On old friends, grown children, new beginnings, and the beautiful business of being alive.
Well, hello there, dear friends.
I have been meaning to sit down and write a proper life update for quite some time now. But you know how it goes. One minute you're making a cup of tea and thinking about all the lovely things you might accomplish that afternoon, and the next minute three weeks have passed, you've started a new project, made travel plans, worried about your children, and somehow accumulated six new things on your to-do list.
And so, here we are.
There is quite a lot to catch up on.
First, let's talk about getting older. Or, as I prefer to call it, becoming increasingly interesting.
This year marks my 40th high school class reunion.
Forty. Years.
I'm not entirely sure how this happened, considering I feel as though I was just walking the halls of my high school in Lufkin, Texas, worrying about things that seemed terribly important at the time.
There's something rather extraordinary about reconnecting with people who knew you before you knew yourself.
Before marriage and children. Before careers and mortgages. Before wrinkles and reading glasses and the discovery that sleeping in an awkward position can apparently require three days of recovery.
At 18, we thought we had all the time in the world.
And in many ways, we did.
Now, forty years later, I find myself thinking less about what I have accomplished and more about the people who have filled those years. The friendships, the unexpected turns, the prayers answered in ways I never anticipated, and even the difficult seasons that quietly shaped who I became.
I think the lovely thing about growing older is that we finally begin to understand what matters.
And it is rarely what we thought mattered at 18.
The Children Are Grown. Nobody Mentioned They Would Still Need Me.
Somewhere along the way, all four of my children became adults and the blessing of gaining 3 bonus kids.
Real adults. With jobs and homes and responsibilities and lives that no longer revolve around whether I remembered to sign a permission slip.
And yet, I have discovered something rather wonderful.
Motherhood does not end. It simply changes its job description.
The questions are different now. The worries are certainly bigger. And the solutions are not nearly as simple as a Band-Aid, a bedtime story, or a trip for ice cream.
Sometimes they need advice. Sometimes they need encouragement. Sometimes they need someone to listen while they work things out for themselves.
And sometimes, I suspect, they simply need to know that there is still one person in the world who will answer the phone and be completely on their side.
I am learning that parenting adult children requires a rather delicate balance of holding on and letting go.
I want to fix things. Of course I do. I'm their mother.
But I am discovering that one of the greatest gifts we can give our grown children is the confidence that they can navigate their own lives, with us cheering from the sidelines.
Preferably without shouting instructions from the bleachers.
I'm still working on that last part.
And our family continues to grow and change in the most beautiful ways.
Our granddaughter is turning ONE!
One whole year of tiny fingers, sweet smiles, first discoveries, and the astonishing realization that a very small person can take up an enormous amount of room in your heart.
There is something especially tender about watching the next generation begin.
When my children were little, life was wonderfully busy. There were lunches to pack, shoes to find, appointments to remember, and what felt like approximately 4,000 loads of laundry.
Now, I get to see childhood from a slightly different perspective.
I notice the tiny things more.
The expressions. The giggles. The way little hands reach for someone they love.
And I find myself wishing I could whisper to my younger self, Slow down just a little. You're going to miss this.
A Little Update on My Health
This has been quite a year for my health.
Actually, if we're being perfectly truthful, it has been several years.
For a long time, I have struggled with horrible allergies, reflux, and breathing discomfort that seemed to have no intention of leaving, despite my best efforts and a rather impressive collection of doctor's appointments.
It is exhausting when you don't feel quite like yourself.
And it's especially frustrating when you're doing everything you think you're supposed to do and still aren't getting better.
The final straw was an extreme allergy to my hair dye while getting my hair done. Inhaler and all.
But recently, something wonderful happened.
I began working with a new doctor who suggested some significant changes to the way I eat.
More plants. More whole foods. A little (lot) less of the other things.
And within days, I began to notice a difference.
A BIG difference.
The constant throat clearing that had become such a familiar part of my days has almost disappeared.
I can breathe more comfortably. My throat feels better. And for the first time in a very long time, I feel hopeful that I may finally be finding some answers.
I'm also working with my doctor to gradually reduce some of the medications I've been taking and getting rid of inflamation.
Now, I am certainly not suggesting that everyone should run home and become a vegetarian. I am simply sharing what has been helping me.
And I will confess that this new way of eating has required a little creativity in the kitchen.
Fortunately, I love a good soup, and I've discovered that a pot full of vegetables, beans, herbs, and a little imagination can be a very happy thing indeed.
I am learning to think of food not simply as something delicious, but as one of the ways I can care for this body that has carried me through many years of living.
And I still intend for it to be delicious.
Life is entirely too short for sad soup.
Meanwhile, on Honeysuckle Lane...
If you've been following along with my little creative adventures, you may have noticed that I have started something new.
It's called Honeysuckle Lane, and it has rather unexpectedly stolen a piece of my heart.
The idea began with a simple thought.
When was the last time you opened your mailbox and found something that made you smile?
Not a bill. Not an advertisement. Not a reminder that your car warranty may or may not be expiring.
An actual letter.
Something lovely. Something personal. Something that someone took the time to create and send.
And so, Honeysuckle Lane was born.
It's a monthly mail club filled with letters, my original watercolor artwork, and little surprises tucked inside envelopes.
There is even a fictional little town beginning to take shape, complete with charming neighbors, a post office, and a rather delightful mouse named Lucy, who occasionally gets herself into a bit of mischief.
I began by mailing letters to 50 people, simply because I wanted to put a little more happiness into the world.
And now, I'm building a way for others to join in, send subscriptions as gifts, and perhaps rediscover the lovely old-fashioned pleasure of finding something beautiful in the mail.
I have big dreams for this tiny idea.
Wouldn't it be wonderful if one day hundreds, or even thousands, of people were opening little envelopes of encouragement each month?
Looking for a creative, thoghtful and completely unique gift idea? Honeysuckle Lane is a wonderful choice, you can read more about it here. You can sign up here.
I'm learning all sorts of things about subscriptions, websites, marketing, and running a creative business.
Some days I feel like a proper entrepreneur.
Other days I stare at my computer and wonder why a perfectly reasonable idea requires seventeen passwords and three different websites.
But I am having such fun.
And I keep reminding myself that beautiful things often begin very small.
Sometimes they even fit inside an envelope.
Big things come in little envelopes.
If you'd like to peek inside this little world, you can visit Honeysuckle Lane.
And Then There Are the Suitcases
If there is one thing I know about myself, it's that I am happiest when there is something lovely to look forward to.
A trip. A new painting. A visit with family. A little adventure.
And goodness, we have some adventures coming.
There has been New England in the fall, with all the glorious colors and charming little towns that make me want to abandon every responsibility and spend my days painting white churches and red barns.
And before the year is over, we are heading to Europe!
London, Budapest, a river cruise along the Danube, and a little time in Munich.
I am already dreaming about Christmas markets, twinkling lights, old buildings, warm pastries, and the kind of streets that look as though they belong in a storybook.
Naturally, I will be taking my watercolor sketchbook.
I have grand visions of sitting at a tiny European café, sketching some magnificent old building while sipping something warm.
Whether I actually accomplish this or spend most of my time wandering around with my mouth open in wonder remains to be seen.
Either way, I intend to enjoy every minute.
Travel has a way of reminding me how wonderfully big the world is.
And how much of it I still want to see.
The Beautiful Middle of It All
I suppose if there is a common thread running through all these little updates, it is this:
Life keeps changing.
Our children grow up. Our parents grow older. Our bodies ask us to pay a little more attention. Friendships take on new meaning. New dreams appear when we least expect them.
There are moments of tremendous joy, and there are moments when we worry about the people we love so much that our hearts feel a little too full.
Some days I feel every one of my 58 years.
Other days, I feel like the girl I was at 18, still curious about the world, still full of ideas, still convinced that something wonderful might be waiting just around the corner.
Perhaps that is the secret.
Not to stop growing.
Not to stop dreaming.
Not to believe that the best parts of our lives are behind us simply because we've celebrated a certain number of birthdays.
There are still paintings to paint, places to see, people to love, letters to write, and stories yet to unfold.
And I am increasingly grateful for all of it.
The ordinary Tuesdays. The family phone calls. The tiny granddaughter growing much too quickly. The friendships that have lasted decades. The prayers whispered in the middle of the night. The little creative ideas that somehow become something real and maybe most of all, a phone call with my sweet mama.
I don't know exactly what this next chapter will hold.
But I know I want to be fully present for it.
To pay attention.
To keep learning.
To be brave enough to begin new things.
And to remember that a beautiful life isn't necessarily one without difficulties.
Sometimes it's simply a life in which we learn to recognize the beauty right in the middle of them.
So here's to the next chapter, dear friends.
To good health, old friendships, grown children, tiny grandchildren, full suitcases, fresh watercolor paper, and mailboxes filled with happy surprises.
And to the wonderful possibility that some of our very best stories are still waiting to be written.
With love and a little bit of honeysuckle,
Sherri
