grandmothers & spring rain

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Photos by Laura Lowery

“Perhaps the rain is how our grandmothers whisper, “Slow down, dear ones. Enjoy this life.””

{240 words}
 
"My mother always said it slows things down and cleans things up," she murmured, as she packed my groceries into the brown bag last night. I had mentioned the rain, making small talk at the checkout stand. It has been falling all week. "She passed when she was fifty-nine, but I still talk to her."

Last weekend I kept a promise to spend time with my dad. We went through boxes of family photographs I had not seen before, like the one of my grandparents on the day they married in 1931.

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I never met my grandmother Inez; she passed when she was sixty, just before I was born. But her wedding picture reveals curly brown hair (like mine) and I wish I could talk to her.

The misty rain this week has made straightening these curls an exercise in futility. Today I left them alone and put on a dress. With one hand on my hip, I tried to smile into my camera the way I imagine Inez smiled into hers: that look she has of hope, curiosity, uncertainty, courage.

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Life is quickening now. We are heading into spring, and the whole Northern Hemisphere is roaring back to life. New projects and plans take on a life of their own. It does seem harder to slow down in March, have you noticed?

Perhaps the rain is here to remind us. Perhaps the rain is how our grandmothers whisper, "Slow down, dear ones. Enjoy this life."

xo
laura

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Laura Lowery is the founder, editor and publisher of Lucia. She does her best to lead a creative life. Whether triumphant or stumbling, Laura shares daily notes (that are often weekly) here on luciajournal, including stories, behind-the-scenes happenings, little doses of inspiration, and large quantities of curiosity and heart. She is pleased to meet you.

things take longer

“Things take longer than we think.”

— My counselor

July 7, 2016 - Daily Notes, From the Editor

The lavender I planted when I first moved into this little white fairytale house four summers ago has not grown quickly. I envisioned each plant reaching its full potential by the following summer, but the ground here is hard and full of tree roots. The cedar I love so dearly drops soft needles that affect the soil Ph. Last year, I barely had any lavender blooms but this morning I noticed my plants are a bit bigger. Things take longer than we think.

My father is 83 and of Cherokee stock. I've always known he will live to be at least 100. Ten years ago, his kidneys were damaged by an adverse reaction to a combination of prescription drugs that two doctors didn't catch until it was almost too late. Somehow, though, he has managed to stay off of dialysis for a decade. The simple surgery last month to place a port in his abdomen in order to begin dialysis was nearly impossible for him to recover from. His body simply could not eliminate the anesthesia and pain-killers like the rest of us would.

We all thought, "Oh, once he starts the dialysis, he'll feel so much better right away." But he did not. The Fourth of July weekend was spent sleepless. I went home on Saturday to help my mother and my siblings came too. We are all taking turns going about this slow work of nursing and loving and cheering and praying. He is getting better. Things take longer than we think.

Reading to "Papaa."

I am tender this week. Quiet, observing, processing. My job is to bring healthy food and cheer. I am going back today with heaps of both.

I want, so badly, for the lavender to be huge and abundant this year, like the massive purple mounds that grow in giant fields in Sequim. I want, so badly, for my dad to be well tomorrow and go back to watering his plants, tending his garden, and going out to lunch with his next-door neighbor on Tuesdays.

July reminds me these things take time, lots and lots of time. Growing, healing, recovering, changing...takes longer than we think.

This morning I am wearing a hot pink sequined heart tee-shirt because it might make him smile when I arrive later this afternoon. And if it does not, hopefully the steak and mashed potatoes and vegetables will.

May your July be slow, restful, healing, and touched with the magic of lowered expectations. Embrace the new normal, and find beauty in the small tufts of lavender that are tough enough, brave enough, to grow each year there under the cedar trees.

xo
laura

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Laura Lowery is the founder, editor and publisher of Lucia. She does her best to lead a creative life. Whether triumphant or stumbling, Laura shares daily notes (that are often weekly) here on luciajournal, including stories, behind-the-scenes happenings, little doses of inspiration, and large quantities of curiosity and heart. She is pleased to meet you.

slow clothing and a silversmith

March 12, 2016 - Daily Notes

On Saturday mornings I ease my right foot from the gas pedal of life and gently begin to apply the brakes. I try to slow down. This morning, I am thinking about the beauty and power of slowness and how it applies to growing Lucia.

Lucia Issue Two : Perfection was released this month and the mysterious woman on our cover is Shelli Markee. She is a silversmith and a deep breath of busy gratitude, clean imperfection, and the slow making of worn magic. A few days ago I received this email from her:

"I'm sitting in this beautiful new clothing shop on Beacon Hill. The owner is an amazing woman. She is taking on my collection for her store. I showed her your journal and she would love to sell it here. Her name is Mia Fioravanti."

The next day, I found myself sitting in a vintage armchair in the spacious, light-filled, on-street studio storefront of Fioravanti. They make slow clothing and just opened a few weeks ago. 

Across from me was Mia, the founder and designer, whose silver-blue eyes told me the story of a lifetime of experience, creativity, and vision, without words. Her daughter, Wysdom, sat across from us, the youthful face of a twenty-something design apprentice enmeshed with the presence of an old soul. A stack of Lucia was in my lap and we were discussing the excitement of starting something new and the power of starting something slow.

Mia's father owned a 100-year-old multi-generational woolen mill before it closed in 1968. She grew up watching her mother get dressed in clothing made from fabric her father had produced. Mia and Wysdom's sewing machines, worktables, and reams of fabric take up the back right quarter of their combination studio boutique. Seeing their gorgeous (and affordable!) clothing hanging in the front of the store and, with a soft sweep of my eye, gazing at the seat and machine where it was all made...filled me with inspiration.

Fioravanti feels like an absolute right place for Lucia to be found. I am proud and honored to have them join our growing little family of stockists.

In a warm display near the back of the store are Shelli's exquisite pieces. Her jewelry evokes a sense of what is essential and unseen. Slight flaws in the hand-forged copper, silver and brass conjure vitality the way freckles bring an Irish face to life. 

When we met last summer, Shelli told me both of her grandfathers were blacksmiths but she didn't start this work until she was forty. Now, a decade later, she is creating incredible work and still going slow. She said:

"I want to focus on that eighty-year-old woman. I want to look back on my life and feel happy with the way I've lived instead of thinking, 'I wish I had.'"

I like this slow feeling. The right people seem to be discovering Lucia this way. She is finding her tribe, her home, her circle, her place in the world as she grows. We all are, aren't we?

Go slow, breathe deep, connect sincerely, and they will find you, too.

xo
laura

p.s. Go visit Mia and Wysdom in person or online at miafioravanti.com.

p.p.s. Go visit Shelli Markee in person or online at shellimarkee.com