My one word cop-out for 2014

January 3, 2014 Karen Huber

This is gonna be one great big cop-out, but here it is, anyway. My "one word" for 2014. Are you ready for it? Really? Ok.

Try.

Yep, that's it. Not create, not breathe, not peace, not joy, not give... just try. I like this little word. It's a hope word. But it's also an It's Totally OK to Fail at This word. It gives me permission to do something new and it allows me to mess it all up. It says that maybe this will be the thing, you know? The thing you were meant to do.

And it also says better luck next time.

It says stop not doing it, just start. And it requires just a little bit of effort. Not get up at 5am and write 500 words everyday before sunrise effort. Just, like, maybe try going to bed early tonight. Try more cumin in the chicken tacos. Try on this dress. Try something new, something forgotten, something hoped for, something impossible.

Just try.

Actually this year each member of our family has chosen a word. Asher chose tortellini, which is probably the most inspired of anyone's one word ever. Jack chose explore, Ella - love, and Matt is keeping the peace.

We'll see how the patchwork of family dynamics in these five big and small words work for us this year. No matter what the outcome, I foresee a little more pasta in our future. Or, at least, I'll try for it.

Do you do the one word thing? Or any other 2014 resolutions, hopes, dreams? You can totally steal my word if you want. Check out OneWord365 for more details. (Also linking up with Velvet Ashes)

On goodbyes and Christmas and life at home

December 29, 2013 Karen Huber

Sunday morning is quiet and dark.

It's the last one of the year and church is taking a day off. There was one major dog-related casualty in the night, the guts of a Buzz Lightyear pillow spilled out over the whole of the office. And the house is empty, minus two.

I think I'm fairly good at goodbyes now, and when they depart two hours before sunrise, I give long hugs and trade I love yous, stand at the door and wave through steamed glass. Then Christmas is over, I get back in bed with the children. We go back to real life and spend the afternoon by the sea. After 9 days with them, I'm full and contented. But a day or two after I miss everyone all over again, all the people who did not come. I long for my sisters, miss the company of my nephews, wish I could send the kids with their aunts and uncles into the snow.

These are a few (from 2013) :: In the shadows of someone's masterpiece

December 23, 2013 Karen Huber

Oak Park is a dream. When I close my eyes and try to remember when, I realize the colour of the floorboards is gone. I can't find the smell of the bookshop. We moved away from those tree-lined streets 12 years ago and I find myself still wishing we could...

At home in Ireland :: a oneword & 31 days mashup

October 1, 2013 Karen Huber

Last week I did something I haven't done in years: I filled an entire school year's worth of diary dates. Each of the kids' schools sent home calendars and without any hesitation, I plotted each day, every early dismissal, all holiday breaks. Start to finish...

The shadows of someone's masterpiece

May 15, 2013 Karen Huber

We would ride our bikes on those streets, looking at these old victorian houses, the craftsman porches. You had your favourites and I had mine, and we envisioned this prairie life in the city, where we'd walk our children to school. Sit on the porch swing. Knock down some walls and plant a lilac bush. Open our own bookshop.

There were all these Frank Lloyd Wright places and we could never decide on one. You know, just in case. You liked the one with steep, sharp angles. I like the one with the rounded front door. These were our Sundays, spent in the shadows of someone's masterpiece. Oh, we had so much time.

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