Is that a curtain or a time machine?

| aeporterfield

My home decor style could be categorized as ‘shabby chic’ minus the ‘chic’ part. Nearly every piece of furniture I have is someone else’s cast off, an estate sale treasure, or Salvation Army find. My mother replaces her sofas every few years, so I’m on my third new-to-me sofa and love seat. I refuse to buy new furniture for a couple of reasons, not the least of which being that I live on a teacher’s salary and new furniture just isn’t in the budget. Mostly though I won’t buy anything new because I have two kids, a dog, and two cats. Maybe one day I’ll be able to have nice things, but I don’t know. I kind of like the eclectic look of my random jumbling of home furnishings.

Over the summer a family friend’s grandmother passed away. While this was indeed a very sad occasion, we are now the proud owners of a new-to-us dining room table, barstools, weed eater, and curtains. And oh, what curtains! I’ve never really paid much attention to window dressings, but these curtains are magical. I’m almost as excited about our new curtains as this lady was about hers:

Almost.

But I’m not kidding when I say these curtains are magical. I mean, just look at them:

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Just one look and I was instantly transported back to nineteen eighty-something. I’m 5 years old, in my grandmother’s living room, not a care in the world. Looking through the Sears Wish Book for Christmas presents… Playing Frogger on the Atari… Watching music videos on Mtv… I’m overcome by nostalgia.

I’m not kidding when I say these curtains make me absolutely giddy.

Here’s another angle. I love the juxtaposition of the 1980’s curtains with the 1990’s country blue wall paper:

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There are some who will say this look is tacky, but I don’t care. To me, my home is the most beautiful place in the world. And even if I had a million dollars, I would still furnish my home with second hand junk because it’s just who I am.

Now if anyone has a coffee table they’d like to get rid of, hit me up! I’d be happy to take it off your hands.

Project Summer 2016: The Garden

| aeporterfield

I’ve decided I need to cultivate hobbies and pursue activities of personal interest because the empty nest is looming on the horizon and it takes me forever to do anything. I don’t want to be caught off guard with no hobbies in the autumn of my life. Teaching gives me ample time in the summers to delve into projects and try new things, so for this summer’s project I decided to have a garden.

Before I get into the how of this project, let me explain a little bit of the why behind it.  Quite often I feel ashamed at my inability to do very  basic things. I thought perhaps tending a garden and growing food would boost my self confidence. Also, produce is expensive, and wouldn’t it be nice to fill the dinner table with delicious dishes made from vegetables I grew myself? I had visions of big family dinners, my children would be so robust and healthy… It was going to be beautiful. It was also going to be very easy. See, several months ago I read some articles that basically said that memories could be passed down through your DNA. There was more to it than that, but that was what I gleaned from my reading. You can read more about it here, here, and here. And because I came from a long line of people who had worked the land, I believed that gardening was in my DNA and that my body would remember. Looking at that statement now it seems laughable and crazy, but it made sense at the time. (People often think that I am quiet because I am shy and reserved, but honestly it’s because sometimes I have really dumb ideas.)

Now about my garden, I saw this really cute idea on Pinterest explaining how to have a container garden in an old swimming pool. This was appealing to me because I live in a zero lot house, so my yard is very small, and I just happened to have a swimming pool my kids had outgrown. I found the directions here.  I prepped the pool, drilled holes all around the outside, cut holes in the bottom, put in a layer of newspaper, and filled it with dirt. Apparently dirt for a container garden is not particularly cheap, and I’m not a very smart shopper so it probably cost me way more than most people. I spent $80 on plants. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to grow. I like to eat squash, broccoli, and cabbage, but for some reason those things just seemed impossible to grow in a swimming pool, so I planted tomatoes, bell peppers, and banana peppers, none of which I actually eat. But no matter. I planted my vegetables. My garden was ready to grow.

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From the beginning my plants were never healthy. June was an exceptionally rainy month, and the pool didn’t drain well. All of my plants took on a sickly, pale yellow hue. They were puny.  Eventually the weather did clear up and the garden dried out and the plants seemed to perk up a bit. By late June, early July they began to look healthy. My tomatoes were full of tiny blossoms, but only one or two tiny  little fruits. My peppers were doing nothing.

I tended my garden every day, which was actually pretty boring until I began to notice several spots where the leaves and stems had been chewed. Something was eating my plants. I looked and looked and eventually I found this monstrosity:IMG_3119

He was big enough to have a soul, so I couldn’t bring myself to kill him. I recruited my husband and children to pick him off and drop him into soapy water like the internet told me to. I was able to pick off the smaller ones. When you drop the worms into soapy water, they convulse and puke out their insides. I was oddly fascinated by this. I was told I needed to get some sevin dust, but I never got around to it.

By mid-July I finally had some tomatoes. My youngest son and I would go out each morning and check on them. He enjoyed watching them grow. That’s when we met this guy:IMG_3249The guardian of our tomatoes.

All told, I think I got about four tomatoes from my little garden, which I put salt and pepper on and ate like apples. When my bell peppers finally did put out, they were small and squishy. I only got two banana peppers, but I don’t like those anyway, so it wasn’t much of a loss. I think poor drainage was the biggest problem. I don’t think the plants had healthy roots. They may have also gotten too hot because there wasn’t enough dirt in the pool. So basically I spent about $180 on 4 tomatoes.

Once school started I was too busy and exhausted to bother with the garden, so it became a science experiment in decay. This was the garden in early August:

This is what the garden looks like today:IMG_3835

I’m waiting for it to return to the dust of the Earth.

I wouldn’t count the whole experience as a loss, though, because I did learn some valuable lessons. (Cue the After School Special music…) The most important being that I do not enjoy gardening. This is not the hobby for me. Nothing can survive in my house unless it a) feeds itself, or b) cries to be fed. I also learned that a swimming pool full of dirt is very heavy, and getting this garden out of my backyard is going to be a chore. For my husband, maybe.

Next summer’s project will be much smaller and less expensive. I have about 170 days to think about it.

 

Sunrise

| aeporterfield

Dormant trees sleeping

Silhouetted against the

Brilliant rose-gold dawn.

  

I love watching the sun rise. I see it every day and it is always exhilarating. My pictures can’t do it justice, and my words can’t communicate my feelings. Beginning every day in awe-struck wonder, excited like a little child, “Oh boy! I get to live in the world today!”

Simplicity truly is a gift.

To 2016… and beyond!

| aeporterfield

(This was originally posted on another blog I had a few years ago, I just updated it to re-share.)

To 2016… and beyond!

If you know me, you know that I am OCD about haiku.

counting syllables
five, then seven, then five more
I can’t help myself

What you may not know, is that I’m the same way about acrostics.

Always trying to
Come up with words worth
Reading up, down and
Over
So I can
Tell my feelings about
Ideas in a
Clever way.
See?

It’s what I do.  It helps me wrap my mind around an idea. Anyway, I came across some acrostics I wrote several years ago when I was going through a trying time, and they seemed relevant today. So here are some thoughts for the new year, 2016.

Moving forward
Only limited by
My thoughts
Ever changing
Never still
Tireless in my efforts
Unencumbered by
My past

(I thought about changing the last two lines to Until I reach My goal, but that’s not how it was written originally, so I didn’t)

On Discipline:

Distractions are
Inevitable but
Stay the
Course
It may be
Painful, but in the
Long run
It will pay off
Never fail to meet your
Expectations of yourself.

On Choices:

Choices we make can
Help or hurt
Ourselves and others
It would be wise to
Consider
Every outcome before
Selecting

On Courage:

Carrying
On,
Understanding that
Real bravery means
Always
Going forward
Even when you’re afraid

This one, for my broken hearted single friends,
On SolitudeSpending time
Occasionally in
Lonely
Isolation can be
Therapeutic.
Understanding hurt
Does not come
Easy

This one, as I try to cast a vision for what I want to accomplish in this new year:
Visualization
Is calling
Something
Into being
Out of
Nothing
You know, all creation takes place first in the mind, then in the world. Dream it, be it, make it so. But in order for visualization work, you have to have clarity:
Clearing away the debris
Littering the path to self-
Actualization
Realizing your potential
Is possible when you
Truly focus on the road before
You
For me personally, clarity here means freedom from the influence of the demands and opinions of others. Clarity of mind, clarity of vision, clarity of purpose.
Well, there you are, friends.  Here’s to a healthy, prosperous new year! Happy 2016!!

It’s a small world

| aeporterfield

I would love to pursue photography as a hobby, but darn it if it isn’t expensive. A couple of years ago my sweet husband bought me a fancy schmancy DSLR camera that takes beautiful pictures. I’ve watched a few online tutorials on how to get great shots, but mostly I just chase my kids around with it. I can’t afford all the different lenses for it. So this year for Christmas my sweet husband got me these: 

 
I haven’t used the wide angle or fish eye lens much, but I’ve had a lot of fun with the macro lens. Mostly just moss on trees, gumballs, and acorns, but from a new perspective.

   
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
   

The Gift Exchange

| aeporterfield

Beth gathered up her belongings and hopped off the bus. She was loaded down with parcels, but she managed not to drop anything. The ride to school had been agonizingly long. Didn’t the driver realize how special today was? Beth ran up the steps into the ancient redbrick building that was her elementary school and made her way to her classroom.  Today was the day of the class Christmas party!

Inside the classroom was magical. A Christmas tree stood in one corner, lit up and decorated with ornaments the children had made. Beneath the tree lay the presents the students had brought for the gift exchange. Pushed to one side of the room, under a row of frosted windows, was a table laid out with all sorts of delicious cookies and candies. The room mothers had gone all out for the occasion, and Beth couldn’t wait for the festivities to begin. She placed her gift under the tree and walked back to the cloakroom to hang up her coat and hat. The room bustled with the excited chatter of the first and second graders.

Beth found her seat and listened attentively as her teacher Mrs. Bryant welcomed the children and laid out the plans for the day. First would be crafts, then games, a special snack, and finally the gift exchange. Beth eyed the gaily wrapped packages under the tree and wondered how she could possibly wait that long. What wonderful treasures were contained within the layers of paper and tape? If Mrs. Bryant was still talking Beth couldn’t hear her. She was transfixed by the sparkling tree and the piles of presents underneath, each package full of limitless possibilities. She was imagining picking each one up and shaking it when she was snapped back to reality by a room mother slapping an angel cut out on her desk. Craft time.

The next several minutes were a blur of glitter and glue. They were making angel tree toppers with photos of themselves for the faces. Wouldn’t their parents love these? So adorable. Beth stole another glance at the gift pile as she crossed craft time off of her mental checklist. Next came games, then snack, then the gift exchange. As the adults arranged the room for a game of musical chairs, some children talked excitedly of Santa, others complained of empty bellies. Even with all of the excitement, the time was passing much too slowly.

Game time. Beth took her seat and listened for the music. Alvin and the Chipmunks. She walked lazily around the circle, barely making it into a chair when the music stopped. She wasn’t so lucky the second time. No matter. She found that while everyone was distracted by the game, if she was very quiet she could slowly inch over to the Christmas tree. She scooted on her bottom until she sat right beside the presents. There were two piles, one for boy gifts, the other for girl gifts. She looked the boys’ gifts over. That one was clearly a football. This one was wrapped in Garfield wrapping paper. Kevin must’ve brought this one. Here was one wrapped in the funny papers. Beth felt sorry for whomever picked that one. She was trying to scoot over to the girls’ pile when she was startled by loud cheering. The game was over, Jennifer had won. The prize was one of those books of Lifesavers candies. Lucky Jennifer. Beth crossed game time off her list and made her way back to her seat for snack time.

The room mothers passed out snacks amidst a cacophony of jabbering children and Christmas music. Beth admired the treats on her plate. Cookies iced to look like snowmen, fluffy white divinity, nutty fudge… There was even a black licorice stick in her kool-aid.  She didn’t really like licorice, but it did make her drink more festive. Beth stirred her drink, all the while glancing covertly at the gift piles. She hadn’t gotten to properly investigate the girls’ presents. She licked absently at the icing on her cookie while appraising the gifts. Which one would she pick? That one was too small. That one looked like a monkey had wrapped it. There was her own gift, a fashion doll with long blonde hair and high heels. She knew someone would love that one. There were so many to choose from! How could she possibly know which one was best? She needed to get her hands on them. It wouldn’t be long now…

As the room mothers cleared away the children’s plates and cups, Mrs. Bryant explained the rules of the gift exchange.  The children’s names had been placed in a cup. When your name was drawn, you could go and choose a gift from the appropriate pile. You would take the gift back to your seat, and you absolutely WOULD NOT TOUCH IT until all of the gifts had been chosen. Everyone would open their gifts at the same time. Beth waited impatiently as one by one her friends were called upon to choose their presents. Kevin chose the football. Samantha chose the gift Beth had brought. Becky chose the one that looked like a monkey had wrapped it. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Mrs. Bryant pulled Beth’s name from the cup. Yes! Beth walked up the aisle to the tree and gazed upon the bounty underneath. She picked up one and gave it a little squeeze. It felt like a purse. She already had a purse. She put that one down and picked up another. She wrapped her hands around it and felt the contours of the package. This one felt like a pony. She had a collection of ponies at home. As she lay the pony down her eyes fell upon her prize. This was definitely the one. A rectangular package wrapped in pristine white tissue paper, topped off with a curly red ribbon. Beth picked up the present. It was a decent size, and heavy. It felt good in her hands. As she walked back to her seat with her treasure, her friend Kelly waved her down and excitedly mouthed the words, “I brought that one!” This just kept getting better and better…

Beth waited at her desk with her prize, fingering the curly red ribbon, until all of the presents had been chosen and Mrs. Bryant gave them permission to open their gifts. Instantly the room exploded with the joyous sounds of ripping paper and excited squeals of the boys and girls as they opened their cars and motorcycles, their baby dolls and ponies. Beth tore at the wrappings on her gift. Why won’t this stupid ribbon come off already?! Finally, after reducing the paper to shreds, Beth beheld her long awaited treasure…a stack of Little Golden Books about Jesus.

Wait. What?

Books? Was this a joke? Beth searched through what was left of the wrapping paper to see if maybe she had missed something, anything. Scratch and sniff stickers, coloring pages, anything. But there was nothing. Nothing but the Jesus books. This couldn’t be happening.

Beth looked around her at all the children enjoying their gifts. The boys racing their cars along the floor, the girls brushing their dolls’ hair. She looked over at Kelly and smiled weakly. Kelly had chosen the purse. The purse had been full of make up. Beth felt the tears stinging her eyes as she looked down at her books. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. She picked up the book on top and stared at it. Her cheeks flushed hot with shame. She was supposed to love Jesus. After all, Christmas was Jesus’ birthday. Great. Not only did she not like her gift, she was going to Hell because of it. She looked over at Kelly again. Kelly was putting on sparkly lip gloss, completely oblivious to the fact that Beth was going to Hell. How could this be? Beth bowed her head and said a solemn prayer of apology to God and Jesus for not liking the gift. She hoped it was enough to save her soul. She then abandoned her gift and went searching for someone to share their toys with her.

Beth learned a very important lesson that day. Don’t be fooled by pretty wrappings, it is indeed what’s inside that counts. And she vowed she would never give a child a book for Christmas. Not ever.

 

The End

 

 

Happy Father’s Day!

| aeporterfield

amy-dad

Happy Father’s Day to all of the amazing dads out there!

I remember a conversation I had once with my dear old dad, a brief moment of clarity in the midst of my pubescent angst.  I expressed my gratitude for everything he had done for me, and I asked how I could possibly repay him. His response?

“You’ll repay me by raising your children right.”

I thought, “Sweet! Saves me a lot of money on gifts!”

My ignorance is so laughable now.  Being up to my eyeballs in child rearing, I now realize how challenging it truly is. I appreciate more than ever the sacrifices my parents made for me, and I’m grateful for the opportunity to see it all come full circle.  I hope I make you proud.

And I apologize from the bottom of my heart for being such a pain in the ass as a teenager.

I wrote this for my dad several years ago on Father’s Day.  It’s mushy and sentimental, but what do you expect on a Hallmark Holiday?  I love you, Dad! Happy Father’s Day!

“To the one who

grew me from a seed,

met my every want and need

whose hand was always firm, but fair

who disciplined with love and care

The one who taught me how to fish,

here for you my dearest wish.

Let my life be a tribute to

all the things I learned from you.

The values you instilled in me

make me a living legacy

to the greatest man I’ve ever known,

from the luckiest seed

to ever be sown.”

© 2015 Amy Porterfield

Gratitude

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(If you didn’t know, I have a thing for acrostics.)

Giving thanks can

Radically increase

Abundance.

Thankful hearts

Inspire

Thoughtful gestures.

Understand this- if you

Desire peace,

Exude gratitude.

Gratitude is my umbrella in the rain, my shelter in the storm. Gratitude and compassion bring me back to center, remind me of what is important, and lift me out of despair.

I’ll count my blessings every day, and every day I’ll have more blessings to count.

Earthworms

| aeporterfield

** This is a repost from last June on my old blog. Thought I’d share it for a new audience. It’s quite appropriate with all the rain and mud we’ve been having lately.

I recently began an early morning walking routine. Up every morning at the crack of dawn, tennis shoes on, earbuds in, walking, walking, walking.  This has become my favorite time of the day. The solitude, the calm before the kids wake up, the fresh morning air… I love it.  My route is always the same. I have a 2.5 mile loop mapped out from my house, up the street, around the corner and back.  The view doesn’t change, really. I do enjoy the stretch of sidewalk beside the park, densely wooded with sunlight peeking through the trees. I like to smell the dirt and the cool, damp air. I would brave the trails through the forest, but one time one of my neighbors told me he saw bear scat back there and even though he was probably full of shit, I don’t play with bears. So I stick to the sidewalk.

While the sidewalk is happily bear-free, walking here can be very monotonous. Verging on boring, really, so I do little things to occupy my mind. I like to write haiku, so I’ll make up little verses about the things I see. For example,

Black widow spider

finish spinning your egg sac

I will walk away

or this one

turtle head peeping

come out of your shell for me

let me see your face

But mostly what I see are dried up crusty earthworms.

June was an exceptionally rainy month, and many earthworms were washed up onto the sidewalk to die, their bodies littering the path. I see them every day, and after a while I became sort of fixated on them. I think the weird combination of tramping on earthworm remains and reading a bunch of Shel Silverstein books with my kids is what inspired this piece.

Earthworms

by Amy Porterfield  🙂

It’s always the same

each time that it rains

the sidewalks are littered

with earthworm remains.

The life of an earthworm

is simple at best,

munching the soil

never stopping to rest.

But often it happens

when the rain comes down,

the worms come up

fearing they’ll drown.

Wriggling to the sidewalk

to catch their breath

completely unaware

of their looming death.

But here comes the sun,

ready or not!

Sighs weary Earthworm,

“My, but it’s hot!”

This photo has nothing to do with the story.
Either does this one.