I often wonder what people think when they look at our family. I am overweight, with a long Jewish nose. Dressing up for me means scratching on some black eyeliner and finding a clean shirt in a pile of clothes that is a constant next to our king sized bed. My husband ( whom I never got around to marrying after twenty five years and two children) has wild curly red hair and broken front teeth from an accident, first with a motorcyle, and then with a coconut. His clothes are always torn and he is often unshaven. His sister calls him grizzled looking. To the outside world, we look like an ordinary or perhaps we are even (gasp!) a sub standard looking couple. I work part time at the libary and my husband helps lay the underground utilities for an electric company.
The alarm rings, we get up, make coffee, get dressed, go to work, etcetera, etcetera. But we are more than this. My husband gets up an hour and a half earlier every day and heads to his work shop where he is building a kayak. When he walks puffs of cedar dust falls from his clothes. I make homemade soap out of ingredients like Mango Butter and French Pink Clay. The scent of Patchouli or Rose Geranium clings to my body. I take writing classes and not so secretly harbour a wish to write a Pulitzer Prize winning novel.
Although I don’t sport a mohawk or have glittery eyeshadow- but now that I am writing this I have an urge to go out and buy some …I am full of dreams and passion. Even though I have to get up every day to go to work, to pay the mortgage or to purchase things like new running shoes for our daughter. Every day I try to make small steps to work towards my dreams. We are the regular folk who you see buying family packs of chicken on sale at Superstore or using half price coupons to visit the local museum. But we are not just living each day waiting for death. We are taking tiny steps towards fleshing out our dreams, even if it is in the darkness of early morning or after the kids are tucked under their comforters at night.
This to me is the death defying act of living. It is being alive. Every day. Creating a loving family, going to work, making a meal that we share at the end of the day. But doing more.
I want to explore the big and not so big ways to work towards a better life. For some, your joy may be to crochet funky hats for the homeless, for others it may be to bake cupcakes for your co workers. But whatever drives you to do these things. This is the important stuff. The difference between waiting for death and truly living. This is my blog.