Birds: My Antidepressant

Yesterday morning I had to run out and collect my oldest son from a sleepover at a friend's house so that we could make it to a doctor's appointment. Ordinarily it might be a bit annoying to retrieve someone at eight in the morning, but it was sunny (finally!) and cold and the route to his friend's house is a scenic one. I was feeling really out of sorts, as I have been for a while now, so the drive helped. At one point I was driving on a road beside a creek and when I came around a bend, I saw this group of ducks having a morning swim. The female ducks were the loveliest ducks I've ever seen -- not the usual duck variety, I guess. They were these beautiful shades of brown and tan and creme. I don't know what it is about birds, in particular, that always makes me feel better.

Things have been difficult lately, especially just in my head and in my heart, and my drive made me realize I need to attract some birds to my yard. I wish I understood why they bring me such joy...but I guess I don't really need to understand it to enjoy them. Somehow the opportunity to watch birds fly in and take some seeds and leave gets me out of my own head. At our old house we had a bird feeder on our deck and plenty of tall trees in our yard; winter there was a little more enjoyable than it might otherwise have been because it was a great season for bird watching. The boys loved it. The cats really loved it. We called it Cat TV.

At this house, we don't have a collection of tall trees, though the neighbor has a huge tree right on the property line that drops all its leaves in our yard. Also, we live on a busy street, which doesn't endear us to the birds at all. We have a dog now, who seems to think that birds are flying intruders, and that he, the Protector, must rid our yard of them. Two years ago, when we first moved here, we had a huge gray cat who lived outdoors, and he was quite the hunter. I think the birds innately understood this. The only bird I saw hanging around our backyard, a bold mockingbird, eventually met with an untimely death. I found some feathers by the garage door one day and announced that I thought Gray & White (yes, that's what we called him) had killed the mockingbird. Apparently everyone else already knew this and had tried to hide the evidence from me. To our great sadness, Gray & White disappeared a year ago...

Somehow, birds just make me feel better. Many winters ago, after a terrible miscarriage, it was the bluebirds who brightened my depressed days. And so I think I will take some Christmas money and go buy a bird feeder.

Random Thoughts on Christmas

Well, with Christmas behind me, I'm hoping that I can make a little more time for blogging. I've thought of a lot of things I'd like to write about lately, but the need to wrap presents and visit the grocery store just one more time kept taking precedence. Don't ask me why.

Yesterday morning, I decided it was time for Bear, our dog, to have his Christmas moment. He did get a special bone on Christmas day -- though I thought the bone would last him for hours (thereby keeping him from driving my father, the dog-hater, nuts) and he polished it off in about thirty minutes -- but we did not give him his "real" Christmas present on Christmas day. You simply can't give a retriever a frisbee and then not take him out to play, and that wasn't on our agenda Christmas morning.

Anyway, when I presented the beloved Flippy Flopper frisbee, Bear was overjoyed. Seriously. I could tell. We headed off to the park with Son3 and his new ripstick in tow. The boy practiced on his new toy, and I threw the frisbee for Bear. That dog will fetch anything, but when he chases a frisbee, he flies. He flattens himself out in a dead run with his ears flopping, fully determined to catch the frisbee. If he makes an awesome catch -- one he just barely snags -- he's inclined to take a little extra run with the frisbee, rather than coming back to me immediately. He may even jump in the creek. If he doesn't catch it, or he has to stop and wait for it before the catch, then he comes right back for a new throw. Because he can jump in the creek for a swim or a drink, he could play frisbee for more than an hour. I usually don't last that long. Yesterday he proudly walked home with the frisbee in his mouth. He wagged his tail, which was coated in tiny icicles, the whole way home.

While we were playing frisbee, I heard a lot of shotguns firing. Guess the hunters received some Christmas gifts. Not a very Merry Christmas for the animals... How killing living things qualifies as a "sport," I'll never understand...

Christmas eve day, I was on my way to a bookstore and listening to a bit of Christmas music. One of my favorite Bill Mallonee songs, "Sing Angel Choirs," came on. One of the lines says, "We stumble around through the message each year. Open these eyes, open these ears." That is always my prayer at Christmas time: to see something new, to know God in some new way.

This year I was thinking a lot about the whole "no room at the inn" part of the message. Our field trip to the National Christmas Center had a profound effect on me. The last part of the exhibit is a re-creation of Mary and Joseph's journey, which really got me thinking about Mary and how difficult it must have been to settle down in a stable to give birth after a lengthy journey. In my twenty-first century, first-world mindset, I often think that God should want to make life easier for me. I think I only need to look at Mary to see that that way of thinking is a bit off. She was chosen for something so amazing we can scarcely fathom it, but she suffered much. Just sticking to the Christmas part of the story, she had to live with a scandalous pregnancy and with a reality that people couldn't and wouldn't believe. I wonder if she had her own doubts sometimes. Then she had to make a lengthy journey just as she was about to give birth and then give birth in a stable. If that were me, I'd be thinking that God would definitely provide a room at the inn. Wouldn't you?

But God, as he tends to do, had his own plans. Jesus was born in a stable, and this makes me love God in just a crazy way. That he came as close as he could to all of us in our desperation and included everyone. Surely there's a message in there for the downtrodden, for the homeless, for the outcast, for those estranged from their families...And that message is that God is with us. God with the homeless, the outcast, the powerless, those who feel they're at the mercy of their circumstances. But also God with the wise, those who seek to understand, those who look for him, those who make a pilgrimage to find him. The wise men were surely wealthy, bearing those amazing gifts, and God is with them too. And this year it struck me, God with the animals too. I often think of those verses in Romans 8 that say that all of creation has been subjected to frustration and is in bondage to decay, and all of creation is groaning, waiting for liberation and freedom. Jesus, born in a stable, is surely a message to God's creatures. I am with you too. You are not forgotten. Liberation is on the way.

Riding Lions

The other morning my youngest son came into the kitchen and asked me whether we'd be able to talk to animals in heaven. I, of course, said yes -- not to humor him but because I truly believe that. He was happy with my answer.

Then he told me that when he gets to heaven and sees a lion, he's going to say, "What's up?" and then try to juke out the lion. When the lion catches him, he'll give him a hug, jump on his back for a ride, and then come to find me so I can see him riding a lion. This little bit of news made my heart leap.

I am reaching the end of those years when I am my sons' number-one. It is a marvelous thing -- the adoration a mother receives from her boys. There is nothing like it, but I don't think it lasts forever. Some day, each of my boys will give his heart forever to a girl...and if he should want to show off his lion-riding abilities, it will likely be to her and not to me. That's how it should be, but for now I'm happy to enjoy all the adoration they care to send my way.

Success, of sorts

Well, I've learned a few things in the past several weeks, which is always good. The most important thing is simply this: this story's time has not yet come. Writing habits are one thing, but if your story is still brewing, important ideas still coming, then it may not be quite time to hit the keyboard in earnest. This is not to say that plenty of ideas, even important ones, won't make themselves known once I'm writing lots of pages. I am counting on the fact that they will. But...the ideas that are helping me construct this world, this society, are not all in my head, and until they are it's just putting the cart before the horse.

Just today another piece of this novel presented itself to me. It came as a great surprise while Son2 and I were visiting the National Christmas Museum. (Very cool place BTW.) The idea comes from a German Christmas myth, and it's just what I needed for my story -- but I didn't know that until I stumbled upon it. I love that. Happy little accidents.

I think my quest to write more consistently and my frustration with not doing so has just been a huge trap, making me feel like a failure, when really I'm doing the work. Quite honestly, I've been feeling like I've been letting God down when I haven't been writing. This could sound crazy to some of you, but perhaps not to all of you. Last January (as I surely wrote about somewhere on this blog) I felt like God told me to give this story a little water and a little sunlight each day. And somehow I turned that into write five pages a day, or well, please, at least one. But I haven't been able to do that, and now I see that my frustration is unwarranted. This story needs my attention...but it isn't actually asking to be written yet. I still don't have enough information. And all my attempts at writing page after page have only been increasing my doubts about my own abilities.

So, with all of this nonsense behind me, I'm actually excited about writing this story again. The pressure's off. I'll work on it each day and watch out for happy little accidents. I'm sure I'll know when to start writing in earnest. In the meantime, there's another story I may take a crack at. This one takes place in the real world, so it's a completely different endeavor. And...I think if I can successfully get down to work with this one, it will give me confidence when it comes down to actually writing this fantasy novel.

I have missed writing here and reading your blogs...so I'm looking forward to getting back into the swing of things.

Making Room

"They" say it takes twenty-one days to make a new habit. For that reason I'm going to take a little break from the blog world and make way for some better habits. Well, maybe just one -- working on this novel. It's not even that I blog that frequently or read others' blogs too obsessively. I was surprised to see that it's been almost a week since I posted something new here because I have a million things I want to write about. They are things I want to share, and they take up space in my brain -- space that right now should be hammering away at these characters and this plot. At the moment I don't have room for it all. And since working and writing and emailing and blogging and reading blogs and buying Christmas gifts and reading the news obsessively all take place on my computer, everything starts to run together into a jumbled mess. So I'm making way for more creative writing by temporarily avoiding blogging and blogs and my compulsive reading of the New York Times online.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, "they" say, and I'm feeling desperate. The new year is about seven weeks away and I don't want to get to January 1 without making some kind of progress on this book. I want to find some momentum sometime soon. Please. Oh please. I'm also feeling a tad, shall we say...convicted. And that rather uncomfortable feeling settled in for a visit after I read someone else's blog. That someone else is a writer (so different from me because he actually writes!) and on his blog he was reflecting on something he had written, noting that if he hadn't put time into writing it then it wouldn't exist. The gist was to consider what you're NOT doing. Your creative works won't be birthed without you, and the world could be missing out on something great and important.

This is not to say that what I am trying to write will be great or important. That's not the point. It's just that I'm the only one who can write this story.

And so we'll see if I can make some new and better writing habits in the next three weeks. Hopefully my next visit to this page will have some good news -- a post about success rather than failure. For the next three weeks I will miss writing the occasional blog post and I will miss reading your blogs, but I'll be back.

For now, I must depart. I hear an argument brewing in the house. One brother just said to another: "There are no words to express how annoying you are." This does not sound like the recipe for a smooth bedtime.

Failure

It is amazing to me, when I stop and reflect on it, the degree to which feelings of failure dog me as an adult and as a mother. These feelings are my constant companion. I don’t know why my fall-back position is to see what I am doing wrong rather than what I’m doing right. I don’t know why I can’t just cut myself a bit of slack. Yet at just the thought of that, I think, why should I?

There are a lot of reasons for this, but one contributing factor is – my children! They are not only articulate but they’re quite open with their thoughts and feelings. Honestly, sometimes I think I’d prefer it if they were a little less honest. Kept a few thoughts to themselves.

This is perhaps not the best example, but this morning, Son2 said, “When are we going to start doing other classes for homeschooling? Isn’t the whole point to try new things? To broaden your horizons?” And that’s a direct quote. I heard this and I felt like a bomb went off inside of me, all this frustration with my own shortcomings. And so what’s a mother to do except get defensive? And I say something like, “Just because I haven’t found any classes for you doesn’t mean I haven’t been looking. I’ve tried really hard. I have a lot to juggle, and I’m doing my best.” I also said, “Yes, that is one of the reasons for homeschooling, and it can be a benefit, but our main purpose was to make things less stressful for you because of your migraines.” Just to make it clear that I wasn’t a TOTAL FAILURE. Ugh.

For me, the opportunity to feel like I’m failing lurks around every corner. I wonder if other women feel this way. Here are just a few more glorious examples:

My friend comes to pick up her son who’s been playing here for the afternoon. She brings homemade cookies for us. I think, I suck. I never bake.

I hear about people who are doing creative things. I nearly despise myself. I am not writing. I’ve pretty much trashed my manuscript. I’m rethinking the characters, confused about the point of view. I think, I will never be able to do this. I don’t know how to write this way. And, I can’t even find the time. I can’t even get dinner made half the time. Who am I kidding?

Another day goes by in which I don’t make phone calls that need to be made – doctor appointments that need to be scheduled, the appliance repair man to come and fix our leaking refrigerator, the fencing club (yes, really) about fencing lessons for my dissatisfied homeschooler. And yes, another day has gone by.

Son2 says, “We used to do fun things on Saturdays. Now we never do.” Great. You’ll have no happy memories. Is there any point in explaining the ins and outs of this? The activities. The exhaustion. The need to occasionally clean the house and keep things from falling apart. And is it really never? I know it isn't, but still I feel that frustration with myself exploding. It's so easy to believe I'm letting my kids down.

Why is it so hard for me to focus on what I do well? On what I actually do accomplish? I really have no idea.

***
On an entirely different note, I was watching the news yesterday morning and I saw a commercial for the Broadway Across America tour of A Chorus Line, which will be coming to the Hippodrome Theater in Baltimore. We don’t have our tickets yet, but I’m super excited!

A Lazy Post

I'm experiencing blogger's guilt for whatever reason. It's only been two days, hardly enough to feel guilty about, but that's how I am. My husband likes to remind me that I would have made a wonderful Catholic. Undoubtedly.

But my mind is feeling dull, perhaps some strange side effect of not being overwhelmed by work. Who knows. So my lazy post is a poem that I wrote forever ago. I thought of it the other day when the yellow leaves on the tree that overshadows the front of our house made a golden glow of sunlight in our living room. Not that the poem is about our living room. That could be strange. But it is about fall.

BTW, I don't love the ending. It feels a bit abrupt, which I think I recently said about one of my other poems. Guess I need to work on that!

Woods Walk

I smelled death that day
the sweetness of rotting layers
of leaves becoming dirt
all that was once green
fallen
growing richer still

and smoke too
the fragrant offering of Autumn
filling our nostrils
with the passage to dormancy

I heard our feet crunching
stirring up the layers
your legs kicking up joy
laughter punctuating the silence
of that canopied sanctuary

I saw the eerie illumination
sunlight filtering through orange and red
three small bodies
glowing with me
in the smoky silence

feast for the senses
this walk in our gullied woods
sacred communion deepened
by the flash of a bounding stag
we tracked his footprints
headed for home

From This Day Forward

I had not planned to write today if Obama won. I did not want to gloat. But I am not gloating. I am simply elated. I am thrilled that Americans voted for a man of ideas. A man who cares about ending the war, knows the value of education, and understands that the price of a college education is growing increasingly out of reach. A man who cares about the earth and energy independence. A man who recognizes how broken our health care system is and knows that something must be done to expand health insurance and lower costs. A man who cares that jobs are being shipped overseas and plans to penalize companies that take part in that particular undoing of America. I am so pleased that he is well-spoken and that with his election, the rest of the world can look at us a bit differently. We need the world to look at us with new eyes -- to see that we can lead in the best sense of the word -- not with aggression but with ideals. I am hopeful that we will be putting this period of arrogant aggression behind us and increasing our diplomatic efforts around the globe.

Last night I went to Wal-Mart with a friend, and she brought up the subject of the election. Despite my opinions, I don't talk politics with most people -- only with my family and very close friends, and, well, here on my blog. My friend Jane (names have been changed to protect the not so innocent) said, "I bet I know which way you voted." So I asked her to guess, and she was right. I inquired about her and her husband and she said they voted for McCain and then confessed, "David can't stand Obama. He calls him a bad name. A very bad name." I looked at her, confused for a moment, and then I understood. A bad word indeed, a bigoted one, and one I will not repeat here. Then she went on to say, "I am not prejudiced, but..." Allow me to interrupt myself here. This is never a good way to start a sentence. If you have to start a sentence this way, it's probably best to keep your mouth shut. It turns out that Jane is not prejudiced but she doesn't think that blacks and whites should marry. Hmmm.

Sadly enough, since we moved to this area I have encountered racism for the very first time in my life. We did not know what a stronghold of racist thinking existed here before we chose it for our home thirteen years ago. We quickly learned of our ignorance when B went for a job interview and was closely questioned about why we had chosen to move from Chicago to this particular town. When the interviewer could see how clueless B was, he informed him that this town has had a long association with the KKK. Woops. We had no idea. Several months later I was driving through town with my two-year-old and he piped up from the backseat, "Mommy, why are those funny guys dressed up like that?" I turned my head and for the first time in my life I saw men dressed in hooded sheets, hate right there on the street. I rolled up the windows and told my son to close his eyes.

The KKK has gone underground here, but I have no doubt that there are still white supremacists in my town. I know there are racists. I meet them all the time. They are the people I hang out with at Little League. I have had several conversations with people who start their sentences as Jane did. Last night I told her that soon none of this will matter. The world is changing and young people, the kids, are not burdened with the same thoughts and beliefs that the older generations are. I told her that I grew up in a place where the races lived together and I never even heard that word as a child. I knew no difference. I told her that I hoped soon no child would.

In fifth grade I went to VBS and made a new friend. Her name was Denise and I asked my mom and dad if she could go to our pool with us one Saturday. They said yes and we arranged to pick her up and bring her with us for the day. Years later my parents told me that when they pulled up to Denise's house that day and I ran to her door to knock, they asked each other, "Do you think Denise is black?" Indeed she was, but I had never mentioned it because through their actions my parents had taught me that the color of someone's skin doesn't matter. We are all the same. I am grateful to my parents and to the community of school and church where I grew up that this is the lesson I learned. I am grateful that in the community where I now live, children of parents who still hold prejudices will grow up knowing that a black man can be president, and that he got there with the votes of blacks and whites together. I am grateful that from this day forward every child born in our country will know that race knows no bounds and a black man can be president of the United States of America. It's a beautiful day.

Election Day at Last

I confess, some days I actually thought we'd never make it to this day -- like this election would always exist as some point in the not-so-distant future and I would be caught in some kind of news purgatory. No matter what happens, I don't think there is a person out there who won't be glad it's over. Finally.

Another confession: I am nervous today. I went to vote early, hoping to try to forget about the whole thing for the rest of the day. I will not turn on my TV until late tonight, and I'll avoid the news sites I normally drift to at some point during the course of the day. Instead I'll keep in mind the song I was listening to on my way home from voting: Joshua Radin's "Everything Will Be Alright." I sat in the car until the song was over, watching the sparrows flitting around in my neighbor's bushes. The sparrows and the song were just what I needed to remind me of the true nature of reality. As another one my current favorite songs says, "The world spins madly on..." and it will keep doing so no matter who comes out on top. But I will be breathing a big sigh of relief tomorrow if the world in spinning madly on with Obama as our new president.


*****

On an entirely different note, I retract my previous comments about The Shack. Well, sort of. I maintain that the first few chapters are a real drag. They are not well written, but that is all forgotten once you get past them. In the chapters that follow the author does a great job, and he makes a lot of thought-provoking points.

I finished Beautiful Boy, and I highly recommend it to anyone who knows and loves an addict. David Sheff writes eloquently of the anguish and the unknowing...the ups and downs...the letting go. I'm sure I'll have more to say about this, but for now I'm going to go ignore the news.

Fun with License Plates

Last night while I was driving home from the grocery store, I saw this personalized license plate: KEGGER. Someone with the IQ to think that's a smart idea for a license plate should never have been issued a driver's license. How often do you think this person gets pulled over? Why not just have this for a license plate: DRUNK.

When I reported this idiocy when I got home, B and I had a wonderful time coming up with all sorts of moronic possibilities for license plates. Try it. It's fun.

Reading Material for Doctor's Visits

The other morning I began to wonder if God was secretly preparing me for some kind of strange medical transport ministry. Why? Because it seems all I've done in the past eight weeks is drive my kids to medical appointments. And cram my work in, in between. To the orthodontist. To the dentist. To x-rays and ERs. To orthopedists and neurologists. And so often to the family doctor that he recently joked that I'd won a free set of dishes for our frequent visits. To talk about warts and acne and migraines and sinus infections and broken bones. I can honestly say I've never had an eight weeks like the past eight weeks. It's a good thing gas prices have been dropping. I'll apply the savings to all the medical bills that should start showing up in our mailbox any day now.

Anyway. This seems to have left me a bit...irritable. So it might be best if for today I hold my tongue and just let you in on the books I'm reading these days. Of course, I'm doing most of that reading while we wait in waiting rooms. Hopefully you'll let me know what you're reading these days, or what you've recently read, or what you're hoping to read soon. I tend to read a few books at one time, so here's my current list:

Walking with God by John Eldredge. I highly recommend this. Eldredge is so honest about the thoughts in his head and has a great way of talking about his relationship with God without using super Christian words.

Beautiful Boy by David Sheff. This is...devastating. Scheff's journey through his son's addiction to meth. This book got me through our ER visit on Monday after Son3 hurt his elbow (which may or may not be broken -- we still don't know!).


Mr. Popper's Penguins by Robert and Florence Atwater because Son2 is reading it right now for homeschooling. I haven't gotten too far, but it seems like a cute story about a penguin living in someone's refrigerator. Too bad my son's not enjoying it.


A Member of the Family by Cesar Millan (aka the Dog Whisperer). Just started it and already I feel I've learned some important things about living with a dog.

The Shack by William Young. It seems everyone is reading this book. I probably won't have much to say about it until I finish it. What I can say right now is that I'm glad this author is enjoying such success, but I think it's really poorly written. Which just goes to show that some books succeed despite the writing.

Soon I'll be starting a book I'm really looking forward to: Farm Sanctuary: Changing Hearts and Minds about Animals and Food by Gene Bauer.

There's nothing I love more than book recommendations, so I hope you'll post yours here.

Icebreaker Questions

This past weekend we had a women's conference at our church, and I was asked to provide ten icebreaker questions to use during lunch. I took the lazy way out and found most of them online. Here are six of them and then my answers.

1. What is the worst summer or part-time job you ever had?

2. I'm most aware of God's presence when ______________________.

3. The hardest thing I have ever done was ____________________________.

4. The greatest compliment I ever received was_______________________.

5. If you could have had the starring role in one film already made, which movie would you pick?

6. If a movie were being made of your life and you had to choose an actor or actress to play you, who would you choose and why?


Answers:
1. The worst part-time job I ever had was at a gourmet cheese and pastry shop in Washington, D.C. The cheese smelled dreadful, the roaches were plentiful, and there were a lot of rats around the dumpster each night when we had to take the trash out.

2. I'm most aware of God's presence when I read the Bible and it just clicks or when some ridiculous "coincidence" happens and I know it's God.

3. The hardest thing I have ever done was take care of a super colicky baby when I had post-partum depression.

4. The greatest compliment I ever received came from one of my college English professors when he told me he thought I could be a professional writer someday.

5. If I could have had the starring role in a film already made, I would want to play Arwen in Lord of the Rings. The thing is, I don't really just want to play Arwen, I think I'd like to be her.

6. If a movie were made of my life...well, I pity the poor sucker who'd go to see such a movie. I actually have no idea who to choose to play me. Not a clue. But I'd love to know who you all would want to play you in a movie.

Okay, these questions are ridiculous, but I hope you play along.

The Big Idea

The good news is that one morning a few weeks ago, the big idea that my book desperately needed finally came to me. I am grateful. All along I knew that something -- something big -- was missing from this story of mine. I needed a magical element, but I had nothing. It was a big blank space in my head. And it was so strange. I had characters, and the roughest outline of a plot, and several pages of story...but I knew a huge piece was lurking somewhere outside my head. It came to me in the way that things often do... seemingly unrelated ideas that keep hammering away at my brain for reasons I can't explain until they finally bubble up and present themselves as something new, something transformed -- something I need.

The bad news is that I am having a terrible time writing. It's a tired old complaint, I know. Aside from just the realities of life, I feel like my beliefs about myself are holding me back. When I was a child and even a teen, I thought I had no talents whatsoever. I still struggle to see myself as a creative person. I completely doubt my ability to write a whole novel. That's for other people, I think, not me. I have to push past these thoughts and feelings constantly; but when I try to, I feel like I'm deluding myself. I'm not asking anyone to tell me these things aren't true. I wouldn't even believe it anyway. The problem is with me, in my head and in my heart; and if I can't overcome these things, then this book won't ever get written.

Kids and Politics

This election has captivated my boys, which is something I hadn't anticipated. Each afternoon when I pick up my youngest from school, he has some election-related news to deliver. For days on end I was informed with great distress that all of his classmates want John McCain to win. The first time he made this announcement it led to a lengthy discussion about why people make the choices they do about candidates. I explained the kind of issues that most Christians feel strongly about and most likely why most of his classmates' parents would be casting their ballot for McCain. Of course, then I had to explain why those issues, while important, are not the most important ones to me and to his dad, and why we feel strongly about certain other issues.

It's hard to discuss these things with a nine-year-old. I find myself resorting to great contrasts to explain the differences, which may not be the best approach. I believe I said, "Should I care more about the death of an unborn American baby than the death of an Iraqi child or American soldier who died because we started an unjust war?" Of course, I explained that I care about them all. I want my children to understand that we believe there is far more to a "pro-life" position than a stance against abortion. If nothing else, this election has gotten that conversation started.

Anyway, on to the slightly lighter side of life. This week there have been a lot of negative Obama rumors circulating at school apparently. Yesterday Son3 got in the car and said, "'John' [who you may remember from a previous post] says Obama is a muslim. Is he a muslim? And that he's friends with terrorists." I say no and explain how these rumors got started; at the same time I wonder whether "John's" parents ever consult a credible news source. Today it was a little different. "'John' says Obama is stupid becuase he's going to raise taxes on rich people. Is that true?" I tell him it's true, and there's no response from the back seat. Then I say, "Well, if he has to raise taxes, should he raise them on rich people or poor people or regular people?" He agrees that it would be better to raise taxes on the rich than the poor, especially when he finds out that we're not in the "rich" category.

It is difficult to share the shades of gray with kids; easier obviously with my fourteen-year-old than my nine-year-old. I figure some conversation about these issues is better than none at all. They feel strongly about the issues without understanding that they are just swallowing whole everything we are telling them -- just as their classmates are doing. I haven't bothered to point this out.

Oh well. I've been mindful lately of dialing down the rhetoric a bit. That seemed like a good choice after Son3 expressed his frustration with his brother by saying, "He's being so annoying. He's acting like John McCain."

More than once through all of this I've wondered whether I'm raising a future generation of political activists. My youngest even came up with an idea for a campaign T-shirt. He was annoyed by a T-shirt some of the high schoolers wore recently on a dress down day. The shirt read "NObama." His idea? "GObama." Good boy.

More Than I Bargained For

I’ve been working like crazy the past two weeks, and I haven’t had a spare minute. I knew when I agreed to the project that every one of my family members would pay the price – but mostly me. And indeed, that’s how it went down. But now it’s over and I’m back to a more regular work schedule and the usual worries of how to keep all the plates spinning. As opposed to the past two weeks in which I didn’t try to keep the plates spinning at all. The boys complained about the lack of groceries, I complained (to myself) about the interruptions of driving them to medical and dental appointments, and if the dog had a voice he would have complained about his drastically shortened walks. Fortunately my husband isn't the kind to complain about a lack of meals or clothes that haven't been washed, which is a quality I recommend in a husband.

In the midst of my busyness, I've really missed blogging, which makes me happy. I used to write here primarily out of guilt, but not anymore I guess. I've thought of lots of posts I'd like to do. Okay, that's overstated. I've thought of a few. One thing I’ve been thinking about posting is some writing prompts. They can be fun to do, especially if they’re not particularly demanding. I give them to Son2 most days to write in his journal as part of his schoolwork. Of course, I probably wouldn’t post the same ones I give him. But maybe I would. Who knows where they might lead?

And that leads to my story. A week or two ago I gave him a writing assignment. I asked this question: If you could travel anywhere in time to any place, where would you go? What would happen while you were there? I told him that if he wanted to, he could write a story based on the idea of time travel instead. He’s a creative fellow and I figured he’d take me up on that opportunity, but I was wrong. Instead he wrote that he would travel back to the time that I was pregnant with his older brother and that he would switch places with him and completely change his life.

Not exactly what I was expecting, but I’m glad I asked the question.

I guess...

How about you guys? Any takers?

Train of Thoughts...

Yesterday I was driving home after dropping the boys off at school and I found myself obsessing over a problem one of the boys is having. I could not stop thinking about it -- what I should or could do about it, how he was feeling about it, what purpose this serves in his life, and so on. And so on. After a while, I stopped my thoughts short. What am I doing? Wasn't I going to use this time in the car to pray? Yes! That's what I meant to do. But a short time later I realized I wasn't praying at all -- I was still obsessing.

And then I started thinking about that. Isn't that what a mother does? Isn't a mother the one person who will always think of you and about you? The person who can't stop rooting for you? The person who's in your corner and whose thoughts are full of you?

I stopped my thoughts again and began berating myself for failing at the prayer time. It took me a minute or two to realize that was a waste of time, a trap. And then I thought of that verse in Psalm 139: How precious to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them. Apparently that verse can also be translated like this: How precious are your thoughts concerning me, O God! How vast is the sum of them. (Really. Check the NIV text notes; wow, that makes me sound like a major geek!)

But the idea struck me...Are God's thoughts full of each of us as my thoughts were full of my son on this particular morning? The way I could not stop thinking of him, contemplating what could be done, what would be best...is this just a little bit like the way God is always thinking of each one of us? Rooting for us? Wanting and hoping the best for us? I think perhaps it is. The next verse says, Were I to count them (God thoughts), they would outnumber the grains of sand. So I stopped feeling bad about not praying. Instead I felt so relieved, so grateful that God's thoughts are constantly full of love for me and that if I'm obsessing over this boy I love so much, well, God is all the more.

Clubhouse Rules

For the past two years, since we've been living in this house, we've been telling the younger boys to turn the small outbuilding in our backyard into a clubhouse. What kid doesn't want that? For reasons still unknown to us, they have not wavered in their resistance to this idea.

Whatever.

But talk about the power of peer influence. On Sunday two boys from church (brothers) came home with us to play with our younger boys for the afternoon. When they all grew bored with watching each other play Guitar Hero, they went outside. (Finally!) And that's when it happened. One of the boys suggested they should turn that building into a clubhouse. Aha! A brilliant idea!

They went to work. Cleaned it up, furnished it a bit (even provided a garbage can), and settled in. And then they wrote the rules. Here they are (no corrections have been made):

No spitting.
No swearing.
No littering.
No handheld games.
No alcuhol.
No smoking.
No starting fires.
Don't pee in the clubhouse (LOL).
The clubhouse closes at 9 p.m. Keep these rules and you will be fine in the clubhouse.

Good rules, one and all. I decided not to find it disturbing that my young sons felt that it was necessary to instruct themselves and everyone else that alcohol and smoking wouldn't be tolerated in the clubhouse. I decided it was better to be encouraged by the very same fact. As far as I'm concerned, they and their friends can live by the clubhouse rules for a good long time.

Confessions of a News Junkie

I am an obsessive consumer of news. I cannot help it. And so, you can imagine that this is reaching epic proportions lately. In addiction parlance, I think I’m about to hit bottom. I watch the news in the morning; I feel disoriented without it. When my brain is desperate for an editing break, I read the news online. CNN. The New York Times. The Washington Post. NPR. BBC. I can’t get enough of it. I have to force myself to stop. When I’m driving, I listen to NPR. The boys beg for music; after the election, I say. I’m fairly certain most college journalism majors suffer from this condition. Some people even have it worse than I do.

Last night, we watched the debate. Had to. Truth be told, I was desperately hoping to see McCain put the nail in his own coffin so I can sleep easier each night before the election. Because this election is eating away at me, and I can’t wait for it to be over. I’d like to know now whether we’ll need to move to Canada so our sons won’t have to die in some unnecessary conflict because our elected leaders are so far from understanding diplomacy that they have us mired in conflicts around the globe. And that debate made it very clear: there is one candidate who truly understands the value of diplomatic efforts and the need to restore America’s standing around the globe. It was not just clear in what he said but in the way he conducted himself. And for that reason, among many, many others, I will be voting for Barack Obama this November. And frankly, I hope you will be too.

Back in the Saddle

I always appreciate it when God helps me out with the basics. I've been nothing short of overwhelmed lately. With work. With the kids. With laundry. With the need to feed people. What? You need to eat? Again? The basics. Now that summer is over and we've settled back into a routine — albeit a rather chaotic one — I've been wracked with guilt about not writing. And overwhelmed at the thought of when I could possibly squeeze that in. I mean, please.

At the same time I've been frustrated with the morning's increasing darkness. Bear and I walk each morning, and I had been doing it before the boys got up for school. That meant walking at 6 a.m. It's a great time to walk, so peaceful. But suddenly it became a little too dark for walking alone. Well, walking alone with the dog, who I know would protect me if called upon...but I do try not to be stupid.

Back to the guilt and the not writing and my inability to find even a sliver of time when I would not feel like I had to be doing something else. I just sort of presented all the overwhelming demands on my time to God and said, "Help!" And miraculously, my thoughts finally fell into place. Now don't be deceived...it's not like I've got the God hotline or anything. For weeks I've been trying to put this together. How to make the mornings work with everything that's required: Getting two boys off to school (in particular, helping them find their socks, which never seem to be in their drawers), starting another on his schoolwork, answering clients' e-mails, getting started on my work, walking the dog, spending time with God...and my big stumbling block: writing. Suddenly I saw the opportunity the darkness was giving me. I'm now writing at six o'clock each morning and walking the dog later. The truth is that if I don't write before everything starts to get crazy and people start needing things, then it's just never going to happen. So, I'm pretty happy about this. Wow...this is a really long post just to say that I started writing again.

Not Quite the Brady Bunch

I loved the Brady Bunch when I was a kid, and my kids love it now. They record it early each morning and watch it almost every afternoon. Do you remember the episode where Marcia draws a picture in school and is busted for it because a nasty comment about a teacher is written above the drawing?

Well, last week I got a call from the elementary school principal. Let's just say it's not the first call I've ever received from her. She said, "I just wanted to let you know that I had your son in the office today with a classmate because a student told us that they were drawing inappropriate pictures of teachers."

Of course, the word inappropriate set alarm bells off in my head. What?! But in my calm voice, I said, "What exactly did he draw?" She said, "A cyclops." I'm still not sure how I contained my laughter.

That night I asked Son3 who he'd drawn as a cyclops. The headmaster of the school, of course (who also happens to be teaching one class -- fifth grade math). "Who told on you?" I asked. I had to know. Son3 named the classmate (we'll call him John) and then did his best nerd imitation (something he and his brother have perfected over the past few months) and said: "John said, 'I talked to the Lord about it and I felt that you and Jordan were drawing disrespectful pictures.'" This time I didn't bother to contain my laughter. That's Christian school for you.

Of course, in the Brady Bunch episode, Marcia drew the picture but it was a classmate who wrote the problematic comment. Far be it from Marcia to actually do something worthy of punishment.

An Anniversary...of sorts

Seven years ago today my mom died. I don't think I have any words for this. In many ways it is heartbreaking to me that we learn to go on. I remember how lost I was, how completely bereft after she died. For the longest time I felt the loss acutely. She was simply not there. It was shocking. Yet somehow over time I absorbed that loss, and it's as if the vacuum that she left has become a part of me, just as surely as she is a part of me.

I was going to post a poem that I wrote before she died. It's called The Diagnosis. I cannot. It's such a short poem, and in so few words it's just...devastating. Too much truth or something. So I'll post this one instead. I wrote it on Thanksgiving Day, two months after she died. Seven years later I still think it captures those days perfectly.


Thanksgiving

your veins ran to crimson
your bruises to mulberry
your skin to honey
before autumn even arrived

my eyes I could not lift
suspended
I was transfixed
upon the unexpected
passage of your seasons

so I drank your honey skin
warmed myself
at the bedside of your illumination
tenderly held
your stained and thinning hands
in September, thanksgiving was upon me

now winter is nearly here
but your autumn haunts me still
the hushed morning
a Saturday
when your last leaves blew away

A Poem

I thought that poems had left me. It's been years since one has come to me, which is how it works for me. I've contemplated this lately...whether I could sit down and write one without a dose of inspiration. Poems arrived almost unbidden for years, and they practically hunted me down after my mother died, begging to be written. But for a few years now, there's been...nothing. Until the other evening when a butterfly flitted through the yard while we were all outside playing wiffle ball. The butterfly was a lovely pale lemon color, and it seemed so out of place, in an evening that seemed to herald fall.

Here it is, without a title:

The leaves yellowing at their fringes
The incessant chorus of crickets
And the evening’s brisk breeze
Remind me that summer is
Waning toward darker evenings
And November’s biting wind

The falling leaves, the relinquishing
A memory struggling to surface
Interrupted by you, butterfly,
Your flight a dance of dappled light
Cinderella
Waltzing through my yard


I'm not completely satisfied with this. It's awkward or something...and perhaps doesn't say all that I'd like it to. But that little lemony butterfly has been nagging me for a poem, and I had to write something to get started.

Oreos and Microchips

Yesterday afternoon, sometime after I'd consumed my millionth Oreo, I realized I might be a tad depressed. Not really sure why; my life doesn't leave me much time for self-reflection. Perhaps I'm depressed because I'm avoiding writing, though the overwhelming nature of life right now means it doesn't feel like avoidance at all. It feels like survival, and I don't see that changing. I keep waiting for some extreme sense of drivenness to take over. Regardless, yesterday I began thinking that perhaps I could be implanted with a microchip and when I go into the store to buy Oreos, I would be unable to complete the transaction. Perhaps they'd scan my hand and the check-out person would say with disdain, "Sorry, you're not allowed to buy Oreos," and she'd quicky snatch them away. Not much of a plan, but when depression is setting in and self-control is lacking, it seems potentially helpful.

The Problem of Pain — When You're Eleven

The other night I had one of the most difficult conversations I've ever had with one of my boys. Son2, in addition to the migraines, has been having a lot of trouble sleeping lately. On Monday night he was...near despair. He's not the most optimistic fellow...and why would he be? But he'd had a terrible night's sleep on Sunday, and he was convinced he was in for more of the same. When he is like this, there is no reasoning with him. So this conversation about sleep led into one that was much more intense, and, frankly, disconcerting. Son2 wanted to know why he is the only one in our family who suffers. Hmmm. I tried to point out the things that his brothers deal with, and at the same time acknowledge his pain and the fact that he does seem to have more to handle than his brothers do. I know he feels like their lives are so much easier, so much more...blessed. Both are athletic, and popular. Both are sort of quintessential...boys. Son2's gifts are different, and amazing. But that's not what we're talking about. He agreed with me that he would not want someone else to have to deal with the pain that he does, but I could also tell that, honestly, part of him felt like it would be a-okay if his brothers were living his life and he was living theirs. I understand.

But still he wanted to know, why me? I admitted I do not know, that I only know that God is the only one who can take our pain and losses and bring good. That this is a miracle, and God can do that miracle for him. Then, of course, he wanted to know what good could possibly come from his pain, his trials. I said it would likely be a long time before we would know that answer. I said that great art most often springs from those broken places in our hearts, and that any art he makes in the future -- writing, music, sculpture, film -- would all be richer and deeper because of this. I also explained that only people who have suffered can truly comfort those who are suffering. That comfort is a work that Jesus does and that we can work with Jesus to comfort those who need it, to be with them in their pain. But still...he wanted to know, why me? Why am I the only one?

And so I had no choice but to let him know that he doesn't know ways that his dad and I may have suffered in our own lives as children. I said I could not tell him the things that I had been through as a child, that it wasn't right for him to know that now, that it is too sad, but to trust me that I had known deep pain at his age but that, unlike him, I was very alone, with no one to talk with about it, but that it is okay now and that somehow God saw me through those years. As soon as I started to explain this to him, my voice broke and I began to cry, and he jumped up and said, "Oh mom..." with such...compassion and understanding...and then he began to sob, and he put his arms around me.

I explained that all that pain I experienced and more pain and losses since have made me able to be with people who are suffering. And then I said, "Do you see? You're eleven, and you already can do this. You just did it." And he saw it, though he has no idea how rare it is.

That night, fortunately, he slept. And I did too, though that conversation left me drained and a bit worried about what adolescence may hold.

At the brink

Here I am, five days into homeschooling, and I feel on the brink of insanity. I remember now why I didn't have more children. It's that need for some level of personal space...and, introvert that I am, that's important to me. It's not that the homeschooling aspect of things isn't going well; it is. It's the constant togetherness. This other person is here all day, and he's a child, and he needs me. And we've been dealing with an explosion of migraines since the first of August and he's having all kinds of trouble sleeping — problems falling asleep, problems staying asleep, nightmares, etc., etc. It is awful for him, but the ugly truth is that it is also awful for me. I don't want to deal. I just don't. And so there it is. I'm such a nice mommy.

The Pets

Why do we love our pets so much? What is that? We were recently away in New Hampshire, just the boys and I, as the husband had too much work to do. I missed the pets desperately. When I came home, Checkers spent the next day folded up next to me on the bed while I worked. Every once in a while she would look up at me through her tired, half-closed eyes and begin to purr. We were a picture of contentment. It frightens me that I now understand how someone ends up in a house full of forty cats. Or eighty. I am hoping I don't let this happen to me.

And the dog. I was assured that he didn't appear to be missing me too much. He was, supposedly, his regular self. But Bear was utterly overjoyed at our return. Beside himself happy. The next day I was outside on the deck while some guys were finishing up some work on it (a project that someone else started last summer), and when I was introduced to one of them, Bear rushed to my defense as the guy came toward me to shake my hand. Bear charged up onto the deck with his terrifying bark, telling the guy to back off. Obviously I wasn't in any danger, but, honestly, that made me love Bear even more. I mean, Bear knew the guy; he'd been there while we were away. But somehow he knew that I didn't know the guy, and I guess he wanted to put the fellow in his place. Or something. But this is something I love about Bear, that protective instinct.

I think a lot about animals. They figure into the book I'm trying to write, and somehow in that story I really want to express some of my thoughts and feelings about the relationship between humans and animals. But I often find myself wondering about animals' emotions. How do they feel about us? What do they think? What do we mean to them?

Reading and Writing (not!)

I recently finished Unaccustomed Earth, a collection of stories by Jumpha Lahiri. Everything about it was perfect. She's one of those writers who I wish was much further along in her career because I'd like there to be a great backlog of books to read. Oh well. I''ll just have to wait a year or two or three for the next one.

I love to discover great writers I haven't read before. I think sometimes that reading can be a bit like gorging yourself -- but mostly without the guilt, unless you're reading when you should be working. And when you find a writer and discover you adore their writing, then it's so much fun to go back and read all their books. That way you can avoid that slightly depressed feeling that can come after you finish a truly great book. Of course, only true reading geeks know just what that feels like.

I've been trying to read some children's/YA fantasy lately -- something, anything to sort of inspire me to get back to the work of writing -- but it's just not working. I can't get into anything. It feels like work and not joy. And I am not writing. I think I sort of surrendered the summer. A lot of work to do. And just the work of summer -- helping the boys have a good one, that is. And the lack of a stable routine. But who am I kidding? The school year, which starts in two weeks, is going to be tricky too. Working. Homeschooling. The demands of school and sports and all the back and forth. And somehow, some way, I must set aside a time to write each day, otherwise this whole thing will just go down the drain. And it would be so easy to let that happen. I'm busy enough to pretend that would be no big deal.

Perhaps I should drown my sorrows in a good book. Suggestions anyone?

The Penderwicks

If you're a fan of juvenile and YA fiction as I am — or if you have kids who love to read — don't miss The Penderwicks: A Summer Tale of Four Sisters, Two Rabbits, and a Very Interesting Boy. This book is pure delight and one I plan on reading aloud to the boys over the summer. I'm happy to say that it won the National Book Award for young people's fiction. And I'm happier to say that a second book about the Penderwicks was just published. This may help ward off that slight feeling of depression that usually sets in when I've read the last word of a book I've thoroughly enjoyed. And my geeky inner child is looking forward to learning more about the author, Jeanne Birdsall.

And if you're looking for more delightful juvenile fiction, check out The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane by Kate Dicamillo (author of Winn Dixie).

The Verdict Is In

Well, obviously my limited devotion to blogging has waned considerably in the past six weeks. Even I had forgotten what my last post was about. Lots of questions apparently.

Well...many of those have been answered. The homeschooling is a go. Wonder what I'll have to say about this next fall once we've gotten underway.

I know this is the right thing to do for Son2. He's not meant for school, and I'm not meant for stupid school policies. In my opinion, who cares if the kid misses six weeks of school as long as he makes up the work and gets good grades? But the school seems to think that this requires a load of summer school, which we, of course, would have to pay for. Mmm...yeah...let's punish the kid three times over for having migraines. Good idea.

As I was still mulling over this decision, I heard this great interview on Fresh Air with the guy who wrote the Academy Award-winning-song for and played in the movie Once. Now, I was less than thrilled when this song won the Academy Award because I thought “The Happy Working Song” from Enchanted was the award worthy song. It’s an instant Disney classic. Alas, I suppose this just shows why I am not a part of the Academy.

Anyway. This was a great interview with that songwriter/actor, and he told a wonderful story about leaving school when he was thirteen. He said that the headmaster called him into his office and said it was time for him to leave school and go and learn more about music and see if he could possibly make a living at it. So the kid headed off to some street in south Dublin and the rest is history.

And somehow, this was the final thing that made me able to set Son2 free from traditional school. If a headmaster can tell a student, you’re not made for this…go and pursue what you are made for, then surely I can do that for my son. It’s not like I’m asking him to make his way on the streets of Dublin.

At the moment I don’t have a clue exactly what he’ll be learning, but I’m excited to orient his education toward the arts and his interests. Last week he had a neurologist appointment and since he was missing a field trip because of the appointment, I took him to the Brandywine River museum to make up for it. I love that museum. Andrew Wyeth is one of my favorite artists; his paintings grip me in some unexplainable way. Son2 loved it, and it was great to share that with him. The best moment came when we read a quote from Andrew Wyeth that said something like this: “Sometimes when it looks like I’m doing nothing, I’m getting the most done.” Son2 said: “That’s just like me!”

I’m telling you, that kid can break my heart sometimes. He would love to be a person who plays sports and wins things and has no trouble with math. But that’s not who he is, and we desperately want him to be happy with the wonderful, creative person he is. So anything that affirms the normalcy of the creative experience is a relief to him, I think.

After that museum visit I found an article online about the fact that Andrew Wyeth was withdrawn from school when he was still quite young and tutored at home for the remainder of his schooling. He talks about the fact that he believes artistic kids should be homeschooled.

One last note. Lately I’ve been noticing that when he stays home from school with a migraine, he spends a lot of time doing creative things. It got me wondering whether the migraines sometimes come as a result of a build-up of creative energy. A good theory anyway.

Too Many Questions

Here are the things that have been occupying my thoughts lately, all of which have probably kept me from blogging. At least that is the excuse I'll use.

Do we let Son1 go on a missions trip to Belize? Is an 11-day trip into a foreign country, being totally immersed in various ministries, too much for him to handle? Too much for any 13-year-old?

How long can I survive without any editing work? Why don't I have any work? What's going on? Is everyone just freaking out about the economy?

Do we homeschool Son2 next year? His migraines, his struggles with math, and his overall temperament and interests seem to make this a good idea.

Do I write a curriculum to teach people how to write a good children's picture book? Do the people who try to write these books ever read them? In case you were wondering, I'm fairly certain they don't.

Do I take a long-term substitute position as a language arts teacher for fourth and fifth grades at my boys' school for the last seven weeks of the school year? I don't have any jobs at the moment, so is this the right thing to do?

These issues and others have been really overwhelming my thoughts of late. And...brief update...I mentioned back in January that I was going to start giving attention to this novel I want to write. Well, I really blew it for a while, but I'm back on the wagon. Every day I realize how much more research I have to do -- just to write something that is essentially a YA fantasty/adventure novel. I'm certain that my local librarians must think I'm insane. On my most recent trip to the library I came home with The Company of Wolves, Tracks and Trailcraft, Life in a Medieval Village, Vegan Express (so I can make dinner in the midst of the craziness), and five young adult novels (so I can read their openings and then return them -- unless they're good of course).

Who new? Much of the plot is still a mystery to me, but parts of it are becoming clear. I guess I thought I would just start writing, but it has not turned out that way. I'm going to keep plugging away at it until the plot is essentially clear, then sketch out each scene, and then I'll start writing. Phew. For any writers out there, I'm reading a great book called Plot and Structure by James Scott Bell...very helpful.

Oh well, time to go wash some floors and brood some more.

Amusing Observations

You may not know this about me, but one of the things I actually like most about myself is that I'm easily amused. Now, I'm not sure whether this is truly an admirable quality, but it does make life better. Heaven knowns the small things can often make life worse -- cat poop in the bathtub drain, a dog that needs to be let out to pee at 3 a.m., or someone crying in the morning before school because they "forgot" to finish their homework. If such small things can send a day on a downward trajectory, you better hope some small things can help propel it in a happier direction. And this is why I think it's good that I'm easily entertained.

I am definitely an observer. I should have followed my journalistic calling because observation seems to be one of the things I most excel at. But since I'm not using my powers to report on world events, I do use them for my own entertainment. Here are a few small, amusing observations I've made lately:

Yesterday, in the grocery store parking lot, I noticed a truck with a bumper sticker, which I thought said, "Vegetarian." I was surprised, because you don't see many people around here proclaiming their commitment to vegetarianism. You especially don't see it on the back of pickup trucks. They're more likely to have this bumper sticker: "Vegetarian: Indian word for bad hunter." So I looked a little more closely at the truck with the sticker, and I had it wrong. The bumper sticker actually said, "Vaginatarian." And I thought that was pretty funny.

In the same grocery store parking lot, I recently saw a general contractor's truck with lettering on the side. It said: "McQuitty Contracting." Honestly, if your name was McQuitty wouldn't you choose another name for your business?

This morning I was shopping for gobs of Easter candy for the boys at Wal-Mart, which B. and I have re-named China-Mart. In the aisle with all the Easter goodies, there was a rack of pocket New Testaments in Easter colors. I picked one up to look at it, turned it over and discovered that it was manufactured in China. So it's illegal to own a Bible there, but it's okay to make them. Classic. If they're not capitalists, then I don't know who qualifies for the label anymore.

A Little Chuckle

This is a disgusting thing to post, so if you're easily grossed out, then stop right here. But if you're entertained by poop, then by all means, read on.

Things have been out of sorts around here for the past week. The boys were all sick at the same time with a lovely disease called the flu. Next year we may be getting flu shots and save ourselves a week of aches, pains, and TV watching.

I don't usually pick up the boys' diseases, but even I could not escape the flu's wrath this time. This has made me very cranky and I've contemplated posting a variety of lengthy complaints. I may still do so, because this sickness seems to have poisoned my brain.

Now, I'm sure you're thinking, when will she get to the poop?! Hold on, we're almost there.

So I am still trying to recover, fighting off the body aches and going through about 100 tissues a day, and this morning I was doing my best to get moving and get everyone ready for school. I was in the kitchen, packing lunchboxes (UGH!) and telling lies to myself about how much I would get accomplished today even though I still feel like crap, when Son1 appeared and said, "There's a poop in the upstairs bathtub."

Perfect.

I go upstairs to investigate, and, indeed, there is cat poo and pee in our upstairs bathtub. Want to come over and use our shower?

Well...we've been having a problem with our oldest cat, who's furious about all the disruptions in her life over the past 18 months -- new house, new dog, new cat. It's the newest cat who's provoked this disturbing bathtub behavior. We're still figuring out what to do about this, but that's another post. But the joy of this particular morning is that some of the poo nuggets had fallen into the bathtub drain. What did I do you ask? I stabbed them with toothpicks to extract them, little cat poo hors d'oeuvres.

Aging

Apparently we've reached that point in our lives when not only do we have children to take care of, but we have aging parents to worry about. Many of our friends do too.

Aging is a remarkable thing. When my mother died, my father, who was 74 at the time, seemed so young. And as a widower, he's kept busy — with traveling, golf, dinner dates, attending little league and soccer games, and ferrying grandchildren here and there. But something has happened in the past year or so. I met him for lunch the other day. His hands now shake when he reaches for things. He's 80, and he seems...old.

On the other hand, we have my mother-in-law. She's considering having her boyfriend, who she's been seeing for no more than six weeks, move in with her.

I think we need a little help over here.

Does Simon Listen to the Radio?

Lately I've been having trouble coming up with blog material. Things fall into my head to write about, but never at a time when I might actually do some blogging. Then, when I have a moment, I literally can't think of one thing I'd like to write about. Or, I think of something, but I know it might be annoying to read about. My opinions on political candidates, for instance, or how apalled I was to see that video on TV of cows being pushed by bulldozers in a slaughterhouse. So, I will return to American Idol...for now.

My question is this: Do Simon and Co. ever listen to the radio? Do they ever listen to anything but seriously over-produced cookie cutter muzak? I think what fascinates me most about American Idol is how unlikely it it to produce someone who will actually write and perform some great music. You think about enduring Rock legends, and how they could never meet Simon's approval if they were to try out for American Idol. Bob Dylan. Neil Young. Even Bruce Springsteen.

Frankly, when it comes down to it, a "singing" competition is kind of boring because who really listens to music for the perfect quality of the singing? If you're looking for that, I guess you listen to Celine Dion or you take a trip to Broadway or to the opera. Anyone who is a bit more "artistic" just doesn't have a chance. Like last night, the guy with the dreads, I thought he was good...like something I might actually listen to, and he got the thumbs down from the judges. I also thought the way they didn't let the little guy with the sad story (who lived in his car) into the top 24 was completely lame. That boy appeared to me to be an actual musical and artistic talent — with charisma no less. Charisma — something that Simon talks a lot about but apparently can't recognize in its genuine form.

Simon also blasted some guy last night for his pre-performance video. I missed his video, but I guess he described himself as a "word nerd" who loves to do crossword puzzles. Simon, who never misses a chance to remind us that this is a SINGING competition, told the guy he didn't do himself any favors with his video -- basically because words are so uncool. Hello? What about the SINGING competition? And furthermore, I guess Simon thinks that all music consumers are people who can't imagine a musician who doesn't conform to all the stereotypes. So, the mindless massess will love a rock 'n' roll dude who drag races (that's authentic!) but we can't love one who likes words. What would we listen to if Simon didn't tell us what to like?

Of course, I'm a fan of words, and of word nerds, so I thought this was pretty offensive. But the whole AI thing is funny. Most of the music I listen to doesn't feature singers who actually sing all that well.

Still, that little buddy, David Archeletta (?), is an incredible singer. He sang "Imagine" last night, and it was way better than the John Lennon version. Of course, I actually hate all of John Lennon's music.

Anyway, a little dose of AI, which I genuinely enjoy, and it's easy to see why the music industry sucks so much. I'm glad I've never been in the unenviable position of being a musical artist trying to make it in the ugly world of the music industry. Watch those judges and the way they caprciously apply their little set of rules (be relevant, be yourself, don't change a great artist's song, make it your own, don't be arrogant, be confident, etc., etc.) and you get a sense that a bunch of kooky Greek gods rule the music industry.

The Moon

So, despite the title of my blog, I never seem to talk about the faith part here. There's no particular reason for this, but, being me, I actually feel guilty about this. Like I should retitle my blog because I'm not living up to it. I probably won't do that. Instead I'll talk about something I've been contemplating for the past few days.

When I was in church on Sunday I got this idea in my head about how God is the center of the universe and that all creation orbits around him. All humans do, even if they don't know God or acknowledge him. I started thinking about whether I thought this was really true or if it was just a demented idea I was having. I decided that I think this is really how it is. We all orbit him like planets, and he is the great sun. He's so powerful and magnetic, there's no way to escape and no way for us to fall out of orbit. The only thing up for grabs is whether we reflect him or not -- whether we show him our backs or our faces.

When we choose to believe in this ultimate reality, we turn our faces to him and we begin to reflect him. If we choose not to believe, our backs are turned. We're not gazing into love or into ultimate truth. So these were my thoughts on Sunday. Yesterday I was reading Psalm 89. Verse 37 calls the moon the faithful witness in the sky. I thought that was so cool. And it made me think that when we look at God, we witness him. That simply by turning our faces to him, we are witnesses to his glory.

This is the kind of thought that can captivate me. I'll probably think about it for weeks. Is that weird?

By the way, tonight there will be a total lunar eclipse. The last one until 2010.

Good Things on Valentine's Day

Many years ago, I kept a book of good things. It was just a list. I want to say this idea originated with my dear friend Carolyn, but that may simply be my faulty memory, though I doubt it. She's always been full of good ideas.

It’s good to write down the good things. In a given day, there are a lot of little things to appreciate. So here are my good things for today. These are just the things that strike me at the moment, and in no particular order.

1. Our newest cat, affectionately known as Oscar Von Snuggles. I woke up this morning in my freezing cold bedroom, curled on my side, and I noticed that my back was quite warm. There was Oscar, curled up against my back.
2. Dark chocolate. It’s Valentine’s Day after all. Did you know there are dark chocolate M&Ms? A very good thing indeed.
3. My wood stove. It’s freezing outside but the fire is blazing and it’s toasty in here. I love to be warm. As a side note, for me, being able to sit by a fire in the winter seems to help those nasty feelings of seasonal depression.
4. Sons 2 and 3, surely as an act of Valentine’s Day love, remembered to put their breakfast dishes and boxes of cereal away this morning.
5. The sign I saw on the way home from school one afternoon this week. I plan on taking a picture of it today: “Don’t forget them flowers. One mile ahead.” I kid you not.
6. The e-mail I received last night telling me that Son1 is being inducted into the National Junior Honor Society.
7. Every time my husband makes me laugh. Which is pretty much all the time. It’s like living with your own personal stand-up comedian.
8. The way my dog’s ears flap when he’s chasing down a Frisbee. For whatever reason, the sight of him streaking across the park with his ears flapping fills me with an inordinate amount of joy.
9. Our cat Checkers. She is sweet and reserved and her little calico face looks like a checkerboard, and she doesn’t even have to do anything sweet or funny to bring me joy – though I do love it when she tries to order me around with her tiny meows.
10. Unexpected e-mails. I love it when I hear from people I’m not expecting to hear from. So fun.

It’s Valentine’s Day, which is as good a day as any to acknowledge the good things -- so I really hope you have some to take note of. I’ll probably add to my list again some day. If you write a list, let me know.

Baby Steps: An Update

Well, the first week of baby steps went well. I wrote some. I mostly did research. And I have a lot of that to do. So far it's been really helpful as far as starting to put some flesh on my ideas. I realize now that I am nowhere near ready to write much of this story. I will probably write scenes here and there that will get chucked eventually, but they're worth writing now for the discipline of it and for the potential discoveries.

The second week hasn't been so great. Too many work deadlines, which means too many excuses. But this week I should be back on track. Should be.

I used to hate to write. I hated it until I took a mandatory half-semester writing class in college that changed my life. So weird how that can happen. The class (and my lovely and wonderful professor, Dr. Martindale) opened my eyes to the idea that writing well is like putting a puzzle together, and that is what most intrigues me about it. I am not the most creative person. Many people think I am, but I'm not. I enjoy the creativity of others. And I seem to make my living off of others' creativity as well. I guess the reason I'm a good editor is that I can look at all your puzzle pieces and see that you haven't put the picture together in quite the right way. I fix it, and the picture is clear. So I'm an editor because I like the challenge of a puzzle. But writing is like putting together a puzzle too, especially non-fiction. Putting the pieces together and presenting it in a compelling way. But fiction -- well, you have to create the pieces and then put them together. For me, the intimidation factor is huge. And then there's the work of it, as Carolyn mentioned. It's sheer drudgery in a lot of ways.

But research is fun. I love to learn new things and the days that I take my baby steps, things are much more exciting and interesting in my brain. I definitely prefer to contemplate the motivations of my protagonist's father than to contemplate what to make for dinner. I really hate dinner, at least the fact that everyone needs to eat it every night.

Baby Steps

One of my favorite movies of all time is What About Bob? Now, some of you may think that's...lame. Not very intellectual. But it's hysterical, and you can use a line from What About Bob? for just about anything. So it comes in handy when you don't want to look for your own material.

Take "baby steps." Dr. Leo Marvin, Bob's new psychiatrist, tells Bob to just take "baby steps" in his life, and there's a great scene where Bob is waiting for an appointment he's made to call Dr. Marvin, and Bob keeps pacing and saying, "Baby steps to four o'clock, baby steps to four o'clock." Okay, I'm sure something is lost in translation here. (By the way, did you catch that little reference? It was totally unintentional.) I know people who actually hate this movie, but I guess I just bond with Bob and all of his phobias, most of which I understand all too well.

Anyway, baby steps is the point here, not Bob. It was my birthday over the weekend, which led to a few (brief) moments of reflection. I think I usually do a lot more reflecting on my birthday than at New Year's. So...I was contemplating what would make this year any different than the last. How on earth will I ever start writing this novel, something I'm actually terrified to do? And the answer came to me on my birthday, in the form of a story. I now know that all I need to do at this time is give this thing a little water and a little sunlight each day. Right now, it's just a seed. But it's my seed and my job to care for it. I don't have to do much -- just give it a little water and a little sun. Every day.

Perhaps none of this is making any sense to you, but for me it does -- and this idea is a relief. A little each day I can do. Baby steps. The big picture is terrifying to me. How will I finish it? I don't even have the plot fully mapped out. Can I do it? It's completely intimidating. So I mention this here because I want to have a place to be accountable. Am I taking care of this little seed or not? It's kind of ironic that this metaphor speaks to me, because I kill almost every plant I cross paths with.

American Idol

Last night, as we embarked on another season of American Idol, I wondered whether this is what my children will remember about their childhood. When they're all grown and married and have their own kids will one of them say, "Remember that show we used to watch together? What was it called? American Idol?" It's one of the highlights of our winters. I'm serious here. Is that actually sad?

Oh well. If it's sad, then so be it. It's great bonding over the goofballs and the talent. There's something so fun about watching people succeed, a bit of good fortune come their way when they put themselves out there. Dreams come true and all of that. Well, as long as they're not arrogant. I'm no fan of arrogance, and if you must know...I like to see those people go down. I think we all do. Well, everyone in our family that is.

What fascinates me about this show is the level of delusion. Obviously there are people who audition and purposely act weird or sing badly just so they can get on TV. However...there are people who are truly awful who think they have a real shot. And that intrigues me. Where are their families and friends? Does no one tell them the truth?

Honestly I think this is a parent's greatest responsibility. To help their children understand and pursue their gifts and talents. It can be a tricky business. Made a little more difficult, perhaps, when you have an uber-talented child and then some mere mortals. Perhaps even worse when all are the same gender. I speak from experience here. Last night my oldest returned from his basketball game and said he'd received the game ball. Son2, who seems to be utterly lacking in any sports talent, congratulated him, which impressed me. If he was my brother, I might hate him. MVP of his soccer team this fall, all-star in baseball every year, great student, and a good actor. His acting ability annoys me, I confess. That's what Son2 excels at. Why does Son1 have to have any acting ability whatsoever? Doesn't the kid have enough talent? Anyway, I pray that the three of them make it through their lives with a minimum of jealousy and a lot of support and congratulations for one another.

Back to American Idol. I just wonder how anyone gets to be 18, 21, 25 or whatever and still doesn't understand their innate abilities. Wait, that's not true. I do understand that. When I was 18, I didn't know what I excelled at (probably because my parents' generation didn't obsess over their kids the way we do). But I certainly knew what I WASN'T good at. For instance, I knew I couldn't sing. I would never have tried out for American Idol. Would you?