Ode to Elgin

Proverbs 16:9 - "In his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps." With this in mind, I wrote a poem for Elgin.

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Cradle to grave in a single space, a river town           

spent and refilling. Soft imprints in graveyard grass,

my child-sized feet walking history, bluff city

cemetery. A whole life, but not many years,

belong to you. Not a passing through visit, a sudden

stop of breath along the bike path, a quick grave.

No. You are home.

I left for bigger things, cities and careers I thought

you could not hold. My heart’s longing for beauty

a decisive blow to you, mountain-less, sea-less, cement

town. I carried only the memory of a dirty river.

For seasons in different places, no thought of returning

to the tower’s shadow on an empty drive.

Yes. You came back.

Lesson learned: we all change in both directions and hope

more good than bad. Familiar sights: a pavilion surrounded

by willows and water, a muddy creek and wooden bridge, a store

where we stopped for Little Debbies on our way to school. Delightful

news: a taller library with fireplace and views. Trains sound

my nighttime song of youth and I pat my son’s head and think.

      Now. You are home. 

Where Dreams Begin

Remember what it felt like to have endless possibilities? Yeah, you were probably twelve and dreaming about all the adventures your adult life would hold. If you were anything like me, you were trying on careers in your mind: saving lives as an emergency room doctor, working as an interpreter at the UN, making movies, playing your favorite sport professionally, teaching to eager students, photographing wild animals for National Geographic, designing wedding gowns, traveling to war-torn countries as a journalist, pounding the gavel as a judge, writing novels in the mountains, drawing up building plans. You name it, I probably imagined doing it.

The adventures of real life have taken a different form than my childhood imaginings. The cold hard fact is that getting good at anything requires an incredible amount of dedication, hours of work – doing the not-that-exciting-part of the career you’re working in. (I know, sad isn’t it?) It’s not as easy to try on careers as I’d hoped.

But what I want to know is, how can you choose just one thing when there are so many exciting possibilities?

You might wonder how a nice lady like me ended up – for now – in the law (which is not my passion, by the way, but enjoyable at times and always challenging)? Well, it was passion of another sort. You see, the man of my dreams happens to have a single-minded passion for the law. If he was going to be in my life (and I couldn’t imagine life any other way!), so was the law.

Ok, here’s my domestic connection. Dreaming up the many possible adventures for my life, and feeling like I could do any of those things if I put my mind to it, all stemmed from my domestic life: loving parents, a warm home, family meals every night, plenty of clothes to wear, weekly trips to the library, homework time, discussions around the dinner table, reading countless books under the covers, bedtime prayers.

So maybe through all this rambling what I really want to say is this: what I really love is home because home is where dreaming begins.

Home with Animals

Love of animals has been a defining characteristic of mine since childhood. Thanks to my kind and patient parents, animals have always been part of my domestic life. I’ve lived with cats, fish, rabbits, various reptiles (not my choice), and finally dogs.

The first Christmas gift of my married life was a blonde cairn terrier named Toby. Toby was my first friend in Minnesota (not including my hubby, who used his persuasive skills to convince the landlord to let us get Toby in the first place). To set up this gift, I should tell you that I was pretty much an emotional wreck when we moved to Minnesota. No friends. No family. And lots of cold. When Paul told me I was getting a puppy for Christmas. I cried. Not a few sweet tears, people. I mean, bawling, blubbering mess. Ridiculous.

Thinking back, Toby was the end of a pet drought (darn those college dorm rules). In a way, adding him to the mix was like getting a piece of myself back.

Toby’s six years old now and never lonely since we added Reese to the family just a year later. I’ve learned endless lessons from these two characters. I thought I’d share just a few:

1.      It’s completely appropriate to become wildly excited about the smallest pleasures – like taking a walk, seeing someone you love even though they’ve only been away a few hours.

2.      Forgive like it’s the easiest thing in the world. My pups are incapable of hating, holding a grudge, or feeling sorry for themselves.

3.      Curiosity is the ultimate cure to boredom. Imagine exploring the possibilities of everyday household items – like toilet paper or sharpie markers – using only your mouth! Oh, the mess you could make.

4.      Don’t be afraid to ask for attention. Whether you’re looking for a pat on the head or a snuggle, you should let your requests be known.

5.      All we need is love. Treasure the moments you get love, and make your life’s mission to love everyone you meet (if you’re Reese) or at least those who feed you (Toby)

P.S. Dear Bryn, I hope this qualifies as answering the question. Here's my shout-out to your excellent design blog: http://brynalexandra.blogspot.com/2011/01/january-giveaway.html#disqus_thread

Life with Music

I can’t imagine my life without music. In many ways, music has shaped the domestic life I know. In my family, music was mandatory. All the kids started with piano lessons at age five and then were given the option of switching instruments in fifth grade. Some might think a mandatory music standard is too strict, too limiting of a child’s freedom. But I am extremely grateful for it! Don’t get me wrong, there were plenty of times in my childhood that I dreaded the thirty minute timer sitting on the piano, keeping me from going outside and playing with my friends. But the reward of being able to enjoy music like I do now – to play it, to write it, to sing it, to be in a band – wouldn’t have been possible without my family’s rule.

I recently had the privilege to sing backup at a concert by my friend, Mandy. It was a blast!

Guess who was there grooving to the tunes with me? That’s right – my family. The cool part is, if we wanted to, we could put our own band together.

Hope you’re enjoying the sounds of the season with the people you love.

Haskeland

I come from a traditional family: mom, dad, siblings and multiple pets (ok, maybe the pet part isn’t traditional). Each family is its own country, unique in its manner of speech, favorite foods, and pastimes. Even as a child I remember my curiosity about my friends’ families. Did they have mandatory piano lessons? Did they get to go to the library once a week? Did they stay around the dinner table long after dinner to discuss current events and swap stories? Did they have a cupboard dedicated to Little Debbie snacks?

Paul and I have been married for six and a half years. For the last few years we’ve discussed our desire to start a family of our own. We are the founders of a new country. A combination of our unique family traditions and values, with a few of our own ideas. I think about some of the things that are ours, that make us the family we are (even though we haven’t yet added a little one to the mix):

** We love our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. He is our greatest treasure, the source of our love, a constant companion, and the ultimate model of forgiveness and grace.

** We camp whenever we can and love to be “in the wild.”

** We care about the earth and want to be good stewards, but it doesn’t feel like a “Haske” Christmas without a real tree.

** We are not trendy, but we are loyal to certain brands: like Heinz ketchup and Quilted Northern toilet paper.

** We are usually talking about the law, politics, current events, and books we're reading.

** We often end phone conversations with one word: “pieces.” In our country, that means you are loved (to pieces).

** Popcorn is the snack of choice when watching tv or a movie. It has to be made on the stove and sprinkled with excessive amounts of salt.

That's just a glimpse of our country. 

Pretty Things

My friends know that the running joke in my family is that if I could, I would change careers each week. Although I have never considered myself visually artistic, I love, love, love all things design and architecture related. The list of blogs I read consists primarily of those focused on interior and building design.

Not long ago, my dear friend Magdalena recommended this little gem of a book. 

The book’s thesis is one that I have often thought and felt: the beauty or lack of beauty in our surroundings affects how we feel. As humans, we have a deep connection with dwellings. As a young girl visiting the San Juan islands, where my mother spent many of her summers, I remember thinking that if I lived somewhere so beautiful I would never be sad.

It’s a simple thought, and not unequivocally true, yet it created a resistance in my mind to returning to Illinois.

My dad (an Iowa native, which should explain this sentiment) believes that miles and miles of flat land filled with cornfields is beautiful. I couldn’t imagine coming home to Illinois, especially to the Chicago suburbs, because they are so uninspiring to me. I wanted to live in Montana or on an island in Washington. Instead, I moved back home – to Illinois. So while the natural surroundings might not be beautiful. It doesn’t mean the interior of our living spaces can’t be. If it is true that beauty of our surroundings impact us emotionally and our naturally landscape doesn’t help pick us up, the Chicago area should have some of the most beautiful interiors. How’s that for logic? I wonder if psychologists will start prescribing improved interior design as a remedy to depression.

All that to say, if I could spend most of my time looking at beautiful things, I would.

Down on the Farm

My favorite daydream involves wide open spaces and lots of horses. If I knew enough about horses to make a living in the horse industry, I'd be there in a heartbeat. But growing up in a middle class family in the Chicago suburbs didn’t exactly foster this aspiration. It sure doesn’t stop me from dreaming. My farm would have lots of rolling hills. Not too many of those near Chicago. This baby corn row hill is from a  trip to Wisconsin. Notice the slight rise . . .

I get my fix of horses when I can these days. Despite pouring most of our time and resources into our new law practice – Haske & Haske, P.C. – I recently climbed back into the saddle. It felt wonderful. I smiled as much as the ten teenage girls running around the barn, chattering about their favorite mounts. It didn’t feel so good the next day, or even the week after. But really, how would my dream farmhouse be complete without plenty of these powerful beauties in the surrounding hills?

Oh, yes. And I would ride every day and have the strongest thighs of any woman alive. Bye, bye jello legs.