News Trend Beauty's Where You Find It|Actual

Beauty has been on my mind lately.

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I know of two women who died this week.

Both were considered beautiful by cultural standards - wide eyes, big smiles and slim stature - both were still young and at the height of their physical power.

One was cut down in a moment - she died an accidental death with her beauty intact.

The other wasted away at the hands of cancer, and was worn to a mere thread of her former glory by the time she blessedly passed.

And while it may seem natural to pity the woman who suffered before she died, I can't help but believe that her illness brought out a kind of beauty that runs far deeper than symmetrical facial features and silky hair. I've seen a few photos of her last days and rather than being repulsed by her sunken eyes, bald head and skeletal frame, I see a deeper, transcendent beauty in her eyes that expands my definition of what it means to be beautiful.

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I was raised by a woman who never spoke of beauty.

To the best of my memory, my mother didn't talk about my looks. She might have mentioned that my dress looked nice or she liked my new haircut. But she never told me that I was cute or pretty or beautiful, even though I'm sure she thought I was. So I grew up assuming there was something wrong with the way I looked. Maybe I wasn't straight-up ugly but certainly I must be unattractive or at least plain.

Once I survived the turbulence of adolescence and got myself settled into young adulthood, I realized my looks were fine. But it wasn't until I hit my late twenties that I pieced together the reasons for my mom's inability to compliment me..

My mom never thought of herself as beautiful. She hated the way she looked.

And her mother before her carried the same shame.

I was born to a line of women who could not see their own beauty and could not speak of the beauty of their own flesh and blood. Feeling sadness and pity for their pain, I decided that I would be the generation to break that chain. I choose to see beauty in myself and my daughters, as well as my mother and grandmother.

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Here in the Pacific Northwest, spring is quietly tiptoeing in. Though I always look forward to the dazzling cherry trees of mid-April and the exuberant peony season of late May, these early days of the new season are dearest to my heart.

One bold daffodil pushing up out of the earth.

Small bumps of leaf buds swelling the tips of tree branches.

Fresh rain that falls not with the icy chill of winter but the sweet promise of warmer days to come.

There is beauty not just in the lush celebration of spring but also first hints of new life.

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Ranger's been feeling much better this week. After his attack and some serious injuries to his unfortunate tumors, his heart also needed some time to mend. Quiet and withdrawn for the first few days, he has bounced back nicely. Once again, with twinkly eyes and sassy stomping feet, he began reminding me of our daily walk time just like always. My handsome Irishman seemed to be back on track.

Until I put him into the car. Nine days after the attack, I took Ranger out to the garage. I opened the side door of the van and he readily hopped up. But instead of settling into the middle seat as he has done all his life - and where he sat on that horrible ride to the emergency clinic - he took an odd detour to the far back seat. And within a heartbeat, he let loose with the most unholy noise I've ever heard him make.

My fourth-born described it as a screaming seal. I recognized it as pure primal distress.

Ranger let out a series of maybe ten such yelps before I could get my hands on him to pet and soothe. Once I stroked him for a few seconds, he seemed calmer so I turned around to settle myself into the middle seat. The cries started up again, just as heart-wrenching as before.

This time, I used one hand to rub the closest fluffy red ear while I pulled on his leash to guide him off the back seat, up to the middle seat, and onto my lap. My trembling boy climbed up willingly and settled himself across my legs where he stayed, quiet and calm, for the rest of our drive.

My guess is that sitting inside the car reminded Ranger of his harrowing trip to the emergency vet. Maybe he was actually remembering my anxiety rather than his own pain but there's no doubt that Ranger experienced an ugly recollection when he found himself back in that car. And nothing but my physical contact could soothe his anguish and restore his peace.

The ugly scars on my dog's body are slowly healing. And likewise, I see that in the hurt places of his soul, a beautiful new trust in me has grown to fill in the wounds.

* * * * *

My final word on beauty goes to Madonna.

Two months after my first daughter was born, at a time when my postpartum self felt dreamily happy but not particularly beautiful, I danced before an audience for the first and only time (so far) in my life. The song was Madonna's Vogue and for our performance, the six of us were encouraged to go all out with dramatic hair and make-up. Holding nothing back, I smoldered my eyes in smoky shadow, lengthened my lashes with impossible layers of mascara, and let loose my usual pony-tailed hair into a long curly mane.

I was transformed.

I danced with wild abandon.

And I felt insanely beautiful.

To this day, every time I hear that song, the lyrics speak truth into my soul once again.

Beauty's where you find it.

News Trend Decorating Advice|Actual

^ This room has seen more trades over the last two months than New York Stock Exchange.

^ The art over the fireplace was recently kicked out of my bedroom and needed a big place to live.

^ Overgrowing its home in the family room, the philodendron in its jute basket got dumped on this table last weekend.

^Trusty old standards, the natural canvas pillows have been a fixture in this room forever.

The botanical bird pillows have been drifting around the house for years, never quite finding a place to belong.

I've been thinking about buying these black and white IKEA Stockholm pillows forever, and when I saw they were about to go out of stock, finally succumbed to the urge. Once I got them in the house, I realized I had no idea where to use them, so I just dropped them down on the couch for the time being.

^ The line-up of  plants against the window has shifted and changed all winter long, as healthy specimens are carried off to other corners of the house, and sun-starved sicklings are brought in to recuperate.

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The best decorating advice I've ever heard is this:

Don't worry about trying to buy things that match. Just buy what you love and trust that all your pieces will effortlessly flow into a cohesive look.

My living room has surprised me as a perfect case in point. Since stripping away the Christmas cheer, this space has been left to flounder. I've raided most of the colorful pieces for other rooms and used this room as a dumping ground for other homeless objects. Basically, it's been a catchall junkyard for things I like but don't quite know what to do with.

Imagine my astonishment when running up the stairs yesterday with an armload of laundry, I glanced into the room and noticed not a cacophony of castoffs but a symphony of style. Somehow, all the secara acak odds and ends have come together and I, for one, am digging the look.

Buy what you love. Trust in the flow.

I don't put much stock in most decorating advice, but believe me, this trick of the trade is right on.

News Trend No Day But Today, Bookcase Edition|Actual

Last week, I walked in my bedroom, took one look at my bookcase stuffed with children's picture books, and said, No day but today.

For years, I've been thinking and rethinking a way to keep my treasured collection at close hand while still bearing in mind that I ain't readingGoodnight Moon all that often these days. I'd really like to use this bookcase to store things a tad more relevant to my present life

So, even though I still didn't have a plan, I decided that today was the day to just start yanking books off the shelves and see what might happen.

Here's how the transformation is coming along:

At long last, I came up with a solution to the agonizing tug-of-war over what to do with my books. Considering my two options one last time, to either allow them to continue to monopolize my bedroom or store them somewhere else until the grandchildren show up, I realized that neither extreme made sense to me.

So, as I often do when I'm stuck between two opposite options, I came up with a third choice that falls somewhere in the middle.

In this case, that means I'm decided to devote half of my bookcase to our most favorite children's books, chucking them into baskets to soften their visual clutter. The other half will be vacationing on my garage storage shelves until they are called back into active duty.

And now half of the shelves are opened up for new use.

Let's be honest. We all know that I'm going to arrange and rearrange this space with infinite abandon. I have a well-documented and longstanding bookcase styling obsession and this prime real estate is going to keep me busy for a long time.

(In fact, I'll confess that pretty everything you see here has been changed up since I took these photos thirty-six hours ago. Oops.)

So while I offer very little in the way of guarantees about this project, it's a safe bet that books - more books! - will be primary players in any and all new arrangements.

With no apologies, I've made several rounds of my favorite second-hand shops to gather up some new treasures. Undoubtedly, some will probably drift off to other areas of the house, but for now, here are some new dwellers for my bedroom bookcase.

^ Here's a little gem entitled,Off The Wall, which features wacky fashion shoots from behind the Berlin Wall during the 60s, 70s and 80s. Cold War couture like you never dreamed.

^ This cover is literally on fire, and while I have little interest inNapoleon's Russian Campaign, my husband lives for such military tales so I am calling this one a gift for him.

^ I picked up a book entitledRoad Trip and flipped it open to artsy pics of Seattle's Space Needle. Yes.

^ Never in my life do I expect to purchase a piece at an art auction. But owning a Sotheby's catalog is completely within my grasp.

Toss in a few plants, photos and my sassy Mexican blanket, and these shelves are beginning to tell a new story.

Now I guess it's time that I get around to dealing with this:

News Trend Lions And Lambs|Actual

March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb.

This old adage sums up the changeable weather of late winter and early spring. During my childhood years in Michigan, I remember the cold, still-snowing lion days mixing back and forth with the fresh blue skies of the warm lamb weather, and often we would seesaw back and forth between the seasons several times over the course of the month.

But here in the Pacific Northwest, things are a bit different.

Here, the varying weather does not alternate from week to week or even day to day.

Winter and spring mix themselves seamlessly together. The heavy, dark clouds roll by overhead, full of chilly rain and tossed about by icy breezes while the cherry trees and forsythia burst forth below in fragile, pastel blossoms.

This mixed-up, in-between season will likely carry on for the rest of the month, and we PNWers can only smile at the incongruity as we brush the morning frost off our blooming daffodils and run for cover when the hail beats down on the hyacinth.

March may come in like a lion and leave like a lamb in some climates, but here in my little corner of the world, this is the month when the lion and the lamb lie down together.

The lion-hearted temperatures may have been about 45 F/ 7 C during our walk yesterday,

but my fully recuperated lamb, Ranger enjoyed himself all the same.

News Trend The Sweetest Songs|Actual

Luna (left) and Sirius wait with me while Ranger takes his long post-walk drink from the front yard birdbath. Cedric had already gone inside for his dinner.

My daily walk with Ranger is more than a two-part harmony.

Our three kittens often join in to make our ritual a full-on symphony.

When we return, Ranger and I are often greeted as welcoming heroes. As we turn into our neighborhood and cross the last quiet street before stepping into our yard, our friendly little cats turn out to meet us and greet us, each in their own way.

Today was a perfect example.

Sirius, the tuxedo cat, chose to wait in the bushes along the neighbor's yard. As we strolled down the sidewalk, Sirius pranced along with us, safely sticking to the protected side of the shrubs until we all three reached the corner at the same time. Then he cautiously stepped out to cross the street with us, purring his greetings as he accompanied us all the way to the front door.

Luna, the black cat, typically prefers a more dramatic entrance. He lurked in the bushes in the far front corner of our yard until the instant that we stepped onto the grass. Like a bullet, he shot out in front of us, galloped across the wide open space, and flew up to the door where he sat down on the welcome mat to watch us approach, casually licking a paw in silent satisfaction.

Cedric, the grey tabby, elected energy-saver mode. He was found sleeping on the front porch love seat, and raised his head as we approached. Tail flicking a friendly hello, and his outrageous purring motor set to high, clearly it was our job to greet him rather than the other way round.

* * * * *

My cats are not inside cats. Nor are they pure outside cats. These fellows have the best of both worlds; we let them in and out as they desire, often a half-dozen times a day.

Territorial beasts that they are, my boys don't go far. Mostly, they sun themselves in our enclosed backyard, in any one of a dozen coveted sleeping spots, and when they are ready for a bit of sport, climb about on the fences to stir up the neighbors' dogs and do a bit of exploring. Thankfully, we live on a quiet street filled with pet-friendly people. My cats are even playmates with the other neighborhood cats - we often find a little gang of them romping together in our backyard. And whenever we humans open the door and call to our boys, they almost always come obediently running.

Yes, we do worry sometimes. On hot summer nights, the cats often choose to sleep outside and we hold our breath until they greet us at the door the next morning. On wet and wild stormy days like today, I pray that their shelters are dry and snug, and that they will remember to duck their little kitten heads when the branches go sailing by.

But pets are like children. As much as we want them always to be safe, we can't wrap them up in bubble wrap and stash them in the closet. To live full, happy, well-rounded lives, my cats simply must be allowed to play outside. Just as we do for our human children, we parents of pets must take as many precautions as is reasonable, then open the door and say, "Good luck out there. Keep your head on straight and come back safe."

And though we worry about our furry babies, the moments when they safely return are the sweetest songs of all.

News Trend Center Stage|Actual

Spring has sprung early here in the Pacific Northwest - both inside and out - and I could not be happier.

Yes, it is possible, practical and probably more polite to purchase blooming branches at a flower stand, or snip them from your own garden.

But I'll confess that I wangled these branches off a tree blooming along the path of my daily walk. Don't worry - they weren't on private property but growing from a neglected, unkempt specimen hidden by several big fir trees and a tangle of brush. I snapped them off in a moment of passion and have no regrets.

I also have no regrets about sweeping everything else off my living room mantle and letting this profusion of pink steal the show.

Because when pink blossoms arrive after a long, grey, Washington winter, they deserve center stage.

News Trend Life As A Math Teacher: Sweet Inspiration|Actual

When I'm working with my students, marching through math lessons together during the morning and early afternoon hours of my day, my brain is totally focused.

Normally one to have a thousand thoughts dancing through my head, my algebra-teacher brain singularly zones in on such scrumptious topics as inverse variations. Rationalized denominators, and quadratic equations. Nothing distracts me from my numbers.

Well. Normally, that is true. But today proved an exception

Today, as I was seated at the dining room table in my student's home, I looked over at her face to see if she was getting my instruction. Inadvertently, I glanced over her shoulder to take in the scene behind her.

And BOOM. My head exploded.

Painted a pale shade of grey and offset by the grey-green walls, this adorable piece grounds a grouping of light neutrals and projects a calm, soothing authority.

This lovely grey cupboard - which I've passed by literally hundreds of times on my way in and out of the house - suddenly spoke to me.

"I just might be the answer to your family room decorating dilemma," she said. "If you painted your pine TV cupboard a serene shade of light grey like me, you could cut back on the number of competing natural wood surfaces in that room, bring more light into a dark corner, and refresh an old piece of furniture all at the same time."

Accessorized with metal geometrics and white twinkle lights, this cupboard and I already speak the same language. I wonder if she can simplify square roots?

Hmm. Duly noted, cute cupboard. You have given me a lot to think about and I appreciate your sweet inspiration.

And then, gathering up my composure and laying these thoughts aside for another time, I went back to factoring trinomials.

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Read more stories about my life as a math teacher:

Social Distancing

Playing With A Full Deck

The (Math) Joke's On Me

Sharing Life

Little Brothers

Sweet Inspiration

My Hero

What I Do

Number 15

Christmas Edition

3.1415926

Buy It And Burn It

In Honor Of James K. Polk

House Tours

My Deep Gladness

Isolating The Radical

By The Numbers

Teaching My Own: High School Art And Algebra