“Mom! I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.” An eye roll emphasized her tweeny exasperation.

“I don’t care about what you are going to be.” I said. “You will be a lot of different things. I want an idea of what you want.”

She shrugged, but her eyes stayed on me.

“I always wanted time to paint and write.” I illustrated. “Now, here I am with the time to do it”

She nodded, so I kept talking.

“Your dad always wanted to be successful. It matters less what he is, it’s the success he wants and motivates him.”

“Some people want an ambulance.” She elaborated. Our friends recently bought an out-of-commission ambulance, it’s true. “But others want to go to Mexico.”

“And others want to take a year and half off and live in Costa Rica.” I winked. That was a couple of years ago.

“So, what do you want?” I asked again.

I can’t wait to find out.

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C) Marika Reinke – Adventures in Art with Heart, Humor and Spirit.

 

My dad’s main parenting objective was to make memories.  He created them with variety, skill, and simplicity.

He walked with me. In hindsight, our most precious amblings were the modest ones; the everyday stroll to the bus stop.  We conversed like peers and discussed the color of the dawn, friendships and school work. I felt equal as he lectured and philosophized.

He was funny too, sometime ridiculous. Our barking spiders could be fierce. My parents’ coconut cream pie wars. He crashed, splashed and then sailed into the bay not to return for hours when he taught himself to windsurf. His untethered laugh conquered our house.

He repeated himself.  “Life isn’t fair,” was constant. “Your friends are not your friends.” He commanded me.  “Do what you say,” and “Honor your word,” were built into his heart. He transferred them to me neatly.

Now, I deliberately make memories with all his tricks and more. They are all that are left of love.

 

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C) Marika Reinke – Adventures in Art with Heart, Humor and Spirit.

“What do you do all day when we are at school?” My son asked me.

A pageant of vignettes marched before me. Days before he told his friends that I don’t work.  He really means I stay home to work, I reasoned, or did he?  It’s thorny to discern from a 9-years-old’s imprecise words.

“I paint, I work on my website, I blog and write, I handle orders and I teach my workshop.” I replied, ferreting a collected tone.  “Basically, I run my business.”

I didn’t say that in one day I fret and scheme, I doubt and pout. I handle thwacks of failure and near misses. I celebrate small successes. I battle my impulse to do everything and surrender to limited time. I shake it off and forge ahead.

“That a lot, mom.” He conceded. 

It is.

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C) Marika Reinke – Adventures in Art with Heart, Humor and Spirit.

“This is impossible.” I thought as I stepped up to a climbing wall for the first time.

That unworkable wall, in hindsight, was an un-challenging ladder. The excess of holds that littered it should have made it ridiculous not to make it to the top.

I didn’t make it to the top.

I was not curious about climbing. I went to the introductory climbing class because my newly married husband had started gym climbing.  When he went, his wedding ring stayed on the bathroom counter.  That made me curious.

It turns out finger rings and manicures don’t survive crimps and pockets.  A climber’s hands are a mess of callouses and muscular swelling digits that sacrifice their jewelry.

By the end of my first day, I made it to the top of the easiest climb in the gym. That was cool and kind of addictive.

I’m a complete unnatural. It’s a scary, strength-centric, body-aware sport that demands practical focus and technique with no room for daydreaming. Every time I climb, I’m forced into a new agony or disappointment.  It’s just not me.

Then again, I’m not natural at much.  Writing, painting, parenting, teaching, spousing, skiing, running have all required their discomfort.  I’ve only gotten better because I keep showing up.

 

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C) Marika Reinke – Adventures in Art with Heart, Humor and Spirit.

 

Make jewelry from watercolor paintings with me! Book a workshop or party thru Airbnb.com here: https://www.airbnb.com/experiences/140929

 

 

 

My kids’ teeth began rotting out of their mouth when we lived in Costa Rica.  Every time we went to the dentist they had more than one cavity or, even better, a new brand-spangled unfamiliar dirty-tooth syndrome. I shook with exasperation as the dentist handed me another bill. We were taking an unemployed year off, it hurt more than usual to pay a few hundred dollars every single time we visited.    

It wasn’t that our kids inherited week teeth or their physical inability to brush that introduced bacteria to their unclean mouths. They understood the correlations between brushing and tooth decay. It was our collective habit. 

Our nightly routine went like this:

“Time for bed!” a parent declared. 

These magic words disappeared the kids who returned as incoherent, tempestuous, figgety, bumptious gremlins mumbling and groaning some version of this: Ug, blah! I don’t wanna. Grrrr.  Can I just? Blurp!  Wait a minute. Crash! I gotta… Shrlurp! No jammas on!  One more… glassawater. Grunk! Anotherbook. Schwip!  Whatabouta….Kissme!

They were slippery and wicked, deceiving and jittery, as they placed obstacle and challenge in front of being tucked into bed. Every detail of our hopeful routine was a negotiation; bedtime stories, music, water, PJs or not, read a book, room temperature, teeth brushing and dog barking. We’d maneuver them to the bed wishing as hard as we could “Just go the F*ck to sleep.”  

They finally would and maybe they would brush their teeth. I couldn’t remember.

A handful of bills later and after the dentist’s lecture clearly detailing that I could expect many more visits like this, I did something desperate.

“The next time I take you to the dentist and you don’t have any cavities, I’ll give you $100.” I told them.  I justified that $100 in their pockets was better than $300 or more I kept putting in the dentists hands for each of them.   

A few years later and they haven’t had a cavity since. 

 

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C) Marika Reinke – Adventures in Art with Heart, Humor and Spirit.

 

Make jewelry from watercolor paintings with me! Book a workshop or party thru Airbnb.com here: https://www.airbnb.com/experiences/140929

 

 

 

  

 

About 8 years ago, I was an out of shape a mother of a 1 and 4-year-old too dedicated to my job and family to give time to my health. Tired of myself, I decided that I wanted to improve my fitness and my mood. Coming back from a good work out gave me positive energy to tackle everyday demands and precious “me time” I hadn’t had regularly since my first was born.

I got a calendar out and I set my alarm.  I woke up early some days, then more days, then 5 days a week and went to the gym.  I marked the calendar for every day I went.  When 30 days were marked, I bought myself a too-fancy-for-me sweater.  It was buttercream cashmere like wrapping up in a toasty marshmallow. Clicking the buy button was an indulgent luxury, but I reasoned I had earned it for every time I coddled my limp and protesting ass out of bed and into my workout clothes.  That was real work.

It took a couple of 30 day cycles and indulgent rewards before I didn’t need either to motivate me. My mornings became a ritual with its own rewards; a better mood, a fitter body, more strength, more energy, a fun work out, and more personal time. All the rewards the fitness professionals tell you, they are true.

Now, going daily to the gym is so stubbornly set in my psyche’s mortar that trying to extract it would require a new accoutrement of trickery. 8 years later, and you would have to drag me to a psychiatric ward before I’d give up on my muscles. I couldn’t tell you exactly when this transformation occurred, but I can say that you know it when you feel it. It is complete when its an unmovable fact of your identity and even better if everyone knows it.

I had forgotten I was another way until a friend of mine reminded me that I had transformed myself, and I could do it again. Now, I know “just do it” isn’t enough. Change isn’t a wish and it isn’t easy. It requires deliberate planning, action, patience, bribery and deception to motivate yourself into a new habit. But consistency is the cornerstone of a new me.

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C) Marika Reinke – Adventures in Art with Heart, Humor and Spirit.

 

Make jewelry from watercolor paintings with me! Book a workshop or party thru Airbnb.com here: https://www.airbnb.com/experiences/140929

 

I’m tired of our culture that prioritizes the right message, regardless of action. Pro-message politics have fundamentally shaken our trust.  Words manipulated to appease or influence now, only to be thrown away later, are an insult to communication. As a result, no action and no follow up takes its toll on communities. We learn to accept the lots-of-talk-and-no-action machine and become increasingly cynical and disconnected. Communities lose the whole reason we covet them; to connect with each other.

The ability to connect relies on the integrity of words. It’s a simple equation: say equals do. Do what you say.  If you can’t do, don’t say. If you thought you could and were wrong, apologize and honor the break you inadvertently made. Honor that a thousand micro-tears in trust can be just as traumatic as one heartbreaking betrayal or affair.

The pro-talk strategy infiltrates and degrades our connection with our most intimate allies. The macro strategy’s unintended consequence ultimately degrades our attempts at authentic human-to-human connection. The thinking goes that our society and leadership gets away with it, so why can’t I?

We say what we think the other wants to hear.

The problem is, if you don’t believe your own words, neither will your loved one. Actions speak a thousand times louder. Follow up on those words and show up, or you can expect those around you to fade away.

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C) Marika Reinke – Adventures in Art with Heart, Humor and Spirit.

 

Make jewelry from watercolor paintings with me! Book a workshop or party thru Airbnb.com here: https://www.airbnb.com/experiences/140929