My Aunt Carole and I have always been close.  A few years ago, she started losing her memory.  For the past year, she’s been in a dementia facility.  A couple weeks ago, she was placed in hospice, and I’ve been making a point to stop out and visit more regularly.

To be blunt, it’s been a depressing experience for me.  She hasn’t remembered who I am for a long time now.  But I remember her, and so I feel like it’s important to be there.   I bring Fig Newtons—her old favorite—and see if it will jog her memory.  But it never does.  I try to explain that I’m her brother John’s daughter.  She usually just shakes her head. And I leave feeling disheartened after about 10 minutes.

But on Thursday, when I went to visit, she started talking before I could even get a word in.  She was almost giddy.  She told me that she had just gotten married to the most amazing man.  She told me about his job and their plans to spend their lives together.  And rather than stop her and explain that she has never been married, I just went along with it.  And she lit up like a candle.  She proceeded to giggle and talk for more than an hour about a man that only exists in her head.  I left her room feeling so happy that I cried.

Reader, I learned a lesson that I needed this week: it’s better to be kind than to be right. All this time, I’ve been trying to get my aunt to remember ME, and when she would say something untrue, I would correct her. And she would of course shut down.  But this time,  I left my ego behind and joined her in her sheer joy.  What an amazing experience for us both.

I hope this story brings you as much joy to read as it brought me to experience.  Wishing you a week of kindness in this week ahead.  I’ll see you next Monday. -Em

I’ve always been an over-achiever. If there was a challenge, I wanted to best it. I aced my way through school, not because I loved school, but because I loved to hit high marks. But acing tests didn’t do much for me from a happiness perspective.  I started drinking coffee when I was 14. I pulled my first all-nighter at 15. I had stressed my way into 3 auto-immune diseases by the age of 24. 

No GPA is worth that kind of damn stress.

At some point, stressing out just became a pattern of behavior that I slipped into because I knew it well. It was oddly energizing.  Deep down, I knew it wasn’t healthy, but it was a bizarre motivator. Perfectionism has a weird way of turning us into really ugly versions of ourselves.

Fast forward 20 years. My family and I just got back from a vacation to Oceanside, California, where we took in beautiful sunsets, palm trees, dolphins, and the Pacific Ocean.  My kids especially loved the feeling of sand in their toes, something they don’t get to experience in the Midwest. 

I just loved spending time with them.

Being present with the kids gave me a deep peace I haven’t experienced in a long time.  No long days at the restaurant.  No getting up at 3 am to write songs. No screentime to make me feel worried about the state of the world. Nothing to be successful at.  Just enjoying my moment on the planet with some of my favorite people. 

Now that’s a hell of an achievement.

Reader, goals aren’t a bad thing to have.  They direct us and keep us focused.  But over-achieving is exhausting. If you too have this tendency, I wish you a week of letting go of perfectionism and enjoying the moment.   I’ll see you next Monday. -Em

I go to the local farmer's market every Wednesday.  My restaurant tries to cook with as much seasonal produce as possible, and I spend a lot of time hunting for it. It's a great job. I like feeling connected to the food, the farmers, the earth, the weather, all of it. It makes me think a lot about seasonality.  This week, cherries are in season.  For 2 or 3 weeks of the year, local cherries taste like candy, and I can't get enough.

 

The kids and I catered a party this weekend.  They're 7 and 8.  When we came up with this idea, I honestly thought I'd be doing the brunt of it.  But I didn't. They both worked long hours prepping and cooking.  They made pesto.  They bought groceries. They made and assembled cheesecake. They even burned themselves flipping sandwiches on a flattop. And then they got paid a lot of money (for kids), and were proud of themselves.

And they surprised the hell out of me.

Reader, sometimes I forget how good it is for our souls to up the ante in life.  Extra challenges and risk can bring about extra joy.  The kids learned that lesson in spades this weekend, and it was inspiring for me too.  It made me want to work even harder.  

Wishing us all a great week ahead, full of challenges that will bring us deep feelings of pride and happiness when we meet them head on.  See you next Monday. -Em

My husband loves wood boats. He’s been fascinated with them since we’ve been in high school.  He’s restored and sold 9 wood boats. As a Father’s Day present, our family headed to the North Woods in Wisconsin for the Antique Wood Boat Show in Minocqua so he could geek out for a few days. 

I love to see him in his element.

The kids and I spent a little time at the show before we stopped by a restaurant to play bags (their element…for now), and then we drove to the shores of Lake Superior by the fields of lupine blossoms. That’s my element: lost in nature.

Father’s Day has been hard for me since my dad died, but seeing the light in the eyes of the people I love really helps to give perspective.  Reader, we’re here on earth for a short time.  In that time, we’re meant to find our own elements, to make time for those places and circumstances that resonate so hard that we beam.  I loved getting a little time in mine, and I hope this week you’re able to spend time in yours. I’ll see you next Monday. -Em

I was a dramatic teenage dork that walked around with a beat-up collection of Emerson poems in my backpack.  Not because I loved the subject matter, but because I loved his meter and rhyme.  His poetry has a pulse and a groove and I used to love the way his words felt flying off my tongue when I said them out loud.  They were seductive and anticipatory. When I started writing my first songs, I wanted them to feel like Emerson.

I played outside at a festival in downtown Rockford yesterday with my old friends Gerald Dowd, Gregg Ostrom, and John Abbey.  We had brunch at my restaurant before the gig. Today, my heart is full, and my head is murky. (I tried my first cannabis cocktails yesterday; man...they pack a punch).

No blog tonight.  I'm cooking the wedding dinner for our executive chef at my restaurant tonight.  Proud to work with the best damn kitchen team in town.  I'll see you next Monday. -Em

I've had a melody stuck in my head for weeks.  It's been killing me. I've been getting up between 3 am and 4 am every day to try to find the lyrics.  By Friday morning, I'd rewritten the song too many times to count.  I've collectively spent about 24 hours hitting creative walls for one bloody song.