I have this knack for choosing books to listen to with a wide range of characters whose backgrounds require accents. It's the most delicious surprise every time it happens.
One Thousand White Women - The Journals of May Dodd by Jim Fergus is one of the new "stand-out" titles in my log of audiobooks to which I have listened.
A co-worker and I were talking titles one day a few weeks ago. Sometimes I hope the books friends recommend DON'T sound appealing because my list is already so long, but there was something about this story that compelled me to add it.
The general gist is that during the Grant Administration, the US Government agreed to a deal with the Cheyenne tribe to trade one thousand white women for horses in order to help transition the Cheyenne people into the white culture that was coming their way in full force. Historical fiction at its finest. There was no such campaign in American history, however, the author writes a convincing story about the hypothetical scenario.
As the subtitle denotes, the story is written within the context of May Dodd's journals. It was a masterful way to tell such a story. This is a book that doesn't let go of its reader or listener quickly. I miss the characters five days later.
The historical detail is breathtaking. The images he creates of the characters--both white and Native American--are stunning. There is a lot of Cheyenne dialect sprinkled through and it was wonderful to hear someone pronounce the foreign sounds.
I was amazed by the authentic way Fergus captured the voice of May--particularly in light of the fact that she was a character who lived more than one hundred years ago. I kept saying to myself, "A MAN wrote these words! He nailed it!" And then I'd think, "Please let me get Derrick's voice right when I return to my novel." Fergus's writing inspired me.
When we first meet May Dodd, she's a patient in a women's asylum in Chicago. She's been placed there against her will by her affluent family who are disgraced that she's left her station in life to live with the foreman of her father's company and borne her lover's two children.
Everything about her circumstances is heartbreaking, but it's a story about a woman who has gumption and grit and the determination to make the best of things. She demonstrates this tenacity in white society and also when she joins the people of Chief Little Wolf.
The beauty of historical fiction is the way it functions as a mirror reflecting one's own life and times through the characters of another time and place. It was excruciating to listen to the Army men discuss their plans to take over the lands of the natives with zero remorse or consideration for the fact that the land belonged to the natives. I had to confront my whiteness and it was uncomfortable, shameful, and heartbreaking. I hated knowing that generations ago it is likely that my ancestors played roles in stories like this. We are better for confronting these harsh truths of our lives. It's the only way we can improve things moving forward.
Fergus writes with such grace and elegance about the native tribes. He displayed their humanity and the dignity with which they lived in harmony with nature if not always with other tribes.
This book has something for every reader/listener: drama, humor, accents, battle, sex (toward the end of disc five is one of the most beautifully written loves scenes--again, bravo, Fergus!), community, consequences, justice, injustice, and heartbreak.
On audio, the story is on 12 discs and is 15 hours long. I listened to it over about a week-and-a-half on my daily commutes to and from work. It would make an awesome companion on a long road trip, particularly if you happen to be driving out west. One Thousand White Women would also make an excellent book club selection. After I finished the story, I googled Jim Fergus because I was so taken by his writing. It turns out a second volume of what is to be a trilogy is coming out in mid-2017 in the US. (It's already published in French. He apparently has a big following in France.)
If you decide to check it out, please let me know what you think.
Saturday, April 15, 2017
Monday, April 10, 2017
Birthday Tradition
Before I became a mother, I watched the way other families celebrated their babies' first birthdays and was overwhelmed. Friends and family gathered and gave these babies a ton of stuff. I had an immediate reaction. I'm going to do something different when I have a baby.
As I planned Cadence's first birthday, I invited a lot of people. I HAD THIS AMAZING BABY I WANTED TO CELEBRATE!!! But I knew this baby had everything she needed, so I turned her birthday celebration into an opportunity to do something good for others in honor of her birthday. I identified an organization that accepted pajama donations, so we held a pajama drive. This gave our guests a more productive way to direct their generosity and didn't create the awkwardness of coming to a party empty handed.
That year, we collected more than 40 pairs of pajamas for children in need. Every year since (except for birthday two when we celebrated with only immediate family) we have chosen an area non-profit to collect items from their wish lists.
We've collected canned foods, diapers, wipes and baby supplies, and school supplies. Years five and six were difficult. "I want the presents," my budding philanthropist would say. I would explain to her that she was getting presents from generous family, but that for her birthday we were celebrating with friends and asking them to help her make lives better for young children in our area. In those years, it was a hard sell, but I persisted. I saw too much good coming from it for her and for the recipients. Plus, our children have too much stuff as it is. She didn't need these things.
At one point the hard sell was with her dad. He argued that she was such a good girl who never asked for anything. I reminded him that it was this birthday tradition that was shaping her into such a girl who thought more about her friends being a part of her celebration than what she was getting. I also reminded him that he didn't want the stuff coming into our house. He relented and the unique approach to birthday parties continued.
At age eight or nine, the tide shifted. Cadence came to me. "Mom, who are we going to support for my birthday?"
I made a big deal of that fact that as the birthday girl, it was her honor and responsibility to choose the cause and the collections. She always chooses the needs of small children. Last year, she collected items for the Little Bit Foundation whose mission it is to break down barriers to education for St. Louis public school children.
This year, she wrote the following script, read it during announcements at church, and invited her congregation to support the cause:
Every year for my birthday I try to collect different items for the little bit foundation (www.littlebitfoundation.org). This year I wanted to invite you to help me! If you don't know what little bit foundation is it is a organization that helps children to make sure education is there for them. I always go to there warehouse to help. I have been getting to know the staff and I would like to donate stuff like the past years. This year I am going to be collecting items such as: socks, underwear, toothbrushes, and gently used or new stuffed animals. Thank you. CM
I was stunned by the initiative she took to include other people in her collection cause. And bless them, they responded! As did her birthday party guests.
Here's the tally:
160 pairs of socks
79 pairs of underwear
50 toothbrushes
13 toothpastes
3 toothbrush/paste combo packs
1 body wash
I asked Cadence what she thought of me delivering her donations on my lunch hour. I was certain I knew the answer: "No, I want to go with you to deliver them."
Actually, I want her with me too. In past years, she carried in her collected items into the kitchen of the St. Louis Crisis Nursery. There she saw children eating their dinner. "Are those the children who don't have anything?" she whispered. I shushed her, nodded, and whispered back that we'd talk about it in the car. In that moment, what she was doing became real to her. Even if she was only five. I kept my promise and we discussed how the crisis nursery helps parents when they are having a hard time take care of their children.
This birthday tradition has opened my daughter's eyes to the needs of others. This year, the evening after she'd passed out the invitations and discussed the donations with friends she told me, "My friends asked if they could bring me a gift in addition to a donation. I told them they could, but that these kids need this stuff more than I do." In addition to these birthday drives, Cadence is exposed to the reality of hunger through the back pack program our congregation supports and that children sometimes grow up in difficult situations as she watches two of her favorite people become foster parents to two precious boys.
My daughter has an enormous heart. She is always sharing what she has with those around her. It is such a natural thing for her. Bless her heart, she doesn't know anything different. This practice has helped her to understand how good it feels to share and that there's enough to go around. She doesn't feel threatened by the idea that sharing will diminish her experience. In truth, I can tell it's had the opposite effect.
Generosity of spirit is one of my favorite human qualities and my daughter has it in abundance.
As I planned Cadence's first birthday, I invited a lot of people. I HAD THIS AMAZING BABY I WANTED TO CELEBRATE!!! But I knew this baby had everything she needed, so I turned her birthday celebration into an opportunity to do something good for others in honor of her birthday. I identified an organization that accepted pajama donations, so we held a pajama drive. This gave our guests a more productive way to direct their generosity and didn't create the awkwardness of coming to a party empty handed.
That year, we collected more than 40 pairs of pajamas for children in need. Every year since (except for birthday two when we celebrated with only immediate family) we have chosen an area non-profit to collect items from their wish lists.
We've collected canned foods, diapers, wipes and baby supplies, and school supplies. Years five and six were difficult. "I want the presents," my budding philanthropist would say. I would explain to her that she was getting presents from generous family, but that for her birthday we were celebrating with friends and asking them to help her make lives better for young children in our area. In those years, it was a hard sell, but I persisted. I saw too much good coming from it for her and for the recipients. Plus, our children have too much stuff as it is. She didn't need these things.
 |
| Princesses and Knights building a castle out of the "bring four cans" invitation to celebrate Cadence's fourth birthday |
 |
| Making our delivery at an area drop off center. |
At one point the hard sell was with her dad. He argued that she was such a good girl who never asked for anything. I reminded him that it was this birthday tradition that was shaping her into such a girl who thought more about her friends being a part of her celebration than what she was getting. I also reminded him that he didn't want the stuff coming into our house. He relented and the unique approach to birthday parties continued.
At age eight or nine, the tide shifted. Cadence came to me. "Mom, who are we going to support for my birthday?"
I made a big deal of that fact that as the birthday girl, it was her honor and responsibility to choose the cause and the collections. She always chooses the needs of small children. Last year, she collected items for the Little Bit Foundation whose mission it is to break down barriers to education for St. Louis public school children.
This year, she wrote the following script, read it during announcements at church, and invited her congregation to support the cause:
Every year for my birthday I try to collect different items for the little bit foundation (www.littlebitfoundation.org). This year I wanted to invite you to help me! If you don't know what little bit foundation is it is a organization that helps children to make sure education is there for them. I always go to there warehouse to help. I have been getting to know the staff and I would like to donate stuff like the past years. This year I am going to be collecting items such as: socks, underwear, toothbrushes, and gently used or new stuffed animals. Thank you. CM
I was stunned by the initiative she took to include other people in her collection cause. And bless them, they responded! As did her birthday party guests.
 | |
| The items her friends donated in honor of her tenth birthday. |
Here's the tally:
160 pairs of socks
79 pairs of underwear
50 toothbrushes
13 toothpastes
3 toothbrush/paste combo packs
1 body wash
I asked Cadence what she thought of me delivering her donations on my lunch hour. I was certain I knew the answer: "No, I want to go with you to deliver them."
Actually, I want her with me too. In past years, she carried in her collected items into the kitchen of the St. Louis Crisis Nursery. There she saw children eating their dinner. "Are those the children who don't have anything?" she whispered. I shushed her, nodded, and whispered back that we'd talk about it in the car. In that moment, what she was doing became real to her. Even if she was only five. I kept my promise and we discussed how the crisis nursery helps parents when they are having a hard time take care of their children.
This birthday tradition has opened my daughter's eyes to the needs of others. This year, the evening after she'd passed out the invitations and discussed the donations with friends she told me, "My friends asked if they could bring me a gift in addition to a donation. I told them they could, but that these kids need this stuff more than I do." In addition to these birthday drives, Cadence is exposed to the reality of hunger through the back pack program our congregation supports and that children sometimes grow up in difficult situations as she watches two of her favorite people become foster parents to two precious boys.
My daughter has an enormous heart. She is always sharing what she has with those around her. It is such a natural thing for her. Bless her heart, she doesn't know anything different. This practice has helped her to understand how good it feels to share and that there's enough to go around. She doesn't feel threatened by the idea that sharing will diminish her experience. In truth, I can tell it's had the opposite effect.
Generosity of spirit is one of my favorite human qualities and my daughter has it in abundance.
Happy Golden Birthday, CJM!
Sunday, April 9, 2017
Race Mama
Yesterday Cadence ran in the Read, Right, and Run race. Throughout the school year, students read, do "right" things (such as collect donations for non-profit organizations and read to seniors) and run. On this special day, they run the final mile of the marathon they've been running. More than ten thousand area children accompanied by parents, family, and friends converged on Forest Park. Cadence was cheered on my her mom, dad, Aunt, and two cousins from out of town.
We found empty sidewalk space within view of the Muny and its gazebo. The sun was shining with a brightness St. Louisans haven't seen in days. Its rays and my cup of coffee helped to warm me.
As we sat on the curb watching other people's children run their race, I began reflecting on my first race in Indianapolis nearly two years ago. Having never raced before, I was struck by how good it felt to hear strangers yell out encouragement to us as we ran. It gave such a boost and helped propel my achy legs forward.
I said out loud that I wanted to cheer on these kids, but was feeling shy. Something about naming my hesitation blew it away and I began clapping and yelling a variety of "you can do it" messages. Many times I was the only voice in the crowd yelling and clapping. As I watched these children take in my encouragement, I noticed that a lot of times they didn't know I was talking to them. I wanted them to know it, and because I didn't know their names, I began shouting out their bib numbers.
"Go, number 3215!" More often than not the child would look down at their bib, and back at me. I'd yell, "That's you! You've got this! The finish line is so close!
Sometimes the child would smile and keep going, sometimes even faster than before. Most of the time they'd look at me like I was crazy.
It wouldn't be the first time I've seen that look.
My sister and Cadence's dad laughed at how nearly every time I shouted a bib number, each child had an identical response. One suggested that I'd probably get a child tripped up as they looked for their bib number.
I persisted. The more encouragement I yelled the more I remembered what Glennon Doyle Melton repeats: There is no such thing as other people's children. They belong to all of us. It was a privilege to stand in for their parents on this stretch of the race. I know I wanted Cadence to hear the cheers and clapping of other spectators on other parts of the race.
Then I began thinking about the families in Syria. How their children are ours too. I felt a pang of guilt sitting on this curb in the sunshine with not a care in the world (for the moment.) And then I caught myself. I remembered that my guilt does nothing to improve their situation. I thought how much those families would delight in a Saturday morning race for their children and decided the best way to honor them and their struggle in the moment was to enjoy it and be grateful for it. There are other things I am doing to help the cause such as praying for an end to such suffering and for the safety of those helping on the ground, as well as donating to worthy causes that are helping to support relief efforts.
It isn't uncommon that my lighthearted, happy thoughts turn to such heavy, important topics. Welcome to a jaunt through my head and heart. I consider these roller coaster thoughts as reminders of life's interconnectedness. Life is beautiful, satisfying, messy, and catastrophic at once.
No children tripped as a result of my cheering. And the cheering got really loud when we finally saw our star.
We found empty sidewalk space within view of the Muny and its gazebo. The sun was shining with a brightness St. Louisans haven't seen in days. Its rays and my cup of coffee helped to warm me.
As we sat on the curb watching other people's children run their race, I began reflecting on my first race in Indianapolis nearly two years ago. Having never raced before, I was struck by how good it felt to hear strangers yell out encouragement to us as we ran. It gave such a boost and helped propel my achy legs forward.
I said out loud that I wanted to cheer on these kids, but was feeling shy. Something about naming my hesitation blew it away and I began clapping and yelling a variety of "you can do it" messages. Many times I was the only voice in the crowd yelling and clapping. As I watched these children take in my encouragement, I noticed that a lot of times they didn't know I was talking to them. I wanted them to know it, and because I didn't know their names, I began shouting out their bib numbers.
"Go, number 3215!" More often than not the child would look down at their bib, and back at me. I'd yell, "That's you! You've got this! The finish line is so close!
Sometimes the child would smile and keep going, sometimes even faster than before. Most of the time they'd look at me like I was crazy.
It wouldn't be the first time I've seen that look.
My sister and Cadence's dad laughed at how nearly every time I shouted a bib number, each child had an identical response. One suggested that I'd probably get a child tripped up as they looked for their bib number.
I persisted. The more encouragement I yelled the more I remembered what Glennon Doyle Melton repeats: There is no such thing as other people's children. They belong to all of us. It was a privilege to stand in for their parents on this stretch of the race. I know I wanted Cadence to hear the cheers and clapping of other spectators on other parts of the race.
Then I began thinking about the families in Syria. How their children are ours too. I felt a pang of guilt sitting on this curb in the sunshine with not a care in the world (for the moment.) And then I caught myself. I remembered that my guilt does nothing to improve their situation. I thought how much those families would delight in a Saturday morning race for their children and decided the best way to honor them and their struggle in the moment was to enjoy it and be grateful for it. There are other things I am doing to help the cause such as praying for an end to such suffering and for the safety of those helping on the ground, as well as donating to worthy causes that are helping to support relief efforts.
It isn't uncommon that my lighthearted, happy thoughts turn to such heavy, important topics. Welcome to a jaunt through my head and heart. I consider these roller coaster thoughts as reminders of life's interconnectedness. Life is beautiful, satisfying, messy, and catastrophic at once.
No children tripped as a result of my cheering. And the cheering got really loud when we finally saw our star.
Thursday, April 6, 2017
Woman of the House - Vol. 5
I find myself living in a "Murphy's Law" season of life post divorce. I am least in the position to afford the repair costs of anything, and so of course, these past two years have played host to a ridiculous number of things breaking or needing repair. What I am learning is how lucky we were before that things remained in good repair. My chagrin is that now it is mine alone to shoulder the unexpected costs and inconveniences.
Last Sunday evening I began entertaining the idea that I might be superstitious. I actually considered the possibility that the mirror that shattered after I'd fallen asleep one evening last year might have something to do with why the spin cycle on my washing machine stopped doing its job.
But rationality returned and I remembered that the spin cycle had been on the fritz for months. I was grateful that I'd been able to eek out complete laundry cycles as long as I did.
I am fine-tuning my ability to remain calm and not think the world is ending with each of these episodes. By the time I figured out there was a problem it was too late to do anything about it. I kept talking to myself about how it's only money and the loop of bad luck I find myself in will not last forever.
One of the advantages of these annoying moments is that they nurture my creativity and problem solving skills. I went to work the next morning and had the brainstorm that maybe someone I know knew of a spare washing machine that I could make use of, so I posted such a request on Facebook. Several people commiserated with me on the frustration of a broken washing machine. Others shared my message. Another friend messaged me and encouraged me to google the problem in the event that it was a simple fix.
I spent an hour watching youtube videos about the possible scenarios. I would watch the video, put it on pause, run for the tools the repairman on screen said I needed, and then followed his lead. Each time I hit a dead end, but I definitely felt better educated about the workings of the machine. After an hour, I decided to schedule an appointment for a repairman. The broken spin cycle seemed relatively simple by all the videos I watched, but I knew that I was out of my league.
One of the possible culprits was a broken lid switch, and lo and behold, that was my machine's problem. I felt so proud to recognize the diagnosis when the repairman announced it the next morning. We discussed my options. I decided to pay for the repair. The repair was expensive, but less than a brand new machine.
What this season is teaching me is that there is not one static right decision, but the right decision for the time I'm in. In this particular moment, having the part available was a convenience I was willing to pay for. My machine would be functional again immediately. I wouldn't have to go shopping and pay for a brand new machine. I could keep the old machine with higher water levels than the new high efficiency machines. I would keep this machine out of the landfill a little longer. All of those factors made me confident in my decision.
This season is also teaching me to trust my ability to make these decisions on my own with confidence. The greatest tool I access in this new solo chapter is my gut. I listen to her consistently and she delivers peaceful, firm direction regularly. I almost never second guess myself now, which feels like such a long-awaited gift after years of not feeling sure of my decision-making. I'd like to think that I could learn how to fine tune my decision making without all the inconvenience and expense, but I have a strong suspicion that's not how it works.
Last Sunday evening I began entertaining the idea that I might be superstitious. I actually considered the possibility that the mirror that shattered after I'd fallen asleep one evening last year might have something to do with why the spin cycle on my washing machine stopped doing its job.
But rationality returned and I remembered that the spin cycle had been on the fritz for months. I was grateful that I'd been able to eek out complete laundry cycles as long as I did.
I am fine-tuning my ability to remain calm and not think the world is ending with each of these episodes. By the time I figured out there was a problem it was too late to do anything about it. I kept talking to myself about how it's only money and the loop of bad luck I find myself in will not last forever.
One of the advantages of these annoying moments is that they nurture my creativity and problem solving skills. I went to work the next morning and had the brainstorm that maybe someone I know knew of a spare washing machine that I could make use of, so I posted such a request on Facebook. Several people commiserated with me on the frustration of a broken washing machine. Others shared my message. Another friend messaged me and encouraged me to google the problem in the event that it was a simple fix.
I spent an hour watching youtube videos about the possible scenarios. I would watch the video, put it on pause, run for the tools the repairman on screen said I needed, and then followed his lead. Each time I hit a dead end, but I definitely felt better educated about the workings of the machine. After an hour, I decided to schedule an appointment for a repairman. The broken spin cycle seemed relatively simple by all the videos I watched, but I knew that I was out of my league.
One of the possible culprits was a broken lid switch, and lo and behold, that was my machine's problem. I felt so proud to recognize the diagnosis when the repairman announced it the next morning. We discussed my options. I decided to pay for the repair. The repair was expensive, but less than a brand new machine.
What this season is teaching me is that there is not one static right decision, but the right decision for the time I'm in. In this particular moment, having the part available was a convenience I was willing to pay for. My machine would be functional again immediately. I wouldn't have to go shopping and pay for a brand new machine. I could keep the old machine with higher water levels than the new high efficiency machines. I would keep this machine out of the landfill a little longer. All of those factors made me confident in my decision.
This season is also teaching me to trust my ability to make these decisions on my own with confidence. The greatest tool I access in this new solo chapter is my gut. I listen to her consistently and she delivers peaceful, firm direction regularly. I almost never second guess myself now, which feels like such a long-awaited gift after years of not feeling sure of my decision-making. I'd like to think that I could learn how to fine tune my decision making without all the inconvenience and expense, but I have a strong suspicion that's not how it works.
 |
| The broken part |
Wednesday, April 5, 2017
How to Raise a Wild Child - A Book Recommendation
The current political atmosphere has knocked the wind out of my presidential biography reading sails. The upside is that I can devote the time I usually spend reading tedious biographies to the 40 plus books on my other reading list. I have an eclectic taste in reading material. I love fiction and non-fiction equally.
I also have a terrible habit of taking a long time to read a book requiring me to renew the library book repeatedly. I'm working on doing that less, which is easier when I'm not binge watching something fantastic on Netflix.
Today's recommendation is How to Raise a Wild Child by Scott D. Sampson. I don't remember where I learned about this book, but he title certainly piqued my interest.
The author is a paleontologist recognizable to your children if they are/were fans of Dinosaur Train on PBS. The basic premise is that in this digital age children are spending far too much time indoors, and Sampson highlights reasons why that's detrimental as well as ways to increase our children's exposure and love for nature.
I am an ideal consumer of his knowledge and wisdom because 1. I'm not too outdoorsy and 2. I'm not drawn to science. This book is a lovely combination of personal stories of exposing his young daughter to nature, descriptions of current research on social behavior as it relates to nature and the environment, and reasonable tips for increasing a family's exposure to the outdoors.
Woven throughout the book was the use of the abbreviation EMU as a way to think about exposing children to nature. Sampson believes that nature exploration happens through Experience, Mentoring, and Understanding. He introduces the reader to the idea of being a child's mentor and assures adults that to be a mentor, one does not need to be an expert. This was an encouraging discovery for me.
He talked about the importance of balancing our need to keep our children safe with providing opportunities for our children to explore the great outdoors on their own without too much "hovering" by adults. He called this being a hummingbird parent where as our children age, we move farther away and "zoom in only when necessary." I appreciate having new language to describe things I am already doing. Hummingbird parenting is such an example.
Sampson also suggested that we need to change the way we discuss the future and our role in helping to protect nature and the environment. He recommended changing our language from sustainability to thrivability. I really like that shift in our thinking.
I enjoyed this read more than I expected to and have some great ideas for how to expose Cadence to the wonders of our beautiful outside space. And was also able to consume it in one check out period at the library. Bonus!
In honor of the beautiful tulips that have bloomed in my yard, I give this book five out of five tulips.
 |
| Screen shot of just a portion of the books on my To-Be-Read list |
I also have a terrible habit of taking a long time to read a book requiring me to renew the library book repeatedly. I'm working on doing that less, which is easier when I'm not binge watching something fantastic on Netflix.
Today's recommendation is How to Raise a Wild Child by Scott D. Sampson. I don't remember where I learned about this book, but he title certainly piqued my interest.
The author is a paleontologist recognizable to your children if they are/were fans of Dinosaur Train on PBS. The basic premise is that in this digital age children are spending far too much time indoors, and Sampson highlights reasons why that's detrimental as well as ways to increase our children's exposure and love for nature.
I am an ideal consumer of his knowledge and wisdom because 1. I'm not too outdoorsy and 2. I'm not drawn to science. This book is a lovely combination of personal stories of exposing his young daughter to nature, descriptions of current research on social behavior as it relates to nature and the environment, and reasonable tips for increasing a family's exposure to the outdoors.
Woven throughout the book was the use of the abbreviation EMU as a way to think about exposing children to nature. Sampson believes that nature exploration happens through Experience, Mentoring, and Understanding. He introduces the reader to the idea of being a child's mentor and assures adults that to be a mentor, one does not need to be an expert. This was an encouraging discovery for me.
He talked about the importance of balancing our need to keep our children safe with providing opportunities for our children to explore the great outdoors on their own without too much "hovering" by adults. He called this being a hummingbird parent where as our children age, we move farther away and "zoom in only when necessary." I appreciate having new language to describe things I am already doing. Hummingbird parenting is such an example.
Sampson also suggested that we need to change the way we discuss the future and our role in helping to protect nature and the environment. He recommended changing our language from sustainability to thrivability. I really like that shift in our thinking.
I enjoyed this read more than I expected to and have some great ideas for how to expose Cadence to the wonders of our beautiful outside space. And was also able to consume it in one check out period at the library. Bonus!
In honor of the beautiful tulips that have bloomed in my yard, I give this book five out of five tulips.
PS: Bonus material: I learned a new word whilst reading this book.
BIOPHILIA - the love of life
The wordie in me swooned. Love of life, indeed.
Monday, April 3, 2017
Poison
I "graduated" from counseling for a spell last year. "I don't think you need to be here. You're taking up valuable time for someone who needs it more," my counselor joked. "Plus, you have a great read on when you need a tune-up." It felt really good to be in a place where regular conversations with my trusted counselor weren't imperative.
And then months later, I met a man who asked questions of me that I wasn't able to answer which led to more unanswerable questions. It would have been easy to blow off the questions--and him--and move along with my life unexamined. I don't do unexamined well. The tune-up came sooner than expected, but meeting with my counselor was the best way to navigate these newly unearthed and unexpected questions and accompanying emotions.
In these sessions, she encouraged me to write my way through the things that this new (and brief) relationship drudged up. The things I am exploring have nothing to do with him, and yet he was the catalyst to the new level of self-awareness. It's interesting how life unfolds when you navigate it with curiosity and an open heart.
In the past two years, my mind has become an attic full of a motley collection of things: old hurts, anger, memories, mistakes, disappointment, etc. I think of them as boxes long ignored, but making it trickier to navigate. It's become easy to stumble into or over these things on my way to the stuff I want. Fear stood in the way of clearing out these boxed emotions. It's scary to open a box, rifle through the mess and say, "This. This right here. This is why I am sad, mad, hurt, confused, disappointed."
With the help of my counselor, I now had the courage to do the heavy lifting. To move the boxes around, examine the contents, and purge what I no longer needed. I coupled the need to declutter my head space with my desire to write more pieces that could be submitted to publications outside of the comfort zone of the 300 Rejections community. (Bless you, dear hearts.)
I mapped out a series of three essays--they can stand alone (and hopefully will soon.) Or they can tell a larger story as a collection on my blog. But they have to get rejected in the big world first.
I've been working on (and stewing over) essay two since last fall. I kept visiting the words, but then I would get overwhelmed and walk away for a time. I can't describe the sense of relief and release to get those words out of the mental attic and onto the computer screen. With that box of stuff gone through, the attic was clearer. The decluttering gave me breathing space to tackle what felt like the hardest, scariest bit of writing I have pursued thus far. I would wake up with fully formed sentences scrolling through my mind and words on my tongue, and when the haze of sleep lifted the words would be gone. I heard the essay take form on my commutes to and from work--never when I was seated in front of my laptop. I jotted these snippets down. But they were clunky and weren't sounding like they did in my head. This made me panicky, and so I'd stay away from it for awhile longer. All the while, I was carrying these words. Feeling their weight, and the need to unload them.
Then Sunday morning as I scrubbed the shower walls and floor, I heard the essay take shape. Words came fast and clear. I finished my tasks and made my way to my computer. An hour later a 600 word first draft was on my screen. I knew there was a lot more work to be done before I could consider it ready to submit, but it wasn't haunting me anymore.
And outside my head, it also wasn't so scary. I had been true to my aims: to tell the truth, to do no harm, to help readers not feel alone. I needed a witness to this moment, so I sent it to Dan and went about the rest of the day.
The most remarkable thing came over me as the hours wore on. I felt lighter, calmer, more at peace than I had in weeks of carrying that essay's theme around. Another image came to me: poison. The stories I am telling have been poisoning me. The noxious effects have colored every area of my life for longer than I care to admit. The writing is like activated charcoal to a poison victim. It's helping me no longer absorb the harm that life has doled out.
In all of the years of journaling, where I've poured out my thoughts and emotions, I have never thought of the act of writing in this way. Now I can't stop thinking of it.
I came across two amazing quotes from authors today. Their words reinforce what I know firsthand about the healing nature of creative pursuits.
In a series of tweets, J. K. Rowling shared writing advice she needed to hear early in her career. This was the most potent piece for me:
"Even if it isn't the piece of work that finds an audience, it will teach you things you could have learned no other way."
And from Jen Hatmaker:
"You are not required to save the world, or anyone for that matter, with your art.
It isn't valuable only if it rescues or raises money or makes an enormous impact.
It can be simply for the love of it. That is not frivolous or selfish in the slightest.
If the only person it saves is you, that's enough."
My writing is saving me, and it is enough.
And then months later, I met a man who asked questions of me that I wasn't able to answer which led to more unanswerable questions. It would have been easy to blow off the questions--and him--and move along with my life unexamined. I don't do unexamined well. The tune-up came sooner than expected, but meeting with my counselor was the best way to navigate these newly unearthed and unexpected questions and accompanying emotions.
In these sessions, she encouraged me to write my way through the things that this new (and brief) relationship drudged up. The things I am exploring have nothing to do with him, and yet he was the catalyst to the new level of self-awareness. It's interesting how life unfolds when you navigate it with curiosity and an open heart.
In the past two years, my mind has become an attic full of a motley collection of things: old hurts, anger, memories, mistakes, disappointment, etc. I think of them as boxes long ignored, but making it trickier to navigate. It's become easy to stumble into or over these things on my way to the stuff I want. Fear stood in the way of clearing out these boxed emotions. It's scary to open a box, rifle through the mess and say, "This. This right here. This is why I am sad, mad, hurt, confused, disappointed."
With the help of my counselor, I now had the courage to do the heavy lifting. To move the boxes around, examine the contents, and purge what I no longer needed. I coupled the need to declutter my head space with my desire to write more pieces that could be submitted to publications outside of the comfort zone of the 300 Rejections community. (Bless you, dear hearts.)
I mapped out a series of three essays--they can stand alone (and hopefully will soon.) Or they can tell a larger story as a collection on my blog. But they have to get rejected in the big world first.
I've been working on (and stewing over) essay two since last fall. I kept visiting the words, but then I would get overwhelmed and walk away for a time. I can't describe the sense of relief and release to get those words out of the mental attic and onto the computer screen. With that box of stuff gone through, the attic was clearer. The decluttering gave me breathing space to tackle what felt like the hardest, scariest bit of writing I have pursued thus far. I would wake up with fully formed sentences scrolling through my mind and words on my tongue, and when the haze of sleep lifted the words would be gone. I heard the essay take form on my commutes to and from work--never when I was seated in front of my laptop. I jotted these snippets down. But they were clunky and weren't sounding like they did in my head. This made me panicky, and so I'd stay away from it for awhile longer. All the while, I was carrying these words. Feeling their weight, and the need to unload them.
Then Sunday morning as I scrubbed the shower walls and floor, I heard the essay take shape. Words came fast and clear. I finished my tasks and made my way to my computer. An hour later a 600 word first draft was on my screen. I knew there was a lot more work to be done before I could consider it ready to submit, but it wasn't haunting me anymore.
And outside my head, it also wasn't so scary. I had been true to my aims: to tell the truth, to do no harm, to help readers not feel alone. I needed a witness to this moment, so I sent it to Dan and went about the rest of the day.
The most remarkable thing came over me as the hours wore on. I felt lighter, calmer, more at peace than I had in weeks of carrying that essay's theme around. Another image came to me: poison. The stories I am telling have been poisoning me. The noxious effects have colored every area of my life for longer than I care to admit. The writing is like activated charcoal to a poison victim. It's helping me no longer absorb the harm that life has doled out.
In all of the years of journaling, where I've poured out my thoughts and emotions, I have never thought of the act of writing in this way. Now I can't stop thinking of it.
I came across two amazing quotes from authors today. Their words reinforce what I know firsthand about the healing nature of creative pursuits.
In a series of tweets, J. K. Rowling shared writing advice she needed to hear early in her career. This was the most potent piece for me:
"Even if it isn't the piece of work that finds an audience, it will teach you things you could have learned no other way."
And from Jen Hatmaker:
"You are not required to save the world, or anyone for that matter, with your art.
It isn't valuable only if it rescues or raises money or makes an enormous impact.
It can be simply for the love of it. That is not frivolous or selfish in the slightest.
If the only person it saves is you, that's enough."
My writing is saving me, and it is enough.
Friday, March 31, 2017
Check In
I am sixty pages from the end of the current book I'm reading (I'll write about that later). If I manage to finish it tonight or tomorrow and return it to the library, it'll be the first book I've read without the required renewal in a long while. This feels like an accomplishment.
I have been highly unproductive for the past six to eight weeks. I have done little else, but come home from work, change into lounge wear of one sort or another and binge watch Doc Martin on Netflix. It was truly the only thing I had the energy to do. I got caught up in the quirky lives of these Cornish characters and I didn't emerge until I watched through to the most recent season. However, even vegged on a couch, I'm never far from my overthinking tendencies. This is what emerged from my weeks-long siesta:
I've been blogging less because I'm tired of not having any material to submit to publications. I want some more rejections or some dang publication credits! While I cannot control what gets published, I can absolutely control what I write and submit.
So while I've been quiet at 300 rejections, I've been at work on building my portfolio. I repurposed two essays that remained unpublished and submitted them to the Women's National Book Association (a different kind of WNBA, ha!) annual contest and an edition of Chicken Soup for the Soul, and wrote essay number two in a series I am producing. Fingers crossed that I can find homes for those essays (paying gigs would also be AWESOME) otherwise I will post them as a collection here. It feels awesome to have a plan and to execute it. THAT, my friends, is the reward for the seemingly unproductive seasons.
I'll keep on keeping on. You do the same.
I have been highly unproductive for the past six to eight weeks. I have done little else, but come home from work, change into lounge wear of one sort or another and binge watch Doc Martin on Netflix. It was truly the only thing I had the energy to do. I got caught up in the quirky lives of these Cornish characters and I didn't emerge until I watched through to the most recent season. However, even vegged on a couch, I'm never far from my overthinking tendencies. This is what emerged from my weeks-long siesta:
- Two years ago, while I worked my way through the 40/40 list, wrote a novel, and got a divorce, I learned about the ebb and flow of energy levels, productivity, and attaining set goals. I was in hyper-activity mode. And it was the right level of high productivity for the season of life. By contrast, last year I rested. I didn't write very much. I took in other forms of art to nourish my weary soul. It was a swing from one end of the pendulum to the other. I practiced these seasons of activity and rest with a lot of rules and record-keeping. Now with a quarter of this year behind me already, I'm figuring out what to do with all that stuff I learned.
- Last year I stepped off my yoga mat and instead moved my body through near-daily lunch time walks. Those walks initiated healing in unexpected ways. As I returned to my mat this week, I felt the physical pain of not staying limber and caught myself wishing I hadn't abandoned the daily sun salutations. I am starting very much at the beginning. But I am also appreciating my yoga practice all the more for having been away from it. What I know about my body now that I didn't two years ago is how strong it is and how with consistent effort, it is capable of wondrous things. I know that four sun salutations a day will be good for my head, heart, and body, and I already feel the effects of daily practice. What's different this time is not feeling like I have to account for when I do and do not practice. How my body feels will be its own reward. I do not need a calendar on the wall marking my daily work as I did two years ago. This feels like progress. I've practiced gentle self-care for the past two years, and it's settling into my bones.
- The above sentiments also apply to my writing practice. I needed to write for 365 days in a row to prove that a) I could; b) I had something to say; and c) to find the rhythm and desire of regular writing. I proved all of those things to myself, but I don't feel the need for rules and record-keeping as I write. I haven't been writing during the great Doc Martin Binge of 2017, and I have suffered for it. I have felt twitchy and restless. But, I am absolutely convinced that we have to have these distances from the things we love and the things that fill us to know how important they are.
I've been blogging less because I'm tired of not having any material to submit to publications. I want some more rejections or some dang publication credits! While I cannot control what gets published, I can absolutely control what I write and submit.
So while I've been quiet at 300 rejections, I've been at work on building my portfolio. I repurposed two essays that remained unpublished and submitted them to the Women's National Book Association (a different kind of WNBA, ha!) annual contest and an edition of Chicken Soup for the Soul, and wrote essay number two in a series I am producing. Fingers crossed that I can find homes for those essays (paying gigs would also be AWESOME) otherwise I will post them as a collection here. It feels awesome to have a plan and to execute it. THAT, my friends, is the reward for the seemingly unproductive seasons.
I'll keep on keeping on. You do the same.
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| New he(art) piece from my friend paired with my grandma's trinket glasses atop my new writing desk |
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