TC Larson

Stories and Mischief

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Grout, Panty lines, and Grace

6
Mar

My kitchen grout is disgusting.

When we lived in over seven years ago I knew it was a different color than the tile, and someone mentioned it might need cleaning. In the chaos of getting settled, the kids starting school, and general hubbub of life, I didn’t think about it again for years. YEARS.

My husband noticed it after a while and suggested we should find some cleaner and see what happened. But when we tried a couple cleaners specifically aimed at grout, it stayed the same. So I wrote it off again, deciding that it wasn’t bugging anyone and who cares about grout anyway?

Until now.

I can’t explain why, maybe because we noticed the contrast between the color of the grout in high traffic areas and low traffic areas, but I decided to give it another cursory go,

You guys.

Oh my.

I’ll let the photos explain.

Starting condition


Sprinkle copious amounts of baking soda


Dribble peroxide and let it sit for at least 10 min.


…waiting…


Time to scrub

End result (the shadow is from the phone)

Ok the photos don’t even do it justice. It’s many shades lighter [read: many shades cleaner].

And nobody told me how dirty it was!

How, HOW have people been in my home and allowed me to live this way?! How have you dealt with this blind spot and continued to love me and not make it a big deal? Has it been bothering you this entire time and you were just too gracious to say something? 

[NOTE: spurred on by our homemade success, we ended up finding a “professional grade” grout cleaner and let me just say, it’s the only kind that got it cleaner than with the baking powder and vinegar. It worked much fast and with less scrubbing. If you’re in desperate need, you can find it here.]

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On a more personal note — related since I was unaware of this as I was unaware of my grout — last year I discovered that my preferred type of undies make very pronounced panty lines when wearing anything other than a flowy skirt…which I very rarely wear. Which means that’s how I’ve been walking around for a long time.

I mean seriously people, how long have I been an adult and how long has it taken me to notice this? Answer: many many years.

Maybe it’s unimportant, but it’s the principle of the thing. Let me decide that I don’t care, rather than it being decided by neglect. 

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Lest you think this is all about simply oversharing or giving you too much information, let me tell you the thing I’ve rediscovered through this process:

We all have areas of our lives where we are unaware the grout is dirty or our pantylines are showing.

It is unavoidable. We are each going to have places where we overstep, where we don’t read the room, when we forget to consider our motivations. These things lead us into territory where we hurt feelings, overstep, and otherwise blunder around, often without knowing it. The people around us are probably offering us grace that we’re not even aware of.

If we’re lucky, we’ll have people in our lives who can gently point it out to us when our dress is hitched up into our pantyhose, we’ve got toilet paper stuck to our shoe, broccoli in our teeth, or when we’ve hurt someone’s feelings or communicated without considering the impact our own limited perspective is having on that point of view.

It’s something I want to pay more attention to. Maybe you do too?

In addition, I want to be more appreciative of those people who are the ones who are the truth-speakers in my life. Most of these folks are the ones I’ve known for a long time; they’re easier to allow access to the more tender parts of myself that I guard. Those longstanding stable relationships are really a gift, something that I don’t want to take for granted. They may not be the people I’d want to see my kitchen grout in its original state (because there’s virtually NOBODY I’d want to see that now that I know how bad it was), but I’d probably trust them if they told me I had broccoli in my teeth.

What areas of your life do you know you need to work to be sensitive to? Who do you have that you’ll allow to reflect back to you the progress (or needed growth) you’re making in those areas? When’s the last time you thanked them for their role in your life?

Discussion: Comments {0} Filed Under: Art Journaling, Drudgery and Household Tasks, Friendship, Uncategorized

So this’ll come around every year, huh?

25
Jun

Here we are, getting to the end of June. It’s a great time of year, people are past those initial sunburns and more dutiful with that sunscreen application. We’ve found the beach towels and swim toys, the lake water is finally starting to warm up, and the trees are stretching all the way to their fingertips with leaves. Birds frantically feed their peeping chicks, young squirrels are ripping around the yard playing tag, and dogs are finding more cooling comfort on the kitchen tiles.

Ain’t summer great?

 

 

I’d mostly answer with a resounding yes, but I’d keep one silent popsicle of ‘no’ stashed in the back of the freezer because I know this month holds a difficult anniversary. Today is that day.

Anniversary isn’t quite right, but what do you call the date of a loved one’s passing?

We’re long past the funeral, and we had a ceremony to commit my dad’s ashes, so now what do we do on this date?

I got curious if other countries mark the date of someone’s passing. I came across some things that would have been difficult four years ago, so if your grief is new you might not want to read how other countries do funerals (or you might find it fascinating. For me it would have depended on the day. Take care of yourself). Also, as makes sense in our abbreviated culture, people have morphed death and anniversary into, you guessed it, deathiversary. I can’t decide if it’s clever and useful, or just dumb and trite.

 

Here’s one site that had some ideas and very practical advice about marking the day, and yes, they use “deathiversary” fluently.

It was interesting to see how other cultures mark these dates, and how for some — but not all — it’s tied into ancestor worship. Is that really that different than Western cultures saying that someone is smiling down on you from heaven?

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For one of the first anniversaries of my dad’s passing, it fell during a very busy week. Luckily, at the time, I worked at a place where I ran into friends, and especially this week, two of my dearest friends would be accessible. I bought a few of the world’s best apple fritters because my dad loved them, picked up coffee (which he also loved), and my friends and I sat together in the grass for a few minutes. It wasn’t the only thing done to mark that day, but it felt good to do something with people from outside my own family, with friends who are family but in a different way. It was almost like an acknowledgment that this loss existed outside just my family. It was them seeing the realness of loss for us.

This year?

I’m just not sure.

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acs_0104.jpg

 

The expectation is sometimes more difficult than the actual date, because it’s just one more day he’s not here. Just like all the other days he’s not here. There’s really nothing that makes it any different than all the other days of the year, except if you focus on a calendar.

There are times when that calendar focus is not helpful, especially if you think you’re somehow supposed to feel something different, or there’s supposed to be some breakthrough. For a while, I know my mom diligently marked the time from dad’s passing, maybe as a reassurance to herself, maybe as a comfort to think she could be closer to it being easier to go on without him. Because there’s this prevailing idea that it gets better after a certain amount of time. It’s not inaccurate, but it also sets up the bereaved to put their hopes in a certain time frame, as if one day they’ll wake up and their grief will be magically lifted.

That sounds so much better than the reality of it being a slow shuffle towards mostly less-hard.

 

 

Lately, I’ve been watching Grey’s Anatomy, because apparently this is what I do. I watched it in the year after Dad died, and I think it was the permission I wanted to cry…on the surface it was about someone else’s fictional pain but it was really my own.

Last night I visited my mom on a beautiful evening. We sat outside with a glass of wine and a tasty tapas-type plate she had thoughtfully put together. And we talked.

This morning, I got coffee and donuts.

I wore special sandalwood beads that remind me of the travels Dad made and the beliefs he deeply held.

I’ve exchanged texts with my family and we’ve remembered sweet moments together.

I’m going to paint for a little while this afternoon.

Tonight we will have giant hot fudge and banana milkshakes (well, I will. The rest of my little fam will probably have something else. But there will be ice cream.)

Maybe I’ll feel sad. Maybe I’ll feel numb. But I will carve out space to remember and give myself grace to feel whatever comes.

Grace.

Love.

Friendship.

Family.

Good eats.

Yup, that sounds like my dad.

Discussion: Comments {7} Filed Under: Cancer Sucks, Family, Friendship

Listen (or: How did you know that?)

16
Sep

Photo Credit: Death to Stock Photos

Do you have a good poker face? One that keeps people guessing? Some people are indeterminable, their expressions so blank you’re not entirely sure they’re breathing.

I’ve tried having such a poker face, but alas, I have failed. Even when I think I’m doing my best version of a poker face, my face decides otherwise. That’s why it was so funny to me when I had a conversation with a dear friend this week, and it went something like this…

Me: Blah blah blah, I have to talk to you about this thing, blah di blah. It’s been on my mind a long time, but I’ve been nervous to talk to you about it.

Friend: It’s about time.

Me: Huh?

Friend: (Trying not to look smug) Yeah. I’ve known there was something bugging you for a while but there just hasn’t been a good chance to really get into it.

[End Scene]

She knew already, or at least had an inkling about it. She could tell, even though I thought I was keeping a straight face and not letting on. I wasn’t trying to lie to her; I was simply trying to say nothing in either direction. But it was no use.

She was listening without me even talking.

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It was more than my friend having a feeling that something was on my mind. She stayed with me, hung in there, even when I wasn’t ready to talk about it. Then once I was ready to talk about it…

…she listened.

She let me talk and didn’t jump to conclusions about what I was saying. She asked questions so she’d understand what I meant. She gave me room to look for the right word and waited for me to find my way through a sentence.

…she listened, and though she didn’t know it, she underlined yet another proof of why we’ve been friends for almost 20 years. Her choice of response, one of grace and warmth, exemplified what I feared I would NOT receive from many people. This happy reaffirmation of her wonderfulness came on a topic I’ve held carefully to myself in fears that it would create a rift between us, and that there — well, that’s the clearest proof of the love of a friend that I can think of.

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Discussion: Comments {4} Filed Under: Five Minute Friday, Friendship, Uncategorized

Paints help Me

2
Jul

The process of scribbling and scraping paint across a page helps me in a lot of ways.

It helps me remember:

Costa Rica's a colorful place. We visited there for the first time last fall, and it' was an important place for my parents.

Costa Rica’s a colorful place. We visited there for the first time last fall, and it was an important place for my parents.

When you don't get to the ocean very often, you don't get tired of ocean views...unless they're from unending steps after you've made the mistake of cooling off in said ocean and now your chafing like you never thought possible. THen you might get tired of ocean views. But how would you know that until you'd experienced it?

When you don’t get to the ocean very often, you don’t get tired of ocean views…unless they’re witnessed from a journey of unending stairs after you’ve made the mistake of cooling off in said ocean and now you’re chafing like you never thought possible. Then you might get tired of ocean views. But how would you know that until you’ve experienced it?

 

It helps me process emotions, theology and ideas:

 

Gone

Gone

 

It helps me express empathy and connection across distance:

 

For my friend, J, who might be aware of the weight of the whole world on her shoulders right now.

For my friend, J, who might be aware of the weight of the whole world on her shoulders right now.

 

And it helps me try new things:

 

Unusual colors make shading easier for me somehow.

Unusual colors make shading easier for me somehow.

 

If you want to know why I continue to art journal, these are some of the reasons why. It’s been such a source of release and expression for me, especially in a time of real difficulty. I hope you have an outlet for the questions and contemplations you have.

What are those outlets for you? Are you a runner? Singer? Collector? I’d love to hear about what ways you process the things you’re thinking about or struggling with.

 

 

Discussion: Comments {0} Filed Under: Art Journaling, Friendship

Mile Markers Part B – Facepalm

16
Jun

Oh man. You are helping me face one of my worst fears: publishing a blog post by accident. I’ve been blogging for like five years now and I believe this is the first time I’ve messed this up this badly.

**shrieks in terror as she realizes her fear has come true**

That’s what I get for working on my phone and thinking I could easily pop over and save a draft of a post and instead I published it before it was complete.

Deep cleansing breath.

Ahhh…

There. Better.

Now that we’ve bemoaned my mistake (complete with an actual facepalm here on this side of the computer) please allow me to share the revised all-in-one version that I posted in two portions yesterday.

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Signals of prayer.

Signals of prayer.

My friend Kim’s daughter is getting married this weekend. Let it be known that I am only 40 and none of my children will be getting married any time soon. My friend isn’t that much older than 40, but she got an earlier start than I did, and so her daughter (who is also getting an earlier start than I did) is getting married. Maybe I was a late bloomer. 🙂

Getting married is a mile marker, a major life event. It changes you, makes you open your life to someone else, making their growth and their desires and their health equally as important as your own. You may, heaven forbid, one day find yourself unmarried, but from the moment you take those vows, there’s a kids before and a life after.

I have another friend (yes, I have more than one friend, smarty pants, and for that I am grateful) who’s daughter and husband just bought their first house. Say what you will about the mortgage and banking industry, debt or the stereotypical American Dream, but buying your first home is an entry point into full adulthood in the eyes of many. The ability to be deemed creditworthy of making such a long term investment says something about your stability and responsibility. It’s a mile marker, and even if you sell the house and decide not to own a house again, it’s life event and it shapes your attitudes about a whole myriad of subjects.

Another friend of mine is walking alongside her mother through the process of being diagnosed with cancer. Have I mentioned lately that cancer sucks?

I’ve started wondering if cancer is going to be another mile marker in our lives. Is it something everyone will face? Is it another common experience that forever changes us?This time it isn’t something we enter into with any choice, and we’d certainly reject it if given the opportunity. Even if we are bystanders we are impacted, and our sense of safety and invincibility is sent spinning.

It would be nice to think that as we continue through life we are granted immunity from loss and grief, and there are definitely monumental life events that are full of joy and deep contentment. But I’m starting to realize…or maybe I’m just wisening up to what everyone else already knew, that just as happy mile markers are a part of life that should be expected, perhaps difficult ones are too. If we begin to accept the idea that they’ll visit us eventually, maybe it can take the surprise out of their arrival.

Resilient Heart

Resilient Heart

 

Discussion: Comments {1} Filed Under: Cancer Sucks, Faith, Friendship

They’re your best Friends

6
Dec

The whole time I was growing up, my parents had a mantra. I’m one of four kids, and my parents tried to convince us that we were best friends. It was a tough sell, especially since I’m the oldest by four years, and growing up my attitude was that my next closest sibling was a smart aleck boy, and the other two were big babies.

Ripped my painstakingly crafted paper flowers. “That’s your brother. You are best friends.”

Followed me around copying everything I did. “That’s your sister. You are best friends.”

Threw a temper tantrum and wouldn’t stop knocking into stuff in the basement family room. “That’s your brother. You are best friends.”

Their point was to instill in us an appreciation for each other. We weren’t going to get out of interacting with one another, and there was a long-range vision at work — they wanted us to see that we would be in each other’s lives for just that — our entire lives — and we should see one another for our fun individual personalities.

This may seem an obvious truth, but the idea of being friends rather than only siblings widens the scope of interactions. It creates an expectation of enjoyment and of knowing each other more than just an obligatory way (“We’ve got to see them at Thanksgiving…hrumph, huff, puff.”). You trust in friends, you rely on friends, you like your friends. And planting the idea that siblings can be friends as well as brother and sister, it communicates something about the kind of relationship my parents had with their siblings, as well as what they hoped for their own children.

Happily, they were right, and my brothers and my sister and I are friends. We do enjoy each other’s company and especially in this season of learning how to live without our Dad, we are the only ones who truly “get it” about how hard this is. They are dear to me.

Now that we all have children of our own, I wonder how that “you’re best friends” mantra will play out for them. Looks like I’ve got a way to go to help my own kids to appreciate one another…

Child 1 to Child 2: I love you.  Child 2 to Child 1: I sort of like you.

Child 1 to Child 2: I love you.
Child 2 to Child 1: I sort of like you.

Today’s post is a link up with Five Minute Friday and Kate Motaung. Write for five minutes, no editing, no worrying, then link it up. You can read more posts at her site.

Question for you: do you get along with your siblings? Nobody’s perfect, of course, but if you desire a closer relationship with a sibling, is there one step you could take to foster that friendship? Can’t wait to hear from you in the comments!

 

Discussion: Comments {4} Filed Under: Family, Five Minute Friday, Friendship, Parenting, Uncategorized

Maybe not a Celebration by Definition

30
Oct

This is written in response to something I read on She Loves Magazine, an online magazine.  While it wasn’t a formal prompt, it did inspire this post. If you haven’t read She Loves, they’ve got a lot of good articles, especially about faith and womanhood. Click here to visit their site.

They showed up.

In spite of busy schedules, birthdays, work commitments, sports, distance, sickness, gas money, church, homework, and

they. showed. up.

They came with soft hearts, quiet voices. They came with hugs, meals, gift cards, treats, and kind words.

I would have rather see them because of a party. I’d have preferred a happy occasion, a baby shower or girl’s night out. This was a different kind of life event, something that comes to us all eventually, but something that had come rapidly to my family and left us reeling and disoriented. And still they showed up.

They each made sacrifices. One took time away from her son’s birthday. Three drove more than an hour to be there. They bought gifts and supplies. They made phone calls and sent messages, each one opening herself up to the possibility of being ignored, saying the wrong thing, confronting her own loss, her own fears. Three showed up even though we probably hadn’t seen each other in 10 years. They brought tokens of hope, greeting cards expressing sympathy, flowers to brighten the dark place we found ourselves, hugs and shared tears to shore me up when my heart and body felt numb from trying to stand.

They made meals and delivered them to my house, things for immediately and freezable things I could save for later. When you’re the one responsible to make food for the family each night, but you can hardly muster the energy to pull on your pants, meals are a profoundly touching gift.

Some of them had been direct links of support during my dad’s sickness, some had not. Either way, whether they had known my dad personally or not, they showed up in those weeks, on that day, as an act of love, as an act that acknowledged the friendship we shared and it’s value.  So while it’s not a party, per se, it has been a celebration of friendship. And to all my dear friends, near and far, who have been such a buoy to me in this hard time, thank you. In my stupor I probably haven’t said it enough. Thank you.

Thank you.

Discussion: Comments {2} Filed Under: Cancer Sucks, Friendship, Little Things Big Things, Uncategorized

Adornment and Partytime

24
Oct

At a thrift store I found fascinator hats. At least I’m pretty sure that’s what they’re called, or they’re in the style of a fascinator. Hang on, I’ll show you:

Not quite a hat, this one clips into your hair.

Not quite a hat, this one clips into your hair.

The thought of wearing one of these in public makes me happy. I don’t know if I’d actually have the guts to do it and just head over to the grocery store. You need a destination. Maybe the thing I’m drawn to is the joy of wearing something you like and not caring if other people like it. Maybe it’s the feathers, or the fact there might be an occasion associated with it, a happy reason to wear it.

For most people upon seeing someone wearing this, they might ask if it was a dare or if the person lost a bet. That’s totally understandable.

More than being caught in public with a crazy hair adornment, there’s something else that feels like a dare to me.

The idea makes my heart pound. I’m usually an extrovert, someone who enjoys meeting new people, making conversation, noise, crowds.

This idea overwhelms me and I try to make a plan for how I can get out of it.

The idea of going to a party is suddenly a terrible notion, something that’s to be avoided. Me, the extrovert, looks for excuses or overlapping commitments so I don’t have to stay too long. I imagine being in a room with people who I’ve had interactions with in the past, before my dad got sick. How can I possibly act as if nothing has shifted in the world since then? How can I fill the conversation on light, fluffy things when the hole of his absence looms large in every room I enter?

A hat. That’s the answer. An unusual hat. I need a hat as a distraction, as a conversation piece. That will let me steer any questioning up to my head.

Now you’ll know if you see me, that you should ask about the hat and then let me control the conversation. Deal?

Here are two more, just so you’ll be able to recognize me:

A fetching number in navy.

A fetching number in navy.

 

This one strikes me as the most wild.

This one strikes me as the most wild.

For our communal entertainment and because it’s Friday, let’s change things up. In the comments section tell me which headband/fascinator hat you’d wear and what it would take to get you to wear it in public. Can’t wait to see what you say!

Today was a linkup with Kate Motaung who is now the lovely host of Five Minute Friday. The word prompt was “dare” and if you want to read other posts, click here .

Discussion: Comments {12} Filed Under: Cancer Sucks, Five Minute Friday, Friendship, Mischief, Uncategorized

Lost in the Woods

23
Oct

It was a weird morning here in Minnesota. It was misty but warm, quite comfortable for a walk outside. Great idea. Get out, get some movement, fresh air, all good things. I chose a nature preserve within easy driving distance from our place and planned on spending about 45 minutes walking, thinking that I could cover a manageable distance in that amount of time…

…until I got totally turned around and had no idea where I was.

After more than an hour and a half, here’s the conversation I had via text messages:

1.

Text convo 1

Messages sent 20 minutes after thinking I knew where I was. Also, please tell me that you already know a “sippy drink” means pop from a fountain machine.

2.

 

Message sent when destination seemed unreachable.

Messages sent when my destination seemed unreachable. Clearly things were getting desperate.

 

3.

Text convo 3

Eventually, my crisis was averted…and was never much of a crisis in the first place.

It’s nice to have people who will play along with you.

I ended up walking for almost two hours. Think of all the Reece’s Pieces I can eat now after exerting that kind of energy. Just for the record, I was never in any danger of drinking contaminated water or poisonous berries. But if someone could confirm which side of trees moss is supposed to grow, that would be helpful the next time I need to determine my navigational position.

Have a great Thursday everyone!

Discussion: Comments {5} Filed Under: Family, Friendship, Little Things Big Things, Uncategorized

Striped Tights and Silver Bracelets

12
Jul

There was a girl in my high school who frequently wore black and white striped tights. You know the ones? They looked like the ones worn by the green witch in The Wizard of Oz. Most times she paired those tights with a black dress or skirt — black was the thing.

This girl was smart and friendly, and she did not want to fit in with the rest of the mainstream kids who were all about the perfectly smooth ponytail (how did they do it without any bumps?), socks that perfectly matched their shirts or the right balance of huge jeans to fitted tank top. She didn’t seem to care about any of that, and was in fact trying to be the opposite of the regularly scheduled programming.

http://mrg.bz/pA6Kca

http://mrg.bz/pA6Kca

It took me a while to notice that there were other people who wore the striped tights, or variants of them. The girl who had seems so independent and alternative at first, was still part of a crowd. She was just part of a different crowd than I was.

We both still wanted to belong.

We ALL want to belong.

I’m here to tell you that regardless of your smooth ponytail, your fancy silver bracelet with the dangling heart charm, your fit body, your acrylic nails, you and I both desire to be known. We both desire trustworthy friends. We both get tired and lash out at the people closest to us. You might do it with a more pulled-together outer façade, but when the makeup comes off and the shades are drawn, you look a whole lot like me.

That’s not meant to be an insult.

I want you to know that when you get done making everyone think you’ve got it all figured out, even if you get tired of working at that goal and want a temporary break, you can come talk to me. We’ll laugh about how we ever thought we had fooled anyone, and we’ll try to figure out why we thought we had to fool anyone in the first place. You can remind me to pull a comb through my hair and I can help you get dirt under those expensive nails. We can belong together because we ALL belong together. Most of us just haven’t discovered that quite yet.

Today I’m linking up with Lisa-jo Baker and doing Five Minute Friday…on a Saturday. It’s open to anyone, and if you want to read some other posts, go check it out: Click here to read more

What about YOU? Where do you feel most like you belong? Do you cultivate an environment of belonging when you’re with others?  What times have you felt like you haven’t belonged?

Discussion: Comments {1} Filed Under: Five Minute Friday, Friendship, Uncategorized, Women

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