Validating Creativity

Do you think this spider knows how cool its web is? Do you think it knows I've made a point of walking past its home every day after I drop Samuel off for kindergarten, to spy the strands? Do you think it knows I'm impressed at this silken engineering feat stretching five feet across a culvert where a creek goes beneath the street?

Will my adulation help the spider catch more flies?

Today, like many others, the shower was my think tank. I was thinking about a book I recently finished reading, The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin. I really liked it. It was thought-provoking. The author set specific goals in monthly categories to see if happiness is something she could generate and control. I think she lives a pretty charmed life already, which she too acknowledges, but she made a very convincing case that happy circumstances do not make one happy. It's a conscious choice.

So back to the shower and a glimpse at my watery stream of consciousness:

The author talked about her need for validation. Gold stars. Me, too. (Hey, publishing a best-seller is a pretty good way to get gold stars. I wonder if the author sees the irony.) Why do we need gold stars? Why do I need that? Why do we need outside validation to think we're doing OK? Or is that just me? Why? I like to do creative things. I liked doing the art thing at the school. I'll never be an artist, but it was fun! Does it need to be up to someone else's standard? Can't it just be for me? Do I stop myself because I'm worried it won't be good enough? Is that why I don't play piano so much? Why does that matter?

And then this, somewhere between shampoo and conditioner:

Wasn't God pleased with the creation? 

Indeed, as soon as I dried off and got dressed, I looked it up. There it was in Genesis 1:31:

And God saw every thing that he had made, and behold, it was very good.

No Like button, no positive reviews, no comments. Granted the scriptures were recorded, somewhere along the line, by a man (gosh I need to brush up on my Old Testament knowledge), but the idea is clear: No one needed to tell God what was good.

What a lesson for me today. I need to free myself to do things for my own satisfaction and nourishment, without worrying what anyone else thinks (or doesn't).

Thank you, Spider. Thank you, Ye who made us both.



P.S. I gave myself a 30-minute time limit on this, and back to housework I go!

Happy Birthday, Author!

I am so proud of my friend Katrina, I could just burst!

As if raising her six polite, accomplished children (ages 2 to 16) weren't enough; as if growing a large garden, helping brand cattle, chase chickens and feed horses didn't stretch her jam-packed days more (and she has that in full supply, too, for all the canning she does); as if hosting a TV cooking show didn't already cement her status as an amazing, creative woman; she has become a bona fide published novelist!

Her first book is now available in stores and online. I love that expression, "first book," don't you? It's so full of promise.

It is the story of kindergarten school teacher Eva and her career-driven lawyer fiance, Sean. Weeks before the wedding a traumatic event shatters the facade of their tidy relationship, revealing two vastly different ideas of family commitment beneath. This, from the back cover:

With her engagement to Sean in jeopardy, Eva finds herself relying on the support and encouragement of Peter, her kind and attentive next-door neighbor. Faced with a choice between her penitent fiance and the increasingly mysterious Peter, Eva is unprepared for the consequences -- and peril -- that come with her decisions.

It's part romance, part suspense. I really enjoyed reading it. (That is, I enjoyed reading the drafts Katrina emailed me as she wrote; I haven't been able to read it in book form yet because Emma grabbed my copy.) Soon!

Katrina was one of my best friends in college. We worked together at the USU ticket office -- in the office during the day and at sporting and theatrical events at night. We were the youngest on the main staff, entrusted with a lot of responsibility. It was the perfect college job. I loved it!

Memories of Katrina:

• We made a little snowman one day toward winter's end and put him in the work freezer to see how long he'd last. (Um, I don't remember.)

• Her grace and flexibility and the silver gymnast charm on her necklace. She often did stretches at the ticket counter.

• Her ready laugh and her speaking voice smooth as butter.

• We had both advanced to different jobs when she met her future husband. She brought Nate to my apartment to meet me. It was a Sunday, and they were in dress clothes. I knew it was the start of something special when they erupted into a laughter-filled snowball fight.

• Ka-tween-ah I-weene and Jennifah Wynne Koh-wah. How this dropping of Rs and Ls even started, I don't recall, but we got such a kick out of that that years later, we each thought of the other upon our parallel discoveries of the children's book "Hooway for Wodney Wat."

• Her amazing Christmas cards.

I admire Katrina for doing something I'd love to do -- write a book -- but have never had the courage to try. I'm not sure if I ever will. So scary. Besides, I tell myself my life is too chaotic to take on one more thing. Katrina embraced this goal and set aside the time to do it. Now that's passion.  Thanks for that, Katrina, and also for giving me a peek into the publishing process. It was fascinating. 

I doubt Katrina set out to create a heroine like herself in many ways, and will be, I am sure, the last to admit it. Yet her Eva is similarly upbeat and hard-working. And oh, so, likeable. See for yourself.

Happy Birthday, Katrina! I am so happy for you. You can write a hundred more books as Kate (and I hope you do), but you will always be Katweenah to me. 

P.S. Circe, you're next!

This morning's harvest

I have a crazily old-fashioned Saturday routine: drop Emma off at her 8 a.m. ballet class, head to the "cow garden" (thanks to the generosity of friends, we are able to grow a few crops near their cow pasture), hit garage sales, pick Emma up at 9:30, come home, harvest what's ripe in our small front- and backyard gardens, and then parcel out the rest of my day depending on what produce needs to be processed. Domestic, much?

Days like this remind me that all the back-breaking work gardening is worth it, and I am grateful. Now, if anyone needs me, I'll be in the kitchen (and grateful for that work, too!). There are about a dozen zucchinis in the queue ahead of these ones. In an unrelated matter, I deliver.

Are school emails a problem? Tell me what you think.

My email inbox is again filled with such vague subject lines as:

Parent Teacher conferences
Test
Dress code
Upcoming assignments
URGENT for parents!

I know these messages deal with school, given that each sender's email ends in in the district's suffix, Beyond that it's a crap shoot. What school? What class? And then my brain scramble: Which child does this affect? My five children are in three schools this year, with 22 teachers among them. That's not including secretaries, administrators, lunch staff, student teachers, aides and counselors as possible sources of emails. I think I'm doing a good enough job delivering the proper children to the proper school each day without having to memorize 45,000 different letter combinations in front of dsdmail.net.

Sure, I can open up the email (which I do because I'm making every effort to support the schools), but that doesn't always shed more light. Take the "Dress code," message, for instance. It read:

SEE ATTACHMENT

I'm considering writing a nice letter to each school's administration, thanking them for the desire to communicate with parents, but also suggesting that emails could be far more helpful with detailed subject lines.

Is it too much to ask that the subject lines identify the school, class or pertinent dates? I don't think so.

But I do wonder if this is a unique request. What do you think? And what's the best/vaguest school email you've received?

Sunday musings: The countenance of the Chocolate Pilot

I study countenances.

I notice the warmth and light that certain people have in their very faces. Why some people and not others?

I can guess a few of the mechanics: a sense of worth, a desire to serve others, and a testimony of how both of these things fit into our maker's plan. From Alma 5:14 in the Book of Mormon: " ... Have ye spiritually been born of God? Have ye received his image in your countenances?"

To my ongoing study of countenances I add another face to contemplate:

Col. Gail Halvorsen, (USAF, ret.), visited my children's elementary school Sept. 7 and recounted his experiences during the Berlin Airlift following World War II.

In 1948 Russia attempted to seize control of Berlin by blockading all ground access to the city. This left 2.2 million people without electricity, and with rapidly dwindling stores of food, heat and clothing.

Halvorsen, then a lieutenant, and other American and British pilots delivered supplies during the 15-month humanitarian mission. The planes flew three minutes apart, 24 hours a day. Seventy-nine people died in the mission.

One day between flights, Halvorsen visited with some of the German children along a fence. As a soldier he was used to children gathering around him and playfully begging for candy. All this group asked for, however, was "sweet freedom."

He wanted to leave them with something. Yet he reasoned that the measly two sticks of gum he had were not enough for all the children to share, so he put them back in his pocket and started to walk away.

Something stopped him.

I suspect that the strong conviction of his words, given decades later in our school cafeteria, nonetheless pale to how Halvorsen felt at the time. Whether you call it a conscience or the Holy Ghost, he told us, he followed that prompting. He watched the German children divide the gum into four pieces, then rip the wrapper into many more slivers to share, so that each child at least had a mint-scented scrap to savor.

The idea for candy bombs was born. Halvorsen promised the children he would drop candy to them the very next day. Look for the plane that wiggles its wings, he told them.

He attached candy bars to handkerchief parachutes and dropped them. He could have put himself in big trouble for doing this, but instead received the support of leaders at the base when they eventually found out. (Halvorsen tried to keep it secret.) He continued his candy bombing; as radio and news reports spread word of his cause, more and more Americans supplied candy.

Letters from children arrived at the Templehof air base addressed to the Chocolate Pilot or Uncle Wiggly Wings. One letter was from young Mercedes, whose chickens were so scared from the constant noise of relief planes that they could not lay eggs. But all would be OK if Halvorsen dropped candy at her house, she wrote him. Look out the plane window for the white chickens.

This is the basis for the book, Mercedes and the Chocolate Pilot, written by Margot Theis Raven, illustrated by Gijsberg van Frankenhuyzen. And it was in reading this book that our school librarian first conceived the idea of asking Halvorsen to visit. I am so grateful for the librarian's 10-year labor of love to make it happen.

After Halvorsen spoke in the school assembly, everyone went outside to watch him get in a helicopter and drop candy parachutes. It was electric: watching Halvorsen wave, the parachutes plummet, the children cheer.

I am thrilled I got to meet Col. Halvorsen. I knew his story, having shared the Chocolate Pilot book with my children years ago, but this event provided a layer of meaning I'll never ever forget. Especially for seeing this joyous countenance up close.

I hope there are many students who will want to be like Halvorsen. Some, I'm sure, will want to be a pilot with grand adventures. Some will want to travel to other lands. Some will want to be famous. (Heck, I'd love to be so vibrant at age 91. Can you believe that's his actual WWII flight suit? )

All of the students, I hope, will want to be heroes. Halvorsen is a hero to me. He is a gracious man willing to share his story. He is unabashed about his testimony of the Holy Ghost. He also teaches that it's the little things, the little decisions, that sculpt the true heroes.

He's kept two sticks of gum in his pocket ever since.

Clean sweep

Today I went to empty the trash into the big bin and saw Samuel's preschool yearbook there. I wouldn't be surprised if my neighbors across the street get a kick of how many times they see me lean over the big black can to pull something out. Today's fishing expedition reminded me of this blog post from last September that I never published -- probably in a fit of compassion, or to avoid slander, not sure which.

Anyway, here goes ...




No one put in a plastic bag last time to line the kitchen garbage can. Good thing, perhaps, because as I emptied the can into a bag today before taking it outside to the bin I uncovered one, two, three brand new toy cars Samuel received for his birthday last week. Still working, still SO CLEARLY NOT GARBAGE. He was sad this morning when he couldn't find them.

They say one man's trash is another man's treasure. In this house, you better put your treasure away, because someone else thinks it's trash!

The likely culprit (who shall remain unnamed) has a long history of throwing away items of import. Just for fun, can you determine the one item from this list I have not rescued a time or two? Doesn't mean it's never been thrown away, just that I didn't find it in time!

coins
cash
birthday money checks
bills
homework (someone else's)
wooden puzzle pieces (rendering the puzzle useless)
new shoes
game cards
vehicle registration
library books
socks (instead of putting them in the hamper)
hair accessories
jewelry
invitations
visual aids for Primary
silverware
keys
family photographs
DVD/VHS cases (to movies we still own)
cookie cutters
Legos (OK, underfoot at midnight I admit these can more closely be classified as rooftacks)


You know what's crazy? Looking at this list a year later, I don't remember my answer! I don't know which item I made up to fool you. If I can't remember what wasn't thrown away I shouldn't fret over what was, right? So, I'm going to give someone a clean slate to his clean sweep. 

P.S. I'm thinking "jewelry" might have been the miscue, but losing my wedding ring in our kitchen remodel kind of sealed the deal on that one. Boo hoo. (The ring would get caught on things and sometimes slip off, so when involved in a dirty, grimy task in the kitchen I would take it off for safety, always putting it in the same secure spot in one cabinet by the sink. We had systematically been demolishing our kitchen: Every day I would pack up the contents of a few more cabinets before demo of that section in the evening. That particular cabinet got unpacked, removed and taken to the dump ahead of schedule one day when I wasn't home.) Still sad about it.

P.P.S. (or is it P.S.S.?) I ran this post by someone first who didn't object to my posting it. But I better hurry off the computer because I hear the broom!

A case for journals

Our computer reached its memory limit recently, so I've been going through files and deleting with wild abandon. (The unnecessary ones, of course.)

I came across this file titled James' talk 5.doc, and had no idea what it was.

James’ talk 5/25/09

My family is blessed when we follow the promptings of the Holy Ghost.

My mom teaches piano lessons after school. One day before lessons she put my baby brother Samuel down for his nap. My older brother and sisters were supposed to listen for him if he woke up.

During one of her lessons my mom had a feeling she should go outside. She excused herself from her student and went out the front door. There all by himself on the sidewalk was my baby brother Samuel.

Samuel could have been hurt very badly. Instead he was safe. My mom is so grateful that the Holy Ghost prompted her that day. She is also very grateful that she listened and acted on this prompting.

The Holy Ghost will guide us. The real blessings come when he follow those promptings.


This obviously was a talk I helped James write for Primary. I'm glad I included the date, for that establishes his age as 5. Yet if you had asked me yesterday to share this specific experience, I wouldn't have been able to. I didn't remember it! On my own, that is ...

These written words bring the memory back, with all the force of the gratitude I felt then that my 1-year-old escape artist did not get hurt by passing cars.

So make the effort to record special experiences. We often think we keep journals for our descendants' sakes, but be selfish and do it for yourself.

Oregon Coast: favorite shots

Alsea Bay bridge. These arches were built in 1936.

Kyle silhouetted against Portland Temple.

 Tide pools

Emma and Samuel inside light house. There were 104 stairs to the top. Poor Emma -- her shoes kept falling off.  

James throws a rock into the ocean. The beach at Yaquina Bay Head was all big black rocks.

Ocean behind ancient tree trunk.

 Kyle was super cute with the younger girl cousins, smiling while they pulled him to the waves. Who is this kid?

Oregon Coast vacation: scenes and signs

The Oregon Coast was bliss. Absolute bliss. We watched Friday's newscast in which the meteorologist announced the end of the heat wave. "That was the heat wave?" James asked. Perhaps that weather report related farther inland. Nevertheless, Jeff and I thought the coastal climate was perfect: in the 60s all week, with fog and sunshine in a balanced tango, just enough of each to make you appreciate the other.

The fog was magical. On the beach cousins materialized out of air not thin, but thick. The mist beaded on our hair. I never needed the lotion carefully packed in my duffel bag.

The landscape is beautiful -- and accessible. The coastal highway is full of state park-run pull-offs for you to soak in the atmosphere. I couldn't get over the nearness of evergreens to beaches, slopes to sand.

This was at Cape Perpetua, one of the highest points on the Oregon Coast. Once again, Jeff gamely dropped us off so we could walk all ... the ... way ... down to the highway. The children bounded far ahead of me, and I never caught up. (Er, or tried to.)

I thought she was crazy when my friend said blackberries are like weeds in the Pacific Northwest. Something so tasty and expensive in my parts? Come on! These blackberries are growing through rocks near a pier. I'm a believer now.

 Light house at Yaquina Bay Head. Top light house photo by Jeff, bottom by me. It was fun to see him renew his interest in landscape photography.

Elise looks west toward the Yaquina Bay Bridge in Newport. This was NOT the bridge we repeatedly walked across; it had no barrier between sidewalk and the narrow roadway, which is a big no-no for mommy outings. One morning a biker went across the bridge in the fog. A big truck barely swerved away in time. Yikes!

 There were murals everywhere. I only happened to take this picture of Samuel and Jeff because we got separated and I was on the other side of the street. My family will not pose!

Samuel and James plug their noses in protest at the fish market. I loved that you'd be walking along and a forklift hefting that day's catch would cross the sidewalk right in front of you.

Yaquina Bay

A fun attraction we went to as a group was the aquarium in Newport. It had super cool tunnels with sharks, sting rays and other fish. The floor was also glass. 

Samuel loved the play area at the aquarium with a boat and fish market.

Samuel views a harbor seal through the glass.

Uh, ok.

So the weather was great, the company was great, the natural landscape was great. Could it get any better? Yes! The small towns we visited were a haven for a word nerd like me. There were multiple "Natural Selection" stores selling pet and people food.  Or how about "B. Ginner's Art Studio" and a hotel with Terry A. While, proprietor? Clever business names and signs were everywhere. This was my favorite:

I think we all took a picture of this one, given that Mari is the matriarch of the group.

I loved the laid-back feel of the towns, the concentration of toy stores, used book stores and candy stores. Where else could a store thrive selling nothing but kites? Sadly, however, I saw an older man push his cart of belongings, topped with an orange Halloween bucket, to a bench in front of a store. I saw him on that same bench two other days as we drove by. I fear he was homeless, and I'm very sad that we did not stop to see if there was something I could offer him. It's a sorry regret. 

This was a fabulous vacation that drew our family closer, and we already want to go back. I just need time to recover from the 15-hour drive home!

Oregon Coast vacation: the wildlife

We visited the tide pools at Seal Rock twice. Thursday morning Jeff and I got up early, when tide was low. None of our children wanted to get up so we left without them. We joined several of Jeff's siblings. There wasn't a youngster among  us, but the setting was so full of childlike wonder that we knew we wanted to see it again: the next time, with the kids. We saw pink and green anemones, tiny crabs, mussels, sea snails, barnacles and limber, expressive starfish. 

 Anemones 

Interlocking star fish

Our rental house was in Waldport, not far from the Alsea bay and bridge. There was something so appealing about crossing above the ocean on foot. I wanted to do it! Jeff was a great sport and, nearly every time we returned to the house, dropped us off and drove to the other side of the bridge to wait. The first time walking we approached a sandbar. I saw brown and gray lines en masse. What were they? Birds? As we walked closer I saw that was unlikely; the forms were too big. Logs? No, not quite. Wait, they're moving!

Can you guess?

Walking across the bridge

Did you guess seals?

I loved watching them. These lines in their sand are their tracks -- the body drags the continuous line, and the flippers form the divots on either side.

Newport is a bigger town north of Waldport. Its historic Bayfront District is a charming mix of galleries, shops, docks and ... sea lions. If they weren't sleeping they were barking. Now that's ambience!