The Wink

So Pinterest…

I like it, always have. Every once in a while I see people complaining that they don’t get it. There is a lot to get confused by online, but Pinterest shouldn’t be one of them. You just get an account (if you need an invite let me know). You’ll set up “Boards”:

Install and drag the Pin It” button to your bookmark bar:

And then when you are on a site; anything from a blog to a store to a business, click Pin It. This will bring up all the pinnable images from that page. Some sites don’t work, but many do:

After you select your image, you assign it to a board:

And write a caption:

I adore it, not for anything related to what I do at work, but for the quick, easy chance it offers to curate things. Some people use it to dog ear the corners of virtual shopping pages:

Some people use it to catalog crafts/DIY projects they might tackle one day:

You can find inspiration:

Stuff for hair:

And for skin:

Art:

Love:

There is no right or wrong way to do it. I curate thoughts, making each pin an aspiration, a reminder or a dare. It pleases me in a way that saying the right thing at the right moment, overcoming obstacles or rising above something does.

For whatever reason, when I started I opted not to use punctuation, and so it is that my pins look like thoughts I dashed off, or at least that’s how I think of them. At the end of the day, Pinterest is for you, not for business, not for popularity not for anything other than a place to stow things that make you smile.

Isn’t that refreshing?

Happy pinning!

I’ve always loved light.

It’s kept me company in the hours when sleep hides.

It’s hidden so that I can listen in the dark.

It’s blinded me with beauty on the lake.

It’s shone down on us as we’ve colored together.

It’s danced outside my window and made me smile.

Light

It’s the feeling in my heart when I let my joy cast stronger shadows than my sorrow.

It started seven years ago with an infant and a sitter, then there was a carpeted corridor in a church preschool, and onto a sunny walk ending at the front steps of the elementary school. The second time doing the each of those for the first time hurt all over again. Now, with Finley, we’re at the tail end of preschool and I am recognizing drop off for what it is: a complete leap of faith.

This morning I dropped Finley off at the door. Her bag was packed to stay for lunch and her hair was pulled back to her exacting specifications.

“First the pink one mom, and then goes the green, the purple, the ‘nother green one and then an orange, not pink, orange.”

I moved my fingers gingerly through her hair, careful not to snag any hairs along her neck and draw tears. The elastic bands were looped around her fingers, little lassoes of expectation. As I gathered the sections of hair she sighed contentedly and craned to see her reflection. Tiny pricks of tears threatened at the corners of my eyes as she beamed and nodded in satisfaction.

“Don’t forget these,” she said proffering three garish, fuzzy bands with cascading strands of diamond shape beads.

“Ok,” I said, “which one?” She looked at me with comedic dismissiveness, “All of them of course,” she said swinging her pony tails behind her. I added them all and she declared herself ready to go.

I lifted her out of the jeep and one of the teachers came over from the door. “Hello Finley!” She chirped. Fin preened and whispered a shy, but extremely pleased, “Hi.” I asked if it would be ok for her to stay for the after-session. “Of course,” the teacher said. Finley looked up at her as she held out a hand. The look on her little face was so wide open and trusting it caught me by surprise. It’s not a look she directs at me. A part of me needed to pierce the moment, reinsert myself in what matter.  I mentioned her hair and that she had dreamt up the style herself. “So pretty,” the teacher said. Finley’s smile stretched from ear to ear and her eyes opened even wider. She was joy personified and it cut right through me.

My emotions roiled—so much hope in that one little face. I wanted to put my hand on the woman’s shoulder, to implore her not to let us down.

Acknowledge how significant this is, deserve her trust, respond to her delight. Be the person she thinks you are, if just for these few hours.

I kept my hands to myself and knelt down to kiss Finley. “Have fun, honey.” I drew the words out as if to accompany her to the door. She softly called out, “I will mama.” And then they were gone.

Climbing into my car I willed myself not to cry. Did I really need the extra two hours to work? Should I scratch it and pick her up at the regular time? As I approached the exit to the parking lot I realized how selfish I was being. The look on her face was not fear, it was pure anticipation. There was no thinking that I was failing as a mom or choosing work over parenting. She’d been skipping through the house all morning singing about getting to go to lunch bunch and asking if we’d seen the lunch she was taking. This was not failure on my part, it was achievement on hers.

The leap of faith in dropping her off was equal parts trusting it would be as exciting as she’d hoped and crossing my fingers that in coming home to me there might be some chance of her looking up at me with that same wide open, brimming-with-joy face.

The arrival of this particular three day weekend came with declarations of knowing things about Martin Luther King Jr. Briar shared with me some of the things she learned, Avery piped in with other details. Finley listened and nodded, occasionally chiming in to compare it to something. I was proud of them, am proud of them. I think that being allowed to witness (and hopefully encourage) their growing comprehension and awareness is literally a gift.

Here we were a year ago –>  January, 17th, 2011.

The questions are going to get tougher and the stakes are going to get higher as we confront race, politics, sexual orientation, mean girls and shady boys. I think we can all do our part and honor people like Martin Luther King Jr and so many others who fought for equality.

Let’s.