A sercy.

Have you ever heard of a sercy? Well, neither had I, until I stumbled upon the blog Purple Bottle, where a blog writer named TruPeach posted about it. She had heard about it on another blog and was paying the kindness forward by posting it to her blog readers.

A sercy (also called a "cerci") is kinda like a little, unexpected gift. Another description I found: "It might be something you really liked – like your favorite gum, candy, ice cream or some small trinket. Usually it was something that you never asked for...but was often given out of friendship."

How delightful.

On TruPeach's blog, she said she would send a "sercy" to the first 3 people who commented on her blog that day, and then those 3 people, upon receiving their sercy in the mail, would then "pay it forward" by offering a sercy on their blogs. Well, I was the first commenter!

You won't believe what TruPeach sent me in the mail...this adorable homemade garland! What a thoughtful gift from a complete stranger! I've already hung it in my office!


So, now as promised, I am doing my part by offering you a sercy...

"Pay it Forward Exchange: Here are the rules: I agree to send something fun, cute, and nice to the first 3 blog owners who post a comment on this entry. In turn, those three will post this information and pick 3 people they want to send something to and so on. Unfortunately, due to postage costs, I can only pay it forward within the United States. If you are interested in participating, be one of the first 3 blog owners to leave a comment!

You have to promise that you will then post about this on your blog, link to me, and then send something to the first three people who comment on your blog so that this continues. When I have the first three to comment I will email you a request for your shipping address and I will send out something that I hope will make you smile!"

Just being.

On my lunch break today, I went out on the front porch and realized the sun was a bit cooler than usual. I sat on the top step, wrapped my arms around my knees and decided to "just be" for a little while, something I rarely do during the workday.

With only myself to blame, I have let many of my days become so fast-faced that my work hours have flown by in a state of frenzy, my lunch "breaks" spent scarfing down food at my desk and working against some imaginary clock that no one is enforcing but me. Shushing my husband when he tries to talk to me as I'm typing an email is not OK.

In addition, the stress of this overwork has started to manifest itself in my life physically, and that is also not OK. I can no longer afford not to stop...not to rest...not to slow down. What am I trying to prove anyway? What is the point of working myself so hard in the name of serving....that it hinders my ability to serve? It doesn't even make sense. I don't think it serves God for me not to take care of this body or to keep fueling a twisted pride that I am better than someone else for doing more.

As I sit here today in the early fall sun, I'm glad I stopped. And like a little reward, I'm noticing some things I would have missed otherwise...

...More and more buds on the roses and hollyhocks...




...The click-click-clicking of a cricket somewhere in the grass.

...Slowly swishing leaves high up in the trees, showing a few beginning tinges of yellow.

...Twisting vines of the morning glories that have claimed the front porch railing...


...An airplane high up in the sky, framed perfectly between the limbs of our baby oak tree (look closely)...


...My shadow in the sun...


...The gorgeous inspiration on these pages in my new Coastal Living that I just discovered in the mailbox...

I think I'll sit out here a little bit longer. Paint my toes. Finish reading my magazine. And hopefully return back inside more centered, more peaceful, more aware, more ready to live life in a way that honors God and cares for myself in a healthy way.

Welcome, Autumn.

autumn in central park, 2006

Today is the Autumnal Equinox, one of two times a year when the day and night are of equal length. I'm not sure what that means, besides the fact that cool weather is coming. Yes, cool weather is coming to the land of Texas which this summer dried to a crisp. Here, Autumn, not Spring, is when we emerge from our hibernation. We get to drink morning tea+coffee not encased in an air-conditioned home, but on the back steps gazing into the yard as the squirrels scamper high in the trees. Autumn is when we get to take a walk in the middle of day without breaking a sweat. Autumn is when we dust off our firepit and start gathering stray branches to use as kindling.

There are exactly 37 days until we leave on our annual Autumn Trip to New Jersey & New York City! Oh, the memories I have there at every season, but especially this time of year...sipping a warm drink while walking up Park Avenue to Central Park. Enjoying a slow afternoon on a patio in the East Village. Layering on a jacket (and perhaps a light scarf) as evening sets in. Heading off to dinner in the coolness. This year, we'll get to take a true vacation for an entire week...no computers, no meetings, no schedule. We'll get to see our dear friends and New Yorkers The Sullivans. We might even take a drive to Connecticut and stop at roadside apple farms. I look forward to walking the leaf-carpeted sidewalks of my hometown, helping my dad bag leaves in the back yard, sitting on a bench and just staring, meditating on the change of seasons, and simultaneously, the change in me.

"Everyone must take time to sit and watch the leaves turn."
~Elizabeth Lawrence

The more I slow down my life, the more I realize we were meant to live with the rhythms of the earth. There is a reason we have seasons, and oh, how I need this Autumn to refresh me and remind me...that if not even one leaf goes untouched by God, then He can surely take care of me.

A good morning.

"We can make our minds so like still water that beings gather about us,

that they may see their own images, and so live for a moment with a clearer,

perhaps even a fiercer life,

life because of our quiet." ~ yeats

breakfast:
hot Enfusia with coconut milk, stevia, and cinnamon
Ezekiel 4:9 cinnamon raisin bread with almond butter and local raw honey
organic Fuji apple slices

reading:
sabbath by wayne muller

Sky.

manhattan beach, california

Places I Want To Go: Black Forest, Germany

Maybe it's my extreme case of wanderlust lately, but I've been thinking a lot about this terrifically diverse and expansive world we live in, and how many places I've yet to see...places I've read about in travel magazines or heard about on Rick Steves' podcast or from others who've visited there. Since I don't have the luxury of traveling much right now, I decided to add a little series to my blog: "Places I Want To Go," so you can read along and travel with me to these places I hope to visit in my lifetime. We'll find out what is uniquely special about each place and how it goes along with my theme, dreams of simple life. And one day, I'll hopefully write about each of them from personal experience!

So I invite you to come along with me to my first location...the Black Forest of Germany.

I talk a lot about my Italian heritage, but what I haven't shared much about is my other half, my mother's side of the family, which is English and German. My grandmother's family is from the Black Forest region of Germany. Besides having wonderful cherry cake, I've heard this area of Europe is pristine and unspoiled with multitudes of adorable cottages and castles amidst towering evergreens, mild summer temperatures and chilly, snowy winters. Yes, please.

Why is it called the 'Black' Forest (or in German, 'Schwarzwald')? From a distance, the large concentration of pine trees actually looks black. The nearby mountains also cast their shadows over the valleys and make it appear darker. However, there is nothing dark about it. The town at the center of the Black Forest, Freudenstadt, claims to actually receive more hours of sunshine than any other town in the nation! Here's Freudenstadt...


When I think of visiting the Black Forest, I picture a cold, snowy winter (how winter is supposed to be). I dream of preparing for Christmas by putting up a real fir tree in a cozy living room. Going for hikes in the forest just out the back door wearing mittens and a warm coat and boots. Drinking hot tea or coffee in a warm cottage kitchen by a hearth with hearty soup cooking on the stove.

I wonder what it was like for my great-grandmother in her humble home? Did she like to always have a kettle going in the fall and winter, like me? Did she enjoy a cool summer by walking outside barefoot or perhaps sitting under a tree to read a book? Most likely, yes. In the Black Forest, summer temperatures are in the 60s and 70s, and in the winter, 20s and 30s! How could you not love this place?







I also discovered that the Black Forest is known for something else: the traditional cuckoo-clock! Growing up, we had a cuckoo-clock in the living room that I was fascinated with, but I never realized that its creation had a personal history for me. Apparently there, you can visit cuckoo-clock factories and see this age-old German craft in action!

But the enchantment of the Black Forest doesn't end there...

"The forest itself is an area of heavily wooded mountains and verdant valleys. If you love nature, you will absolutely adore the Black Forest in Germany. The land and villages look relatively unchanged, as if you've stepped back in time, and when you walk through the forest, you can get an insight into what ancient Germany might have been like. Some of the houses you'll find in the villages are over three hundred years old. In addition, the Black Forest possesses a rich mythological tradition, where werewolves and witches haunt the darkness, so watch out. Fortunately, there are dwarves that live within the woods who like to help people."

There you have it. Not only perfect weather, but also dwarves.

And finally, there's Lake Titisee...wow...



Let's go for Christmas one year, OK? And then we'll return in spring to frolic in the grass and see everything bloom a luscious green. Yes, I'd like to explore my German heritage more, and the Black Forest is the perfect place to begin.

So I'm obsessed with Picnik...

Thanks to Marisa, I have now spent many hours of fun on Picnik, altering my photos!

Sabbath Rest.

"When we live without listening to the timing of things, when we live and work in twenty-four-hour shifts without rest – we are on war time, mobilized for battle. Yes, we are strong and capable people, we can work without stopping, faster and faster, electric lights making artificial day so the whole machine can labor without ceasing. But remember: No living thing lives like this. There are greater rhythms, seasons and hormonal cycles and sunsets and moonrises and great movements of seas and stars. We are part of the creation story, subject to all its laws and rhythms."

- Sabbath by Wayne Muller

One of the most life-giving trips I've ever taken is our 1 year anniversary trip to New Mexico, because on this trip, I learned the meaning of rest. Our dear friends had given us access to their cabin in a valley in a tiny town that's barely on the map called Las Mochas. As we drove 11 hours through the dry, flat plains of west Texas and then into the green, winding landscape of New Mexico, we felt our souls take a deep breath in anticipation of a week totally removed from busy, modern life.

When we arrived, we saw that there were a few houses scattered nearby, but we didn't encounter a soul. The cabin was nestled between stately evergreens with its backyard emptying into a creek with unspoiled rushing water. On the other side of the creek, the forest trail led to fields of wildflowers.


After unloading our bags in the house, we jumped back in the car to drive to nearby Taos, a lovely, artsy little town, and strolled wide-eyed through Cid's Food Market marveling at all the unique locally-grown, organic food items, throwing them into our cart one-by-one. Juicy tomatoes, ripe peaches. Homemade granola. Sweet potatoes. And plenty of free-range eggs. We returned to the cabin, unloaded our bounty of food, and covered all the clocks with tape.


For the next week, we had no concept of time. We lived by the rhythms of nature. We went to bed when we were tired. We used only candlelight in the house after dark. We awoke not by alarm, but when our bodies rose naturally. We spent our days photographing hummingbirds, reading, and wading in the creek. The days were so long. And we rested.



Fast-forward two years, and I wonder what happened to the "me" who went on that peaceful trip in New Mexico. I so long to find her again.

A few days ago, I was sitting at my desk at the end of a long week, and in the middle of typing what seemed like my thousandth email, I suddenly burst into tears. I just sat there and sobbed for several minutes until I felt that I had cried out all my frustrations, sadness and lost-ness that had been building up inside for awhile. I couldn't articulate exactly what was making me cry, though. It felt as if simple things were throwing me over the edge. My computer freezing. Adding another thing to my mounting to-do list. Picking clothes up off the floor. I thought about calling a friend to ask for help, but I honestly didn't know what to say. I didn't know what exactly it was. So I just dried my eyes and got back to work.

This weekend, I'm reading my book, Sabbath by Wayne Muller. It's one of those books I want to read and re-read in my life and buy copies to have on hand to give to everyone I know. It says...

"Without rest, we respond from a survival mode, where everything we meet assumes a terrifying prominence...when we are moving faster and faster, every encounter, every detail inflates in importance, everything seems more urgent than it really is, and we react with sloppy desperation."

That explains the emotional breakdown over socks being left on the floor.

"There is a South American tribe that went on a long march, day after day, when all of a sudden they would stop walking, sit down to rest for a while, then make camp for a couple of days before going any farther. They explained that they needed the time to rest so that their souls could catch up with them."

That was what I needed. I needed to give my soul a chance to catch up with me.

I'm learning what it means for me personally to have a "Sabbath rest." My husband could be surrounded by 20 of his closest friends 24 hours a day and be utterly peaceful and at rest. That is a rarity for me, and I often feel drained after being with people constantly. This is a battle within, because I love having our home open to people, I truly do. But if it's constant…one busy weekend leading into a busy work week and back to a busy, social weekend, I start to crumble and cave into myself. In fact, I utterly fall apart.

With my work, the problem is that I feel that I'm always capable of more. I've heard many people in "ministry" jobs say the same thing: I can do more, so if I can, why shouldn't I? This is not how we were meant to function as creatures. We were meant to listen to the rhythms set before us by nature, not constantly push ourselves against nature. Sitting at a desk all day with hands and head and neck in stationary postion. Shoveling in food on a 25 minute lunch break only to quickly get back to work again. Staying up all hours of the night and waking up to a blaring alarm.

"If busyness can become a kind of violence, we do not have to stretch our perception very far to see that Sabbath time – effortless, nourishing rest – can invite a healing of this violence. When we consecrate a time to listen to the still, small voices, we remember the root of inner wisdom that makes work fruitful. We remember from where we are most deeply nourished, and see more clearly the shape and texture of the people and things before us."

This weekend is a Sabbath Weekend. What I'm learning in this book is that there are many, many ways to celebrate a Sabbath, and it doesn't always have to be on Saturday or Sunday. We can have "Sabbath moments" for a few minutes or "Sabbath walks" for thirty minutes. The point is to celebrate God's goodness and provision and being. So far this weekend, I have sipped a lot of hot tea, propped myself on the couch with my feet resting on my husband's lap, and listened to the sounds of the Olympics humming in the background. I've sat on a big fluffy bed and read and gazed out the window. I took a walk in the neighborhood.

And amazingly, I feel much more prepared for Monday.

I admit, I still don't know how to balance my intense desire to achieve and accomplish, particularly in a work setting. But I'm still reading and learning and reading and learning, and I look forward to gaining more clarity as I go.

"Like a path through the forest, Sabbath creates a marker for ourselves so, if we are lost, we can find our way back to our center."

As for this gorgeous, peaceful place, I hope to return one day...


...but for now, I've got to find rest in the midst of this crazy city. The point is taking my hand off the plow, knowing I can't do it all. Knowing that God can and will work through me, that His strength will be the life that courses through my veins. And that by keeping my focus on the rhythms He gave us in this world, I can truly find rest.

"Sabbath is a way of being in time where we remember who we are, remember what we know, and taste the gifts of spirit and eternity."

All quotes from Sabbath by Wayne Muller.

A day at the pool.

I've often shared my memories of swimming growing up...and how much I was looking forward to visiting my beloved town pool when I returned to my hometown in New Jersey this summer. Well, I got to spend two glorious late afternoons there...swimming underwater for as long as I could hold my breath.

It has been about 5 years since I was in New Jersey in the summer, a glorious time full of warm days and cool breezes. Summer there reminds me of women toting Land's End beach bags and an evening coolness that brings goose bumps and requires long sleeves after swimming all day.

On this trip, I could barely contain myself as we threw our bags into my mom's car to head for the pool. In my mind, I was 8 years old, ready to do handstands with my childhood friend Tara, and play "exploring" in the tree-covered area while our parents swam, and perhaps eat an ice cream pop (or two) while my hair dried in the sun. What would it be like? Would it be the same?

As soon as we arrived and claimed our parking spot by the woods, I heard the familiar sounds of my childhood - the diving board banging against the poles followed by a big SPLASH!, the bell of the Good Humor truck, and laughs of children sitting on the Three Big Rocks eating their pops on wet towels. Yes, it's been exactly the same for over 30 years. And I love that.




Once inside the pool gates, my mom and I claimed a spot on the grass in our usual location, surrounded by some of the same families who have been spending summer there since I was a child. It may seem a little overly sentimental or perhaps a bit dramatic to be this passionate about a pool. What is so special about it? Well, for one, it's the symbol of summer. Its opening heralds the arrival of longer warmer days, and its closing signals the start of a new school year and new possibilities. It's also colossal, bigger than any pool you've ever seen...with slides you would find at a water park, Olympic-size lanes, games like badminton and tether ball, and parties, and community, and personal history for so many people in this town.

Today, I stood on the edge of the 5 feet area and adjusted my swimsuit, about to make my maiden dive in several years. Almost 31 years after I first entered these waters, it was as if I was looking at a reflection of my own life. How many times had I stood in this exact spot, at all different ages, sizes, and good grief...bathing suits?

I dove in, feeling just like the girl in "A Moment of Clarity". I soared down to the bottom and felt my fingers and stomach brush the white concrete floor. My shadow swam along with me. We swam. And swam and swam and swam.

It was so quiet under there.

When I rose to the surface, I looked around for my mom. Not surprisingly, she was already fully engaged in her laps, the tip of her side-ponytail-braid skimming the top of the water with each stroke.

It's been so long that she and I swam together. She asked me if I would show her my freestyle, so she could be sure I "still knew how to do it." I indulged her without hesitation, taking a deep breath and showing her my most perfect 4-strokes-and-a-breath, 4-strokes-and-a-breath. When I came up for air, she was smiling.

At some point in my teens, I remember going through a stage when I declared that going to the pool was "dumb." Maybe it was rebellious adolescence combined with feeling awkward in a bathing suit, but those days I didn't want to swim anywhere near my mom and I got impatient with her, begging her to get out of the water before the last whistle blew at closing time at 7:30pm. She was always the last person left in the pool.

Today, I was chatting beside her as we swished our arms through the water and fluttered our feet, hoping that 7:30pm wouldn't come too quickly.

We began to reminisce about some of our memories here, and I unearthed one of her less favorable ones, which happened the last time I was here 5 years ago. The water slide. In her Jersey accent she quickly retorted, "Neva again! You know what happens when I go down that slooide!"

Boy, do I know! I'll never erase that image from my mind.

I had brought my friend Suz from Nashville to New Jersey for a short trip, and we were excited about going to the Moonlight Swim, one of several nights that the pool is open after dark for you to swim and bring water floats and listen to live music. That night, Suz and I were feeling bold and challenged my mom to go down the giant water slide in the diving tank.

I have to preface this by saying that my mom does not EVER go underwater due to an almost-drowning incident as a child. But that evening...for some reason...she accepted our challenge and went down that twisty tall slide in this photo, the image of which has now become legend.

Suz and I stood in the lap lanes across the pool, ready for the show. My mom climbed the stairs and paced back and forth a few times uncertainly before giving us a last nervous glance and sitting down to launch herself from the top. Then she was off...hidden from our view for 1 second...2 seconds...3 seconds....4 seconds...(seemed like a million seconds) in the twists and turns until we saw her emerge at the final turn. In a matter of seconds, her appearance had somehow completely changed from when she had started at the top: Her side ponytail was smashed and soaked. She was trying desperately to sit up but was kind of teetering on one hip, trying to keep herself from laying on her back. Even from afar, we could see that blue eyeliner was smeared under her eyes and running down her face. Her face held a look of sheer terror. Her arms were spread out to the side to brace herself before the final SPLASH.

Suz and I were laughing so hard we couldn't breathe.

The unforgiving slide then dumped her into the diving tank at full speed. We waited a few seconds, holding our breath until she finally floundered to the surface. We clapped and yelled cheers for her from across the pool. In fact, I think the whole crowd was cheering! Dawn Piccione had gone down the slide and lived to tell about it.

She emerged from the diving tank, hair matted and dripping wet and stomped across the deck with an "Are you happy now??" look on her face. She then started giggling along with us. That is one of the reasons I love my mom.

Just remembering the story today, she reminded me that she was "NEVA doing that again, so don't even ask". But that's OK. Because today I appreciate this place for what it is....and I appreciate time with my mom because it won't last forever.

The lifeguards blew their whistles at 7:30pm, just like always. I climbed the ladder out of the water and turned around to look at the unbroken, peaceful waters. We wrapped towels around our waists like two mermaids and lef the pool together, soaking wet and happy.

Color palettes.

I cannot live without color. I love a neutral with a bright punch of saturated yellow or red or green or pink to liven it up. Decorating my home is like painting strokes on a blank canvas - it is my artistic expression and a way to welcome others into my world...and hopefully, to make them feel comfortable here.

So, after much online-fabric-browsing, dreaming, and tearing-out of magazine pages, I'd like to share my color palette for the guest room. I like to think of it as natural.cheery.joyful.serene.asian.bohemian.

(Click the image to see it larger)

Ahhhhh. Just looking at it makes me smile. In fact, I'm thinking of moving into the guest room permanently. With the new, FREE King size bed that our friend's Granny gave us (to which I added a fluffy white comforter and white sheets), it's even more tempting! I'm not sure which paint color to choose, as I love them both equally. The fabric is all from Anna Maria Horner's new line, Garden Party. The fabric on the right is going to be perfect as a headboard, which is so easy to make on your own! Top it all off with paper lanterns from Luna Bazaar and white branch curtains from IKEA. Now, I just need to put it all into action!

The other room in progress is my office - where I spend the majority of my days. I just painted it "Rain Washed" by Behr a few weeks ago, and now it's the perfect oceany calming blue, so that's one step in the right direction. Now, I need to add some more splashes of color! My inspiration began with this photo I took in India...

(Click the image to see it larger)

Here's how "Rain Washed" looks currently on the walls...


It's amazing how my tastes have changed over the last 10 years. My freshman year of college, everything was about sunflowers. I had the sunflower comforter, matching sheets, throw blanket, picture frames, photo albums, and even posters of sunflower fields on the wall - you know, the ones you buy at the campus bookstore. And all my accessories that weren't sunflower were either hunter green or royal blue. Oh, the horror. Then, after college, I wanted my entire house to look like the beach, so I replaced everything with natural wood and seafoam green. Getting warmer...

Now, I'm into bright flowers and vintage/bohemian patterns, and I think I'm here to stay. Thank God my husband lets me decorate how I want to. When we moved into this house 2 years ago, he wisely designated the inside of the house as my domain and the outside as his domain, and oh, how I love him for that! Men, we realize you have to remove 150 decorative pillows from the bed before you can go to sleep each night, but please, if you know what's good for you, let it lie. Just...let it...lie.