Things Keep Breaking

I seriously love this old, ramshackle apartment. It’s cozy and vintage and it feels exactly like home. But the downside to all that vintage is the way things seem to keep falling apart. The sink is leaky, the cabinet is crooked, and a couple days ago, one of the legs on the bathroom vanity came off. A little part of me went, Ugh! When will things just be perfect so that I can finally enjoy living here?

You know how much I love a good metaphor. This one is hitting me hard today. Things break. Things fall apart. That’s what they do. The car will break. The car will be fixed. It will break again. School will get harder and then easier and then harder again. Money will flow and get tighter and flow again. We’ll get sick again and well again. I could spend the rest of my life waiting for things to stop breaking and start being perfect. And I’ll be waiting a long time.

I keep breaking and am bound up again. Maybe this is what they mean when they say you should live in the moment. I am looking for the joy in the broken. It’s here. Can you see it? 

love, elizabeth

The note on my car

I came out to my car in the parking lot the other day and spotted this note tucked into the edge of my window. I think it was meant for my husband who often drives this car.

"Thank you," it says, "for having the bumper stickers that you do. It means the world to me and, I'm certain, other women."

I thought that was the sweetest thing. It makes me more grateful for Kyle and also grateful that that anonymous person took the time to say how something affected her (I'm assuming it was a her). It's encouraged me to find ways to thank strangers for the ways they make the world a better place. Maybe I can leave a note on someone's windshield or I can stop a manager and let them know what great service we received at such and such a restaurant. I am so inspired as I realize that I often let the little kindnesses in the world around me go unacknowledged and how easy it would be to let that person know they are appreciated!

love, elizabeth

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Mad for Madigan: The Grass is Always Sweeter

Grass = Love VIEW SLIDE SHOW DOWNLOAD ALL

Greetings, pets and people. Today I’m talking about one of my favorite things: grass.
I went on a walk today and sniffed eight different kinds of grass. It took a considerable amount of time which annoyed my mom to no end. Mom thinks all grass is the same but this is erroneous (if you’re a yorkie-poo and you’re reading this, look it up).
Grass is not all the same. There’s the grass by the apartment where I saw that bunny that one time (big shout-out to the bunny: you know who you are, sir, and next time, you and I are gonna have words). There’s the field grass by the mailboxes. There’s grass by the pool that is super interesting. Grass by the railroad tracks that’s extra soft. There’s picnic blanket grass and rest-stop grass and grass after it’s mowed. Grass has a smell and a taste and a story.
But grass is only grass if you don’t take the time to sniff it, rub your head against it, roll around in it. Grass, my friends, has nuance and aroma and life in it. It smells like sunshine and chlorophyll and pure joy. I bet you didn’t know pure joy had its own smell. It does.
Off to nap in the sun,
Madigan, PhD in Awesome, Emphasis in Grass-tonometry

Dad and Mom enjoying a patch of happiness at the Asian Festival in Franklin Park.