Over-Communication?

Scott and I were talking the other day about the possibility that we as a culture may be over-communicating. The expression TMI (too much information) has been around for a while, but that's only part of it. [I must confess, posting a blog about linoleum -- that's symptomatic as well. Who cares what I think of linoleum? I hardly care myself!]

So how did we get to this place as a society where we dial home to ask which brand name of canned vegetables to buy? What would happen if we bought the wrong brand, or even the wrong type of vegetable, or if we forgot to buy vegetables altogether? And how did previous generations survive without being able place calls from the grocery aisle or the stoplight or the public restroom? It boggles the mind how interdependent we have made ourselves as people.

I remember an uncle of mine back in the 70s who, in an act of daring independence, let his telephone ring. It was shocking to me then, even more shocking now. He simply didn't answer the phone if he didn't feel like answering it. Caller ID and voice mail had not been invented yet to satisfy his curiosity about who had called. And it wasn't like he was doing something important -- just sitting in his recliner with the phone ringing in the kitchen. Ah, let it ring! He was content.

A few years ago, two television stations in our area switched national affiliation from CBS to NBC and vice versa. This event was promo-ed months in advance with television ads featuring a 1-800 number to dial if viewers needed further assistance. Scott and I found this hilarious! Even today when we are momentarily confused about which station something is on we turn to each other and ask, 'What's that 800 number again?'

A more recent phenomenon is the switch from analog to digital television and the number of corresponding PSAs they've made about it. If one day in February you turn your television on and it doesn't work, the world will not come to an end. You may decide to investigate why it doesn't work and if you do you'll find out that you need a digital receiver. On the other hand, you may give up on television altogether and that wouldn't be such a terrible thing either.

Blogs themselves are a growing part of the problem. Does anyone really need to know half of the information presented online? Of course not. People survived for thousands of years without knowing much about anything that happened outside their own four walls.

We are being barraged with superfluous information and unsolicitied opinions on everything from how to prepare a succulent turkey to how not to dress to how to be happy...on and on and on. It may come to the point where in order to remain human beings and not become automatons we will have to turn off all electronic devices (the cell phones, the computers, the radios and TVs, DVRs, CDs -- the whole alphabet) and just BREATHE.

The Six Levels of Morality

I've been reading a book called "Teach Like Your Hair's on Fire" about a fifth grade teacher in an inner city school in California. He's won lots of awards for elevating his students artistically with Shakespeare, Vivaldi...etc. His students improve by leaps and bounds in his classroom, which is really a sanctuary.

Anyway, on the first day of class he reviews with them these Six Levels of Morality:

I behave morally because...

Level 1 - I don't want to get in trouble.

Level 2 - I want a reward.

Level 3 - I want to please someone (a teacher or a parent, usually)

Level 4 - I obey the rules.

Level 5 - I am considerate of others.

Level 6 - I have high moral standards and live by a personal code.

He points out that behaving morally is always a good thing, but it is better to be motivated by the higher levels than the lower levels.

Anyway, this has me thinking about my own personal motivations -- why I do the things I do. I've always been good at staying out of trouble, jumping through hoops to earn rewards, trying to please others (even people who are impossible to please.) [He points out that people who live at Level 3 are generally miserable.] I have always been a bit of a stickler for obeying the rules, so I'm covered on Level 4. In general, I strive diligently to be considerate of others (see Level 3). But I'd really like to live at Level 6. That's something to think about with each decision I make.

After the Unibomber published his personal manifesto in the New York Times, Scott joked that if I ever found him writing his, I should have him psychologically evaluated. The writing of a personal manifesto seems to portend bad behavior with the manifesto itself written to justify it.

A personal code does not have to be written in a manifesto -- in fact, I don't really think it can be. A personal code is 'manifest' in one's attitude and behavior.

In Praise of Linoleum

I know this is an odd topic for Christmas time (maybe it's the stress...?), and I know it's un-cool to say this, but I LOVE LINOLEUM. (You know, vinyl floor covering as opposed to wood laminate and tile floors.) I suppose I like true wood floors the best, weathered and waxed, -- but what is so wonderful about cold, breakable tile and grout and so awful about shiny, clean linoleum?

When we built our house twelve years ago, we could only afford to upgrade the carpeting and add some bay windows. The entryway, kitchen and two finished baths had to have vinyl flooring -- we couldn't afford to upgrade those areas then. Several years ago we finished five additional rooms in our house and went with 12" travertine tile and granite, which looks very nice, but I could not bring myself to rip out the linoleum in our older areas. Why?

* Because it still looks good -- 12 years later! (Maybe I am delusional about this. That's a possibility.)
* Because it's easy to clean and feels clean when it is clean.
* Because it's hypoallergenic.
* Because it's anti-static. It actually repels dust, unlike grout which becomes imbedded with it.
* Because dishes are less likely to break when they crash on a linoleum floor.
* Because tile cracks and grout blackens, but linoleum endures (apparently forever).
* Because linoleum absorbs the temperature of the home better than stone tile, which is always too cold.
* Because linoleum cushions your feet and as an added bonus -- it's quiet!

I think ugly linoleum gave it a bad name. There have been dog-ugly linoleum patters for decades! (Think 1970s).

I don't follow home decorating trends enough to know what ruined linoleum's reputation, but I just Googled "flooring trends 2008" and learned that linoleum is making a resurgence in the marketplace (they called it a 'Renaissance'), proving once again that if you're out of style long enough, eventually you'll be in style again. (The "even-broken-clocks-are-right-twice-a-day" theory.) Turns out that linoleum is the environmentally friendly choice.

Until I can bring myself to install weathered, waxed hard wood floors, which, admittedly, are more aesthetically pleasing, I will continue to enjoy my four patches of linoleum. It's my little rebellion.

Nothing to Say Part II

So it’s been a week since I last blogged, and two weeks since I last blogged anything original…It’s time once again to update my site but…I have nothing to say. (Scott says I should do a blog on what to do if your blog is tormenting you…)

I could comment on the movie I saw this afternoon or the book I’m reading or the inevitable change of seasons or the holidays. I could say something political or familial or thankful, but, hey, I don’t feel like it.

It’s been a great day. I decided today that Thanksgiving weekend is the best weekend of the year because it’s essentially a holiday followed by TWO Saturdays then a day of rest before the workweek starts again. And I have been working – just thirty hours a week for Scott’s company for a few weeks until they’ve caught up with a backlog of paperwork. (I still have my itty bitty reporter job as well, though it almost doesn’t count…)

I’m enjoying this temp job in a strange, clerical sort of way. It’s fairly mindless, which allows my mind to wander over a lot of interesting ideas. (I jot them down.) There are people in my new workplace – real people, not just a bird and a dog – who are friendly but busily occupied in their own cubicles. I sit in the south conference room with a fantastic view of I-15, but I rarely look up.

Working has given me a new appreciation for what Scott does and what my mom did (and still does) – how difficult it is to be away from home! And I am only working part-time. Over the past couple of weeks I’ve gotten more and more used to this new schedule. The lobby receptionist knows me now and greets me cheerfully as I come and go. I know the best routes to and from school from the office, beginning and ending each work day with my traditional carpool.

My time at home is spent more efficiently now – it has to be. I shop when everyone else shops. I go to bed earlier.

I look forward to running out of piles of paperwork in a couple of weeks and coming home again to devote myself more wholeheartedly to my real life’s work and to my real dreams.

But for now, life is good.

More Food for Thought...

Emily's depiction of the ultimate ice cream sundae

Here are a few quotes I've collected recently -- I hope I haven't already posted any of them on my blog...Enjoy!

My dog is worried about the economy because Alpo is up to $3.00 a can. That's almost $21.00 in dog money. - Joe Weinstein

Courage is the price that life exacts for granting peace.
The soul that knows it not, knows no release
From little things:
Knows not the livid loneliness of fear,
Nor mountain heights where bitter joy can hear
The sound of wings.
-- A.E. Housman

Language is a power tool. -- Herbert Gans, Columbia University sociologist

It makes little difference how many university courses or degrees a person may own. If he cannot use words to move an idea from one point to another, his education is incomplete. -- Norman Cousins, autobiography

The right word may be effective, but no word was ever as effective as a rightly timed pause. – Mark Twain

Be brief; for it is with words as with sunbeams – the more they are condensed the deeper they burn. – Robert Southey

The only man I know who behaves sensibly is my tailor; he takes my measurements anew each time he sees me. The rest go on with their old measurements and expect me to fit them. ~George Bernard Shaw

The most exhausting thing in life is being insincere. ~Anne Morrow Lindbergh

Up to a point a man's life is shaped by environment, heredity, and movements and changes in the world about him. Then there comes a time when it lies within his grasp to shape the clay of his life into the sort of thing he wishes to be. Only the weak blame parents, their race, their times, lack of good fortune, or the quirks of fate. Everyone has it within his power to say, 'This I am today; that I will be tomorrow.' ~Louis L'Amour

One cannot spend forever sitting and solving the mysteries of one's history. ~Lemony Snicket

Don't worry about the world coming to an end today. It's already tomorrow in Australia - Charles Schulz

The Truth Behind Saturday Morning Cartoons

I sat down to watch the Saturday morning cartoons with my daughter, Emily, age 8. The only cartoon she really likes is Tom & Jerry (she has excellent tastes -- that was the only cartoon I ever really liked, too), but we decided to give "Horseland" a try. From what I could tell, it's about a fancy riding school, and all of the horses are beautiful with long, flowing, pastel-colored manes. It was basically a soap opera with cartoon horses.

Emily tolerated the storyline okay, but she came to life for the commercials, which featured one toy after another (I guess they really did ban breakfast cereal advertising a few years ago). Soon Emily was rummaging through the supply cabinet for a pen and an index card to make out her Christmas list. The list grew longer and longer. By that evening I had purchased one item on her shopping list -- a toy she had never seen before watching the Saturday Morning Cartoons.

It took me a minute to figure it out, but the Saturday Morning Cartoons are really nothing more than the Home Shoppping Network. Parents beware, and have your children do chores on Saturday mornings instead.

Book Review: Ladder of Years by Anne Tyler

I picked up this book because a) Anne Tyler is a respected literary novelist worthy of emulation, and b) the story intrigued me: middle aged housewife wanders away from her family while vacationing at the seashore -- just gets up and walks off into a new, solitary life for no apparent reason.

I've read other Anne Tyler novels in the past and I saw the film adaptation of The Accidental Tourist, so I knew that she favored flat, staid (even emotionally dwarfed) characters -- they are in this book as well. Even Delia, the main character, flattens before she gradually expands. (Her life becomes excruciatingly dull while she's 'on the lamb,' because she's on a vacation from all emotion -- at least I think that's why.) I found Delia's husband Sam to be unrealistically dull and humorless. I'm not sure that such people actually exist. Everyone, in my experience, takes some pleasure in life and has some moments of levity -- everyone has some emotional range -- but not Sam. When her husband, her children, her mother-in-law, and her siblings interact with her while she's away, they are unrealistically polite and composed. Delia's 15-year-old son is slightly belligerant, but not as belligerant as he might reasonably be after being abandoned by his mother.

As the book progressed, I kept expecting Delia to suffer some negative consequences for leaving without saying a word to anyone. I wanted someone to yell at her. I wanted her to miss someone inconsulably, realize her mistake, and go home. While I liked the ending (which I will not divulge), I thought it still lacked some satifying emotional quality for me.

But then who am I to criticize when on the whole I really liked it? Anne Tyler's writing is good, simple, and clear. She invokes the sense of smell frequently throughout the book (from the very first sentence), which was very effective in making me feel present in many of the scenes.

Review: Utah Book Festival 2008

Salt Lake City Library (Nice venue!)

I spent all day Saturday at the Utah Book Festival at the City Library downtown. I didn’t enjoy it quite as much as last year, but I enjoyed it nonetheless and parts of it were excellent. Here’s what I learned in my two favorite ‘classes’ this year:

Ann Cannon
The Loser’s Guide to Life and Love (her most recent novel)

This author writes a weekly column for the Deseret Morning News in addition to writing young adult fiction. She’s been a working writer since 1989 and she’s the mother of five sons. All of her stories take place in Salt Lake or Provo, though they are published in New York.

Ann Cannon was delightful! She talked about how she uses real people in her books – from neighbors and family members to a guy she saw at 7-11 with a boa constrictor around his neck.

She said when her sons were younger she tried to write at least 20 minutes or one page per day, but now she tries to write more. She stops writing while she’s still excited to be writing so that she will look forward to getting back to the story and know exactly where it’s going. (Sometimes she leaves herself a keyword to help her remember what scene is coming next…) What a great idea!
Richard Peck
Newbery Award winner for A Long Way from Chicago; author of 37 books

HE WAS FANTASTIC! He said he writes with his feet because he travels about a quarter of the time, but he lives in NYC and grew up in Decatur, Illinois. His mother was an educated woman, but his father was a car mechanic who stopped going to school in the sixth grade. When he read Huckleberry Finn in the fourth grade he knew he wanted to be a writer. He said he still wants to be Mark Twain, and that every writer needs a writer they wish they were to inspire them.
He said all of his books start in the library in the hope that they will end up there – he does a lot of research. When he had to write a book that took place in 1937, he did not go to history books because people who write history books are a) democrats and b) they know the future (since the book is invariably written much later than 1937). He read Time magazines from 1937 and discovered that people in the United States knew who Hitler was but weren’t very concerned about him yet, etc. Good tip – makes a lot of sense. A lot of his books are historical.
He was hilarious! He spoke about the process of getting cover art for his books and how they often get it totally wrong, which infuriates him.
Peck avidly collects opening lines and stressed the importance of a great opening line for all books. One of his favorites is “Where’s Pa going with that axe?” Do you remember where that line comes from? You’ve probably read the book…by E.B. White…That’s right – Charlotte’s Web.
He also read passages from his most recent book which will be published next fall called A Season of Gifts. I actually came home to see if he does audio for his books on CD and it does not appear that he does – but it was delightful listening to him read.



Other authors who spoke include Paul Fleischman (Newbery Winner for Joyful Noise), Sara Zarr (Story of a Girl) and the Watts Writer’s Workshop poet Wanda Coleman, who read from her most recent collections. The concluding speaker was Thrity Umrigar, an Indian writer who wrote Bridging the Space Between Us.

On Carpooling

(Our current mini van in its natural habitat, the Wal-Mart parking lot, on a family road trip.)

I began 'carpooling' (i.e., driving my children to school) out of necessity when my sons started attending a magnet school several miles from home ten years ago. I concluded it was the least I could do to give them the best possible education, and giving them the best possible education is one of my primary goals as a mother, right? (Of course it is!)

So when Taylor was in fourth grade and Tom starting first I began driving them every morning and every afternoon. Abby and Emily, strapped in their carseats as pre-schoolers, went along for the ride as well before they were themselves the reasons I went back and forth, back and forth, back and forth...adding middle schools and high schools as time went on...back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

There was an inevitable degree of inconvenience and expense involved in the decision to carpool: scraping frost and snow from car windows, fighting traffic, racing the clock. (And as a naturally punctual person, racing the clock is the worst part of all!) On two memorable occasions Tom forgot his shoes at home (since he often put them on in the car en route) so we had to turn around and go home again...back and forth. Over the years we've added and deleted passengers to the carpool to help other families as needed.

Before my oldest graduated from the carpool to drive his own car, the odometer in our van whirled like the electric meter on the side of our house. I was constantly replacing tires and brake pads and pumping gas. My long-haul trucker brother was even impressed with the miles I logged in my mini van.

Was it worth it? Was the school that great and the teachers that exceptional? I think so. I hope so. I'm pleased with the results so far.

But the best part is...I am the vehicle for my children. I am their resource. I take them places and I bring them home. We talk en route. Sometimes we divert. Always we connect.

And all of this mutual interdependence is made possible by my husband.

Thank you, Scott.

Food for Thought

First, a quote whose source is very surprising:

..., unheard-of wonders are to be seen, performed by God: the sea is divided, a cloud has shown you the way, water has gushed from the rock, it has rained manna; all things have conspired to your greatness. The rest is up to you. God does not want to do everything Himself, and take away from us our free will and our share of the glory which belongs to us." – Machiavelli, The Prince


We are all prime numbers divisible only by ourselves. – Jean Guitton

And some wise words to soothe our worries at this time of political and economic uncertainty:

How small, of all that human hearts endure, That part which laws or kings can cause or cure! - Samuel Johnson

Trying to Live in the Moment

I wish I had some profound insight or hilarious experience to share, but it's just me - blogging to get the old blog off the screen. It haunts me sometimes how long a blog can linger in cyberspace as if its contents constitute the author's 'famous last words.'

I've been struck lately by the quick passage of time. Whole months are going by in what used to feel like a week of days. It's September 24th already? Impossible!

So in order to slow time down a bit, I'm trying to focus more consciously on each day and date. What's possible today? What do I want to accomplish? Journals (and blogs) are good for chronicling that sort of thing, but in order to make time slow down a bit, I need to appreciate more of its incremental moments.

Human felicity is produced

not so much by great pieces of good fortune

that seldom happen,

as by little advantages

that occur every Day.
Benjamin Franklin, Autobiography, 1771

Frivolousness

Let me see if I can explain this emotion I have from time to time, this sense that I am not taking life, or, more specifically, life’s blessings, seriously enough.

I first recognized it when my children and I were sitting ducks in a car crash and our minivan – the most beautiful minivan I had ever seen – was totaled at both ends and completely destroyed. I was thrilled to be alive, of course – and especially that all of my children were alive and virtually unscathed. I would gladly have sacrificed ALL of my material possessions for that outcome. So I was surprised when days later I felt a sense of loss. It wasn’t really that I had lost the minivan – we were already at work replacing it – it was that I had never fully appreciated it.

We give our time and resources to people, activities, and, yes, even to 'things' that are important to us: the people we love, the activities that bring us joy, and the things that serve us or make our lives better, like our homes and our cars. In my life, 'things’ always fall to the bottom of the list, as I believe they should, but I do wish I knew how to appreciate things more.

A few years ago Scott and I were driving down State Street in Salt Lake when we pulled alongside a 1970-something small pickup truck. Neither of us is a car-afficianado at all, but we both noticed it for its immaculate condition. It was a hideous orange color with a crisp white camper shell and shiny windows. The woman driving it had white hair - probably the original owner. The truck itself must have spent every night in a hermetically sealed garage. She probably vacuumed it weekly, gave it sponge baths on schedule, and parked far away from store entrances to avoid door dings. I was awestruck, admiring this woman and her truck, even as I told myself that she was undoubtedly a perfectionist who led a tortured existence in an effort to preserve all of her possessions indefinitely - that having a 30-year-old car that looked brand new really would not be worth the sacrifices she had made along the way, even if a complete stranger is blogging about the experience of seeing it years later.

Obviously, I still have a lot to work out on this subject. I reassure myself that things are only there to give us pleasure, so I should not allow them to give me even a moment of angst.

I'm Being Rebellious...Again

I see that I have not blogged in a week.

Brownies are baking in the oven as I write, so a chocolate aroma is wafting through the house. My children are gone to the playground with their cousins. I'm neither hot nor cold (Scott has discovered that I have a half-degree tolerance range on household temperatures, so this fact alone is remarkable.) It's Friday, so we are all breathing a sigh of relief because we will not have homework tonight. And BYU plays tomorrow...All is right with the world (well, almost all...I'm sure if I put my mind to it I could complain about something.)

Anyway, I am rebelling. How? By procrastinating. I'm supposed to be writing newspaper stories. I've been researching and interviewing for days -- stories about comediens, truck drivers, fun runs, etc. I have six stories due at noon on Monday, and they'll all be done, but at what cost in terms of sanity, family harmony, etc.? My legs will be permanently bent by then.

I've read that doing what you're supposed to do WHEN you're supposed to do it is a sign of maturity. I am not mature. I pay my bills on time -- that ought to count for something -- but I'm weak. I lack discipline. I AM A PROCRASTINATOR. There must be a support group somewhere for people like me.

I know, I know. Time is a valuable thing! A very, very valuable thing. Thoreau's words haunt me: "As if you could kill time without injuring eternity." Ah, the guilt!

But here I sit, blogging.

Sarah Palin at First Blush OR Washington: We've Found Authenticity

• I was a ‘Mitten,’ smitten with Mitt – not because he looks presidential with Reagan’s hair and chiseled jaw, but because he is a true leader, a conservative, a thinker, AND, more importantly, a doer. He remains by far the most qualified candidate for president or for any other office…but he will not be president this year, and now we know, sadly, he will not be vice president.
  
  I resigned myself to this probable reality last night before falling asleep, predicting that McCain would select the milquetoast Tim Pawlenty as his running mate.
  
  So imagine my surprise when I awoke at 5:45 and turned on the television to see if the press had figured it out yet. They were talking about Sarah Palin…Sarah Palin…governor of Alaska…oh, yeah, the woman who stepped forward this summer to complain when Nancy Pelosi shut down Congress before they could vote on drilling. Sarah Palin…Really? Tell me more.
  
  Facts began to emerge – rumors of midnight moose hunting, a weakness for ice fishing, the mother of five children, including a soldier deploying to Iraq and a newborn son with Downs Syndrome.
  
  By this time, I was picturing a rifle-toting woman in a bearskin coat.
  
  Before I had seen Sarah Palin or heard her speak, I learned that…
  ...she sold the gubernatorial jet on EBay.
  ...she dispensed with her state security detail saying she didn’t really need it – she could take care of herself.
  ...she sold the governor’s fleet of limousines and official sedans, choosing instead to drive herself around in her own Chevy Suburban and VW Jetta.
  ...she stood up to the head of Alaska’s Republican party, the man who held her political future in his hands, to accuse him of unethical conduct, then, when he was not relieved of his duties, she resigned her post. Her position was eventually vindicated when he was convicted of wrongdoing.
  ...she put the kibosh on the infamous ‘bridge to nowhere’
  ...she looked into the eyes of her special needs newborn and said that she saw ‘perfection.’
  
  Each fact was a revelation. Though her name had been politely included on several lists as if to pacify female voters, no one expected this. She was a complete unknown, a true dark horse candidate.
  
  I was intrigued, fascinated. She sounded like a cross between Mr. Smith Goes to Washington and Davey Crocket. Her life story was great, but could she speak? Could she go ‘toe to toe’ with Joe Biden?
  
  Then I saw the press conference. After a lengthy introduction by John McCain, she came on stage with her family: husband Todd, daughters Bristol, Willow, and Piper, and baby Trig. She proudly announced that her husband is a commercial fisherman, an oil worker, a member of the United Steel Workers Union, and a champion snowmachiner.

She was unapologetic for not attending Harvard – did not mention her academic credentials at all – but spoke instead about what she has DONE in her life, not what she thought about doing or wanted to do in the future. And she’s done it all: won a beauty pageant, had a family, owned a business, worked as a sportscaster, played and coached sports, volunteered in the community, run for several offices, sat on boards, served as mayor and governor, passed important legislation….

She wore eyeglasses and a dress, not a pantsuit. Her voice was strong, but not shrill. Her words were wise, but not flowery. She used 'whom' correctly in a sentence. She did not shy away from lauding McCain’s heroism in Vietnam, though he, unlike John Kerry, is usually too stoic to mention such accomplishments himself.

She will make a great running mate and a great Vice President...but then, Mitt would have, too.

Back to School

Ah, it’s that time of year again…the first day of school. Picture children everywhere splashing milk into their cereal bowls at 7:00am then strapping on their backpacks. Picture big yellow school buses buzzing through neighborhoods like low flying bumble bees that pause at street corners as if to pollinate flowers. Recall the smell of Crayola crayons, pencil shavings, and damp, mimeographed worksheets, the pulpy feel of newsprint, and the taste of milk straight from a carton. School is back in session.

In my memory, the morning air on this first day of school should have been crisp, but it was hot instead, a summer day arbitrarily designated to mark the beginning of fall. In compensation, school children will have recess, friends to play with, and new teachers to become acquainted with. Their parents will have peace and quiet, until after school when their children will be chattier than usual and very emphatic, excited and exhausted at the same time, and, to a certain extent, resigned.

At our house this morning, alarms started going off at half hour intervals beginning at 5:30. First, Tom (for zero hour seminary), then Abby (her first day of junior high), then Scott, then Emily, then me. Clothes were already laid out, of course, for the first day of school, and backpacks, lunch money, and water bottles were all ready to go.

On the first day of school we’re firing on all pistons like a well oiled machine. Everyone knows where both shoes are and has matching socks, for example, but time will inevitably prove the entropy theory again, and things will be in “perfect internal disorder.” We will achieve a sort of equilibrium verging on chaos soon where one forgotten but essential load of laundry will threaten everything else.

But today – today went quite well, and I am blogging again.

Word of the Day: Prosaic

I am ambrrassed to admit that I did not know the definition of the word 'prosaic' -- until now. And now that I know the definition of the word, the word itself makes sense.

prosaic: unimaginative, commonplace, dull; like prose instead of poetry; lacking wit

I searched high and low on the Internet to find 'prosaic' used in actual sentences, but didn't find any. (Okay, I didn't spend that much time looking.) So I decided to write a few of my own:

"A centerpiece of fresh flowers can turn the most prosaic meal into a romantic occasion."

"Her prosaic letters arrived like clockwork every Monday detailing the ordinary events of the previous week."

"Next to creative writing, she found laundry to be the most prosaic activity of all, yet she was compelled to do it."

Obama and Learning a Second Language

Twice in recent weeks Barak Obama has mentioned a bizarre tenet of his campaign: his desire that all Americans should speak a second language.

Bizarre because Obama himself speaks nothing other than English, though he spent part of his childhood overseas.

Bizarre because most Americans will never leave the borders of the United States. They will live their entire lives speaking English exclusively without suffering any negative consequences.

Bizarre because having one common language unifies people and simplifies government.

Bizarre because historically the first thing immigrants have thrown into the melting pot upon arrival in the United States is their language. The challenge to learn English is implicit in an immigrant’s decision to move, legally or illegally, to the United States.

I am not criticizing Obama because I am an ignorant American who refuses to learn a second language. I speak, read, and write English, French, and Danish. In high school and college I studied three other languages as well just for fun: German, Latin, and Polish. Why have I invested so much time and a fair amount of money in the acquisition of various languages? Lots of reasons, none of which involve impressing hordes of unknown Europeans.

Learning a language for me was an intellectual exercise. (I grew up in Kansas, after all, hundreds of miles from the nearest border.) I planned to travel some day, of course, but an occasional two-week trip would not have been sufficient motivation for the hours I devoted to French. I loved the language – how it looked on paper and how it flowed from the tongue. I loved the recognition of borrow words and common roots, the idioms, the French fairy tales and Christmas carols, the patisserie and the mousse au chocolat. All of it.

And it wasn’t long after I started studying French that I noticed I was learning a lot more about English in the process – an added benefit of language acquisition.

In Denmark I attended a college preparatory high school with classmates who were on the ‘language line’ as opposed to the ‘math and sciences line.’ We studied five languages that year, but mastering all five languages wasn’t really the point. We were developing mental discipline in a classical sense. (Please note: the vast majority of their peers were not studying languages at all – they were attending trade schools, having opted out of higher education at 16.)

Obama seems to forget (quite frequently and on a variety of issues) that Americans are FREE. In this case, they are free to study anything they like. The government has a vested interest in making sure that students master the fundamentals: English, math, and the hard sciences. If those subjects are the leafy green vegetables of an academic diet, foreign languages are the desserts.

What Obama seems to be hinting at, though he may be unable to articulate it, is that Americans need to have more world-awareness. If we accept this premise, let’s begin, then, not with superfluous language acquisition, but with geography. Knowing how to say ‘river’ in Spanish is less important in a global economy than knowing where the major rivers of the world are and what cities and civilizations lie along them.

And while we’re in the process of studying geography, maybe we will learn a little more about history.

Because I enjoy French and Danish so much, I would encourage everyone to learn a second language – but only if they are interested in doing so. I would not shame them into it, and I certainly would not mandate it.

Finally, I would not take an overseas trip while running for president and ridicule my fellow citizens for not speaking foreign languages. Obama could have apologized for his own lack of scholarship in language acquisition, but he couldn’t resist blaming American culture instead.

As Obama himself demonstrates, an American can do very well in this world knowing only English. There’s nothing wrong with that and nothing to be ashamed of. Historically, conquering nations have dominated linguistically as well. Whether we like it or not, the United States has conquered most of the world ideologically and technologically – to the victor go the spoils.

That's Entertainment...Isn't It?

My morbid fascination with crime (of which I am not proud, by the way) began in elementary school when a rash of kidnappings of young girls in Kansas City had me shaking in my bed or sleeping on my parents' bedroom floor. (One of the girls was kidnapped walking home from the community pool where I swam every day that summer. Her headless body was found some time later, but no one was ever charged with her murder.) From that time forward I thought if I kept one finger on the pulse of violent crime, especially in my area, I would know where to go and not to go and what to do and not to do in order to remain safe. I began a lifetime of reading newspapers and watching the evening news.

I recoil at the idea of watching fictionalized violence on TV or in movies, and marvel that such programs succeed, but long before the OJ trial, I was entranced by the real thing. The grizzly details were secondary to me - I wanted to know where, when and why crimes happened. I thought being well informed was like being well armed. It gave me courage.

Occasionally through the years a particular case has grabbed my attention. When I told my brother about BTK years before his capture, Brent thought I was talking about a hamburger at Burger King. The artist's sketch of the Unabomber in a hoodie with sunglasses haunted me because I learned that he had mailed one of his bombs from the same post office I used for several years. One of Ted Bundy's victims was taken from my college campus. I kept a file in my brain full of such information.

I followed the Elizabeth Smart case in Utah, the Lacey Peterson case in California (Why? I don't even live in California) and the Natalie Holloway case in Aruba (of all places) and became hooked on daily updates from Nancy Grace and Greta Van Sustern, whose programs on rival networks air simultaneously when I am going to bed.

So the other night I was flipping channels to see which stories the two programs were covering. Greta, who is from Green Bay herself, was interviewing Brett Favre -- no interest in that story. I switched to Nancy Grace and settled in.

She was interviewing a grandmother about her missing two-year-old granddaughter. As I read the ticker to get more information, snapshots of the wide-eyed little girl were blinking in quick succession on the screen.

She was a darling child, just as darling as Polly Klaus, JonBenet Ramsey, Jessica Lunsford, and all of the rest. As the story unfolded we learned that this little girl had been neglected by her mother in the past. Who could neglect such a person? Who could neglect any small or helpless person?

And that's when it hit me -- I am watching this program for my own entertainment. If someone somewhere didn't kidnap or kill someone else, there would be a void in my own life.

So I am done with Nancy Grace and Greta Van Sustern and the whole cottage industry that has sprung up to satiate morbid curiosities like my own. I am not really using this information - I am feeding off of it, but I won't feed off of it anymore.

Terrible things will no doubt continue to happen at the hands of horrible people, but I will no longer be a party to it.

Worth the Wait: The Writing Class by Jincy Willet

I finished reading The Writing Class by Jincy Willett last night at 2am. I would use the old cliche that I 'could not put it down,' but being a mother of four (one in absentia) I had to put it down quite a few times, reluctantly.

I thoroughly enjoyed it!

[Caveat to Sensitive Readers: You might reasonably be put off by the language of the 'bad guy' in the book, but hey, what kind of language would you expect a murderer to use while writing threats? Which reminds me of the Polly Klaus case in a northern California courtroom when her molester/murderer drew criticism and disgust for flipping off the child's family when the verdict was read. What kind of behavior did anyone expect from a person capable of killing a lovely little girl? The media seemed more outraged by his hand gesture than by his crime.]

The main character, Amy Gallup, is rather cynical, to say the least, which is partly why I find her so hilarious. Her take on life is brutally honest, but she has rare moments of warmth and compassion, too, especially while interacting with her basset hound, Alphonse. She embraces her flaws and insecurities and allows them to define the boundaries of her life so that she can live in a perpetual comfort zone, but her comfort zone is shaken with the new writing class she's teaching at the university extension.

"With remnants of creative energy," Amy Gallup blogs, too. Jincy writes about bloggers: "They clearly believed themselves on some sort of world stage, where they just might be attended to. They needed to communicate. Amy did not. If people stumbled across her site, fine, but it would exist without them, just like her books, whose continued presence in the Library of Congress was her ego's only comfort."

I would recommend this book to anyone who enjoys a non-formulaic, literary murder mystery, to anyone who enjoys laughing and reading at the same time, to anyone who has ever thought of attending a writing class, to anyone who writes....

Jincy Willett is AMAZING! I only wish she were more prolific. On the other hand, I would not want to rush her. She's a writer who knows what she's doing. I stand in awe.

Anticipation....

I am eagerly awaiting the arrival of two novels I ordered from Amazon yesterday. (I ordered them online after checking with local Barnes & Noble stores - not in stock. Ugh!)

I will be reading the first book, A Lantern in Her Hand by Bess Streeter Aldrich, for my August book club. I'm looking forward to it because of its great reviews. Here is one of those:

"If a book can be valued by the number of times that it is recalled in the reader's mind as a source of humor, comfort or warm nostalgia, then this book is among my most cherished few. Get this book, read it, love it. "

I stumbled across the other book, The Writing Class, while checking to see if Jincy Willett had written another book since Winner of the National Book Award several years ago. I loved that book (despite its dark humor) and found her writing to be incredibly good. So now she has another novel out and it's on its way to my house, even if it isn't on the shelf at Barnes & Noble for some inexplicable reason. Here are some comments about The Writing Class:

“The funniest novel I have read, possibly ever. Brilliant, totally original, and worthy of its title. I promise you will laugh constantly and to the point of stomach damage.”---Augusten Burroughs, bestselling author of Running with Scissors and Dry

“Riotous [and] hugely funny . . .Willett’s satirical abilities remain deliciously undimmed…. Amid the antic, hilarious, gender-bending battle of the sexes that Ms. Willett whips up in this book, either one may qualify as a reason to kill. Either that, or to die laughing.”---The New York Times

I'll have to post later to tell you what I thought of these, but I am REALLY looking forward to reading them!

A Great Quote to Share

It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses...

It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities,

it is with the awe and circumspection proper to them,

that we should conduct all our dealings with one another,

all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics.

There are no ordinary people.

You have never talked to a mere mortal….

Your neighbor is the holiest object presented to your senses.

C.S. Lewis

The Weight of Glory and Other Addresses

Distracted...

If I have any regular blog readers remaining out there (Mom, you know who you are...), they have probably noticed that my blogging intensity has waxed and waned over the months since I started blogging. When I am distracted, I do not blog as well or as often -- I guess that makes sense.

So what are my distractions?

• My oldest child left on his mission a month ago. He's living in what he describes as an oversized Tuff Shed in dense jungle on a small island. (On the upside, he can see three waterfalls from his porch and the night sky is full of stars.)
• My other three children are home for the summer, coming and going with camps, etc.
• I'm working now, though only 20-40 hours a month, and doing what I really enjoy doing (writing for a newspaper) but I have deadlines.
• Girls' camp...still recovering from that, while planning our post camp party (next week).
• Team teaching Sunday School each week.
• Trying to finish outlining and begin writing a novel.
• Housework, laundry, cooking, grocery shopping, bills...the usual stuff that's always there.

All of those things are good things, so I will have to learn to function despite distractions. Words always help me, so let me define some terms:

distraction: something that divides the attention or prevents concentration

focus: to direct toward a particular point of interest for maximum clarity

"I always consider the settlement of America with reverence and wonder,

as the opening of a grand scene and design in providence,

for the illumination of the ignorant and the emancipation

of the slavish part of mankind all over the earth."

John Adams

More Reflections on Parenting

As I was going to sleep last night, thinking, as usual, about my children, the imagery of this poem by Kahlil Gibran came to mind, and I thought I'd post it on my blog (primarily in reference to my dilemma of two days ago...it often takes me a while to resolve something in my mind, or even express it.) I liked the analogy represented in the poem - it has stayed with me since I first read it:

'On Parenting' by Kahlil Gibran

...

You may strive to be like them,

but seek not to make them like you,

For life goes not backward

nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children

as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees not the mark upon the path of the infinite

and he bends you with his might that his arrow

might go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer's hand be

for gladness;

For even as he loves the arrow that flies,

so he loves also the bow that is stable.

Family Summer Reading

My son Tom recently 'complained' that I do not read to him. (He was apparently too young when I did read to him to remember now that I used to read to him.)

This gnawed at me. I always envisioned being the kind of mother who read to her children. Over the years I've started many books with them (Five Little Peppers and How they Grew, Cheaper by the Dozen, Charlotte's Web, Treasure Island...) only to abandon them when interest began to wane. I sulked for a couple of weeks, then went to the bookstore to buy a book I have always wanted to read: The House at Pooh Corner by A.A. Milne. I will be reading this book aloud to my children in command performance fashion every evening until we've finished it.

We started reading about Pooh's adventures last night. Tom, age 16, the one who complained that I never read to him, tried to get out of it. "You have to listen," I said. "I can't have you growing up thinking I never read to you!" So he lounged on the sofa while Abby crocheted, Scott and Emily sat quietly, and I read.

Tom interrupted after the first page or two to complain about the writer's style, but I assured him the book is a classic. A few pages after that, we all chuckled at something Pooh said to Piglet. I held the book open to show them pictures in the beam of lamplight and we were all charmed. So far, so good. We're all looking forward to Chapter Two this evening.

So my message to any mothers out there who fear they've missed the boat on reading to their children: it's never too late. (It's certainly easier if they're still in the house, however.) The main thing for me is sharing my love of literature with them and teaching them that books can be as entertaining as video games and movies, even more so.

And I want to put in a plug for listening to books on tape or CD. On a fantastic car trip from Utah to Hannibal, Mo. in 2000 we listened to Tom Sawyer going and Huck Finn coming home. I could never have read it as well as the narrator of those tapes, who was a master of 500 voices (like Jim Dale of Harry Potter CD fame.) We laughed all the way there and all the way home and while on our vacation, touring Injun Joe's cave was particularly exciting because we had just heard the tale. One summer we listened to lesser known kids' books as we ran errands around town and polished off several books that way. Even Taylor, who was less inclined to read novels, enjoyed hearing those, which I selected to match his interests.

Dumbfounded

What do you do when your kid's smarter than you are? I guess life goes on - I'm still the mom, right? What I say goes and all of that...but it is a little unnerving.

My sophomore son just took the ACT for his first time and scored much higher than I even dreamed of scoring, eclipsing his father and me by several points, and his older brother, the valedictorian, by one point. To celebrate he sat down at the piano to play "Defying Gravity" (I can't play a note) then went outside in the heat of the day to mow the front lawn. What a good kid!

And I am left contemplating my next move. How do I channel him? Do I lead or follow? He's still a 16-year-old kid with all of the usual immaturities and not much actual life experience, but he's smart, really smart, and in ways that I am not. That's the unsettling part.

When I was pregnant with Tom, I saw a nurse midwife who recommended that I eat a lot of red meat in the 4th through 6ths months of my pregnancy for brain development. At the time I thought it sounded a little far fetched, but on the slim chance that she knew what she was talking about, I did eat a lot of red meat - is that how this happened? He's had several excellent teachers - should I hold them responsible? I'm not complaining - just (literally) dumbfounded.

Several years ago, miffed by how rarely I was given an opportunity to punish my children, I coined a new word: spankable, which functions as both a noun and an adjective. Whenever one of my children comes up with a brilliant idea, making me feel inferior in any way, I declare their idea to be 'spankable' and start chasing them until I have them in a bear hug. (This first happened when Abby, then three years old, corrected my assembly of her Fischer Price kitchen. She couldn't read yet, but she could tell by the schematic that I was putting it together incorrectly.) As they get older, they come up with 'spankable' ideas more and more frequently. I am regularly amazed by their original thinking. 'How did you come up with that?' I thought I was the one with all the answers.

I probably should have known that my children would surpass me - that's what everyone should reasonably expect. It just never occurred to me before.

Back from Girls' Camp

I am back from girls' camp and will write more ('blog') later.

Thank You, Charles Schulz!

I grew up with these guys - they're as real to me as neighbors and classmates from that time in my life. It's impossible to believe that they do not really exist, so it's time to show some posthumous gratitude to Charles Schulz for his humor and humanity.

Realization: Maybe I Am the Center of the Universe

It occurred to me this morning while serving cold cereal, signing school notes, tying pony tails, and writing out a lunch money check that moms are (sometimes) the center of the universe.

For years I've tried to remember that I am NOT the center of the universe - that I don't have to control everything or be involved in everything - but in the lives of four of my favorite people, I am, like it or not. It dawned on me for the first time that for them I am THE MOM, the only mom. They have a right to rely on me, and it is my privilege to serve them as I teach them to rely on themselves.

Two Brief Observations:

1. If we were a family of nudists, we wouldn't have much laundry.

2. I figured out why gardening provides an opportunity to think. It's because you have big gaps in effort while you put off the next dreaded gardening chore. Just now I found myself staring off into our aspen tree several times (and for long stretches) while digging holes for new plants.

Wanted: Error-Proof Systems

Over the course of many years, I've identified several systems required to run our household. A system is defined as a functionally related group of elements, and just like computer systems, our home systems crash all the time. The problem is you can't control-alt-delete the laundry room or the kitchen....But wouldn't it be nice sometimes if you could?

Here is a brief list of some of the "functionally related elements" of our two most problematic systems:

kitchen - planning the meals; listing groceries and supplies needed; studying the grocery ads; shopping; carrying the groceries in; putting the groceries away; cooking; setting the table; clearing the table; loading the dishwasher; unloading the dishwasher; cleaning surfaces; sweeping and mopping the floor; purging the refridgerator; taking out the trash; organizing pantry and cupboards; deeper cleaning (oven, stove hood, etc.)

laundry - acquiring an adequate wardrobe (x 6) that fits well and is seasonally appropriate; altering clothing as needed; acquiring household linens for kitchen, beds, and bathrooms; gathering laundry from throughout the house; spot treating and sorting items into one of four groups: whites, lights, darks, towels/linens; processing loads through washing machine; moving loads to dryer; folding; putting away in drawers; hanging hang-ups; ironing; mending; purging closets and drawers of clothes no longer warn; storing clothes out of season; storing coats and winter gear; storing shoes

A glitch at any point in a system threatens the entire process. By analyzing each system's elements I hope to be able to identify and repair problem areas....

By the time my children are grown and gone I should have housekeeping down to a science.

P.S. If you want a good chuckle, read this article from Housekeeping Monthly in 1955, recommended by my favorite Rush Limbaugh substitute host, Walter E. Williams, an economist: http://www.gmu.edu/departments/economics/wew/misc/days.pdf It's priceless.

Home Sweet Home Again

Pictures: Succulents at Disneyland (we have no succulents here, as far as I know), Friday afternoon traffic on the 405 freeway in Los Angeles , and the beach at Corona del Mar on Saturday. It was a lovely beach and town, but I am still suffering with a crispy sunburn - the most painful sunburn I've ever had. Ouch!

It was a nice non-vacation. I'm beginning to figure out that we, as a family, really do not know how to vacation. We go places, yes, but then we run ourselves ragged. There's really no rest until we're home again and our lives return to normal (usually days later, when we've caught up with the laundry).

I never go anywhere (and I mean ANYwhere - not even to the grocery store) without a notebook and a pen, and one afternoon in California I found myself whiling away a few minutes by myself in the car with the window down, so I scribbled down some of the smells of California: a flowering bush, green grass, dust, and exhaust fumes.

Los Angeles is a HUGE place! Our own valley, by comparison, is a manageable size. I'll never complain about traffic again.

The most fascinating place we visited was a yachting surplus store where they sold new and used nautical charts, sails, propellers, roaps, flags, compasses, brass plaques, pullies, etc. It was definitely not for tourists, and we landlubbers were in the way. We stopped in originally to see if they sold t-shirts. I was hoping to replace my long lost Frank's Fisherman's Supply t-shirt that I bought in San Francisco in 1981.

It was good to be in California, but it's always good to be home.

Word of the Day: Relaxation

I'm about to embark on another vacation, so the word of the day is RELAXATION. I need to re-acquaint myself with that concept. I know it's a universally understood word (unlike my other "Word of the Day" entries, which are more obscure), but I think it's a word a lot of people like me (largely parent types) need to familiarize themselves with.

Relaxation:

• abatement or relief from mental or bodily work, effort, or application;
• a loosening or slackening;
• refreshment of body or mind

Last week in Tennessee I realized that a good vacation provides an opportunity to step out of your life already in progress and look at it from a distance. I had a just toured a plantation, so I likened it to the expanse of lawn that leads to the mansion. From a distance you can look at the home and see if its columns are straight or its roof lines are sagging.

You have to step away sometimes to see things accurately. Time will do that, if you're willing to wait. Reading a book will do that sometimes. A good drive will do it. But a good vacation seems to do it best for me. I come home re-vitalized, ready to make some changes.

More Images of Tennessee (Back Home Now)

Gone Fishin'...I Mean, Gone to Tennessee

Just Tagged...My Follow-through

My sister-in-law, Leah, 'tagged' me with the following:
1. Grab the book nearest to you at this moment.
2. Turn to page 123.
3. Post the fifth complete sentence on that page to your blog.

The book closest to me was The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom. I read the book in 2004, but had it out on the piano, ready to send to my little brother.

The fifth sentence on page 123 reads: "I don't understand."

This book had a profound effect on me emotionally at the time I read it. I have rarely burst into tears while reading a book. When I finished reading it in the middle of the night, I wrote a long letter to my husband before going to sleep.

Some of the passages I underlined in the book include:

***But all endings are also beginnings. We just don't know it at the time...

***People often belittle the place where they were born, but heaven can be found in the most unlikely corners...

***You are here so I can teach you something. All the people you meet here have one thing to teach you...

***You didn't get it. Sacrifice is a part of life. It's supposed to be. It's not something to regret. It's something to aspire to...

***Sometimes when you sacrifice something precious, you're not really losing it. You're just passing it on to someone else...

***All parents damage their children. It cannot be helped...

***Silence was his escape, but silence is rarely a refuge...

***Each affects the other and the other affects the next, and the world is full of stories, but the stories are all one. (The book's last sentence.)

If a Dog Were Your Teacher...

I found this a while ago and always enjoy reading it when I'm thumbing through my quote book for something else, so I thought I'd share it here. It's the kind of thing a hundred people will send to you on internet - sorry about that - but it's true. Plus I am missing my own dog today while she is at the groomer.

If a dog were your teacher, you would learn stuff like...

...when loved ones come home, always run and greet them.
...when it's in your best interest, practice obedience.
...let others know when they've invaded your territory.
...take naps.
...stretch before rising.
...run, romp, and play daily.
...avoid biting when a simple growl will do.
...on hot days drink lots of water and lie under a shady tree.
...when you're happy, dance around and wag your tail.
...delight in simple joy of a long walk.
...eat with gusto and enthusiasm. Stop when you've had enough.
...be loyal and never pretend to be someone you're not.
...when someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit close by, and nuzzle them gently.

Word of the Day: Loquacious

I chose today's word after driving my 6th grader to school yesterday. She was doing her vocabulary homework, asking me to define the words she didn't know, and, oops, I didn't know this one either. I'd seen it, of course, but didn't really KNOW what it meant. Perfect for a word of the day!

Loquacious (loh-KWAY-shuhs): excessively talkative, wordy, full of trivial conversation

Example sentences:

In contrast with the loquacious prosecutor, the defense attorney said few words before resting his case.

All plans for a productive day of housework were blown when a loquacious neighbor stopped by for a chat.

Movie Review: Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day

I saw this movie two weeks ago and have thought little about it since, though some aspects of it have annoyed me into writing a review afterall.

It's the story of a middle-aged woman (Frances McDormand of "Fargo") in London just as WWII is breaking out. She's been unfairly dismissed from her position as governess and needs work desparately, but her employment office is unwilling to refer her to new clients, so she surreptitiously acquires the card of a singer who needs a social secretary and goes directly to her apartment to apply.

Amy Adams ("Enchanted") plays Dylesia Lafosse, a young, beautiful, strangely innocent yet amoral stage actress who will do anything to make it big on the London stage. When Miss Pettigrew arrives Dylesia is in a state of panic, trying to simulatneously expel an important overnight paramour and clean the apartment before her official boyfriend returns. Miss Pettigrew starts working immediately, covering for Dylesia with all male parties and hiding evidence of Dylesia's infidelity under the rug. Miss Pettigrew earns Dylesia's devotion within the first twenty minutes of their meeting, becoming a much appreciated, indispensable assistant to her.

As the movie progresses (all of it taking place in a 24-hour period) Miss Pettigrew acquires a new dress, attends a high-brow fashion show, and meets the third man in Dylesia's life, who proposes marriage to his beloved and is instantly rebuffed.

So what annoyed me? Gratuitous nudity, for one thing - just enough to titillate the director, I presume, while preserving the movie's PG-13 rating. I also found the script to be lacking action (and if I thought it lacked action, it really lacked action. Given the right circumstances, I can be entertained watching grass grow.) But more than anything I was annoyed by the implication that Miss Pettigrew wasn't living, really living, until she enterred the chaotic world of Dylesia Lafosse. Miss Pettigrew had been living all along - less fashionably than Dylesia, but living nonetheless, and with a great deal more peace and self-respect. I believe it's always best not to assume that one person's life is any better than another person's life. Everyone has a life, and every life has ups and downs. Miss Pettigrew exhibited maturity, perseverence, independence, and a constancy of character all of the other characters in the movie lacked.

Despite this negative review, I would recommend this movie as an inexpensive rental to be viewed on a rainy afternoon. It has its humorous moments.

Stream of Conscience Ramblings...

(About the photograph: I took this picture along the road south of Mount Rushmore in South Dakota last summer. Most of the pictures I use on blog posts are not my own, unless I label the post 'Photography,' in which case the picture is original. All of the pictures I use in the side bar are my own original work.)

Today I'm going to force myself to make a personal post about anything that comes to mind while I'm writing it. Frequent readers of this blog may have noticed that I rarely really 'blog.' Blogging is like journaling, and we've been taught to keep our thoughts to ourselves, to keep our diaries under lock and key...Is it because our thoughts are dangerous, or because they're valuable...? I don't know why.

For me, I guess it's because a blog is on the WORLDWIDE WEB and I can't monitor who reads it or how they interpret it. On the one hand, a blogger wants lots of people to read his/her blog. Why? So that he or she has greater influence in some cosmic sense. On the other hand, bloggers tend to be quiet types. I may want to shout something from the rooftop, but I want to do so without making a noise which might disturb someone. I was raised to be, above all else, a nice girl. I wouldn't want to post anything offensive. It's easier, then, not to post at all - at least nothing that I have to acknowledge is 100% my own thinking. Afterall, someone may disagree with it or be bothered by it.

With this blog (as with anything I create) I want to lift myself and others to higher attitudes, thoughts, and actions - not by preaching, but by setting before us some of what is good or beautiful about life. It isn't all wonderful, no, but the world is full of people who will point out what's wrong with it and what's unfair about it - I don't want to do that. I choose not to add to the negativity of the world as much as I can avoid it. Sometimes I simply can't avoid it and fall in with the complainers, the nay-sayers, and the cynics. I can be as sarcastic as the next person, and more sarcastic than most. It's my debate training, I think. I can see both sides of most every issue.

For everything that's said about the value of a good example (all of it true, I might add), I have certainly learned a lot from the negative examples in my life. You learn consequences either way, if you're observant, unless you insist upon experiencing all of the consequences, good and bad, yourself. I am one of those people who could learn from the mistakes of others without making them all myself, which saved me a lot of time and untold misery.

As a child I used to interview myself all the time (like Oprah, only long before Oprah - probably the Donahue era), pretending to be an Olympic ice skater or a movie star or a widow...those are the three interviews I remember best. This exercise helped me imagine what life would be like in someone else's shoes - what triumphs and regrets they would have experienced, what everyday life for them would be like. Even today Scott is often amazed by my ability to practically 'experience' the hypothetical...I guess I still have a very active imagination.

In recent years I've found myself admiring seemingly negative qualities in other people. For example, I have admired people for their irresponsibility. Why? Because they are not 'burdened' with a sense of duty. They are given more latitude, because no one expects them to be anything other than impulsive. Of course I can see that this characteristic causes them a degree of suffering, too (often a great degree), but who can say whether they suffer more for being irresponsible than I do for being hyper responsible? It takes time and energy to dot all those i's and cross all those t's (but probably not as much time and energy as it would to undot them and uncross them and start over...) I would not choose to be irresponsible even if I could, and I'm not sure that I can. It's just interesting to note that, as with everything else in life, irresponsibility has its pluses as well as its minuses.

A Cowboy Poem du Jour: Dream Ranch

The dream ranch lies

Where cool streams flow

Through deep green meadows

Nourished by snow;

Where the horses are broke

And the boss is not,

Where it's not too cold

And never too hot.

There's hay in the manger

And straw in the stall

With plenty of oats to grain them all.

There's a house in the shade

And a spring on the hill

Where you hear the call of a whippoorwill.

Now the dream ranch, of course,

Just doesn't exist,

But if we didn't dream

think what we'd have missed.

(Colen H. Sweeten, Jr.)

Quotes on Writing

I have a HUGE collection of quotes about writing. I thought I would share a few from time to time. These are offered in no particular order - just as I come across them in one of my quote journals (in this case, the green one):

As a young man, I realized that I was doomed, or elected, or sentenced for life to the writing of poetry. Edwin A. Robinson

I like to write. I love to write. But I write just for myself and my own pleasure. J.D. Salinger

I have drawers in my mind, so many drawers. I have hundreds of materials in these drawers. I take out the images and memories that I need. Haruki Murakami (Japanese novelist)

From "How to Be a Writer" by Lorrie Moore: First, try to be something, anything else. A movie star/astronaut. A movie star/missionary. A movie star/Kindergarten teacher. President of the world. Fail miserably. It is best if you fail at an early age - say 14. Early, critical disillusionment is necessary so that at 15 you can write long haiku sequences about thwarted desire.

If there were a special hell for writers it would be in the forced contemplation of their own works. John Dos Passos

Dickens makes his books blaze up not by tightening the plot or sharpening the wit, but by throwing another handful of people upon the fire. Virginia Woolf

If only I could manage, without annoyance to my family, to get imprisoned for ten years, without hard labor, and with the use of books and writing materials, it would be simply delightful. Lewis Carroll

Medicine is my lawful wife and literature my mistress. When I get tired of the one, I spend the night with the other. Anton Chekhov

And my favorite from this little group of quotes:

Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass. Anton Chekhov

Movie Review: Nim's Island

Just home from seeing Nim's Island.

Thumbs up - I liked it. You have to be willing to suspend disbelief and accept some outrageously improbably events, but if you can successfully do that (i.e., if there is a child still inside you somewhere...) it's an entertaining movie. (And it wasn't completely implausible - all motives were well explained.)

It's the story of a girl named Nim (played well by Abigail Breslin) who has lived her entire life on an island in the South Pacific with her marine biologist father. They harness solar energy for electricity to communicate with the outside world. While he's gone on what is supposed to be a two-day field trip, Nim begins answering questions online from her favorite writer, a reclusive novelist researching a story on volcanoes. (Jodie Foster plays the writer, a rare comedy role for her.) After an injury, she tells the novelist that she is 11 years old, hurt, alone, and fearful that her father will not return in time to save their island from 'buccaneers.' After trying to arrange for help from the safe confines of her San Francisco home, the novelist decides that she will go save Nim herself...a difficult proposition for someone who hasn't had an actual adventure of her own in years, perhaps ever.

I wanted to see the movie, in part, because I loved Swiss Family Robinson so much as a child, and this movie did remind me a little bit of that one (a treehouse, friendly, cooperative animals, etc.) Both movies inspire my imagination. They make me want to go live on a tropical island myself.

Quotes on Intelligence/Brains

Some of these are pretty fun and obscure quotes:

I am a brain, Watson. The rest of me is a mere appendix. – Sherlock Holmes, in Arthur Conan Doyle’s “The Adventure of the Mazarin Stone”

I am still learning. – Michelangelo, 1560, age 85

In youth we learn. In age we understand. – Marie Von Ebner-Eschenbach, Aphorisms, 1883

I am, somehow, less interested in the weight and convolutions of Einstein’s brain than in the near certainty that people of equal talent have lived and died in cotton fields and sweat shops. – Stephen Jay Gould, The Panda’s Thumb, 1980

Joining Mensa means that you are a genius….I worried about the arbitrary 132 cutoff point, until I met someone with an IQ of 131 and, honestly, he was a bit slow on the uptake. – Steve Martin

Word of the Day: Bliss

Follow your bliss.

Fuller Quote:

If you do follow your bliss you put yourself on a kind of track

that has been there all the while, waiting for you,

and the life that you ought to be living is the one you are living.

When you can see that, you begin to meet people

who are in your field of bliss, and they open doors to you.

I say, follow your bliss and don't be afraid,

and doors will open where you didn't know

they were going to be. (Joseph J. Campbell, 1904-1987)

bliss: supreme happiness; utter joy or contentment; ecstasy

bliss out: (slang) to experience bliss or euphoria, or to cause someone else to experience bliss or euphoria (Example: "Just follow the trail to the meadow in bloom and bliss out." "This recording is guaranteed to bliss out Mozart fans.")

Some things that have caused me to 'bliss out' (in no particular order):

husband & children (family)

open road (adventure, discovery)

mountains (from a distance or in a canyon)

green furrowed fields in spring

shady woods

water: streams, falls, rivers, ocean waves

hot fudge sundaes

books, poems, quotes, ideas, words

art supplies & office supplies

dogs

fish tacos

crossword puzzles

animals in nature

Japanese gardens

the musty smell of a basement or a museum

rolling hills dotted with cows

small cottages

laundry fresh from the dryer

movie theater popcorn

sailboats on a pier or in a bay

picnics

floating in a swimming pool, ears submerged

perfume

Observation: Very few people need a reality check, but almost everyone needs an occasional 'bliss check.'

Question for Readers: What is your bliss?