33. Attend a School Board Meeting

As I put the 4040 list together, I was intentional about adding activities that would balance having fun with challenging myself physically and mentally. I also added items that would require that I take my role as citizen more seriously. This is a by-product of my other project--reading the presidential biographies in consecutive order. That's why writing letters to legislators and attending a school board meeting were included. Plus, with the exception of the cost of four stamps, which I always have on hand, these activities were free.

I needed someplace for Cadence to stay when I was at the meeting, so her Sunday School teacher agreed to keep her for me. They would do the lesson that Cadence missed on Sunday together and I would pick her up after the meeting.

I noted as I drove to the administration building that I was nervous. I don't like walking into rooms full of strangers alone. I also noted that this nervousness did not register as high as standing on the platform right before I flung myself onto the zipline. I could handle this.

I entered the room and observed the pre-meeting buzz and activity. I was pleased to see a few students. Their presence surprised me. I could hear conversations. There were differing opinions about topics I knew nothing about and all sides held their lines firm. The room continued to fill with patrons and their high school students. I was impressed with the attendance.

The meeting began promptly at 7 o'clock. The entire assembly stood to say the pledge of allegiance. The words didn't come readily to my mouth as they had decades ago when I was saying it daily in school.

Patron comments came first. This is an opportunity for the public to voice their opinions and concerns to the board. Each individual has three minutes. The timer sounded before each of them finished. The gist was “Teachers earn every penny they earn. Don't cut salaries or positions,” “There should have been better communication to the public when the tax increase went to the ballot,” “I am disappointed to realize the Board doesn't have contingency plans in place now that the measure was defeated.”

It didn't take long as my back and hips began aching from the uncomfortable, squeaky chair I was sitting in to realize that I didn't know enough about the school district and that I needed to attend more of these meetings.

It also didn't take long for me to remember how little I like bureaucracy, and how I would never find myself wanting to serve on a board like this.

We heard about preliminary MAP testing results and where our district ranked. We're still top ranked in our county and also still working to rank as high as two other districts in the region. The performance at the elementary level is solid. There is work to be done at the middle school level.

Then the drudgery began. We sat through a long explanation about how the plan was to cut transportation. We heard historical perspective on a public vote in 1979 and how that affects our actions and decisions today. This part of the presentation was long-winded, confusing, and stumped even the members of the board.

I kept looking at the time on my phone. We were an hour in, surely it would be wrapping up shortly.

I observed that one woman in particular was vocal. Her professional background seemed to grant her the greatest appreciation for all of the information that was being presented and she repeatedly put things in terms and contexts that the public could better digest, at least this member of the public. 8:30 rolled around. The conversation continued. I fidgeted as much as my third-grader might in her classroom. When was this going to wrap up?

Finally, I decided that 9:00 would be my cut-off. I missed my daughter. She had homework that needed to be done and I'd forgotten to send it with her. I didn't want to take advantage of my friend's gracious help to spend her evening with Cadence. Another woman took the floor and began to further digest the evening's topic. She talked about taking pictures of bulletin boards that displayed “growth mindset” principles in an eighth grade hallway in our district. She suggested that the Board adopted that same mentality. She said that she felt the Board was giving up too quickly after a defeated vote. That instead of finding places to cut, they should go back to the drawing board and find a ballot measure that the public could get behind. Finally some pragmatism and sense.

Where was this speech earlier in the evening? Why is it that the moms on the Board as with every facet of life always seem to “get it” before the dads? I questioned throughout the evening the qualifications and backgrounds of the people who run for the board. The two most vocal members seemed to have education in their professional backgrounds (and were women). The others didn't seem to have a clue.

I know some teachers and parents on Facebook want me to report back. I am respectfully submitting this blog post as my report. While I'm curious about how long the meeting lasted, I feel no discomfort about leaving the meeting before it adjourned. At forty, my sense of priorities and balance are more fine-tuned than ever. I gave up an evening with my daughter to become a more informed citizen and parent in our district. At forty, I'm also guided by boundaries in a way I've never been before. Two hours of my time after long commutes to and from work, a long day at the office, dinner for my daughter via drive through—two hours was enough for one evening. Particularly when very little was accomplished.

I am certain I will be a more frequent attendee of these meetings. After hearing the rambling three minutes speeches of my neighbors, I might even decide to write my own three-minute speech some evening. I'm certain I could get a lot more stated in the limited time than what I heard last night.

Response from a Missouri Representative

Four summers ago my job of nearly ten years was eliminated. It was a shock. I'd built a great network of colleagues and friends and had an opportunity to do really interesting things in that decade. It was also a stressful existence, and one I hadn't had the fortitude to change on my own. Within hours I began to feel that the job loss was a gift, an opportunity to move on to bigger and better things.

I spent my time that summer divided between job searching, spending extra day time with my precious four-year-old, and asking the deeper questions, “What am I here for? What is my purpose?” Somewhere along the way, the idea that my letter writing was a divine gift came to me. I had been writing letters since my stationery had Cabbage Patch Kids on it. I had always considered it a quirk of mine. Evidence that I had been born in the wrong century.

That summer something told me to stop disrespecting this gift. To be unapologetic about the letters I wrote. To consider it a form of ministry. And when I did, everything changed. Letter writing became a lifeline for me and for my recipients. It became a way of trusting my gut. People come to mind and instinctively I know when it's time to write them. Often times I have no idea what is happening in their lives. I just send a note saying they are on my mind and I wanted them to know. I share good things that are happening in my life. Other times I share things I'm struggling with—a form of letting them know they aren't alone if they are struggling.

Time and again since that summer I have heard from recipients who tell me, “That letter came just when I needed it most.” How in the world would I know that? That's the beautiful thing, I generally never do, and so that's what amplifies the fact that letter writing is my divine gift. And when I take it seriously and respect it, my letters can be used as a force for good in this wonky world.

I don't keep track, but I estimate I write somewhere in the neighborhood of 100 letters a year (not including my Christmas and Valentine mailings.) I love receiving letters in return, but I never expect it. Getting a letter in return isn't the reason I send them. I am filled with joy every time I send a letter—that is reward enough. Often I get an e-mail or Facebook message acknowledging that my letter arrived and I always appreciate knowing that the postal service did their job reliably.

Having said that, receiving a handwritten letter or postcard in the mail always makes my day! I love love love getting mail. I always have and always will. So you can imagine my shock and delight when I retrieved my mail late in the evening and found this little gem waiting for me.

Number 24 on the 4040 list was to write four letters to legislators. I wrote the letters on Independence Day and true to my form, opted to merely send a word of encouragement rather than a particular request or satisfy some agenda.

Of course at the time, I thought it would be pretty cool if I heard back from one of them. I thought I might even have a better chance since the letter was handwritten, but I did not set any expectations.

I am pleased to say that Representative Kathie Conway from District 104 HANDWROTE the following to me:

Dear Ms. Mahoney--

It was so nice to receive your note! Citizens that are involved are the Best!

Might I recommend a series of books that I'm reading for the 2nd time? America's Forgotten History by Mark Ledbetter. They are available as an e-book at Amazon. I think you'll find them an absolute must-read for anyone interested in Presidents, politics and American History.

Again—thanks so much for writing!

Sincerely,

Kathie Conway

Dear Readers! This letter is like Christmas Day for me! I took a photo of it and texted it to friends. “Look what came in the mail!” I was ecstatic and am still giddy this morning.

Before the summer I lost my job, I'd become overwhelmed by and unconvinced that one person or one letter could make a difference. Since then, those feelings have been shattered. I am so grateful that I came to take this gift seriously. I now know the power that a few lovingly written words has to inspire and encourage. And so I keep buying stamps and I keep sending out letters.

Your mailbox kinda lonely lately? Send an e-mail to juliemarg75@gmail.com and I'll get a note to you.

Time Travel: Circle of Friends

Here's another reflection from items that were part of my Time Capsule that I created in college and opened in 2010. You can read my first post here.

I scanned the bookshelves in the airport bookstore looking for some new company. I had just spent three weeks studying French in an immersion program in Quebec. We were back on American soil, and minutes before I had parted ways with the other American students who had accompanied me on this adventure. So much had happened in three weeks' time. I was a different person now, and I was beginning the re-entry process of speaking my mother tongue again. I was sandwiched between two languages. The French that had been so foreign was now readily accessible, but now there was no one to speak it to or with. My friends—the only ones who could possibly understand this strange space in my head—had gone on to their own gates. I was alone in my bilingual exhausted no man's language land. I missed them, and the time we'd spent together.

My eyes studied the titles and landed on Circle of Friends by Maeve Binchy. The title offered me the promise of new friendships and I took it to the counter. I read it on the plane, and the homesickness for my friends and my French speaking eased as Binchy's storytelling drew me in.

We arrived on campus after dark, tired from travel and scared about what was to come. We were given a quick orientation. “You may speak English tonight, but in the morning only French. For the next three weeks FRENCH ONLY. We will send you home if we hear you utter English.” It was daunting. I had saved the money my grandmother had given me to spend on college experiences, and I had no intention of getting sent home.

We were shuttled to our dorms. Poor Joey, the only guy among the four of us, went to his empty dorm. The three of us girls had the benefit of being assigned the same suite.

The four of us stood in the hallway the first morning scared and energized. Each of our French language abilities were different, so we were assigned separate classrooms. Due to differing school calendars, we were entering the program three weeks late. We were the “new kids” entering class mid-session. It was terrrifying, but there was no going back. We said our au revoirs and stepped through the doorways into these brave new worlds.

I had the least French instruction, so I did well to blurt out, “Bonjour! Je m'appelle Julie Steele. Je suis americaine.” I was welcomed and offered a seat.

The Quebec accent is so different from the Parisian accent that I was accustomed to in class in the States. It's like the southern drawl of English. The Canadian mouth forms French sounds differently than in France. It required every bit of concentration to make it through each class.

We decompressed each evening in our apartment dormitory unwinding from an exhaustive day of listening and speaking French. We broke the rules. We spoke ONLY ENGLISH when we were together out of earshot of our professors. Our French suffered in those hours, but our young twenty-something selves had big ideas to ponder. Too grande were the ideas for our wee petite French vocabularies. And so French it was by day, and English by night. Twenty years later, I can still conjure the warmth and caring and hilarity of those conversations and wouldn't trade that for anything.

We ate lunch with our American professor Mme. Jaeger every day and downloaded the morning's lessons. In broken French I told her, “I have so much to tell you and no words to express it all.” She smiled and told me to just start and she would help me. Ten minutes into the conversation I realized I was speaking to my teacher in fluid, fluent French. It was exhilerating.

I remember very little about the plot even though I've read Circle of Friends twice. What's important is that it's the mental postcard that conjures memories that will last a lifetime. It reminds me of the souvenirs of that trip: friendship, French language, courage, and determination.

10. Reread Anne of Green Gables Series – Books 4-6 COMPLETE

Anne of Windy Poplars

This volume started off slow for me. It is full of long letters Anne writes to her now-beau Gilbert during their years of separation. He's in medical school and she's the principal and teacher at a school in another town. I love epistolary novels, but since we never read any of Gilbert's letters, the reading got a little long. And then my schedule opened up and I was able to read the rest of the novel almost in its entirety. It picked up after that.

I've given some thought to adding letters to the text of my novel. Rereading Anne of Windy Poplars gave me some things to consider as I move forward with the second draft of my book.

It's still not my favorite volume, but it is a cozy part of Anne's life. From a storytelling perspective, it covers the period when Anne and Gilbert are not physically together.

Anne's House of Dreams

For those who read the Anne series as girls, it goes without saying that Gilbert inspired our own searches for our match. He was kind and noble and crazy about Anne. As a reader, it was wonderful to get to this part of the story, but as a woman of 40 whose life hasn't gone quite the way she planned, it reinforced that I hadn't found my Gilbert after all. I cried my way through the beginning of the story, and then the ache eased as I fell in love with this volume all over again. In Anne's House of Dreams, she encounters an amazing cast of new characters. And their stories captivate.

Anne encounters her first real tragedy since her childhood as an orphan in the days before she arrives at Green Gables. We witness how this perennially optimistic character weathers her own grief and it's encouraging. Anne becomes a mother. It was lovely to see myself in the adult Anne as I had identified with the child Anne.

Another character who writes appears on the scene in this book. It was interesting to read those passages from my current vantage point and compare notes. It was also interesting to see the ways that L.M. Montgomery continued to weave characters from previous books into the current story. It was subtle, never forced, and always exciting to “learn what they were up to now.”

It was this volume that solidified my decision that Prince Edward Island (PEI), the setting of all six books, would be the next trip I save for. I'm always happiest when I can see the next trip on the horizon. PEI here I come!

Anne of Ingleside

Anne is the mother of six living children and they now inhabit the “big house” they've named Ingleside. We get to know Anne's children throughout this book. Anne takes a backseat in this novel, so we can become acquainted with Jem, Walter, Nan, Di, Shirley, and Rilla. The stories of Anne's children and their own imaginative lives were sweet, but they always seemed to go on just a little too long. I'd begin missing Anne and want the chapter or vignette to hurry up and end. It finally would, Anne would walk into the room, work her motherly magic over the child or household, and I would be happy again.

A minor character reflected to herself, "...she hoped she would look like Mrs. Blythe some day...with that ripened look...the look of a woman who has lived fully and graciously." I wholeheartedly agree. I want to age this way too.

Anne always seemed to have the right words to say when her children needed them most. "Darling, you're terribly mistaken about it all. God doesn't make bargains. He gives...gives without asking anything from us in return except love. When you as Father or me for something you want, we don't make bargains with you...and God is ever and ever so much kinder than we are. And He knows so much better than we do what is good to give."

Anne thought about how soon her children would be grown. "They were still hers...wholly hers, to mother and love and protect. They still came to her with every love and grief of their little hearts. For a few years longer they would be hers...and then? Anne shivered. Motherhood was very sweet...but very terrible." This mother can relate.

This volume showed an Anne we hadn't seen before—a tired mama who sometimes felt taken for granted. I could relate to this Anne as I had her earlier, younger versions, and admired L.M. Montgomery all the more for giving our beloved heroine this true-to-life dimension. I am certain none of this occurred to me in earlier readings, which is the reward for rereading a cherished childhood book as an adult.

"Well, that was life. Gladness and pain...hope and fear...and change. Always change! You could not help it. You had to let the old go and take the new to your heart...learn to love it and then let it go in turn. Spring, lovely as it was, must yield to summer and summer lose itself in autumn."

I'm excited to cross this item off my list. It feels good to have gone through the entire series in quick succession. There are two more Anne books that I am ashamed to admit I never read as a girl. I don't know how this happened, but it feels like a great 40th birthday gift to myself. Rainbow Valley is waiting for me in audiobook on the reserve shelf at the library. My commutes to work and home are going to be lovely! And then there's Rilla of Ingleside that will follow.

I found this great article commemorating the Anne series' 100th birthday seven years ago. I read it and agreed with the writer throughout the article. She articulates far better than me Anne's contribution to children's literature.

1. Kayak at Creve Coeur Lake - COMPLETE

First things first. The bikini that has been written about a few times on this blog made an appearance publicly today. I survived and enjoyed feeling of the sun on so much skin. There really isn't anything like feeling self-confident in one's body. Thank you, 40th birthday and daily yoga and a new running routine, for ushering this new sense of self into my existence.

Okay, on to the commentary about checking off another item from the list. Well, as is becoming habit from working my way through this list, I've found another activity that will become a go-to thing I do when I want some peace, some sunshine and some light physical exertion. Tennis, running, and now kayaking. It turns out I like being physically active far more than I knew. I just hadn't found the right activities until now.

My girl scout mom friend, Kristina, and I met at Creve Coeur Lake. It is a great splash of nature ridiculously close to our homes. I, for one, do not access it enough. Today's time on the water will change that.

Since we didn't want to risk ruining our phones in the water, we took a few photos of our amazing environs, put the phones back in the car, and hit the line for rentals. Kristina graciously paid my rental fee as a birthday present. We were handed paddles and life jackets (which we were allowed to sit on) and each picked a single canoe. We hit the water with excited energy. We paddled out a ways talking the entire time, catching up from our summer absences from each other.

We both reflected what a great blend of exercise, meditation, and change of scenery the kayaking was and for such an affordable price ($10 per kayak per hour.) We paddled away from the shore for a while in one direction. Two canoes full of lovely-looking men passed us. We enjoyed the view, and changed direction for awhile. We tried to go further away from the shore, but the wind was now working against us, so we opted to just float and talk for awhile. We soaked in the sun, and enjoyed each others company. We talked about aspects of parenting our girls, how important self-confidence is to every pursuit—professional and personal, and luxuriated in the shining sun and gentle rocking of the water.

We enjoyed watching a brother-sister team not much older than our girls maneuver their way through the water in a double kayak. “You're doing great! Keep up the great work!” I cheered the duo on. We commented on how impressed we were with their skill and remarked that we believed our daughters could do as well.

A few years ago, I took a yoga class on the water using a stand up paddle board. It revolutionized this book worm's life. I loved being in nature and being on the water without the pressure of having to get in the water. Since then, I've heard my Nissan Pathfinder whispering to me, “Mama, I'd really like to carry a kayak on the roof. Will you please buy us one?”

I'm not ready to commit to the purchase, but at $10 an hour, I am definitely up for adding kayaking to my weekend menu of activity options.

There was such peace on the water. We had so much to look at and enjoy. There were at least a dozen sailboats on the water and others kayaking, canoeing, and paddle boarding. It felt so good to dunk my feet in the water, to paddle for awhile, and then rest, and breathe in the moment. It was really good to be untethered from my dang phone, which I let myself check far too often than is necessary. Unplugging is a good thing. I must do it more often on land and water.

It was just what I needed today, and I was so happy to share it with Kristina.

I took a walk around the lake when we finished our hour's rental. It was really good to feel the sticky sunscreen on my skin, to work up a sweat during my walk and just appreciate a healthy body in a sunny place. Another good day, to be sure.

17. Wake Up Early and Watch the Sunrise - COMPLETE

The 4040 list is proving to serve as an instructional manual for how to live life more deeply and fully. I thought before I turned 40 that I'd been living a pretty good life. What I have since learned is that my cautious, playing-it-safe ways were not conducive to life abundant. I know that now and will correct accordingly moving forward.

My week ended on a note of gloom. Luckily not doom and gloom, but just a bruising for this sensitive heart of mine to bear. I am getting better at not succombing to negative inner monologue. I reinforced moments of weakness with my proven mantras of “It's okay...I'm okay...Everything is going to be okay.” This self-mothering cooing worked and I settled into my couch to watch a Sherlock episode. I dozed a bit, woke to watch the end of the episode and decided that crossing off the sunrise item on my list would be a good way to keep my “It's going to be okay” momentum going the next day.

My morning writing habit has skewed my internal clock to wake me even earlier than usual. I woke up at 5:15, read until my alarm broke the silence of the morning, and I headed to the spot I'd decided to watch the sun rise.

I took incremental photos and in between I rested my chin on my steering wheel. I was contemplative as I listened to Ed Sheeran, Plain White Ts, Journey, Pink, and U2 on the radio. Each song, while ones I wouldn't have chosen, seemed to speak to me in their own ways. I listened to the lyrics looking for new phrases and meanings that could make this moment alone more profound.

My thoughts ping-ponged from subject to subject as I watched the cars cruise down the highway. My vast open future has taken up a lot of real estate in my thoughts of late. What do you do with the years ahead when all of the culturally subscribed and sanctioned milestones—graduations, marriage, children—have all been crossed off the list? And what do you do when those things didn't go quite as planned?

I remembered my “It's okay” mantra and gently nudged myself back to living in the moment where the anxiety doesn't pick at me.

As the sky lightened and revealed a touch of pink, I thought how sitting still watching the sun rise was another form of meditation. How sitting watching what is in moments an invisible process is an act of slowing down.

5:51

5:58

6:01

6:09

I noted the bridge ahead and the events of the week before. Sitting still on the highway as protesters shut it down. Disturbing defined schedules and plans for thousands. I thought about the seriousness of the cause that brought them to that moment, and how it needs to be talked about and fixed, but how shutting down a highway didn't seem to be the means to the end.

The sky brightened and I thought about Kansas. The place of my birth. The place where, no matter the destinations I travel or the zip codes in which I live, will always have my heart. I thought about its wide open skies and the inherent beauty of its expansiveness.

I set the alarm on my phone for 6:15—the official time of today's sun rise. I turned off the alarm and took another photo. This morning's sun rise seemed unremarkable. I picked a hazy day. I thought about how it was beautiful in its un-spectacular-ness. How life can be beautiful when it's gloomy and not spectacular. Just a different kind of beauty.

6:15

I sat in the driver's seat for a few minutes knowing that I'd know when the time to drive home was. I turned my head to the left and saw a sliver of brilliant pink. The Sun! I'd been watching the sky just south of where the spectacle was! There was more to see. I watched as the sun appeared. A curtain of cloud burned away dropping to reveal a stage—the main act. It was remarkable watching it. I marveled at how easy it would have been to miss it if I'd driven away too soon and gotten distracted.

6:21

6:22

6:25

6:29

I watched the sun until it was a complete hot pink orb in the sky. I stayed until staring at the sun no longer felt comfortable or healthy.

I pulled out of the hotel parking lot and took the long way home. Watching the sun rise changed how I saw everything on my drive. Everything that was sun-kissed seemed brand new. I turned into my subdivision and saw the sunshine now golden yellow and too bright to look at directly. I noticed the bright spots on sidewalks and shadows created by trees in the neighborhood. I walked into my house and began tidying up in preparation to welcome fellow writers later in the morning. I saw the sun dappled places on my hardwood floor that shifted with the trees that blocked the light. I felt the heat of the sun on my skin standing at the kitchen sink.

I'd never acknowledged the way the sun brightens life because I take it for granted that it will do it every morning. This morning I was reminded of the source of all this light. I had watched the morning transform from dark to light. It was like walking down the rows of a crop in a field planted by a farmer, and being reminded that the food on my plate first started here. It felt like a miracle, and one that I chose to witness.

Watching the sun rise is an act of hope. The dark of night will always be interrupted by the light of day. Bruised hearts will heal and love better than before. Every sun rise will be different. Some more fantastic than others, but each one of them momentous.

The weather app on my phone marks 7:56 as the time the sun is scheduled to set tonight. I'm going to be there too. It just seems right.

10. Reread Anne of Green Gables Series – Books 1-3

Anne of Green Gables

I first met Anne Shirley, the heroine of the Anne of Green Gables series, in sixth grade reading class. Each Friday, the “gifted” students would leave the class to do their thing. One morning, our beloved Mrs. Young wheeled the TV/VCR cart in front of the class and said, “We're going to have fun too.” She turned on the PBS production of Anne of Green Gables starring Megan Fellows and I was hooked.

Later my grandmother gave my sister and I the books. They came in set of three and my sister got the first three. Of the two of us, I was the reader. I had to borrow hers to begin reading the series. I opened the books too wide and the corners got a little beat up. She was furious. I assured her that this was normal reading wear and tear, but she would have none of it. I had desecrated three books she was less likely read, but they were hers and she was mad. We took our case to our mom. Mom ruled that I needed to buy a new set to replace the damaged ones. It's still a sore subject all these years later, but that's how I came to own the entire series.

I have lost count how many times I have read or listened to the series. The stories never grow old. In this re-reading for my 4040 list, there is something really poignant about rereading it in (early) middle age while also reading it aloud with my own daughter.

Now that I've taken a stab at my own story telling, I see the book much differently. There's really not a lot of action for pages and pages, but the descriptions of everything from the Lake of Shining Waters to the little gable room above the porch makes the book come alive in my imagination. With so little plot actually happening at times, I am amazed that my third grader loves it so much, but I am so glad. We read it before bed and she enters dream land quickly as I read Anne's stories to her.

So why does this book mean so much to me? Why do I never tire of reading it? Anne was skinny and used big words and was like no other girl around her. Except for her red hair and temper, I could absolutely relate. I saw myself in her and began to think, “I can like who I am too.” She came into my life just as I was entering the pre-teen stage and needed positive reinforcement about who I was and who I wanted to become. Anne gave that to me and shored up my confidence at a time when confidence is hard to summon up for a young girl.

“And people laugh at me because I use big words. But if you have big ideas you have to use big words to express them, haven't you?” (page 16)

The Anne books gave me distinct ways of seeing and describing the world around me. They are phrases that are embedded in my vocabulary: “depths of despair,” “Kindred Spirits,” “gird up your loins,” “kerfuffle.”

A favorite passage on page 273: “We are rich,” said Anne staunchly. “Why, we have sixteen years to our credit, and we're happy as queens, and we've all got imaginations, more or less. Look at that sea, girls—all silver and shadow and vision of things not seen. We couldn't enjoy it's loveliness any more if we had millions of dollars and ropes of diamonds. You wouldn't change into any of those women if you could.”

Time and time again, I saw myself in Anne and felt such comfort. Anne took big bites out of life and enjoyed every bit. She was a simple pleasures girl. She had an amazing imagination. She made it cool to have one. At least to me.

Every time I read this series, I get such a cozy, safe feeling.

Now from the vantage point of an adult and having experienced more life since I was twelve, I can appreciate passages in the book in new ways. This passage from page 218 stood out to me given my goal-heavy year: “Oh it's delightful to have ambitions. I'm so glad I have such a lot. And there never seems to be any end to them—that's the best of it. Just as soon as you attain one ambition you see another one glittering higher up still. It does make life so interesting.” This passage struck me in new ways in this reading. My 4040 list and novel writing has brought out the ambition in me this year in ways no other things have. She's right. Life IS so interesting as a result.

Anne of Avonlea

Anne's story continues. And I keep finding myself in the words of this book. “There is some good in every person if you can find it.” (page 29) This is how I have lived my life. Looking for the good, and Anne was right, I find it with great regularity.

I was reading this book while I was in Montana learning that Laura Munson agrees with Stephen King about the use of the adverbs. STOP USING THEM. Laura highlighted a lot of them in my writing sample. So many adverbs, Lucy Maud Montgomery! Anne repeated things “firmly.” Jane said “decidedly.” Ginger croaked “mockingly.” You get the idea. Adverbs are all over the place. It was a great study in what not to do now in my own writing.

But I will say the author's cadence reminded me of sitting with my grandma and so my homesickness for her has spiked, but I've also been comforted too.

I had forgotten the entire story line about Miss Lavender. Rereading her story and interactions with Anne was a treat. I had to laugh at this line on page 186: “She's an old maid...she's forty-five and quite gray, I've heard.” So at 12 I would have thought 45 sounded quite old too. Now, at 40 I'm just starting to hit my stride!

Anne's a “pretender” and so am I. For instance, I'll pretend the clouds are a mountain range. I love imagining I'm traveling down some road in the U.K. when I'm blocks from my own house. How many 40-year-olds will admit those eccentricities? Anne gives the courage to be imaginative past childhood and to own it. It makes life so interesting and easier to bear on the hard days.

Anne of the Island

In this volume, Anne faces the fact that we have to grow up. That friendships and circumstances change. And she does it with grace and aplomb and the knowledge that with “just one good cry” she can carry on. I've indulged in a few good cries lately, and I always feel better. Anne was wise beyond her years.

Lucy Maud Montgomery had such a gift with describing emotions: “Besides, I've been feeling a bit blue—just a pale, elusive azure. It isn't serious enough for anything darker.” Those lines on page 44 take my breath away. I want to write like that!

It was strange to read this story as a writer this time. I had forgotten that this is the volume where Anne tries her hand at submitting her work and is published. It was surreal to read about her writing life as I was living mine. Again, Anne and Julie are twins! She discusses with her friend what she's naming her characters and the trials she's putting them through. I could relate in a brand new way.

Here's another reference to forty: “You'll feel differently about a good many things when you get to be my age,” said Janet tolerantly. That's one of the things we learn as we grow older—how to forgive. It comes easier at forty than it did at twenty.” (page 204)