Alison Hodgson

Expert on the etiquette of perilous times.

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I rarely complain about the things we lost.

It has been interesting to notice what I miss, the – some times surprising- things I have mourned and, at times, with anger.  This week it was my wardrobe.

I am not a fashionista.  I clapped my hands when I realized that Christopher had outgrown the slew of hoodies I bought him last winter.  It’s safe to say that a woman who gleefully inherits her teenage boy’s hand me downs is no clothes horse.

When I say I mourned my wardrobe this week, it wasn’t really the clothes I missed, it was all that shopping I had done, and now need to do again.  My wardrobe was small, but I had everything I needed.

This came home to me this month as I contemplated Paul’s departmental Christmas party.  I had nothing to wear.  And, unlike those of you who say that in front of loaded closets,  I really mean it.  The invitation explicitly stated no jeans, which is all I got.  I do own a pair of dress pants, but they were a donation after the fire that I kept, despite the imperfect fit, to wear in a pinch.  The pinch came in July and again in November when Paul’s uncle and aunt died in quick succession.

It’s one thing to wear a pair of ill-ish fitting pants at a visitation or funeral and another to wear them at a dressy Christmas party on a date with your fella.

If someone had not burned my house down I would have had several things to choose from.  Perhaps – special treat – I would have purchased a new necklace to bling a little.  I might have checked in with the style of hose most fashionable (sheer?  opaque?) and picked up a new pair, if I was wearing a dress, but I wouldn’t have worried about boots or shoes, or undergarments because I had everything I needed.

This week I found myself shaking my fist at the sky.   Oh the hours of shopping lost!  LOST!  Because of one man’s lack of control!  Oh the humanity! I needed a dress!  And boots!   Or pumps!   And tights! Or hose! And a slip! And Spanx!  Oh dear God, the Spanx!  And we haven’t even gotten to accessories, which I, even for my standards, was poor in, before the fire.

Can you comprehend how much shopping that represents?  During the holidays!

And the arsonist claims he intended no harm…

I do not shop without my sister Torey.  She and I went out a couple of weeks ago and couldn’t find a thing.  We planned to go again, but we’re both busy and I loathe shopping.  Fortunately my cousin wrote a very funny blog post about looking for a dress for a family wedding and I had a breakdown commiserated in the comment section. Torey read it and called.  We immediately went online and ordered a cute black dress from Boden in two sizes to ensure a good fit.  It nearly killed me to pay for two and then express shipping on top of it, but I pulled the trigger and they arrived Monday.  Wednesday I tried them on for Torey and she approved the smaller (!) one.

Yesterday Eden and I went to Macy’s and did a mad shop: hose, boots and pumps, and the gamut of lingerie all in less than an hour.  This morning I took it all over to Torey’s for approval.  The boots got the boot because they were “dated” but the pumps were beautiful and perfect.  The full slip didn’t work, but the half slip I also bought was just right and the sheer hose were fine.  This is a raring success and basically a Christmas miracle.  She liked the necklace I chose, which is antique and gold, but would have preferred something with a little color, since I am wearing black.  I showed her my ruby red nails and we called it good.

As an introvert, in the classic and strictest sense (I get my energy being alone; I enjoy people but socializing is tiring) large parties are hard for me.  I would rather chat with one person for hours, attend a small dinner party or speak in front of thousands over mingling with a crowd.  As the mother of a quirky boy, through the years I have acquired a small library of books on social skills that I usually dip into before an occasion, but I lost those too.

Arson!  More fist shaking.

So I’ve been coaching myself:

“Don’t talk about the fire.”

“Ask questions; get people to tell you their stories.”

“Do NOT grab onto one person and suck the life out of her!”  (Paul is fair game.)

“Have fun!”

Any suggestions?

https://alisonhodgson.com/2011/12/164/

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I’m fighting the blues today.

It isn’t one particular thing, but probably the toll from sustained uncertainty and stress.

I’m going to go work in what’s left of my garden.

I became a gardener when I was pregnant with Lydia and in the long process of diagnosing Christopher.  It was a hard pregnancy.  I was in constant pain and refused to take anything because I was really clear that birth defects were for real and I wasn’t taking any chances.

I remember putting Christopher down for a nap and then going outside and digging.  My first attempts at gardening were beyond ignorant.  I transplanted violets!  But it was therapy as much as it was home improvement.  I couldn’t control anything it seemed, but you better believe I could move around some plants.  I could show them where to go.  I could dig deep and uproot anything I wanted.

How do you surrender to provision and grace?

How do you simultaneously hold on and let go?  I can’t always find the sweet spot.

Today, in the face of tremendous blessings, I feel despair.

I’m so weary.

So I’m going to put on my work clothes and invite a child or two to help me prune and dig.

https://alisonhodgson.com/2011/08/183/

Readers are Leaders

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Years ago I worked for a company called “Readers are Leaders” a program that taught reading to the very young. I only worked for them briefly but Paul and I have laughed about the name ever since.
The other day I tried to get Eden to join the summer reading club at the library. I explained how it worked: sign up, record all the books you read throughout the summer (on the list they helpfully provide), turn it in and get a prize.
Eden wasn’t interested. “What’s the point? I don’t need a prize for reading a book. The story’s the prize.”
Indeed.
She might look like Paul’s miniature, pig-tailed clone, but that’s my girl.

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As the year came to a close I have been wished, more than once, a better year in 2011. It’s strange to think, and impossible to qualify, that 2010, the year someone burned my house down, wasn’t the worst one of my life. But how do you measure and compare the goodness of years?
The quote above by Annie Dillard, I had written down and tucked it above our calendar. I found it, smoke stained and crumpled, on one of my early trips back to the house. Obviously it said something for me, as I found it evocative enough to copy and hang so that I could see it often.
It’s a commonly known metaphor of the purification by fire. Dross burns away and what is of value remains. This little quote went through the fire, literally and figuratively.
I am expectant. Great things are going to happen in 2011. Mark my words. And I know it is important to be mindful of the future, to set goals, be specific, write things down, look at the big picture, but I want to look at it all. I’m going to stop measuring my life in years. This is my life, moment by moment for all the time I have left. I refuse to be on hold until the insurance comes in, until the house is rebuilt and we move in, until my kids are trouble free and Paul is perfect, until my book is published and I get back into a size 8.
I want to spend it well.
Happy New Year.

https://alisonhodgson.com/2011/01/225/

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OTJ has fallen but she will get up. As you can see, we’re in a bit of a transition. I want to spruce up the place, but am lacking in skills. Don’t have a plan for the header, but anything is an improvement.

The sun is shining today in Michigan, which is not to be taken for granted. I’ve been scurrying around the house and the big kids are due home soon, but I’m thinking about dressing in all my snow gear and finding a bit sunlight in which to lay out. My body is jonesing for some Vitamin D.

There’s much to say, and I will say it, but I have a date with my snowpants and the sun.

https://alisonhodgson.com/2010/02/253/