family

THE THIRD SPOON

/ jessicaivaska / 4 Comments

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We have three wood spoons.

One we got as a wedding gift. It’s a good brand. It’s strong. It has a few scaly patches that may splinter your tongue, but it’s still in good shape. It’s the biggest of the bunch.

Another I’ve had for years. It’s rough and flaky. Not because it ended up in the dishwasher a few too many times, but because I probably bought it at the dollar store when I had just graduated from college.

And then there’s the third spoon. Its bowl is closer to a circle than an oval. Its handle not much bigger than a pencil. But when my fingers fall on this one, I smile.

The third spoon is smooth from decades of stirring. There’s no telling how many circles it has made around the pots and pans in my family. In spite of its age, there are no splinters, rough patches, or flakes. It looks like it could outlive us all.

It might.

I got this spoon as a hand-me-down. It was my grandmother’s. I don’t know how long she had it, but when I pick it up, I see her arthritic knuckles and neatly trimmed fingernails, her cream-softened hands and the love she had for making food for her family.

In the mornings, when I pick up the spoon to stir my steel cut oatmeal, I imagine her stirring her own version of the breakfast classic, which she called “mush.” I wonder how many times she made it? I wonder how many pounds of cracked oats she went through over the years? How many times did my grandfather sat down to a steaming bowl? My mother? Her siblings?

Those questions and the memories that flood back when I use the third spoon are what make it special.

It isn’t just a spoon. It’s an artifact.

The third spoon is teaching me how important it is to listen. It’s teaching me that new and flashy isn’t always best. It’s teaching me the importance of long lasting-quality, family, history and shared meals.

If anyone else picks up that spoon, they won’t hear the stories and lessons I do. They won’t picture my grandma’s grey, short, permed hair. They won’t taste her “Posner’s” chicken or spaghetti sauce with grated carrots.

But I will.

The third spoon connects me to her, even though she left this earth years ago.

For that I’m grateful. It makes me want to listen more carefully. It makes me want to sit down with my family. It makes me want to buy quality products that might last for generations.

But most of all, it makes me want to smile. And so, I do.

DREAM HOME

/ jessicaivaska / 4 Comments

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I’ve always been a dreamer. Imagining perfect scenarios, setting my sights high — often unattainably high. One could say I’ve long had champagne taste and a beer budget. And yet, it doesn’t stop me from dreaming — even when I know that the snapshots I create behind my eyes will likely never happen.

Some people could look at my life and say that I am already living the dream. I live in Honolulu, for goodness sake. The place people save their whole lives to visit once. Paradise. But living here as taught me that we all don’t dream the same dreams and that reality (no matter how close to our dreams it is) seems to leave us wanting.

Which puts me in good company with the (I assume) millions of other people dreaming of winning the 2018 HGTV Dream Home.

But I’m pretty sure my dreams are rooted in something different than anyone else’s.

The house is stunning. It’s the kind of place I’ve always wanted to live but knew I’d never be able to afford. The details are incredible. The renovation spot on. The décor, gorgeous. And those views. . .oh those views.

Those are the views of my childhood.

And that’s why I really, really, REALLY want to win.

As incredible as the Dream House is (and it’s incredible, see for yourself here), I want to live there not just because of what it is, but where it is. Specifically.

My parent’s home has a view of the beach that the house sits on. I remember walking that beach as a five-year-old, gathering oysters that my mother would bread and bake so we could sit on our deck eating their briney goodness.

My sister had one of her birthday parties out there, her friends and I balancing on the rocks, trying to avoiding slipping on barnacles. One of her friends found an actual pearl in the oyster she picked.

Then there were the summers where I’d jump in off the boat ramp, sometimes neglecting to close my mouth and swallowing a big gulp of seawater. No adult would dare get into that freezing Puget Sound water, but I relished it.

I’m not sure how many shoes I lost out there during low tide. My feet sinking into the mud as clams bubbled nearby.

Thinking back now, I realize how magical it all was.

Erik and I have lived in Hawaii for over six years, making annual trips back to Seattle for work and to see family. We love Hawaii for so many reasons. That’s why we’ve stayed.

But the chance to live so close to family, to get to attend my nephews’ football games and cross country meets, and to get to go to my nieces’ basketball games and ballet recitals, that’s what makes the 2018 HGTV Dream Home a true dream to me.

I know my odds are feather slim.

I know that it’s probably more likely it snows in Hawaii next week than it is that Erik and I would win that house. But I’m still going to dream about it. Because what’s the harm in dreaming? After all, I’m a northwest girl, and like the Seahawks said when they last went to the Super Bowl, “Why not us?”

LOOSE ENDS

/ jessicaivaska / 6 Comments

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One of my aunts is a tapestry artist. Another aunt is a seamstress. My mom sews, quilts, knits and crochets.

These women have all influenced my life in deep and lasting ways. One of the things I learned about from them has to do with loose ends.

If you’ve ever looked at the back of a weaving, you know there are no loose ends. Every thread—every piece of yarn—is neatly tucked into another. It looks like chaos, but it’s controlled. Those loose ends are necessary to create the perfect image on the other side.

But there’s more to it.

In knitting and crocheting one loose end undoes the entire project.

A hanging string downgrades an elegant dress.

During this season of uncertainty, I’ve been thinking about loose ends. I’m finding comfort in the idea that God doesn’t leave loose ends. He has a plan. He won’t let one loose string, one lost job, one overseas move unravel a whole life. That’s not who He is.

I was reminded of that this last week while I was on vacation on another island with my parents. You see, as a little girl we came to Hawaii regularly. It was our sun-filled escape and vitamin D fix to get us through the grey Seattle winter and tide us over until summer.

I’ve always loved Hawaii. Loved. Loved. LOVED. It felt like my home away from home. I loved the beaches, the water, the fish.

So when Erik surprised me on a family vacation and proposed in Hawaii, it was fitting. The place I had come to love collided with the man that God had given me. It all tied up so beautifully.

And then, years later, when Erik found a job here, even though I never imagined living here, I was ok with him applying. The seed God has planted in my heart as a little girl was growing.

So we moved. We plugged our sun-deprived selves into the sands of this little island and have loved it. But now that we feel unplugged, I’m trying to cling to the truth that this is not a loose end. God doesn’t do those. This will lead somewhere. It’s all part of His plan. I’ve seen it over and over again in my life.

When you are dangling, it’s hard to remember. It’s hard to believe. But I’m going to chose to.

I’m going to choose to believe this is part of the tapestry of our lives. This will get woven back in and it will be beautiful. It has to be. Doesn’t it?