to our house?"

Take empty-nesting, for instance. My first thought, when my last boy left the coop, was "Hey, now I can devote even more time to doing what I love." Yes, absolutely. I can write more, read more, garden more, heck, I can even devote more time to watching the leaves on my trees change color.

But this thought process has also made me want to do more things I don't need to do.

I've been doing yoga regularly for years, over eleven years, taking classes right down the street from me. As we age, our flexibility decreases as much as our strength, so it's important to strength train as much as we stretch. They work together.

But too much can also cause problems. I got a little gung-ho recently and began stetching way more than I needed to - stretching every day at home, adding more yoga classes - and now, I have a pulled hamstring. This means I have to stop yoga just to repair my pulled muscle. 

What I thought would be a good thing (doing more of what I love is always good, right?) ended up forcing me to not only slow down, but stop. I also picked up running again after taking a little hiatus from it. Which is fantastic! Except that I can't run now because I'm in too much pain.

What I thought would enhance my life, by adding more of it, only ended up hurting me. So there is a form of moderation that I had to bring back into my life. This doesn't mean I can't stretch, run, or keep those extra classes I added, but maybe if I had added less activity to my open schedule, it wouldn't have meant giving up what I loved. 

My takeaway: Just because my schedule is more open doesn't mean I need to overfill it. 

I don't need another job; my two jobs are fulfilling me perfectly. I don't need to add to my online vintage store because I have more time to source vintage clothing; I need to stick with my plan for a smaller shop with better items. 

I don't need another social media app because I have more time, and I don't need a new sport (although, much to my husband's happiness, I'm working on my few golf skills). I only need to keep doing what I'm doing without adding more to my schedule, all because I feel like I need to fill the time. This is a minimalist approach, but it's fair to say, even if I don't like it, this works best for me.

I can be happy with what I currently have and not feel like I'm missing out.

There is a Facebook profile I follow, and her art is a great reminder of what I want to keep my focus on throughout the day, in visual form. Look at this:

These are the things I should be focusing on. More time working the soil, laboring in the kitchen, and writing that story. Yoga class will always be there, but I need to remember that I can still be great at yoga without having to hurt myself.

That book will get written, that torn muscle will be repaired, and I will accomplish what I'm supposed to accomplish, but it's okay to do less, at a slower pace.

The next two weeks are about to be very un-slow. My oldest son is getting married, so needless to say, there will be a lot happening.

But, I can still center myself amidst the chaos with a good cup of coffee, a ten-minute break with a fun book, or a half-hour walk to burn off the stress I know is coming.

Slow living is a battle in our fast-paced world, but with some thought and proactive measures (don't be like me and force proximal hamstring tendinopathy from overdoing a good thing), it can take root and thrive no matter your surroundings.

Trading Running Shoes for Food

The biggest life change, now that I'm an empty nester, is the diminution of food purchasing.

That sounds dramatic. I know. What about them not living under your roof, you ask? Yes, that's hard. What about not hearing their voices, the witty banter betwixt the two brothers, or the malodorous smells coming from their rooms?

Yes, yes, and yes. Those are all huge changes. My husband and I notice how clean our house smells after we've been out and returned home. It's alarming. That's how foreign a clean-house smell is to us.

But back to the food.

Not being near my two boys makes me feel like a part of me is missing now. But a part that's missing - that I really don't miss - is the feeding of them.

If you haven't raised boys, then it's hard to put into words how much food they consume. Boys are like the rapacious locust to the wheat fields, the ants to a picnic, the vultures of the air, and the squirrels to my parent's bird feeders. Boys are living, walking, and talking human food processors. They consume everywhere, and they consume all the time, without any need for a "closed" sign unless they're sleeping.

And even then, I'm not sure if they aren't eating.

I remember a year ago, I bought some shoes at Costco hoping I could use them to start running again. Turns out, that was a mistake. They hurt my feet so badly that I couldn't even keep them as walking shoes. So, I returned them only to use that refund to purchase more food... for them.

The shoes I bought for myself had turned into food for the foraging bears under my roof. 

Such is the life of a mom, I must say. Everything of mine is theirs, and none of their things are remotely mine. And since the boys left, our Costco bill has been cut in half, our regular grocery bill has been cut more than in half, and the time I spend preparing food and cleaning up food is pretty much nil.

My husband is a great cook, so those decades I've spent in the kitchen have come to a screeching halt while he and I take turns cooking for each other, but more him than me these days.

Of course, I like cooking. And I like eating. I like making food for my family and I miss our sit-down dinners we had at least four nights a week.  But, I also like having leftovers in the fridge. I like the coffee pot still half full by mid-morning. I also like the silence in my loft when I'm writing.

Yet, it's all very jarring and mish-mashed, these small things. What's nice one day, I miss the next day. What I've gained one day, means it's missing somewhere else. To have and to have not. To give and to take. To own and to let go. Life is one giant balancing act of ebbing and flowing.

When I go to the grocery store to buy food for myself and my husband, it's like I've had to pick up a foreign language just to function. Do you mean I only need one reusable bag for my groceries, not six? I only have to buy enough coffee for the two of us every month, rather than the four of us? The grocery list is five items long rather than twenty-five?

Everything has changed and everything is a trade-off, I suppose. I gain more of the "stuff" of life, but I've lost a limb or two - which is what it feels like when your kids move away. 

While I may not be trading running shoes for food anymore, which is rather pleasant, nothing has been more rewarding than taking care of those bequeathed to me. 

And I hope my two boys, my boys who have eaten us out of our house and home many times over, know this. ♥

-Heather

Reading and Slow Living

If there's anything a "slow living" lifestyle incorporates into its daily living more than any other lifestyle, it would be reading. I mean, that's my theory anyway. 

Most young people today aren't reading, they're scrolling through social media and buying the newest "it" item in all areas of their lives. If any reading for the youth is involved, it's over texts, Tik-Toks, and trends. 

Actually, adults are doing the same thing.

Yet, I believe everyone would love reading if they found their books. There is a comfy, engaging, captivating genre that speaks to everyone. For me, it's mysteries and middle-grade fiction.

When I meet someone who doesn't read (I meet many), I first question my ability to be friends with them (okay, not really) and then wonder what type of book would be their favorite, which leads me to find something they will read.

I'm not sure when I started reading. It was probably in kindergarten, which means I was about five and a half years old. Average. My third-grade teacher, Mrs. Brooks, will forever be the one who pushed me into reading not just for academics but for fun. She had a chart system with stickers and subject matter - all separated yet connected - and we had to read from all the sections.

But by doing this she made me understand that reading could be both educational and world-travel-inducing. We don't have to actually travel if we don't want to (though, I'd highly recommend this too), all we have to do is open a book and let it take us where we want to go. Instantly.

Other than the ubiquitous Baby-Sitters Club books by Ann M. Martin and Sweet Valley Twins books by Francine Pascal that I read while growing into my pre-teen years (yes, I'm thoroughly aging myself here), and Nancy Drew, Little House on the Prairie, and Anne of Green Gables, I recall one book my parents gave me for Christmas that changed me. It was called Tom's Midnight Garden by Philippa Pearce.

It was - and still is - one of the best books I've ever read. It's a middle-grade book, but of course, it's for everyone. It's about a boy who wakes up to the clock striking 13 at midnight and realizes he's in the same house, but not in the same decade (or century) anymore. 

This book blends the magical with the everyday, and paranormal amidst a classic British pastoral setting, and it was probably one of the first books that pushed me to want to be a writer. I re-read this book a few months ago - thirty-five years since my last reading. It stands the test of time. It's ageless, classic, and the perfect book with mystery, intrigue, and relatability. 

This book made me want to write My ten-year-old self thought, Why not try to write for the rest of my life? Why not do that for a living? 

Well, if only I knew the truth. For starters, writers don't actually make money. It's ironic to even write the words writing and money within the same sentence because they're so incongruous. I joke, but it's true. Writing is for those who love that world and want to be a part of it. But very few writers are making good money from it.

In fact, a friend and I laugh a lot about the relationship between money and writing. She'll say "I just got a royalty check from my latest book sales." And I'll say "That's fantastic." To which she'll reply, "If you think $228 is fantastic, for the quarter, then sure." To which I laugh and then reply, "Well, I just got $125 for my latest work. I might be able to go out to dinner with that," and then we laugh some more.

Writers write for the love of writing. Period. Money is never the motivating factor because there is no money. Unless you're in the top 1% of writers, i.e. the New York Times bestsellers. 

So perhaps I'm not making much money, but I sure love what I'm writing. And that's all that matters. I'm living the dream. The dream I dreamt of as a little girl.

If you're not a reader but want to be, you just haven't found your genre. Find what fits you. Start reading through different kinds of books from historical to autobiography, self-help, romance, and Westerns to mysteries. People have forgotten about books as entertainment. It was good enough for the thousands of years prior, so I don't think this desire for reading is gone... it just isn't prioritized anymore.

A few weeks ago my sister reminded me of a series I'd started but hadn't continued with: A Thursday Murder Club Mystery. I've gone through three books now, have one more to read, and am anxiously awaiting the fifth book that comes out this fall. It's about a group of octogenarians living in a fabulous British retirement facility who solve murders. What's not to love here? The writing is brilliant and hilarious. Highly recommend this series too.

Want to slow down and "travel" more? Want to learn more about a subject you've longed to know about? Maybe you need an espionage thriller to read during your lunch break or a gentle classic to read before bed, all you have to do is add a little more reading into your world and watch that world grow. And once you do, you'll never go back.

Reading forces us to stop scrolling and focus on the words before us. Reading challenges us, disciplines us, and luckily for us, entertains us. It's a slow-living choice that reinforces what it means to live a life grounded in things that matter. Because words do matter. Reading slows us down, and makes us choosy about what we're doing with our hands, our mind, and our time. 

I'm sure glad reading and books are in my life, forcing me to think, and slow down.

Thank you, Mrs. Brooks, for changing my world.

Devoted to Devotions

For the better part of 15 years, maybe closer to 20, I've been writing devotions for various organizations.

In fact, I'm writing more devotions today than I ever did. And that's partly because I'm a freelancer for one of the oldest devotional publications out there (Guideposts) and also because I write devotions without a place for them to go. 

All the time. Because I love them. 

Devotions are essentially short stories that pack a (spiritual) punch.

With my myriad of writings from articles, blog posts, books, and short stories, I've found that writing devotions is one of the best ways to keep my writing skills up. Why? Because, as a writer, being clear and concise - and being able to tell a story - are the key tenets to being a good writer.

Devotions do that for me. If I can't say it in 400 words or less, then the excess needs to go.

Having said all that, here's the reason I'm blabbing on about devotions: I decided (as of yesterday) to let my devotions out to the world. I started a Substack account (which is like a blog) and am posting my devotions there.

It's just me posting some organized paragraphs about the little snippets of God I uncover in my day-to-day life. Instead of hiding them in my computer, I now have a place to showcase them. 

If you're a God-follower, then hey, maybe this is something you want. Or need. A quick two-minute read before you start the day, or one to relax with at the end of the day.

If you're not a God-follower, this may still be a place for you to land at the end of the day. It's a glimpse into my life as a middle-aged woman, a mom, a wife, and a glimpse into the God I've put in the center of my universe.

If you're in the market for a little spiritual uplifting - one that is free - then head on over to my Substack account, called Olive Finch Devotions. I plan on posting one to two days a week.

I also plan on offering a daily devotion with a paid subscription (about $5 a month) but that's a little way down the road. I'd just like to give others something that I could've used years ago.

Short, simple, relevant, Christ-centered devotions. 

I can hear you asking, "Why the name Olive Finch?" Well, head on over to my Substack and find out for yourself.

If this isn't for you, no problem. I wanted to tell you about my latest endeavor. If you are interested, I would love to have you as a subscriber.  And if you like it, tell your friends about it. Share the devotions. Tell others about the Goodness out there.

If there is anything I've written that is worth anything in this world, it would be these devotions. And I'm glad I've finally decided to do something about it.

-Heather

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Feeling a Little Squirrely

I took a nice little walk around my neighborhood last week.

Here in California, a winter afternoon gets up to the “frigid” lower 60s, even in the middle of January. So, with the sun out, my work done for the day, and the fact that I was feeling a little squirrely having been holed up in my house for most of the day, I went out for a little jaunt.

I headed down the usual route, taking the simple circuitous route around my entire neighborhood, and noted the deep blue hue of our winter sky. Birds chattered, neighbors waved hello, and our ubiquitous squirrels ran the neighborhood like the little hoodlums that they are.

As I walked the loop, I watched a squirrel cross from one side of the sidewalk, stop in the middle of my neighborhood road, and stand on his hind legs—just like in a funny insurance commercial, I had seen years ago. 

I would venture to say most people think squirrels are on the annoying side of things. While they’re cute and small and scurry around the trees like ants on a picnic, there’s an element to them that can be frustrating.

Take this incident on the road in my neighborhood, for example. While it’s true that there were no oncoming cars, my street was quiet, and it had been the most opportune time to cross the road, it was still a tad exciting to watch a squirrel cross the road knowing full well they like to fidget and play chicken with every passing car.

This could have been the squirrel's last day. Or, it could have been like most days of its life, and one of fun frivolity, giving gest at every passing car, knowing we humans care about their lives just enough to swerve away from them as we drive by, lest we flatten them.

It’s also no secret, at least in my neighborhood, that we have hundreds of these squirrels. To the point that if one went missing, we probably wouldn’t notice. We’re so used to having them everywhere, over every tree, and on every roof, that we almost don’t see them anymore.

And yet surely, if I thought about it, I would classify these little animals as built-in pets. They run free in my backyard, traipsing across the back fence at record speed, playing with each other at a game of chase - a hundred times a day - with their friends, and even drinking water from my pool.

And don’t get me started on their food binges. With lime, orange, mandarin, peach, pear, and apple trees all within my yard and my neighbors’ yards, they gorge themselves on our fruit year-round, leaving the rinds behind as the only evidence of their feasting. 

These built-in pets (or is it pests) are just assumed to be a part of every household, and we share these pets with our neighbors, even if we don’t think of them as pets because they’re so common and are never missing from our daily view.

Our squirrels rarely go missing. In fact, our prodigious squirrels are hardy. So much so that even our natural wildlife – such as mountain lions and coyotes – take no pleasure in hunting these little ones down. Essentially, our squirrels have no predators and because of that have populated our neighborhood with seemingly a thousand of their fine western gray squirrel relatives.

Regardless of their lack of predators, this day I watched one frolic into the street, look at me, think about crossing to the other side, and then go for it. I saw him lean back and think about the meaning of life in the middle of the road. But, I looked away as soon as he headed toward the house in front of him. If you’ve seen one squirrel, you’ve seen them all.

Or so I thought. 

Most likely, he was headed to the grapefruit tree I just walked past. Or perhaps a cousin was calling him for a rousing game of hide and seek. Whatever his reason for crossing, I forgot about the little imp, glad I didn’t have to witness his fatal demise from a passing car, and went on my way until I noticed him headed for a sunny driveway. 

He scampered up the drive, headed straight for a corner where the garage door butted up against a support beam. He began to sniff the corner. For a moment, he had a distinct dog-like appearance. What was he sniffing? Squirrels have decent noses. Or so it’s implied. It’s why my garden has constant digging and re-digging of holes as my backyard squirrels try to find the nuts they buried in the fall.

This garage faced the southwest and the sun was setting in that direction in a few hours. Most of the warmth of the day radiated at that spot. The squirrel continued to sniff out the corner as if he was ensuring its safety. And then, in dismay, I watched him burrow up against the corner and garage door, tuck his legs in, and pull his tail over his eyes.

The squirrel was taking a nap. In the sun. In front of a garage.

I’d never seen this activity before and it made me rethink squirrels' appeal. Suddenly, my previous view of the raucous annoying creatures had shifted. These little things were adorable! Especially when there was a fluffy tail over their eyes. 

I snapped a photo of him on my phone (it was too far away and blurry, otherwise I would show it here) and shook my head. Though still annoying, I could let go of my resentment over them eating the fruit off my trees. How could I be upset at these cute built-in pets that cavorted all over the neighborhood?

After that walk, I sat outside in the sun in my backyard-- the same sun that the squirrel was resting in, too, at the same time. I’d learned two things on that walk: One, I’d been ignorant about squirrels my whole life, and two: when life is busy, slow down.

Take a lesson from the squirrels (a nut of wisdom, if you will): settle down in the sun and take a nap.

-Heather