Behind the Scenes.

First of all...

Hello! 

It's a pleasant surprise to have the mental space and time to darken the door of my little proverbial Coffee Cottage/neglected online journal. My husband sent me away to the beach for a bit to turn back into a nice person "regroup". Yes, it was ridiculously kind of him. I agree, you could use a break like this too. Also, I know I don't deserve this. All good and perfect gifts come from Above...and occasionally from a man who gets a straight-out tip from his wife's friends that she needs to "step away" for a time before she certifiably turns into Cruella DeVille for good. Or Henry Winkler. (Read on. I'll explain.)

So I drove myself down to the beach this week. By myself. No little bodies in any of the other seven seats. Just me and silence. It was so beautiful. The first morning I woke up and walked my leisure wear-clad self to the edge of the ocean. Being the deep thinker I am, my mind naturally waded towards my Instagram perusing the night before. Because I had not indulged in much Instagram perusing prior to my recent Facebook sabbatical, the sheer number of "lifestyle" bloggers/whateveryoucallthem was lost on me. But now I found myself aware of the many faux-celebrities who take oodles of pictures of themselves, oft in perfectly arranged "messy buns", wearing their glittering, socially-aware Toms on their inwardedly pointed feet over which a personalized Starbucks hovers in the hand attached to a wrist with a chunky designer watch lodged around with hashtages #messyhairdontcare #coffeeandjesus #reallife or whatever other message their picture is actually not suggesting.

And so there I stood. Thinking about this weird age in which I live with the waves crashing at my hairy-knuckled toes. For whatever reason, my ego had come along and challenged my aging self to take a reflective, sexy, wind-tousled, beach-side selfie. I can do this! There was no intent to actually post it anywhere, it was simply more to see if "the old girl's got in her". If one came out especially fetching, I thought I would send it to my honey manning the homefront, a little reminder of his hot lover by the sea.

I took not one, but thirty ten such selfies. Squinting as I stood over my phone to shade it enough to clearly identify the sexiest, most naturally wind-swept shot, I felt my self-esteem take a sharp downward turn.

This was the very best of the lot:

 #genderneutral and #eyebrowsgoneamok and #mychinispregnantwithitsfirstbaby

Not one to give up easily, I decided it was safer to go south. It was time to try the "where I'm standing" and "what I'm drinking" thing.  Feet shot seem very "on fleek" right now (I had to google this ridiculous phrase when I first heard it) and the tattoo I was gifted in honor of my precious brother in law last year completely boosted my chance of NAILING THIS. The little inked bee on my foot gives instant street cred, it tells people that I might be an aging Christian woman with children and unruly facial hair, but dang it, I am so, like, UN-OLD FASHIONED and actually REBELLIOUS. It was a shame I didn't have on an ethically-made leather anklet, but we can't have it all.

I eagerly waited for the right moment to send this message to a waiting world and when it came, I pounced on the little white button on my iphone camera.

Obviously, the surf did not the memo. 

Very uncooperative. Rude.

It kept coming too quickly for my delayed reflexes. We just weren't meshing and I felt it was time to give it a rest. I stood for a few more moments, breathing in the salty air I had been dreaming about through the last few stale months of my life. 

Back on the porch, I picked up a book a began to read. There was a gentle sea-breeze blowing through my hair and in the middle of the fourth chapter, I closed the book. "ONE more", I thought to myself, "Surely I can't really look that bad in my natural state".  I took this shot straight on, hoping for a more come hither look, tousled beach curls and all. THIS would be one for the hubs.

Apparently, my natural state is consistent. 

I stared at my porch-side selfie.

I just couldn't believe it.

I had always been so sure of my parentage.

And now, there's just no denying it. I am Henry Winkler's (aka "the Fonz") long lost little sister. Tell me you can't see it. Our eyebrows are practically quadruplets.

On the bright side, I might have a future in "The Fonz" Impersonations. You never know, I might have my own show yet. #bronsonhereicome


Anyhoo. Moving along....


This little foray into staged "natural" photographs of me and my surroundings reminded me how silly we humans are and how short-sided our vision is in a world of snapshots. We can only see in part...both on Instagram (or the like) and in the grand view of life. I don't know about you, but my little brain is lightening-quick at filling in the blanks, not only by making assumptions about a persons entire home, entire body, entire existence based on one tiny square snapshot of a corner in her kitchen or her manicured toes.....but also filling in the blanks of my own life, assuming how God is going to work or the means by which He'll move or bring about change.

The morning after my silly selfies, I once again stood at water's edge, staring at the blue-on-darker-blue horizon. I did not stare at my feet, nor did I have my phone to stare at my reflection. My vision stayed straight ahead and I heard a whisper encouraging me to keep my eyes there. Even - and especially- when I am no longer here. I was reminded to be careful of what I am focused on and to remember there is so very, very little I can correctly assume about life....both someone else's and even more, my own. In a world infatuated with showcasing, it's easy to forget the most impressive lifestyle changes are the ones that happen underneath the skin and behind the scenes of the human heart, none of which can be captured by the press of a button.

"God moves in a mysterious way

His wonders to perform;

He plants His footsteps in the sea

And rides upon the storm."