There’s this place filled with creative thoughtful people who share many of the same philosophies and respect each other when their opinions differ. The thing that bonds these folks together is a common love for the art of photography. Strange thing, though, this neighborhood? It’s virtual. It’s Flickr and blogging and Facebook (and others I’m sure). It’s women who check in on each other when one hasn’t been around for a while. It’s a mutual admiration society in the best way, and it’s a visual feast. It’s friendships 2.0 – weird, maybe, to your grandmother. People who’ve never met – sharing intimate details of their lives with each other and trusting one another with secrets. It’s following your gut instinct and it’s impossible to explain to our kids (whom we would never ever allow to do the same). It’s meeting a bunch of strangers for lunch and conversation and it’s some of the most intimate friendships I have ever had. I can’t fully explain it except to say that we don’t get to choose our actual neighbors. And while I’m beyond lucky in that department, there’s something to be said for creating boundary-less networks and filling them with souls who we just plain connect with.

Last month hundreds of these women (I don’t mean to be sexist, but I can’t actually think of any men in my network) took part in an annual ritual of thanksgiving. We counted our blessings in images every day for thirty days. We went about our days considering what we had to be thankful for (and photographing some of them). And while I’d like to tell you that I spend my entire life like this, it wouldn’t be true. But for one month all the nit-picky crap was overshadowed by the small blessings of every day. And of those, there are many.

At the onset, I thought of it as a useful exercise in creative photography. Before long, though, my thinking had begun to change. New habits perhaps? A movement toward a glass-half-full mentality? I’m hoping.

Insert reality check: the things which annoy me daily did not go away. Scrubbing toilets did not become a joy and long dark cold afternoons did not suddenly become light and warm. But truth be told, things I may have previously ignored became drops filling my glass beyond that halfway line. So today, though I might not write about it, or even photograph it, I will walk through my day looking for the things I’m grateful for.

And I’ll start here. With you, my friends.

November.

It’s a month that finds our nation collectively giving thanks. As individuals many of us take this time to count our blessings. Last November, one month after my husband had lost his job and facing very grim prospects, I distinctly remember the guilt in not being able to feel thankful for what we still had. Our health, family and friends. Each other. Seeing those things through the darkness that had set in over our house took more effort than I had most days. It was a rough year.

This November things are looking up.

We have work and we’re warm. The lights are back on around here (literally and emotionally) and it feels easier to take stock of the good. But just between you and me, this gratitude stuff sometimes feels a little forced. Truth is, we’re lucky. So very lucky. Our list is long and plentiful and reading through it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy.

But I’m not a big fan of winter in these parts. Four o’clock comes ’round and it’s dark out and there are cranky children and mountains of homework to contend with. Chores feel impossible and the days never end. I hate that I feel this way and wish I took it all in stride but oh, how I miss the extra hours of daylight already. I am eternally grateful for a thousand things, but if I’m being honest, I’d tell you that I’m also counting the days until March.

no sooner had i made my decision about blogging over (there) than i read this. (thank you sarah.) i had a complete forehead smacking moment. why move four years of blogging over (there) when all i’m really looking to do is consolidate? duh. just take this (much newer, much smaller) blog over there. i’m really truly sorry for the inconvenience friends but i over thought it. if you’re looking for me, look no farther then where you always have.

with the power back on, and most of the tomatoes ripened and harvested, we plowed ahead into another school year. as if on cue the weather turned cool and jeans long since pushed to the back of the closet were found. the roads here are peppered with yellow buses and bedtimes are systematically earlier. no one is playing in the yard after dinner and my planner resembles a crossword puzzle. no matter what the calendar says, it’s autumn.

while summer’s logistics were complicated—the juggling that came with two children home and a business to run—i’ve admittedly been dreading returning to this schedule. perhaps it’s the transition that i find difficult, but i think it’s more likely the pace. everything is suddenly on superspeed and i just know i won’t be able to keep up. gone are the lazy mornings when the boys roll out of bed on their own timeline (toddler and teenager—you can guess who sleeps late and who rises early). gone are the impromptu evening visits from neighbors and late afternoon trips to the pool. and in their stead, alarm clocks and homework and charts.

i have yet to embrace what will eventually be the joys of this season. the colors and the slow cooking and the sweaters.

today i’m just going to mourn summer’s departure.

powering up my phone this morning i was assaulted by the number 1 flashing at me—marking the first day of september. how i didn’t know it was coming has mostly to do with the hurricane that tore through here a few days ago. amazing how no power in your house can discombobulate you so. frankly, it’s a date i’m always in denial about – even when my electronic calendars are working.

but these last days threw me for a loop.

i’d like to tell you a tale of family bonding and epic board games, and indeed there was some (i kicked some go-fish ass). but the moral of this story is addiction. it wasn’t the lights we missed. no, candles and flashlights are adequate (at least during the last days of august). it turns out that i’m a power junkie. my dishwasher and laundry machines provide a sweet taste, but the delicious whirring sound of my laptop was the fix i was jonesing for.

news, communication, entertainment—contact. the hand crank radio that was a gift from my ex-mother-in-law for holiday 1999 (impending millennium doom) provided some small measure, but at around day three i would have given away one of my kids for some wifi or a working cell signal.

after whining a few times about not being able to watch tv, the little one took it in stride (as they do) but the big one clearly takes after his mama. cranky, jittery, moody—classic signs of withdrawal.

three days in, out of sheer desperation, i took a risk. i gave him a job. a job that usually falls outside of the scope of stuff he does around here (stuff he does around here being a frequent bone of contention in our family). i asked him to help with the littles. and, guess what? he stepped it up. at dinner at a neighbor’s he took six children under the age of five upstairs and gave me and two other weary mamas a break. for hours. who knew that he had camp counsellor abilities hiding under all that teenage angst?

so the next day during the witching hour i asked him to do it again and crossed my fingers. five dollars and an hour to myself later he had babysat his little brother for the first time. and no blood was shed.

silver linings people. silver linings.

at one point or another almost every blogger i am personally acquainted with has confessed to me their questioning of the purpose of it all.

i have a few (confessions) of my own i’d like to share here in the midst of my own blog-istential crisis.

first, i suffer migraine headaches. if we know each other or we’re flickr friends you already know this. last july i started taking a daily medication to treat them. i was pretty desperate suffering almost as many days in a month as i wasn’t. i really didn’t have a choice.

thing is, though, one of the ‘side effects’ of the medicine was trouble recalling words. sounds awful, i know. and in reality it wasn’t as debilitating as it sounds. it was occasional and frustrating but, hey, it happens to everyone sometimes. you can’t find the right word. you pick another and move on. and i was feeling relief. so i sucked it up.

but i couldn’t write. i couldn’t find the words. for a year now, my words have been locked inside my head. and the headaches came back after just a few months. sneaking up on me. taking days away from me. so i’ve quit it. and slowly, i feel the words coming back. slowly.

maybe that’s why i’ve been quiet here. or maybe it’s time. you know about this one. there’s never enough time so when you add something to one side of the scale, something else has to give. or the debate about whether to keep this a personal space or promote my business here. i’ve gone back and forth on this one but in the end, i need a personal outlet so i’ve decided to blog about all things business somewhere else.

or maybe it was something else entirely. i’ve been making excuses to friends who’s places i haven’t been visiting. feeling badly about not leaving comments for them. being there for them. pressure isn’t my friend. if i were talking to you, i’d say ‘it’s your space. use it when you feel like using it. don’t let it become a burden’.

so that’s what i’ve been doing. but truth be told, i miss this neighborhood of ours. so i think i’ll be visiting more often. taking some of the pressure off and adding small posts more often. not trying to outdo myself. some honesty and accountability. not every post is poetry. not everything i have to say is interesting. just truth.

i have frequent recurring dreams of a friend with whom things ended badly

i cried twice yesterday, on the occasion of my youngest child’s 4th birthday

i get up early for the express purpose of having time with no kids (or husbands) around

i don’t fully understand the debt-ceiling thing

i almost never have breakfast

i honestly don’t get what the big fuss is about gay marriage

i don’t like kale or broccoli rabe (or arcade fire for that matter)

i write (compelling and thoughtful) essays in the shower but forget them before i can get to the computer

i can’t stand wearing my glasses but can no longer see two feet in front of my face without them

i hate sitting at a desk

i love being near the ocean but almost never swim in it

i didn’t keep baby books for either of my children and can’t remember any of their stats

today’s date makes me sad

we’ve packed and gone
and come back again.

and mostly we’ve
done the laundry
and moved onto the next.
activities,
and outdoor suppers.
late afternoon swimming
and pajamas in the yard at dusk.
chasing fireflies.
thunderstorms.
heatwaves.

in years past i couldn’t manage to hold onto
even one
of the sweet summer memories
as the days slipped through my fingers.
delightful
and elusive,
but moving oh so quickly towards the end of it all.
and then my camera,
of all things.
something changed,
slowed down.
and now
i see (most days)
for the joy they bring.
new growth.
moods pass and shadows lift.

it’s mark is upon us.
it’s impression
not to be forgotten when the days are short
and dark.
july evenings will be with us
in february, i tell myself,
full of hope,
because we savor them today.

well hello there.
you know that point when something’s got to give?
the one when the plate is just so full that something gets pushed right off the side?
right over the edge?
yes. of course you do.

i got there when jake finished school for summer a few weeks ago.
so delightful. no homework or school schedules to navigate.

overwhelming. a teenager home. for weeks. and a job. and a toddler. to navigate.
admittedly i’d rather have this issue than the other, but of course what gives is -
well, you know what gives when the family-plate is full.
you give.
so the blog? well, anyway, i’m here now.

i’ve written before about how i find it a little distasteful that we need a national ‘holiday’ to celebrate our mothers. that it takes a commercial creation to set aside a day just for us. ‘be good to your mom today—it’s mother’s day’ seems a confusing lesson to teach our children when we tell them all year round ‘be good to your mom—it’s the right thing to do’. and yet, mother’s day rolls around and every year and i play into the hype. i have expectations of a day with no quarreling and handmade cards delivered to me in bed. (i pretend that it’s for them but you won’t tell, right?)

this year circumstances took one of my children to vermont with his father and the other across town with his father and i found myself alone on mother’s day morning. now, i know some of you are thinking: a morning alone? that’s the perfect mother’s day gift—bliss. while i’m sure others among you are feeling terribly sorry for me. and, frankly, you’d all have it right. of course i wished i was with my children. but was i looking forward to some quiet time? hell yes. so when the phone rang at seven-thirty and woke me (quite possibly the latest i’ve slept in a year) i was not pleased. when it was my husband telling me that he was on the way to the emergency room with my toddler, well, you can imagine.

as the day wore on my worry turned to anxiety and, at moments, sheer panic (the words maxillofacial and surgeon do not soothe a nervous mother) all i wanted was to hold my baby. i’ll inject here that this accident was minor. his injuries were minor. he is fine. i understood this and i heard it in my husband’s voice. but i wanted to see my baby. i needed to see my baby.

at some point i stopped feeling sorry for myself though, and lamenting about my sucky mother’s day, and i realized that what i was experiencing was actually the perfect mother’s day. a celebration of what mother’s do every day of our lives. we hold our children in our hearts and minds, in our bodies. we feel them with every ounce of our lifeblood. we have to. nothing brings us more joy or more pain and there isn’t any other way we would have it. and i know i speak for all of us on this.

that i had to worry until i could hold him in my arms? that i couldn’t breathe fully until i saw for myself what i already knew to be true? that is mother’s day. that is my every day.