I sent this picture to a few of my favourite people. I said, ” what I want my heart to look like”. I found it SO interesting that that was my first thought when I looked at that picture. So my next question was, “What is it that you see when you look at this picture?” So from what I can see, here it is…
nothing is for show. someone entered the kitchen and took a picture because the sun rays were beaming in. the moment of stillness caught on film in a fraction of time. the brita drink container in its useful ugliness wasn’t even put away for a better shot.
it’s not fancy. nobody has tried to capture the perfection of pinterest in this kitchen. the drawers are melamine. the fabric under the sink is from a discount booth at a Walmart. but, in my heart, no “perfectly put together” and Italian marble could capture the essence of this kitchen.
all the things I love and matter to me are in this kitchen. sun rays. warmth. love of nature. comfort. sustenance. humility. beauty. safety. functionality. ease. and most of all, AUTHENTICITY. there’s also a beautiful aged chandelier adding a touch of glamour to the room.
So Yes, I want my heart to look like this kitchen on a summers day. The window is thrown open. Cats bask on the window sill. There’s onions ripening for a family dinner on the counter top. The unpretentious brita jug is in plain view. There’s a touch of glamour in the chandelier adding a touch of celebration to its function. a little indescript clock is marking time.
There’s a chair waiting in the dining nook for you, my friend.
I used to resent special treatment. I can hold my own door, thank you. The other day I had a change of heart. Two gentlemen stood on either side of the elevator and held it while I got on. Wow. Was my heart ever a puddle of love and respect for them. I wanted to reciprocate. Did it ever start a conversation in my head for the rest of the day. I queried. I introspected. I wondered. I understand the women that don’t want this. I used to see it as pandering. Thinking to myself, “Oh yeah, now what? My number? My address?”
Instead these men just kindly continued to discuss a deal they’re working on. They just were humbly doing what they felt good doing. That was holding the elevator for a woman.
I’d say their mamas raised them right.
Thank You to the men who just want to Do Right in their place in society. They crave the peace that comes from Nobility. From Dignity. From Being True Gentlemen.
On the Other Hand, I will Do My Best to Be a Lady. Kind. Virtuous. Discreet.
Here’s to Chivalrous Men. Here’s to Ladylike Women.
The Dreaded Question. My Name is Long. Convoluted. Some would Say Pretty. I’ve Come to Terms with It. It is French, After All. I Adore All Things French.
So the Spelling…Jeannine….is Tricky for Even the Brilliant.
Starbucks can be Tricky.
“Can I have your name please?” …”Sure…it’s Jeannine..”…
The Barista stares without comprehending for a moment at the screen trying to imagine the spelling. The inevitable question becomes, “Can you spell that?”. “okay, so J….”…”G?”…”No, J…”. And So It Begins.
Sometimes I just say “Janine.” That seems easier.
Today I had an Epiphany.
I, on a whim, decided to say “Susan.” It was Brilliant. No Questions Asked. No Spelling Needed. Win! I Felt a Giggle well up in my tummy. Humour on Monday Morning. Win! A Chance to Practice My Memory Skills by having to Actively Listen for “Susan” and responding in kind instead of Just Crickets as the barista stares and motions with the drink. You know, the “two pump” I call it. The double nod and the double fist pump as they try to entice you out of your reverie and forward to grab the drink you ordered. WIN!!
So today, it’s Susan. Tomorrow it’ll be Chris. If they ask me if its a C or a K…that’s still easier than…”there’s two n’s in the middle?”…”oh so like Jean-nine…!!”…
Yep, thanks Parents…love you so much, but honestly the name is a pain in the pahoukie (behind in Hawaiian)
I slept Like a Log last Night. Unable to Shower, I Decided to Distract Unfortunate Passersby from my Bed Head with a Loud Skirt. Long. Puffy. Color Blocked.
The Cabbie Liked It. A Gentleman with a Cane as I Hurried My Just Sprung Out of Bed Behind into Banker’s Hall Liked it. Beautifully Tailored Suited Men Liked It. A little Girl in a Red Jacket Liked it. My Boss was Speechless Over It.
Let’s Just Say it Was a Hit.
So Lesson Learned. Big Bold Fashion Statements when the Hair is More Than Usual Disheveled and the Sleep is Still Being Wiped From Your Eyes.
Love Y’all. You’re One More Fashion Tip Overloaded.
A group of Female Lawyers are Playing Poker for United Way. It’s really Quite Adorable. There’s a lot of Explaining for the Dealer. A lot of Clutching Cards in Well Manicured Nails. A lot of Horn Rimmed Glasses and Small Printed Blouses. I’ve Come to Love These Women. Corporate Female Lawyers are Very Strong. Highly Intelligent. Wonderfully Kind. Levelheaded. Patient.
There’s Something in the eyes of Dedication. Studious. They know how to Endure to the End Game. Self Propelled. Disciplined.
It’s Really True Gorgeousness.
Thank You to Brilliant Female Lawyers. Your Giggles and Your Earnest Kindness Spoke Volumes to Me.
My Apologies to All Wonderful Genevieves in the World.
Yesterday my Beautiful Daughter Grace said, ” Mom, your Genevieve is Out.” As much as it made me Cry Tears of Laughter, I don’t Like Genevieve. She’s an Alter Ego of mine. Or maybe it’s just Ego. My Ego.
My Kids have a Name for Her. She’s Pretentious. Judgmental. Quick to Offense. She even holds her purse a Certain way. Clasping her hands at her upper chest. Her nose is even slightly higher than normal. She’s Impatient. Superficial. She’s Really Rather Ridiculous.
I’ve Learned to Laugh at Her. Quickly Usher her to where she Belongs. Under the Control of Spirit. I only Like Myself under the wonderful control of the Spirit. Gentle. Happy. Supportive. Kind. Longsuffering.
I love that Genevieve Never Goes Away. She’s always there reminding me of My Potential to Be Kinda Awful. To Humble Myself to the Control of the Spirit.
Labouring to always make sure Genevieve stays working the Broom Closet for the Rest of my Days. She’s One Pompous Jerk.