"...what is this starvation thing anyway??!!"
Well...it evolved from a series of recent events in my life.
The earthquake that rocked Haiti was the impetus, as the malnourished orphans and people were suddenly flashing across the screens in our lives. As I reflected with my father on the situation, he commented that it was unusual that the population would be that high on the island, as generally and pragmatically, the food supply controls population. Fertility drops automatically in malnourished people, and I have uncovered more on this in my starvation study that I will share with you later this week. It is also the trigger to my reference to the Grapes of Wrath earlier last week, as I was thinking of the woman who delivers a stillborn child due to her own malnourishment, but then nurses an old man who was so malnourished he could not eat. Another story in the news of one of the survivors that was rescued amidst the rubble against all odds many days afterwards was another provocation...his key to survival? Drinking his urine.
Equally important in my reflections was the reality of preparing to nourish orphans. As I prepared to meet their needs, I began researching what their nutritional needs would be and how we could meet their needs. Like Dr. Keys, I wanted to know what they needed and how to give it to them without overloading their systems and making them sick.
Then the backlash of public opinion resulted as the cries for help from Haiti hit a raw nerve with many Americans aware that we have suffering in our own country. Children are also malnourished in our country. They pillage and scrounge for food, as they are at the mercy of adults that may have the resources to receive food, but instead sell the food stamps or perhaps just don't qualify... Nonetheless, I am very aware of this issue personally, and the scenario I posted in my Hunger blog is real. It is a conversation I have had with my son. It is a conversation we revisit frequently. Also for one year, if asked what every child needs/deserves for school, Sunday school, or in therapy he would respond...food, safety, shelter. In that order, always. He even put food at the end of his rainbow for St. Patrick's Day last year. His perspectives and interaction with food has been fascinating to watch. I can attest that food affects development on every level, though I would like to understand better how it affects the reasoning process and ability to develop emotionally.
Lack of food has played a significant role throughout history. Most wars, thus the reference to the civil war in Gone With the Wind result in suppressing food from the enemy and eventually the hungriest will lose. Kings and queens are overthrown in hunger. Biblically, Jesus performed many miracles around food. Food is key to civilization.
Thus my interest in starvation. Thus my research because my debate brain loves to explore all sides of an issue. I have started a second book that is more subjective than the one I have been posting about, but has interesting insights. Though in my writing on starvation, I am attempting to be more objective on the topic, as I try out a more journalistic approach. Though perhaps the personal insight into my journey into starvation might give you, my patient readers insight into my desire to learn more about hunger. I appreciate your feedback. Are you learning anything? Am I leaving out or giving too much information? Are you confused, or just waiting patiently for more? Anything interesting to you? Do you want me to share my ideas like I did today and then uncover what I learn?
It is all an experiment...without starvation :)
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Looney Family
The family blog theme seems to be Looney Tunes this evening, so I didn't want to be left out...
First my looney family exceeds the average children by X 2. This is entertaining in itself. Sometimes, though, I crave a visit to the looney bin for some peace and quiet, but alas, no one responds to my calls for help, so here I sit...still.
I don't watch Looney Tunes anymore, though admittedly, I thoroughly enjoy cartoons.
I do watch a mismatched sock teen peer through the telescope as Marvin the Martian, as she contemplates the annihilation of her favorite siblings residing peacefully on earth. Trust me, planet Teen, is a very different place!
My next little pre'toon' loves shoes. Her trademark sneakers rival Gossamer's, and I am always thankful that when she props her leg on the counter to talk to me that I require shoes off at the door, though this still doesn't increase her father's comfort level. Her ability to contort her body rivals Wile E. Coyote; however, I generally don't drop rocks on her despite the occasional temptation.
My next little toon is as mischievous as Foghorn Leghorn himself...always plotting to scare someone or torment a sister...or two...or three. The options are endless. Fortunately he possesses the speed and agility of a roadrunner, as it has assured his survival thus far.
Elmer Fudd is always willing to lend a helping hand, but despite his best efforts to get the "wascally wabbits," he always falls prey to the antics in spite of his careful planning.
Tweety (Pie) flits over the family sweetly. S(he) keeps everyone in line and knows all...BUT is perfectly capable of maliciously protecting herself, as is evident in her street hockey skills with boys twice her age.
Finally, Sam the sheepdog watches over the family with uncanny awareness, as he appears to be sleepily lounging, he can snatch an unsuspecting toon in a heartbeat...just when they were sure they were in the clear. Quiet, but deadly. Though, thankfully, thus far he does not sport the stylish toupee.
Most days I feel like granny in her never ending attempt to keep Sylvester and Tweety from destroying each other...and then suddenly they form a partnership to torment me. It is a no win situation.
Awaiting the next episode of my Looney Tunes world patiently, but in the meantime, Granny needs a little nap.
First my looney family exceeds the average children by X 2. This is entertaining in itself. Sometimes, though, I crave a visit to the looney bin for some peace and quiet, but alas, no one responds to my calls for help, so here I sit...still.
I don't watch Looney Tunes anymore, though admittedly, I thoroughly enjoy cartoons.
I do watch a mismatched sock teen peer through the telescope as Marvin the Martian, as she contemplates the annihilation of her favorite siblings residing peacefully on earth. Trust me, planet Teen, is a very different place!
My next little pre'toon' loves shoes. Her trademark sneakers rival Gossamer's, and I am always thankful that when she props her leg on the counter to talk to me that I require shoes off at the door, though this still doesn't increase her father's comfort level. Her ability to contort her body rivals Wile E. Coyote; however, I generally don't drop rocks on her despite the occasional temptation.
My next little toon is as mischievous as Foghorn Leghorn himself...always plotting to scare someone or torment a sister...or two...or three. The options are endless. Fortunately he possesses the speed and agility of a roadrunner, as it has assured his survival thus far.
Elmer Fudd is always willing to lend a helping hand, but despite his best efforts to get the "wascally wabbits," he always falls prey to the antics in spite of his careful planning.
Tweety (Pie) flits over the family sweetly. S(he) keeps everyone in line and knows all...BUT is perfectly capable of maliciously protecting herself, as is evident in her street hockey skills with boys twice her age.
Finally, Sam the sheepdog watches over the family with uncanny awareness, as he appears to be sleepily lounging, he can snatch an unsuspecting toon in a heartbeat...just when they were sure they were in the clear. Quiet, but deadly. Though, thankfully, thus far he does not sport the stylish toupee.
Most days I feel like granny in her never ending attempt to keep Sylvester and Tweety from destroying each other...and then suddenly they form a partnership to torment me. It is a no win situation.
Awaiting the next episode of my Looney Tunes world patiently, but in the meantime, Granny needs a little nap.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
COs
Conscientious objectors have an interesting history in America according to historian, Todd Tucker in The Great Starvation Experiment. The navigation of pacifism and the draft resulted in the establishment of Civilian Public Service (CPS) after WWI which allowed these men to perform "work of national importance under civilian direction." This evolved from the desire conscientious objectors had to serve their country, peacefully, without violating the draft laws and serving jail time. The Historic Peace Churches were pivotal in the establishment of CPS, as they sought this as a solution for their religious stance while recognizing the importance of serving their country. The Historic Peace Churches referred to the Brethern, Friends,and Mennonites, and interestingly, in the end, their men only represented 58 percent of all the denominations constituting the CPS.
Ironically, some of these men chose to go to war in spite of the Churches' official position. This created issues for local draft boards as they sought to approve conscientious objector status consistently.
Brigadier General Lewis Hershey was the head of the Selective Service, and this irritated COs who wanted civilian direction, but this story also has a twist, as General Hershey was raised in Indiana in Amish country and was a descendant from the Anabaptist's. He even occasionally referred to himself as the "Mennonite General." This was significant because he supported the CPS which made it successful. Even more fascinating to me is the fact he went on to serve for 29 years and earn 4 stars--the only man in the United States Army to achieve rank without serving in combat. Despite concerns about leadership under a general, his respect for the COs position enabled the success of the program, as he represented the men politically and militarily.
As America sought to find solutions to the differences of its constituents, the journey was wrought with challenges, but in the end a compromise was negotiated that consisted of work in forestry, firefighting, mental hospitals, and general laborer duties. As a result, despite the drudgery of these positions, improvements were made in all of these areas, including labor issues. The men gained valuable insight and skills that developed these fields; however, some of the men were growing discontent with their options and were anxious to perform work of more significance as the atrocities that people were suffering at the hands of the Nazi's become known.
During this time, the military was working closely with the University of Minnesota and Dr. Keys to create rations that met the nutritional needs of the soldiers. The military also supported additional research concerning the nutritional value of food and needs of the human body. The research was the beginning of understanding food and health in America. However, as the war raged on, it became apparent that the need to understand the needs of starving people was going to be important because of the concern that hunger was a fertile ground for communism and fascism. Thus emerged the request, "Will you starve that they be better fed?"
A starvation study. Unprecedented.
Ironically, some of these men chose to go to war in spite of the Churches' official position. This created issues for local draft boards as they sought to approve conscientious objector status consistently.
Brigadier General Lewis Hershey was the head of the Selective Service, and this irritated COs who wanted civilian direction, but this story also has a twist, as General Hershey was raised in Indiana in Amish country and was a descendant from the Anabaptist's. He even occasionally referred to himself as the "Mennonite General." This was significant because he supported the CPS which made it successful. Even more fascinating to me is the fact he went on to serve for 29 years and earn 4 stars--the only man in the United States Army to achieve rank without serving in combat. Despite concerns about leadership under a general, his respect for the COs position enabled the success of the program, as he represented the men politically and militarily.
As America sought to find solutions to the differences of its constituents, the journey was wrought with challenges, but in the end a compromise was negotiated that consisted of work in forestry, firefighting, mental hospitals, and general laborer duties. As a result, despite the drudgery of these positions, improvements were made in all of these areas, including labor issues. The men gained valuable insight and skills that developed these fields; however, some of the men were growing discontent with their options and were anxious to perform work of more significance as the atrocities that people were suffering at the hands of the Nazi's become known.
During this time, the military was working closely with the University of Minnesota and Dr. Keys to create rations that met the nutritional needs of the soldiers. The military also supported additional research concerning the nutritional value of food and needs of the human body. The research was the beginning of understanding food and health in America. However, as the war raged on, it became apparent that the need to understand the needs of starving people was going to be important because of the concern that hunger was a fertile ground for communism and fascism. Thus emerged the request, "Will you starve that they be better fed?"
A starvation study. Unprecedented.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Images
Silhouetted against the sunset after her return to Tara, Scarlett O'Hara drops to her knees scrounging for food, and as she rises with a lone carrot in her hand, she cries, "As God is my witness, as God is my witness they're not going to lick me. I'm going to live through this and when it's all over, I'll never be hungry again. No, nor any of my folk. If I have to lie, steal, cheat or kill. As God is my witness, I'll never be hungry again."
Gone With the Wind paints the devastation bleakly of the South as the Civil War rages. Hunger is rampant, so when Scarlett flees home to Tara she is completely unprepared for the reality, as her memories of opulence as a spoiled child who refused to eat the food she was served would be long gone...
Nonetheless, this image is powerful. Scarlett's hunger is insatiable throughout her life, but at her lowest point it was for food.
The theme of hunger abounds in literature, and immediately, the Grapes of Wrath comes to mind also. John Steinbeck's vivid portrayal of hunger and the consequences evokes powerful images also during another time in American history when food was scarce, the Dustbowl.
"Starved people can't be taught democracy," Dr. Ancel Keys like to say. Moments into reading The Great Starvation Experiment I encountered this quote. The historian Todd Tucker will reveal this story to me, though one chapter was all I could digest last night, ironically.
Scientists are known for their pragmatic observations, but authors are also astute in their observations, though writers link them back to the human spirit creatively. I wonder how the final perspectives will vary. Thus my reflections on hunger through literature and film in American history are piqued.
Gone With the Wind paints the devastation bleakly of the South as the Civil War rages. Hunger is rampant, so when Scarlett flees home to Tara she is completely unprepared for the reality, as her memories of opulence as a spoiled child who refused to eat the food she was served would be long gone...
Nonetheless, this image is powerful. Scarlett's hunger is insatiable throughout her life, but at her lowest point it was for food.
The theme of hunger abounds in literature, and immediately, the Grapes of Wrath comes to mind also. John Steinbeck's vivid portrayal of hunger and the consequences evokes powerful images also during another time in American history when food was scarce, the Dustbowl.
"Starved people can't be taught democracy," Dr. Ancel Keys like to say. Moments into reading The Great Starvation Experiment I encountered this quote. The historian Todd Tucker will reveal this story to me, though one chapter was all I could digest last night, ironically.
Scientists are known for their pragmatic observations, but authors are also astute in their observations, though writers link them back to the human spirit creatively. I wonder how the final perspectives will vary. Thus my reflections on hunger through literature and film in American history are piqued.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Voices
"Nikela, Tina's here!" I holler up the stairs above the incessant beeping of the toy hummer as it backs up.
No response. I try again. No response.
Then I pause, giving her the opportunity to dash downstairs in the event that I didn't hear her.
Chayse bops down the stairs. Grins at Tina, and in a subdued little girl voice, states amidst the chaos, "Tina is here Nikela." Then she hugs her.
"Oooooh, Tina's here!" Nikela squeals with delight and scrambles past the toys and down the stairs.
**************************************
Is there a hidden tuning device that allows one to block the frequency of a mother's voice? Why does it reactivate if a mother whispers "chocolate"?
No response. I try again. No response.
Then I pause, giving her the opportunity to dash downstairs in the event that I didn't hear her.
Chayse bops down the stairs. Grins at Tina, and in a subdued little girl voice, states amidst the chaos, "Tina is here Nikela." Then she hugs her.
"Oooooh, Tina's here!" Nikela squeals with delight and scrambles past the toys and down the stairs.
**************************************
Is there a hidden tuning device that allows one to block the frequency of a mother's voice? Why does it reactivate if a mother whispers "chocolate"?
Hunger
Refrigerator Inventory--
Moldy Chicken
Beer
Pantry Inventory--
empty
"You know how breakfast is the most important meal? I didn't eat breakfast very often."
"Once we had frozen pizza for supper, but (Name) didn't take it out of the oven soon enough, so it was black. I didn't eat it. I went to bed hungry."
"There was a dumpster across the street. It was big and had two lids that flipped back. I could lift my brother up so he could crawl into it, and then he would help me up."
Special Treats
half eaten bags of chips
partially drank milk cartons
the bottle that had the picture of the bunny on it that had chocolate milk in it--big grin...
leftover baskets of fries or chicken nuggets or half eaten burgers
cheez-its
*******************************************************
Definitions according to Webster's New World Dictionary of American English, Third College Edition
Hunger--the discomfort, pain, or weakness caused by a need for food
Starve-- a)to die from lack of food b)to suffer or become weak from lack of food
*******************************************************
Hunger is actually triggered by sensory nerves in the body that trigger the brain to desire food. Studies abound on the effects of hunger on children associated with their performance in school, thus the emergence of breakfast at school programs.
However, I have been unable to find any extensive studies on the development of the brain that is constantly hungry. I did stumble upon a study done on conscientious objectors during WWII that volunteered to help by participating in a starvation study. I am going to the library today to check out a book written on the subject. I really wanted the original study that was published, but I haven't found it yet.
The excerpts of follow up interviews years later intrigue me, and I am anxious to uncover the entire story. Though every volunteer that was still alive said they would do it again to help others who had lived through those circumstances.
********************************************************
As I considered the plight of so many people in the world news, I found myself wondering what the results of their hunger and suffering would be. So many countries struggle with violence in the aftermath. Why does the brain react this way? Why after food has been delivered and hunger has been alleviated does it continue? What happens in the brain that perpetuates this violent cycle?
Hunger is not limited to third world countries. It exists in our country too. Children are frequently the victims despite all the programs designed to alleviate their hunger because children are at the mercy of the adults in their lives. On a personal basis, I have observed the longer lasting effects of hunger. I struggle to comprehend the actions of the aftermath, as it seems that if one adds food the struggle should end. Simple, right? Not at all...
Thus, today I start my research based writing project, and I hope to create a series of articles from research I uncover.
Moldy Chicken
Beer
Pantry Inventory--
empty
"You know how breakfast is the most important meal? I didn't eat breakfast very often."
"Once we had frozen pizza for supper, but (Name) didn't take it out of the oven soon enough, so it was black. I didn't eat it. I went to bed hungry."
"There was a dumpster across the street. It was big and had two lids that flipped back. I could lift my brother up so he could crawl into it, and then he would help me up."
Special Treats
half eaten bags of chips
partially drank milk cartons
the bottle that had the picture of the bunny on it that had chocolate milk in it--big grin...
leftover baskets of fries or chicken nuggets or half eaten burgers
cheez-its
*******************************************************
Definitions according to Webster's New World Dictionary of American English, Third College Edition
Hunger--the discomfort, pain, or weakness caused by a need for food
Starve-- a)to die from lack of food b)to suffer or become weak from lack of food
*******************************************************
Hunger is actually triggered by sensory nerves in the body that trigger the brain to desire food. Studies abound on the effects of hunger on children associated with their performance in school, thus the emergence of breakfast at school programs.
However, I have been unable to find any extensive studies on the development of the brain that is constantly hungry. I did stumble upon a study done on conscientious objectors during WWII that volunteered to help by participating in a starvation study. I am going to the library today to check out a book written on the subject. I really wanted the original study that was published, but I haven't found it yet.
The excerpts of follow up interviews years later intrigue me, and I am anxious to uncover the entire story. Though every volunteer that was still alive said they would do it again to help others who had lived through those circumstances.
********************************************************
As I considered the plight of so many people in the world news, I found myself wondering what the results of their hunger and suffering would be. So many countries struggle with violence in the aftermath. Why does the brain react this way? Why after food has been delivered and hunger has been alleviated does it continue? What happens in the brain that perpetuates this violent cycle?
Hunger is not limited to third world countries. It exists in our country too. Children are frequently the victims despite all the programs designed to alleviate their hunger because children are at the mercy of the adults in their lives. On a personal basis, I have observed the longer lasting effects of hunger. I struggle to comprehend the actions of the aftermath, as it seems that if one adds food the struggle should end. Simple, right? Not at all...
Thus, today I start my research based writing project, and I hope to create a series of articles from research I uncover.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Usurped
As a mother, when Nikela arrived almost 14 years ago, I realized that my identity was forever changed. Not only did a little bug rename me, "Mommy," but her friends would soon refer to me as Nikela's mom. Then of course, grandparents immediately dote on the darling new grandchild, and suddenly parents become transient ghosts that merely serve as a vehicle for children.
I'm all okay with that.
However, I think my blog has officially been usurped.
A few weeks ago Kiahra asked to be a guest blogger, and I consented. Then I read her entry and decided she should just have her own blog. It was good stuff. Within a few days I convinced or possibly coerced Nikela to join the party. Only in the 21st century would a mother attempt to convince her child to blog. Only in my house would the mother try to establish a blog for her daughter. In other households, kids frequently develop their own sites hoping their mothers DON'T find out.
Anyway, my one and only teenager (thus far) loves to torment me. Some time ago, she started intentionally wearing mismatched socks. I am a mother who matches socks. Her discovery resulted in a new trend that I had to force myself to ignore, and admittedly, she was right, it irritated me...completely. Therefore, when I created the name, Different Socks...Different Thoughts, for her new blog and proceeded to develop her page I was acknowledging her craziness and she accepted that. Fully coerced into the blog, she topped it off with a green background that makes my eyes go buggy and a pile of mismatched socks that makes me cringe, but it is as irresistible as her blog is to me.
Last night, as I sat at the table with Ron chuckling at one end and Kiahra giggling at the other, but each tuned into their computers...and here comes the irony...reading Nikela's blog. I realized it was official. I have been usurped by my daughter...actually daughters. Kiahra's blog, Tween Sass, is just as popular at my house and with my family. Overnight, my daughters had followers and more comments than I have ever received. Pouting? Yes.
Their quirky, wacky outlook is entertaining. It is even good. Admittedly, even I look forward to their writing with anticipation. Proud? Yes,
BUT...
(sing with me now...)
It's my blog, and I'll pout if I want to
Pout if I want to, pout if I want to
You would pout too if it happened to you
Who needs Broadway with this rendition on Squire Place??
I'm all okay with that.
However, I think my blog has officially been usurped.
A few weeks ago Kiahra asked to be a guest blogger, and I consented. Then I read her entry and decided she should just have her own blog. It was good stuff. Within a few days I convinced or possibly coerced Nikela to join the party. Only in the 21st century would a mother attempt to convince her child to blog. Only in my house would the mother try to establish a blog for her daughter. In other households, kids frequently develop their own sites hoping their mothers DON'T find out.
Anyway, my one and only teenager (thus far) loves to torment me. Some time ago, she started intentionally wearing mismatched socks. I am a mother who matches socks. Her discovery resulted in a new trend that I had to force myself to ignore, and admittedly, she was right, it irritated me...completely. Therefore, when I created the name, Different Socks...Different Thoughts, for her new blog and proceeded to develop her page I was acknowledging her craziness and she accepted that. Fully coerced into the blog, she topped it off with a green background that makes my eyes go buggy and a pile of mismatched socks that makes me cringe, but it is as irresistible as her blog is to me.
Last night, as I sat at the table with Ron chuckling at one end and Kiahra giggling at the other, but each tuned into their computers...and here comes the irony...reading Nikela's blog. I realized it was official. I have been usurped by my daughter...actually daughters. Kiahra's blog, Tween Sass, is just as popular at my house and with my family. Overnight, my daughters had followers and more comments than I have ever received. Pouting? Yes.
Their quirky, wacky outlook is entertaining. It is even good. Admittedly, even I look forward to their writing with anticipation. Proud? Yes,
BUT...
(sing with me now...)
It's my blog, and I'll pout if I want to
Pout if I want to, pout if I want to
You would pout too if it happened to you
Who needs Broadway with this rendition on Squire Place??
Friday, January 22, 2010
Meanderings...
One week ago today my family agreed to provide emergency care for orphans as an emergency rescue plan was implemented. We did not have details. We knew we could be providing care for up to four children. Our family went into planning and preparation mode trying to anticipate the unexpected.
As the week has unfolded, we have been on standby. The expected delivery date came and went without any word. Finally, a plane landed carrying the anticipated passengers. Medical attention was first.
Then we learned that adoptive parents were arriving. We celebrated their journey from afar. A child should go home with their anticipated family. Of course the legalities surrounding adoption are complex and designed to protect children, and so additional challenges emerged as the complexities are inevitable depending on the stage of adoption. Nonetheless, we watched with hope for each family.
Today, some families are still working through these issues in a system that can sometimes be frustrating, so the children that still were not placed with their families have been moved to a group setting with the remaining orphans at a facility designed to work with large groups of children.
I do not know if my services will be utilized in the weeks ahead, but for now I know this weekend will be quiet.
As a biological, adoptive, and foster mother I have watched the events unfold with mixed emotions. Equally interesting are the varying viewpoints of others as they too watch the activities.
First, I want to say that I empathize with the Haitian government in their fear that children will be swept off the streets of Haiti and transported to another country never to be seen again. Why? Because in the aftermath of tragedy, if I was injured and unable to find my niece and nephews immediately and they were whisked away from me forever, I would be devastated. The loss would emotionally hamper me for the rest of my life...far beyond the earthquake. I would wonder if they were safe. I would miss them. My heart would cry in the night. Unable to speak their language and without money, I would never be able to find them in my reality. The helplessness would choke me.
Until every single family member has the opportunity to find and provide for their children the best that they can, no child should leave Haiti that has not already been proclaimed an orphan or at least resided at the orphanage. Honestly, I recognize the immediate peril of their survival, and it seems so easy to just bring them to a rich country and feed them and love them and make everything all right. The cruel irony is that it is not that easy. The loss of family. Culture. Climate...is so overwhelming that is it not just quickly overcome by adding food and love which adoption experts are scrambling to inform the public of now. This is important. Adoption is wonderful. I know. However, it cannot be undertaken in an emotional moment without education and support...and thought...
Horrifyingly, we live in a world that kidnaps children and sells them in underground sex trade rings. Some things are worse than death...
As Americans respond to the images of devastation, we must also be mindful of all these issues, so we can make good decisions for each child. There is not a perfect solution, I know. Amidst tragedy answers are not easy. We must take the time to ponder these issues carefully and work cautiously or the unexpected consequences could be devasting to the future of everyone.
As countries pool resources, let us move with careful intent. Let us be mindful of others, compassionate. Let us be respectful of all, avoid pity. Remember to listen to all viewpoint, unjudgementally. Be careful not to presume knowledge of answers unknown. Contempletive is the word I hope emerges as realities of the earthquake unfold.
Realities. As I consider my different roles of motherhood, I pause. Ten years ago, in the delivery room, I remember fondly my husband's utter shock..."It...it...it's a...BOY??!" He was anticipating a girl. The ultrasound had been basically inconclusive, and he had thought it would be a girl, not that it mattered. But as I look back on the moment and his surprise. It makes me smile. I can see him hold his son tight in that first moment. A little boy that looked just like his Daddy...down to the the smile.
Then when we welcomed Chayse into our lives, it was very different. We were not there in that moment. We knew she was a girl from the beginning. As the day neared when we could take her home, and the rest of the family finally met her, she snuggled up to Kade in the carseat next to him and laid her head on his shoulder. His little head hugged hers and silently they rode. A welcome into a family can be different, but the love is just as powerful. Then ironically, for the first time, I heard the words from strangers, "Your little girl looks just like you." I know I smiled from ear to ear because in a quiet moment in the rocking chair as she curled her body into mine, I could almost remember carrying her as she gently squirmed against me...until I blinked hard. It was an amazing moment. The journey was different, but our lives welded together in complete love nonetheless.
People are so fascinated that Chayse and Kade arrived on the same day, but for me, it just seems like it should be that way...
I suspect my littlest sister's comment that "if I read your stuff back to back it is like being pregnant" may be applicable today, except this is just one post! Point of clarification: I am not pregnant, but perhaps the anticipation has triggered the hormones anyway :)
As the week has unfolded, we have been on standby. The expected delivery date came and went without any word. Finally, a plane landed carrying the anticipated passengers. Medical attention was first.
Then we learned that adoptive parents were arriving. We celebrated their journey from afar. A child should go home with their anticipated family. Of course the legalities surrounding adoption are complex and designed to protect children, and so additional challenges emerged as the complexities are inevitable depending on the stage of adoption. Nonetheless, we watched with hope for each family.
Today, some families are still working through these issues in a system that can sometimes be frustrating, so the children that still were not placed with their families have been moved to a group setting with the remaining orphans at a facility designed to work with large groups of children.
I do not know if my services will be utilized in the weeks ahead, but for now I know this weekend will be quiet.
As a biological, adoptive, and foster mother I have watched the events unfold with mixed emotions. Equally interesting are the varying viewpoints of others as they too watch the activities.
First, I want to say that I empathize with the Haitian government in their fear that children will be swept off the streets of Haiti and transported to another country never to be seen again. Why? Because in the aftermath of tragedy, if I was injured and unable to find my niece and nephews immediately and they were whisked away from me forever, I would be devastated. The loss would emotionally hamper me for the rest of my life...far beyond the earthquake. I would wonder if they were safe. I would miss them. My heart would cry in the night. Unable to speak their language and without money, I would never be able to find them in my reality. The helplessness would choke me.
Until every single family member has the opportunity to find and provide for their children the best that they can, no child should leave Haiti that has not already been proclaimed an orphan or at least resided at the orphanage. Honestly, I recognize the immediate peril of their survival, and it seems so easy to just bring them to a rich country and feed them and love them and make everything all right. The cruel irony is that it is not that easy. The loss of family. Culture. Climate...is so overwhelming that is it not just quickly overcome by adding food and love which adoption experts are scrambling to inform the public of now. This is important. Adoption is wonderful. I know. However, it cannot be undertaken in an emotional moment without education and support...and thought...
Horrifyingly, we live in a world that kidnaps children and sells them in underground sex trade rings. Some things are worse than death...
As Americans respond to the images of devastation, we must also be mindful of all these issues, so we can make good decisions for each child. There is not a perfect solution, I know. Amidst tragedy answers are not easy. We must take the time to ponder these issues carefully and work cautiously or the unexpected consequences could be devasting to the future of everyone.
As countries pool resources, let us move with careful intent. Let us be mindful of others, compassionate. Let us be respectful of all, avoid pity. Remember to listen to all viewpoint, unjudgementally. Be careful not to presume knowledge of answers unknown. Contempletive is the word I hope emerges as realities of the earthquake unfold.
Realities. As I consider my different roles of motherhood, I pause. Ten years ago, in the delivery room, I remember fondly my husband's utter shock..."It...it...it's a...BOY??!" He was anticipating a girl. The ultrasound had been basically inconclusive, and he had thought it would be a girl, not that it mattered. But as I look back on the moment and his surprise. It makes me smile. I can see him hold his son tight in that first moment. A little boy that looked just like his Daddy...down to the the smile.
Then when we welcomed Chayse into our lives, it was very different. We were not there in that moment. We knew she was a girl from the beginning. As the day neared when we could take her home, and the rest of the family finally met her, she snuggled up to Kade in the carseat next to him and laid her head on his shoulder. His little head hugged hers and silently they rode. A welcome into a family can be different, but the love is just as powerful. Then ironically, for the first time, I heard the words from strangers, "Your little girl looks just like you." I know I smiled from ear to ear because in a quiet moment in the rocking chair as she curled her body into mine, I could almost remember carrying her as she gently squirmed against me...until I blinked hard. It was an amazing moment. The journey was different, but our lives welded together in complete love nonetheless.
People are so fascinated that Chayse and Kade arrived on the same day, but for me, it just seems like it should be that way...
I suspect my littlest sister's comment that "if I read your stuff back to back it is like being pregnant" may be applicable today, except this is just one post! Point of clarification: I am not pregnant, but perhaps the anticipation has triggered the hormones anyway :)
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Five and Dime
My grandfather always referred to Ben Franklin as a five and dime. It was one of those things I just accepted as a grandchild. I didn't realize that one hundred years earlier a nickel or a dime would buy anything in a variety store.
My grandfather always enjoyed remembering years and dates, and he frequently pointed out interesting details surrounding those numbers. Of course, I also took this for granted, not realizing that I would really struggle to recall years and dates with such accuracy. For example, when I turned eight on July 8, 1978, he noticed.
Tomorrow Chayse will be 5. Kade will be 10. Chayse is half Kade's age. If my calculations are correct this will be the only time Kade is twice her age.
They will be my little five and dime'amites this year.
Now if a nickel and a dime would have just covered those birthday presents I need to go wrap...
My grandfather always enjoyed remembering years and dates, and he frequently pointed out interesting details surrounding those numbers. Of course, I also took this for granted, not realizing that I would really struggle to recall years and dates with such accuracy. For example, when I turned eight on July 8, 1978, he noticed.
Tomorrow Chayse will be 5. Kade will be 10. Chayse is half Kade's age. If my calculations are correct this will be the only time Kade is twice her age.
They will be my little five and dime'amites this year.
Now if a nickel and a dime would have just covered those birthday presents I need to go wrap...
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Tuesday Morning
Birthday presents. Errands. A busy morning.
Tuesday morning is evidently a popular day for the older generation to shop too. The pace was a bit slower for me than usual. I discovered that I didn't mind it, though I had to consciously make the effort. Actually, eventually, I even relished it. I paused to shop more carefully and even found myself relaxing.
The couples around me came in every variety. Spicy. Tame. Sharp. Nutty. Bitter. Fruity. Salty. Sweet. All of them had teamwork. The years had simmered the distinctive flavors into their relationships. Smiles were frequent.
During my excursion, a lady in front of me accidentally dropped something on the floor as she was trying to put it into the cart, and she paused. I immediately navigated myself into a position to pick it up for her, but initially she did not see me and ever so gently she attempted to bend, and it was obvious that she would not be able to retrieve the object, so I spoke, "Please let me get that for you."
As I handed her the item, I looked into her eyes. They were soft and the creases deepened as she smiled warmly at me. She kindly thanked me a voice wrought with age. Then she proceeded to genuinely wish me "a wonderful day." I felt the warmth of her wish in my heart, and I know it showed in my smile.
My heart has held this image close today.
As I pondered the complexities of age, the riddle of the sphinx came to mind. “Which creature in the morning goes on four legs, at mid-day on two, and in the evening upon three, and the more legs it has, the weaker it be?” Life is a fascinating cycle. Perhaps it was suitable that Oedipus was the only man according to Greek mythology that solved this riddle by answering, "Man—who crawls on all fours as a baby, then walks on two feet as an adult, and then walks with a cane in old age."
Despite his ability to solve this riddle, Oedipus struggled to "see" the truth within his own life and when it become clear to him he took his own sight. Of course, this is revealed by Tiresias, the blind prophet who can the "see" the truth more clearly than those who see. Irony. Tragedy. Fate.
While the Greeks are renowned for their tragedies, they also loved comedy. At times their comedies would have only aired on HBO or Showtime due to the content. Americans sometimes think they invented lewd comedy, but alas, it was alive and well many, many centuries before.
These elements are intertwined throughout our lives...tragedy and comedy. The Greeks identified this. The aforementioned couples have survived tragedy though, I am sure, not without scars. They can find humor in life's routines as well. As do I.
Frequently we want to protect others from tragedy and pain, particularly our children. The reality is we cannot. As a matter of fact, the details that Oedipus needed to see the truth were kept from him, in an attempt to protect him. Ironic... again.
Life. Tragedy. Comedy. Irony.
Live. Cry. Laugh. Accept. Love.
Tuesday morning is evidently a popular day for the older generation to shop too. The pace was a bit slower for me than usual. I discovered that I didn't mind it, though I had to consciously make the effort. Actually, eventually, I even relished it. I paused to shop more carefully and even found myself relaxing.
The couples around me came in every variety. Spicy. Tame. Sharp. Nutty. Bitter. Fruity. Salty. Sweet. All of them had teamwork. The years had simmered the distinctive flavors into their relationships. Smiles were frequent.
During my excursion, a lady in front of me accidentally dropped something on the floor as she was trying to put it into the cart, and she paused. I immediately navigated myself into a position to pick it up for her, but initially she did not see me and ever so gently she attempted to bend, and it was obvious that she would not be able to retrieve the object, so I spoke, "Please let me get that for you."
As I handed her the item, I looked into her eyes. They were soft and the creases deepened as she smiled warmly at me. She kindly thanked me a voice wrought with age. Then she proceeded to genuinely wish me "a wonderful day." I felt the warmth of her wish in my heart, and I know it showed in my smile.
My heart has held this image close today.
As I pondered the complexities of age, the riddle of the sphinx came to mind. “Which creature in the morning goes on four legs, at mid-day on two, and in the evening upon three, and the more legs it has, the weaker it be?” Life is a fascinating cycle. Perhaps it was suitable that Oedipus was the only man according to Greek mythology that solved this riddle by answering, "Man—who crawls on all fours as a baby, then walks on two feet as an adult, and then walks with a cane in old age."
Despite his ability to solve this riddle, Oedipus struggled to "see" the truth within his own life and when it become clear to him he took his own sight. Of course, this is revealed by Tiresias, the blind prophet who can the "see" the truth more clearly than those who see. Irony. Tragedy. Fate.
While the Greeks are renowned for their tragedies, they also loved comedy. At times their comedies would have only aired on HBO or Showtime due to the content. Americans sometimes think they invented lewd comedy, but alas, it was alive and well many, many centuries before.
These elements are intertwined throughout our lives...tragedy and comedy. The Greeks identified this. The aforementioned couples have survived tragedy though, I am sure, not without scars. They can find humor in life's routines as well. As do I.
Frequently we want to protect others from tragedy and pain, particularly our children. The reality is we cannot. As a matter of fact, the details that Oedipus needed to see the truth were kept from him, in an attempt to protect him. Ironic... again.
Life. Tragedy. Comedy. Irony.
Live. Cry. Laugh. Accept. Love.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Birthday Parties
It started a rainy, misty, very gray day...on which two birthday parties were scheduled. At 9 AM I trekked to BounceU for Preschool open bounce. Thankfully, I had reservations, as the line was extensive since school was out today. Anyway, Chayse met three friends and they bounced around...literally. I was amazed at how quickly they could move--in different directions. I was thankful a couple moms were there, as it helped me relax a bit.
Meanwhile, at home Kiahra was preparing lunch for us. After we arrived, she did a great job of serving it too :) Chayse insisted that she wanted the rainbow cake with chocolate icing and chocolate cake (there was no negotiating the details...) carefully crafted at CostCo and served with "pink" ice-cream. Many years ago I would have made the cake, but these days I gladly complete the order form and send my husband to pick it up!
Plus then Kiahra did an outstanding job of entertaining the kids. She even navigated the wii with them!
In the meantime, Ron rescheduled Kade's party to accommodate a movie instead of snow tubing, as all the rain yesterday made conditions poor. Avatar was the show of the hour...a very long two and a half hours.
As I said farewell to the preschool gang shortly after 2 o'clock, the 10 year olds returned home with energy to spare. Letting the preschoolers work up a sweat at BounceU was an excellent game plan; whereas, boys sitting quietly for an extended period of time was not as well planned. Though they did play well despite all their energy, but I did ask them to take cops and robbers outside where the late afternoon sun had broke through with temperature in the 40's.
A pesky sister appears to share the birthday limelight. It is good to share with a sister. Builds character.
Obviously, nerf guns are met with universal approval, and thus emerged the entertainment. Of course, they are best tested on sisters...
The boys (except for the ones in the neighborhood) are gone. The house is quiet. I am tired, but happy. Unbelievably it has been a great day. All the kids were excellent. The extra sets of hands helped me relax and smile through the details.
I have learned through the years to keep it simple and everyone will have fun. I hope that was true today.
Meanwhile, at home Kiahra was preparing lunch for us. After we arrived, she did a great job of serving it too :) Chayse insisted that she wanted the rainbow cake with chocolate icing and chocolate cake (there was no negotiating the details...) carefully crafted at CostCo and served with "pink" ice-cream. Many years ago I would have made the cake, but these days I gladly complete the order form and send my husband to pick it up!
Plus then Kiahra did an outstanding job of entertaining the kids. She even navigated the wii with them!
In the meantime, Ron rescheduled Kade's party to accommodate a movie instead of snow tubing, as all the rain yesterday made conditions poor. Avatar was the show of the hour...a very long two and a half hours.
As I said farewell to the preschool gang shortly after 2 o'clock, the 10 year olds returned home with energy to spare. Letting the preschoolers work up a sweat at BounceU was an excellent game plan; whereas, boys sitting quietly for an extended period of time was not as well planned. Though they did play well despite all their energy, but I did ask them to take cops and robbers outside where the late afternoon sun had broke through with temperature in the 40's.
A pesky sister appears to share the birthday limelight. It is good to share with a sister. Builds character.
Obviously, nerf guns are met with universal approval, and thus emerged the entertainment. Of course, they are best tested on sisters...
The boys (except for the ones in the neighborhood) are gone. The house is quiet. I am tired, but happy. Unbelievably it has been a great day. All the kids were excellent. The extra sets of hands helped me relax and smile through the details.
I have learned through the years to keep it simple and everyone will have fun. I hope that was true today.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Mothers and Daughters
Mother and daughters journey together with variety. Sometimes a mother brings us into the world. Sometimes a mother's heart swells with pride. Sometimes a mother's heart deflates in disappointment. Always a mother loves her daughter.
Passion. With passion women embrace life and through that emotion a mother and daughter forge their relationship. Beginning with a bond of iron, heat is added, slowly. Then the forging begins, meticulously shaping the iron with a hammer. This process includes "quenching" (generally plunged into cold water) and cooling. Then the process begins again. Heating. Hammering. Quenching. Cooling. The cycle continues like life. The process of forging is paramount to the quality of the product.
Mothers and daughters forge a relationship throughout life, a little at a time. It is shaped with patience. Each relationship is unique. Some mothers and daughters look alike. Some mothers and daughters do not. Some mothers and daughters are best friends. Some are not. Some mothers and daughters argue with zeal. Some do not. Some mothers and daughters live near each other. Some do not. Some mothers and daughters are crazy. Some are not. Disregardless, all relationships are forged with passion and welded at the heart with love.
Mothers are a gift. One of the most precious gifts I have received. No one knows a child like a mother. A mother can hear hurt in a cry. A mother can hear a prank in a laugh. A mother can see pain in a face. A mother can see happiness in twinkling eyes. A mother sees strengths and weaknesses, yet loves unconditionally.
The gift of a mother is not forever. My grandmother was a mother to her daughter for 61 years. Karen was a mother to her youngest daughter for 11 years. This precious gift is unpredictable.
After 40 years, my friend, Pam, is mourning the loss of her mother. Grateful for the time. Heartbroken it was so short. Hurting, but this time her mother is not there to comfort...though she is...safely in her heart where their relationship was forged so carefully through the years.
Passion. With passion women embrace life and through that emotion a mother and daughter forge their relationship. Beginning with a bond of iron, heat is added, slowly. Then the forging begins, meticulously shaping the iron with a hammer. This process includes "quenching" (generally plunged into cold water) and cooling. Then the process begins again. Heating. Hammering. Quenching. Cooling. The cycle continues like life. The process of forging is paramount to the quality of the product.
Mothers and daughters forge a relationship throughout life, a little at a time. It is shaped with patience. Each relationship is unique. Some mothers and daughters look alike. Some mothers and daughters do not. Some mothers and daughters are best friends. Some are not. Some mothers and daughters argue with zeal. Some do not. Some mothers and daughters live near each other. Some do not. Some mothers and daughters are crazy. Some are not. Disregardless, all relationships are forged with passion and welded at the heart with love.
Mothers are a gift. One of the most precious gifts I have received. No one knows a child like a mother. A mother can hear hurt in a cry. A mother can hear a prank in a laugh. A mother can see pain in a face. A mother can see happiness in twinkling eyes. A mother sees strengths and weaknesses, yet loves unconditionally.
The gift of a mother is not forever. My grandmother was a mother to her daughter for 61 years. Karen was a mother to her youngest daughter for 11 years. This precious gift is unpredictable.
After 40 years, my friend, Pam, is mourning the loss of her mother. Grateful for the time. Heartbroken it was so short. Hurting, but this time her mother is not there to comfort...though she is...safely in her heart where their relationship was forged so carefully through the years.
Friday, January 15, 2010
The Ring
A few years ago, as a new bride I slipped a shiny gold band onto my husband's finger, as we exchanged our wedding vows. My heart fluttered in nervousness, as I struggled with the ring. Afterward, the photographer captured a photo of our hands sporting our shiny new gold rings.
Within a few weeks, Ron had to retire his ring for special occasions, as he was mining almost a mile beneath the surface at Homestake Mining Company. Not only did he manage to immediately bend the ring completely out of shape, but the dust and debris aged it significantly. Plus I worried about his safety in his working conditions. I really didn't want my new husband to be missing a finger.
As a little girl, I remember my mother's uncle was missing a finger, his ring finger. My father didn't wear his ring daily for that very reason. For me, the ring was not as important as the finger.
The years have passed, and Ron has seldom worn his ring, and as a result it has been misplaced a few times. I remain comfortable with his ringless hand and never really thought about it much.
On occasion the subject would arise with friends. One of Ron's friends had a ring tattooed on his finger. Another couple we recently dined with mentioned he would wear his ring no matter what... I paused. I wondered if my nonchalance toward the subject was appropriate. What was I missing that other women felt so strongly about?
As I contemplated these things, I realized that despite the symbolism of the ring, for me the heart of my marriage was there, in my heart. As a miner and diamond driller, Ron is a man who has worked hard for a living. His hard labor is driven by love for his family. I knew his ring was impractical and his hands were very valuable to us.
Recently, I was in the jewelry store looking for a gift when an off-handed remark made by the salesman led me to the wedding ring display. I didn't realize that men's wedding bands were now made in stainless steel, titanium, and tungsten carbide. I haven't been in the market recently :) Anyway, as I listened to his sales pitch, he assured me that tungsten would not bend and required a custom fitting because it could not be sized. According to him, it was also difficult to scratch. As he jabbered on about the benefits of the other metals, I eyed a neat ring for Ron. I liked the dark gray color of tungsten and the simple styling. He doesn't wear flashy clothes or don a suit daily. His hands are rough and calloused and frequently cuts and blemishes appear from work. A fine gold ring looks out of place...but this gray mineral, I liked. Ron had mentioned recently that he would like to wear his ring when he is in a more formal setting, but it is tough shape. Perhaps now was the time.
On Christmas Eve, I presented Ron with a new wedding ring. I had carefully disguised it in a large, beautifully wrapped package. I am sure I surprised him. Though he was disappointed that he couldn't wear it, as he had to be fitted, but he returned to the store the day after Christmas.
Earlier this week, his custom ring arrived. He has been wearing it for a few days, and admittedly, I notice it often, as it looks unfamiliar. Through the years, I have become accustomed to certain things in my marriage. I don't realize how familiar those ringless fingers are...until a new ring arrives.
I like it. Though this ring doesn't match mine anymore. I have gold, he has tungsten. Of course, we haven't had a photo of our hands since our wedding day, so it probably doesn't matter much anymore. Generally, our hands are wrapped around a little hand in safety.
Recently, I have been reading a novel entitled, "Recipes for a Perfect Marriage." I am not sure I love it (ironically...), but it is definitely thought provoking. It has prompted me to reflect on marriage. A union that two people attempt to navigate with all the variables of personality and life. The course is unique to each couple.
For example, our conversation last night...
"Ron, I have been thinking about characterization in the book I have been reading, and I think that it is important that each person have a flaw, as that makes them real."
"Mmmm." Eyes begin to glaze.
Undeterred, I persevere, "I also think that it is best to reveal that in dialogue, and I think I need to incorporate that into my writing."
"Really?"
"Yes, I think the mastery of classics is in the self revelation of the characters where the reader is allowed to draw her own conclusions. Look at Atticus in "To Kill a Mockingbird," his conversation with his kids and neighbors were pivotal to the book, and he had a flaw...he was too trusting."
"Huh."
"Plus I just realized that the conversation doesn't have to be two people talking in paragraphs or even complete sentences."
No response.
"Like us. Right now. I am talking and you are pretending to listen. That tells people all kinds of things about us. Let me see. What can you tell about my character in the last few minutes? And yours?
No comment. Full grin. Fully aware this is dangerous territory.
"What personality type did you say I was?"
"Expressive."
"And yours?"
"Amiable."
It is a perfect recipe.
Within a few weeks, Ron had to retire his ring for special occasions, as he was mining almost a mile beneath the surface at Homestake Mining Company. Not only did he manage to immediately bend the ring completely out of shape, but the dust and debris aged it significantly. Plus I worried about his safety in his working conditions. I really didn't want my new husband to be missing a finger.
As a little girl, I remember my mother's uncle was missing a finger, his ring finger. My father didn't wear his ring daily for that very reason. For me, the ring was not as important as the finger.
The years have passed, and Ron has seldom worn his ring, and as a result it has been misplaced a few times. I remain comfortable with his ringless hand and never really thought about it much.
On occasion the subject would arise with friends. One of Ron's friends had a ring tattooed on his finger. Another couple we recently dined with mentioned he would wear his ring no matter what... I paused. I wondered if my nonchalance toward the subject was appropriate. What was I missing that other women felt so strongly about?
As I contemplated these things, I realized that despite the symbolism of the ring, for me the heart of my marriage was there, in my heart. As a miner and diamond driller, Ron is a man who has worked hard for a living. His hard labor is driven by love for his family. I knew his ring was impractical and his hands were very valuable to us.
Recently, I was in the jewelry store looking for a gift when an off-handed remark made by the salesman led me to the wedding ring display. I didn't realize that men's wedding bands were now made in stainless steel, titanium, and tungsten carbide. I haven't been in the market recently :) Anyway, as I listened to his sales pitch, he assured me that tungsten would not bend and required a custom fitting because it could not be sized. According to him, it was also difficult to scratch. As he jabbered on about the benefits of the other metals, I eyed a neat ring for Ron. I liked the dark gray color of tungsten and the simple styling. He doesn't wear flashy clothes or don a suit daily. His hands are rough and calloused and frequently cuts and blemishes appear from work. A fine gold ring looks out of place...but this gray mineral, I liked. Ron had mentioned recently that he would like to wear his ring when he is in a more formal setting, but it is tough shape. Perhaps now was the time.
On Christmas Eve, I presented Ron with a new wedding ring. I had carefully disguised it in a large, beautifully wrapped package. I am sure I surprised him. Though he was disappointed that he couldn't wear it, as he had to be fitted, but he returned to the store the day after Christmas.
Earlier this week, his custom ring arrived. He has been wearing it for a few days, and admittedly, I notice it often, as it looks unfamiliar. Through the years, I have become accustomed to certain things in my marriage. I don't realize how familiar those ringless fingers are...until a new ring arrives.
I like it. Though this ring doesn't match mine anymore. I have gold, he has tungsten. Of course, we haven't had a photo of our hands since our wedding day, so it probably doesn't matter much anymore. Generally, our hands are wrapped around a little hand in safety.
Recently, I have been reading a novel entitled, "Recipes for a Perfect Marriage." I am not sure I love it (ironically...), but it is definitely thought provoking. It has prompted me to reflect on marriage. A union that two people attempt to navigate with all the variables of personality and life. The course is unique to each couple.
For example, our conversation last night...
"Ron, I have been thinking about characterization in the book I have been reading, and I think that it is important that each person have a flaw, as that makes them real."
"Mmmm." Eyes begin to glaze.
Undeterred, I persevere, "I also think that it is best to reveal that in dialogue, and I think I need to incorporate that into my writing."
"Really?"
"Yes, I think the mastery of classics is in the self revelation of the characters where the reader is allowed to draw her own conclusions. Look at Atticus in "To Kill a Mockingbird," his conversation with his kids and neighbors were pivotal to the book, and he had a flaw...he was too trusting."
"Huh."
"Plus I just realized that the conversation doesn't have to be two people talking in paragraphs or even complete sentences."
No response.
"Like us. Right now. I am talking and you are pretending to listen. That tells people all kinds of things about us. Let me see. What can you tell about my character in the last few minutes? And yours?
No comment. Full grin. Fully aware this is dangerous territory.
"What personality type did you say I was?"
"Expressive."
"And yours?"
"Amiable."
It is a perfect recipe.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
27
Once upon a time, long, long ago a beautiful little girl was born to a farmer and his wife. She would be the last of their children. As the youngest of four, she was precocious from the beginning. Her dark hair and flashing eyes demanded attention. Her zeal for exploration was exhausting, but a grand adventure for me, her big sister.
I remember holding her for the first time. I was enamored with her. Sleeping was not for her, however, as she feared she might miss something, so she would gaze at me with attentive eyes.
As she grew, I grew too. She taught me a lot.
Once, when she was barely nine months old, mom had asked me to keep an eye on her while she attended to something...I can't even remember what. As a teenager, I complied, however, I turned around a few minutes later, and I could not find her. Lisa! The panic filled my voice. Nothing. Not even a giggle. Where was this rambunctious little child? I dashed through the house searching to no avail. Suddenly, I stopped. I looked up, and from the top of the refrigerator she smiled down at me. My heart completely stopped. How did she manage to get up there?? And how would I get her down?? Instinctively, I reached for her and initially she wanted to play with me and dodge my arms. Terrified, I froze, afraid she would fall, but then she let me take her in my arms.
After she was safe, I gazed around, as I could not figure out how she had managed to accomplish this feat. Then I noticed a chair pushed up to the counter. She had climbed onto the counter...then the microwave...then the refrigerator. Little monkey.
Despite the years, this story still strikes terror into my heart. Eventually, I can grin about the vision, knowing the outcome now.
Of course, when she was in kindergarten and I was a senior in high school, I also remember taking her to school with me sometimes and walking her to her classroom. Then I went off to college, and I missed her. My most vivid memories of running and playing on the prairie are of her early years. Ironically, my own children have grown beyond that stage already.
That little girl has grown up. She is a mother now of three precocious youngsters (can you see me smiling?).
Another little girl has arrived on the scene, and I rest assured that sense of independence is being carried on by another generation.
The love of a good challenge is also present. As I watched Jadin scale the wall with zeal, I saw his mother...again.
Jagger captures his mother's gentle moments.
The cycle of life continues.
My memories are 27 years old today. Happy Birthday, little sis! I love you!
I remember holding her for the first time. I was enamored with her. Sleeping was not for her, however, as she feared she might miss something, so she would gaze at me with attentive eyes.
As she grew, I grew too. She taught me a lot.
Once, when she was barely nine months old, mom had asked me to keep an eye on her while she attended to something...I can't even remember what. As a teenager, I complied, however, I turned around a few minutes later, and I could not find her. Lisa! The panic filled my voice. Nothing. Not even a giggle. Where was this rambunctious little child? I dashed through the house searching to no avail. Suddenly, I stopped. I looked up, and from the top of the refrigerator she smiled down at me. My heart completely stopped. How did she manage to get up there?? And how would I get her down?? Instinctively, I reached for her and initially she wanted to play with me and dodge my arms. Terrified, I froze, afraid she would fall, but then she let me take her in my arms.
After she was safe, I gazed around, as I could not figure out how she had managed to accomplish this feat. Then I noticed a chair pushed up to the counter. She had climbed onto the counter...then the microwave...then the refrigerator. Little monkey.
Despite the years, this story still strikes terror into my heart. Eventually, I can grin about the vision, knowing the outcome now.
Of course, when she was in kindergarten and I was a senior in high school, I also remember taking her to school with me sometimes and walking her to her classroom. Then I went off to college, and I missed her. My most vivid memories of running and playing on the prairie are of her early years. Ironically, my own children have grown beyond that stage already.
That little girl has grown up. She is a mother now of three precocious youngsters (can you see me smiling?).
Another little girl has arrived on the scene, and I rest assured that sense of independence is being carried on by another generation.
The love of a good challenge is also present. As I watched Jadin scale the wall with zeal, I saw his mother...again.
Jagger captures his mother's gentle moments.
The cycle of life continues.
My memories are 27 years old today. Happy Birthday, little sis! I love you!
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Talented Tunnel Rat
Lots of snow just calls for digging tunnels.
Exploring the tunnels is equally important.
My little tunnel rat took last night off from the snow to recreate an art project he learned in school. I am impressed!
My cousin, Val, always is always posting clever decorating ideas on her blog, so I took some inspiration from her and found a special spot over the fireplace to display it!
Out of necessity, I used a wine bottle for a small fresh flower bouquet after Kiahra's Nutcracker performance (too many flowers...), and I love the result...even with it dried now! (An equally random decorating tip from someone who hasn't even unpacked all the pictures...though I think some photos on the mantle under the snowflake would look great...)
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Grandma's Birthday
On Sunday mornings, I mandate the music on the way to church. Johnny Cash's last CD, My Mother's Hymn Book, plays. It is just Johnny and his guitar. Simple. Powerful. His voice distinctive as ever, but older.
It is the CD he was the most proud of recording in his life, "I am so glad I got that done." The album cover shows his hand and the tattered pages of his mother's hymn book filled with all the hymns she played as she faced life. The songs he grew up with. The songs he sang as he picked cotton. The songs he comforted himself with when his father raged. The songs he sought out when his brother died. The songs of facing the strife of life with God's strength and courage.
Today a lump filled my throat as I listened, silently (unusual, I know). As I gazed out at the tree-covered hillsides freshly bathed in snow. The sun shone through the light cloud cover creating a soft ball of light causing the falling snowflakes to twinkle in their dance to the ground. Unspeakable beauty.
For today is Grandma's birthday. As I watch the twinkling world around me, I wonder what this day looked like when she arrived in 1916 near Vale, SD. My head tells me she is resting peacefully with a majestic winter view in Whitewood, SD surrounded by her family, but today my heart is so sad.
It is Sunday morning. Every Sunday morning of my childhood was spent in fellowship with my grandparents. Afterwards, my Grandmother would always envelope me in a tight hug...no formal handshake for her. She would look in my eyes and inquire how I was. The warmth of a Grandmother's arms on a cold winter morning could make it melt away in an instant.
The quietness of Sunday morning broken by the sound of hymns "...Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling you...Come home, come home; ye who are weary come home..." And the tears roll in time with the familiar lyrics that I know are so true.
So many birthdays were shared with Grandma throughout my life. As child I loved this day because I knew Grandpa would take Grandma out to eat for a special treat that she loved...pizza. She would order her favorite with encouragement, super supreme. I loved sharing this with her. Even years later when I was working at Pizza Hut, she would come in late, after the lunch rush and after finishing her grocery shopping to say hi. Sometimes I could sit with her on my break and we would talk quietly and laugh often in the familiar red booth. I loved the sound of her laugh. I can still hear it...
"Just as I am..." Grandma always had a hymn book sitting on the piano. I remember a green one from long ago, but then I also remember a brown one. As I learned to play the piano, I looked forward to the day when I could play from that book for my grandparents. One of the first hymns I learned, I can still play. "Lord, now take me and make me Thine own, Thy precious blood for my sins doth atone; Trusting thy strength..." I know I played this hymn so often Grandma had to have grown weary, but she always smiled and encouraged me to keep playing.
I haven't sat down to the piano for a year or so, as I let my daughter play these days, but as I think about that familiar ol' piano that now sits in my living room, I remember an old hymn book is still in the piano bench. I think it is the green one which I tucked away at the bottom, safe from little fingers...trying to preserve the tattered pages. Today, I decide it needs to rest upon the piano again. I am sure my rusty rendition of my first hymn will make Grandma smile...
Ironically, we took Grandma to pizza late last summer for our last visit. Fourteen of us gathered around her, and despite the chaos, I think she enjoyed the outing. She had grown more weary since our last visit, and it was hard.
Hymns touch my soul and comfort me, as they did Johnny. It is hard for some to understand how an old man could be most proud of his last recording when he had an amazing musical career, but it isn't about the success, it is about the heart. The heart that endures the strife of life and smiles again.
Today, we ate pizza, for Grandma.
Postscript: When I awoke today, I was postive that it was January 9, but I have reluctantly been convinced otherwise, and it is even at the top of my entry...January 10. I stand corrected and acknowledge I am actually a day late for Grandma's birthday. However, I have decided to leave my post because it is from the heart today. Please forgive me.
It is the CD he was the most proud of recording in his life, "I am so glad I got that done." The album cover shows his hand and the tattered pages of his mother's hymn book filled with all the hymns she played as she faced life. The songs he grew up with. The songs he sang as he picked cotton. The songs he comforted himself with when his father raged. The songs he sought out when his brother died. The songs of facing the strife of life with God's strength and courage.
Today a lump filled my throat as I listened, silently (unusual, I know). As I gazed out at the tree-covered hillsides freshly bathed in snow. The sun shone through the light cloud cover creating a soft ball of light causing the falling snowflakes to twinkle in their dance to the ground. Unspeakable beauty.
For today is Grandma's birthday. As I watch the twinkling world around me, I wonder what this day looked like when she arrived in 1916 near Vale, SD. My head tells me she is resting peacefully with a majestic winter view in Whitewood, SD surrounded by her family, but today my heart is so sad.
It is Sunday morning. Every Sunday morning of my childhood was spent in fellowship with my grandparents. Afterwards, my Grandmother would always envelope me in a tight hug...no formal handshake for her. She would look in my eyes and inquire how I was. The warmth of a Grandmother's arms on a cold winter morning could make it melt away in an instant.
The quietness of Sunday morning broken by the sound of hymns "...Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling you...Come home, come home; ye who are weary come home..." And the tears roll in time with the familiar lyrics that I know are so true.
So many birthdays were shared with Grandma throughout my life. As child I loved this day because I knew Grandpa would take Grandma out to eat for a special treat that she loved...pizza. She would order her favorite with encouragement, super supreme. I loved sharing this with her. Even years later when I was working at Pizza Hut, she would come in late, after the lunch rush and after finishing her grocery shopping to say hi. Sometimes I could sit with her on my break and we would talk quietly and laugh often in the familiar red booth. I loved the sound of her laugh. I can still hear it...
"Just as I am..." Grandma always had a hymn book sitting on the piano. I remember a green one from long ago, but then I also remember a brown one. As I learned to play the piano, I looked forward to the day when I could play from that book for my grandparents. One of the first hymns I learned, I can still play. "Lord, now take me and make me Thine own, Thy precious blood for my sins doth atone; Trusting thy strength..." I know I played this hymn so often Grandma had to have grown weary, but she always smiled and encouraged me to keep playing.
I haven't sat down to the piano for a year or so, as I let my daughter play these days, but as I think about that familiar ol' piano that now sits in my living room, I remember an old hymn book is still in the piano bench. I think it is the green one which I tucked away at the bottom, safe from little fingers...trying to preserve the tattered pages. Today, I decide it needs to rest upon the piano again. I am sure my rusty rendition of my first hymn will make Grandma smile...
Ironically, we took Grandma to pizza late last summer for our last visit. Fourteen of us gathered around her, and despite the chaos, I think she enjoyed the outing. She had grown more weary since our last visit, and it was hard.
Hymns touch my soul and comfort me, as they did Johnny. It is hard for some to understand how an old man could be most proud of his last recording when he had an amazing musical career, but it isn't about the success, it is about the heart. The heart that endures the strife of life and smiles again.
Today, we ate pizza, for Grandma.
Postscript: When I awoke today, I was postive that it was January 9, but I have reluctantly been convinced otherwise, and it is even at the top of my entry...January 10. I stand corrected and acknowledge I am actually a day late for Grandma's birthday. However, I have decided to leave my post because it is from the heart today. Please forgive me.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Ice
A winter wonderland creates masterpieces in nature, of which none is more tempting than the icicle. Our recent storm resulted in an abundance of icicles which picturesquely hang high above from our eaves; however, a few in the back are extra long, and a creative, brave big brother managed to break off an icicle for his little sister.
Delighted, she succumbed to temptation.
Delighted, she succumbed to temptation.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Winter Weather Conditions
Snow day!
Terror grips my heart like a horror movie. I gasp for breath. Paralyzed with fear, my body is frozen and unforgiving, as I gaze outside at the branch that has snapped off in the strong winds of the night under the pressure of the heavy snow. Breathe. Bend. Flexibility is the key here. Gradually feeling and mental function return as I grapple with reality.
Currently, it is 11 degrees and lightly snowing. A couple more inches of snow have fallen overnight bringing total accumulations to possibly 8 inches. The wind is blowing bringing temperatures to -4. The wind chill is not the danger here when the wind blows, but rather the risk of electrical outages as the branches fall. Yesterday the power went out at the elementary school at 2:45 leaving teachers to supervise in the dark for 45 minutes before buses departed.
The distinctive beeping of the snowplow is heard before coming into my view, as it generously sprays the roads with chemical to alleviate the icy conditions; however, the low temperatures reduce the effectiveness leaving those delightfully narrow, steep, winding roads icy and unpredictable creating perilous conditions for buses.
Beep, Beep, Beep. The warning system echoes down the street. Perhaps I should install one for my children’s safety. A slow beep indicates Mom is nearing. A rapid beep indicates system over load and orders will begin rapidly spraying, except the chemical reaction is expected to occur immediately.
Now what was so bad about that school bus cruising down the icy hills of Pittsburgh again?? Ah, yes, my desire to be somebody’s mum.
As I turn from the window, I smile at the irresistible, overflowing enthusiasm of my children. What makes the prospect of no school so cool? No more pencils. No more books. No more teacher’s dirty looks.
With a sly grin, I decide I can endure…though my kids will also endure a few chores before snuggling in for a warm day of fun…
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Mum
Last spring, as I snuggled between my girls in the first row of the balcony overlooking the Broadway production, Billy Elliot, my heart was filled with anticipation for their first performance as we celebrated their birthdays. Nikela carefully studied the small glimpse she had into the orchestra pit, as she waited and observed the musicians warming up and identified all the instruments that would create the music of the evening. Her anticipation made me smile. Through her eyes I noticed new things. Kiahra's focus was on the stage, and her enthusiasm for the performance and I knew her dream of dancing on the big stage someday was unspoken this evening, but in her eyes I could see her dream.
Yesterday, as I was thinking about this evening, I popped in the Billy Elliot performance CD. I enjoy the entire CD, but the song, "The Letter" stayed with me all day...and night.
"The Letter" is a musical number that is based on a letter Billy's mother wrote to him for him to read when he is eighteen, but Billy has already opened it and holds it close to his heart. One night he shares this letter with his dance teacher, Mrs. Wilkinson. In her handwriting, his mum reveals she is sorry she missed his growing, his stomping and shouting, and telling him off. She assures him that she was always there and with him through everything. "Know that I will always be proud to have known you, proud you were mine...you must promise me this, in everything you do always be yourself, Billy, and you always will be true."
The voices of Mrs. Wilkinson, his dead mum, and Billy sing this number. The poignancy made my heart tight and watching the young Billy at age 11 sing his mother's words, the tears streamed silently down my face, I felt his mother's words in my heart. When the number is finished, Mrs. Wilkinson comments with tears in her eyes, she must have been a really special woman.
Billy replies in his lilting British accent, "She was just my mum."
The honest voice of a child with love in his heart, but the reality in his mind is powerful. Billy knew his mom was special to him, but she was just his mum. This line gives me chills. I love it. To be a mum to a child is a great gift, and though I am acutely aware that uncertainty fills my role in what the future will hold, I cherish the knowledge that Billy matter-of-factly felt his mother's presence in his heart.
Motherhood is bittersweet with the challenges of navigating a child's perspective and behavior, and as a result, I enjoy the sentiment of the words of Billy's mother, as she misses the stomping and telling him off, too which part of being a "real mum."
Seldom a day passes that I don't think of the recent loss of my friend and my grandmother...and I think that their greatest roles were "just being a mum." Humbly they lived, not with greatness, but with the humility and love of a mother. They were special to me. I know they are always with me in my heart, and I carry them as closely as Billy does his.
Someday I hope that I will "just be a mum."
Yesterday, as I was thinking about this evening, I popped in the Billy Elliot performance CD. I enjoy the entire CD, but the song, "The Letter" stayed with me all day...and night.
"The Letter" is a musical number that is based on a letter Billy's mother wrote to him for him to read when he is eighteen, but Billy has already opened it and holds it close to his heart. One night he shares this letter with his dance teacher, Mrs. Wilkinson. In her handwriting, his mum reveals she is sorry she missed his growing, his stomping and shouting, and telling him off. She assures him that she was always there and with him through everything. "Know that I will always be proud to have known you, proud you were mine...you must promise me this, in everything you do always be yourself, Billy, and you always will be true."
The voices of Mrs. Wilkinson, his dead mum, and Billy sing this number. The poignancy made my heart tight and watching the young Billy at age 11 sing his mother's words, the tears streamed silently down my face, I felt his mother's words in my heart. When the number is finished, Mrs. Wilkinson comments with tears in her eyes, she must have been a really special woman.
Billy replies in his lilting British accent, "She was just my mum."
The honest voice of a child with love in his heart, but the reality in his mind is powerful. Billy knew his mom was special to him, but she was just his mum. This line gives me chills. I love it. To be a mum to a child is a great gift, and though I am acutely aware that uncertainty fills my role in what the future will hold, I cherish the knowledge that Billy matter-of-factly felt his mother's presence in his heart.
Motherhood is bittersweet with the challenges of navigating a child's perspective and behavior, and as a result, I enjoy the sentiment of the words of Billy's mother, as she misses the stomping and telling him off, too which part of being a "real mum."
Seldom a day passes that I don't think of the recent loss of my friend and my grandmother...and I think that their greatest roles were "just being a mum." Humbly they lived, not with greatness, but with the humility and love of a mother. They were special to me. I know they are always with me in my heart, and I carry them as closely as Billy does his.
Someday I hope that I will "just be a mum."
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
More Ben...Not Roethlisberger, Franklin
Comments:
parks3 said...
Not so fast... I believe Mr. Franklin had an affair (like 1728) with a woman that resulted in the birth of his illegitimate son William. So I guess he probably rests soundly after all! hee hee
January 5, 2010 11:58 AM
Lori Parks-Klinghagen said...
How could I forget that?? Sheesh...you are right, he is resting peacefully! Though I am grateful he stopped at one :) (child that is...I won't presume to know anything about anything else...)
January 5, 2010 1:29 PM
As I reflected on my sister's comment yesterday, I was compelled to determine the time/age at which Benjamin Franklin created his list of virtues and kept his daily log. I was curious about when his illegitimate son arrived within this time frame.
As I was seeking information, I uncovered a newspaper, The Vancouver Sun, which featured an article about him entitled, "Benjamin Franklin, Self-Improvement Guru", which was published yesterday.
This article prompted me to consider trying out journalism. All this time I have questioned how my random correlations could be of any interest to anyone? Then I uncover an equally random reflection. It gives me hope.
Anyway, back to the time frame within Ben's life that he created his virtuous list. Apparently at the age of 20 (1726) he started this project, and his son arrived 2 year later. Therefore, my initial theory that he had his son young and needed to make changes to his life is not applicable. Rather he set the standard and then failed to remain chaste. Interesting. However, he was not married during this time period unlike the others I previously mentioned.
As I continued to seek information about Ben, I uncovered an article written by Walter Isaacson for Time entitled "Citizen Ben's 7 Great Virtues." The following excerpt is an insightful look into Ben's perspective a few years later.
"Franklin's favorite device for poking fun at social mores and political outrages was the hoax. Unlike the frauds perpetrated by Stephen Glass and Jayson Blair, Franklin's satires were meant to be playful and to make a moral point, although they did occasionally deceive. "The Speech of Polly Baker," for example, purports to recount the speech of a young woman on trial for having a fifth illegitimate child. Franklin, who had fathered an illegitimate child but taken responsibility for him, was particularly scathing about the double standard that subjects her, but not the men who had sex with her, to humiliation. As Polly says, "I readily consented to the only proposal of marriage that ever was made me, which was when I was a virgin; but too easily confiding in the person's sincerity that made it, I unhappily lost my own honor by trusting his; for he got me with child, and then forsook me. That very person you all know; he is now become a magistrate of this county." By doing her duty to bring children into the world, despite the fact that no one would marry her, and being willing to do so despite the public disgrace she argues that she deserved, "in my humble opinion, instead of a whipping, to have a statue erected to my memory." The court, Franklin wrote, was so moved by the speech that she was acquitted, and one of the judges married her the next day. Only years later, after the account was reprinted in both America and England, did Franklin reveal it was a hoax. As Franklin knew, humor was the gentlest yet most powerful way to make political points, and America would always be strongest when it was confident enough, and self-aware enough, to laugh at itself."
Fascinating approach to a subject Ben had personal experience with during a time when it was harshly judged, though obviously the judgement towards him would have been milder, but his willingness to acknowledge the discrepancy rather than just keep quiet gives me a glimpse of his character.
This also reveals Ben as a pivotal writer in early American history. His astute attention to detail makes his writing a bit dry at times, like his wit, but nonetheless important and under appreciated by most students.
Perhaps, I should revisit some of his writings, as, frankly (wonder if that has roots in Ben too, as this was often his approach...), I didn't enjoy him much before beyond his aphorisms.
"If you would not be forgotten
As soon as you are dead and rotten,
Either write things worthy reading,
Or do things worth the writing."-Benjamin Franklin
parks3 said...
Not so fast... I believe Mr. Franklin had an affair (like 1728) with a woman that resulted in the birth of his illegitimate son William. So I guess he probably rests soundly after all! hee hee
January 5, 2010 11:58 AM
Lori Parks-Klinghagen said...
How could I forget that?? Sheesh...you are right, he is resting peacefully! Though I am grateful he stopped at one :) (child that is...I won't presume to know anything about anything else...)
January 5, 2010 1:29 PM
As I reflected on my sister's comment yesterday, I was compelled to determine the time/age at which Benjamin Franklin created his list of virtues and kept his daily log. I was curious about when his illegitimate son arrived within this time frame.
As I was seeking information, I uncovered a newspaper, The Vancouver Sun, which featured an article about him entitled, "Benjamin Franklin, Self-Improvement Guru", which was published yesterday.
This article prompted me to consider trying out journalism. All this time I have questioned how my random correlations could be of any interest to anyone? Then I uncover an equally random reflection. It gives me hope.
Anyway, back to the time frame within Ben's life that he created his virtuous list. Apparently at the age of 20 (1726) he started this project, and his son arrived 2 year later. Therefore, my initial theory that he had his son young and needed to make changes to his life is not applicable. Rather he set the standard and then failed to remain chaste. Interesting. However, he was not married during this time period unlike the others I previously mentioned.
As I continued to seek information about Ben, I uncovered an article written by Walter Isaacson for Time entitled "Citizen Ben's 7 Great Virtues." The following excerpt is an insightful look into Ben's perspective a few years later.
"Franklin's favorite device for poking fun at social mores and political outrages was the hoax. Unlike the frauds perpetrated by Stephen Glass and Jayson Blair, Franklin's satires were meant to be playful and to make a moral point, although they did occasionally deceive. "The Speech of Polly Baker," for example, purports to recount the speech of a young woman on trial for having a fifth illegitimate child. Franklin, who had fathered an illegitimate child but taken responsibility for him, was particularly scathing about the double standard that subjects her, but not the men who had sex with her, to humiliation. As Polly says, "I readily consented to the only proposal of marriage that ever was made me, which was when I was a virgin; but too easily confiding in the person's sincerity that made it, I unhappily lost my own honor by trusting his; for he got me with child, and then forsook me. That very person you all know; he is now become a magistrate of this county." By doing her duty to bring children into the world, despite the fact that no one would marry her, and being willing to do so despite the public disgrace she argues that she deserved, "in my humble opinion, instead of a whipping, to have a statue erected to my memory." The court, Franklin wrote, was so moved by the speech that she was acquitted, and one of the judges married her the next day. Only years later, after the account was reprinted in both America and England, did Franklin reveal it was a hoax. As Franklin knew, humor was the gentlest yet most powerful way to make political points, and America would always be strongest when it was confident enough, and self-aware enough, to laugh at itself."
Fascinating approach to a subject Ben had personal experience with during a time when it was harshly judged, though obviously the judgement towards him would have been milder, but his willingness to acknowledge the discrepancy rather than just keep quiet gives me a glimpse of his character.
This also reveals Ben as a pivotal writer in early American history. His astute attention to detail makes his writing a bit dry at times, like his wit, but nonetheless important and under appreciated by most students.
Perhaps, I should revisit some of his writings, as, frankly (wonder if that has roots in Ben too, as this was often his approach...), I didn't enjoy him much before beyond his aphorisms.
"If you would not be forgotten
As soon as you are dead and rotten,
Either write things worthy reading,
Or do things worth the writing."-Benjamin Franklin
Monday, January 4, 2010
Virtues
Big flakes swirling gently to the ground fill the sky. Picture perfect, as I gaze outside enjoying a hot cup of tea after putting the last of the kids on the bus. Grateful that despite the chaos of the morning our school routine has returned.
Catapulted into 2010 with the same speed I left 2009, I am trying to pause and set goals for the year.
1. Enjoy my family and friends...even when the milk spills.
2. Write frequently. Start a book.
3. Appreciate life's gifts of health and sore muscles...
4. With strength embrace the challenges because that is part of living too...
5. Pause to recall special memories, as life really is only as busy as I allow.
6. Share stories with my children, as lessons are more palatable this way.
7. Laugh.
Benjamin Franklin would be disappointed in me, as my list is too short and lacks detail, but it helps me navigate more proficiently without becoming overwhelmed. Additionally, for the record, he was unable to achieve his goal of perfection despite obsessive attention to detail and documenting it carefully.
Nonetheless, Franklin's life is impressive. Interestingly, he left Boston and arrived in Philadelphia at 17. He liked Pennsylvania, and here I pause to think about the irony that he came to mind today, as I pause to reflect on Pennsylvania ground myself.
Perhaps, Franklin's list of virtues may merit thought today.
1. TEMPERANCE. Eat not to dullness; drink not to elevation
2. SILENCE. Speak not what may benefit others or yourself; avoid trifling conversation.
3.ORDER. Let all your things have their places; let each part of your business have its time.
4. RESOLUTION. Resolve to perform what you ought; perform without fail what you resolve.
5. FRUGALITY. Make no expense but to do good to others or yourself; i.e. waste nothing.
6. INDUSTRY. Lose no time; be always employed in something useful; cut off all unnecessary actions.
7. SINCERITY. Use no hurtful deceit; think innocently and justly, and, if you speak, speak accordingly.
8. JUSTICE. Wrong none by doing injuries, or omitting the benefits that are your duty.
9. MODERATION. Avoid extremes; forbear resenting injuries so much as you think they deserve.
10. CLEANLINESS. Tolerate no uncleanliness in body, clothes, or habitation.
11. TRANQUILITY. Be not disturbed at trifles, or at accidents common or unavoidable.
12. CHASTITY. Rarely use venery but for health or offspring, never to dullness, weakness, or the injury of your own or another's peace or reputation.
13. HUMILITY. Imitate Jesus and Socrates.
As I have been working hard on temperance for the past seven months, I was feeling like it was a good time to reflect on Franklin's insight, and then the second one trips me up immediately...silence. Wow! That is tough though I understand the merit, and I do try to avoid gossip or judgement in my conversations, but ensuring that when I speak I am benefiting others or myself is bit trickier. Perhaps I should add that to my list.
As I type and reflect on Franklin's virtues, I realize that centuries later the wisdom is still just as applicable to our lives, and maybe my quick assessment of Franklin's failures is inconsequential, but the striving to journey with virtue is momentous. I need to reserve my assessment of success not on what wasn't accomplished, but what was accomplished.
Irony arrives again, as the DJ just commented that Tiger Woods was named athlete of the year, but he was left wondering if he would have been selected if the decision hadn't been made several months ago. Twelve really tripped Tiger up, though he is far from alone. The politicians that have fallen in recent years probably made Franklin roll over in his grave in light of the seriousness in which he undertook his public service.
As I contemplate this, I realize that as I journey through life, I will strive to do so with virtue...for my children...for my family...for my country...for my world.
Works Cited
Franklin, Benjamin. The Autobiography. The American Tradition in Literature. Eds. George Perkins, Sculley Bradley, Richmond Croom Beatty, and E. Hudson Long. New York: McGraw-Hill Publishing Company, 1990. 303. Print.
Catapulted into 2010 with the same speed I left 2009, I am trying to pause and set goals for the year.
1. Enjoy my family and friends...even when the milk spills.
2. Write frequently. Start a book.
3. Appreciate life's gifts of health and sore muscles...
4. With strength embrace the challenges because that is part of living too...
5. Pause to recall special memories, as life really is only as busy as I allow.
6. Share stories with my children, as lessons are more palatable this way.
7. Laugh.
Benjamin Franklin would be disappointed in me, as my list is too short and lacks detail, but it helps me navigate more proficiently without becoming overwhelmed. Additionally, for the record, he was unable to achieve his goal of perfection despite obsessive attention to detail and documenting it carefully.
Nonetheless, Franklin's life is impressive. Interestingly, he left Boston and arrived in Philadelphia at 17. He liked Pennsylvania, and here I pause to think about the irony that he came to mind today, as I pause to reflect on Pennsylvania ground myself.
Perhaps, Franklin's list of virtues may merit thought today.
1. TEMPERANCE. Eat not to dullness; drink not to elevation
2. SILENCE. Speak not what may benefit others or yourself; avoid trifling conversation.
3.ORDER. Let all your things have their places; let each part of your business have its time.
4. RESOLUTION. Resolve to perform what you ought; perform without fail what you resolve.
5. FRUGALITY. Make no expense but to do good to others or yourself; i.e. waste nothing.
6. INDUSTRY. Lose no time; be always employed in something useful; cut off all unnecessary actions.
7. SINCERITY. Use no hurtful deceit; think innocently and justly, and, if you speak, speak accordingly.
8. JUSTICE. Wrong none by doing injuries, or omitting the benefits that are your duty.
9. MODERATION. Avoid extremes; forbear resenting injuries so much as you think they deserve.
10. CLEANLINESS. Tolerate no uncleanliness in body, clothes, or habitation.
11. TRANQUILITY. Be not disturbed at trifles, or at accidents common or unavoidable.
12. CHASTITY. Rarely use venery but for health or offspring, never to dullness, weakness, or the injury of your own or another's peace or reputation.
13. HUMILITY. Imitate Jesus and Socrates.
As I have been working hard on temperance for the past seven months, I was feeling like it was a good time to reflect on Franklin's insight, and then the second one trips me up immediately...silence. Wow! That is tough though I understand the merit, and I do try to avoid gossip or judgement in my conversations, but ensuring that when I speak I am benefiting others or myself is bit trickier. Perhaps I should add that to my list.
As I type and reflect on Franklin's virtues, I realize that centuries later the wisdom is still just as applicable to our lives, and maybe my quick assessment of Franklin's failures is inconsequential, but the striving to journey with virtue is momentous. I need to reserve my assessment of success not on what wasn't accomplished, but what was accomplished.
Irony arrives again, as the DJ just commented that Tiger Woods was named athlete of the year, but he was left wondering if he would have been selected if the decision hadn't been made several months ago. Twelve really tripped Tiger up, though he is far from alone. The politicians that have fallen in recent years probably made Franklin roll over in his grave in light of the seriousness in which he undertook his public service.
As I contemplate this, I realize that as I journey through life, I will strive to do so with virtue...for my children...for my family...for my country...for my world.
Works Cited
Franklin, Benjamin. The Autobiography. The American Tradition in Literature. Eds. George Perkins, Sculley Bradley, Richmond Croom Beatty, and E. Hudson Long. New York: McGraw-Hill Publishing Company, 1990. 303. Print.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Happy New Year!
As another year came to a close, we were surprised with a visit a few days ago, as my cousin, Greg, arrived in our neck of the woods, and we coerced him into stopping for a visit in Pittsburgh. Of course, this requires some local adventures.
Lunch at Primanti Bros. is a unique experience, as it is located in Pittsburgh's historic market district, The Strip District, which has a rich history as it lies along the river, and in the early days barges and boats would deliver all the goods to the city. Then the truckers would arrive to disperse the goods throughout the city and countryside. Thus, a good market emerged selling sandwiches to the truckers, as they started their daily routes. One man sold sandwiches from his cart, and eventually opened a restaurant with his brothers to meet the demand. One of his customers shared some potatoes with him, and he fried them up and added them to the sandwich...which is unique still today, as coleslaw and fries are automatically added to each sandwich unless requested "naked".
This was an important stop in our tour of Pittsburgh, as Greg is a truck driver, so we gathered in the little restaurant with the distinctive brick walls which are very cool on a brisk winter day. The staff was very friendly and fast...perhaps a continued tradition of keeping busy people rolling. This gave us the opportunity to gather some of Penn Mac's cheese and meat for our holiday. Yummmmm. The Strip is an amazing experience, as it has the essence of the open markets on the streets of NYC. However, the aroma of fresh baking bread also called us into Mancini's.
Next, we boarded the Monongahela Incline. In 1870 it was built to help provide housing opportunities for the coal families at the top of Mt. Washington or "Coal Hill". The steep terrain made travel between areas difficult, so the German immigrants proposed creating inclines on the hill. As the kids randomly documented this journey, this photo shows how steep it is; however, the road below is not even half way down the hill.
From the top, the view of the cityscape is great!
And one must not forget to notice the Steeler's stadium...
Or the great companionship!
Or the charming neighborhood.
The Allegheny and Monongahela Rivers join to form the Ohio River at the heart of Pittsburgh.
Thus bridges link the city together for driving convenience, or in my case...complete confusion. A glimpse of a few of these fine bridges.
Though we wrapped up this first day with a visit to Sarri's for some sweet treats, as it is a delightful little store and ice-cream parlor filled with their fresh chocolates and candy.
Yesterday we visited the Carnegie Museum of Natural History. Find Greg.
I gave the kids the camera to document our journey, and I love their perspective, so as we begin our new year together, I wanted to share their insight into Pittsburgh. May you find balance in the year ahead!
Lunch at Primanti Bros. is a unique experience, as it is located in Pittsburgh's historic market district, The Strip District, which has a rich history as it lies along the river, and in the early days barges and boats would deliver all the goods to the city. Then the truckers would arrive to disperse the goods throughout the city and countryside. Thus, a good market emerged selling sandwiches to the truckers, as they started their daily routes. One man sold sandwiches from his cart, and eventually opened a restaurant with his brothers to meet the demand. One of his customers shared some potatoes with him, and he fried them up and added them to the sandwich...which is unique still today, as coleslaw and fries are automatically added to each sandwich unless requested "naked".
This was an important stop in our tour of Pittsburgh, as Greg is a truck driver, so we gathered in the little restaurant with the distinctive brick walls which are very cool on a brisk winter day. The staff was very friendly and fast...perhaps a continued tradition of keeping busy people rolling. This gave us the opportunity to gather some of Penn Mac's cheese and meat for our holiday. Yummmmm. The Strip is an amazing experience, as it has the essence of the open markets on the streets of NYC. However, the aroma of fresh baking bread also called us into Mancini's.
Next, we boarded the Monongahela Incline. In 1870 it was built to help provide housing opportunities for the coal families at the top of Mt. Washington or "Coal Hill". The steep terrain made travel between areas difficult, so the German immigrants proposed creating inclines on the hill. As the kids randomly documented this journey, this photo shows how steep it is; however, the road below is not even half way down the hill.
From the top, the view of the cityscape is great!
And one must not forget to notice the Steeler's stadium...
Or the great companionship!
Or the charming neighborhood.
The Allegheny and Monongahela Rivers join to form the Ohio River at the heart of Pittsburgh.
Thus bridges link the city together for driving convenience, or in my case...complete confusion. A glimpse of a few of these fine bridges.
Though we wrapped up this first day with a visit to Sarri's for some sweet treats, as it is a delightful little store and ice-cream parlor filled with their fresh chocolates and candy.
Yesterday we visited the Carnegie Museum of Natural History. Find Greg.
I gave the kids the camera to document our journey, and I love their perspective, so as we begin our new year together, I wanted to share their insight into Pittsburgh. May you find balance in the year ahead!
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