The Quiet Wheel

Shh. Don't tell Emma I'm posting this. She doesn't like to be the center of attention.

She practically squirmed at the Student of the Month awards breakfast, where she was honored by her French teacher. "You don't like this, do you?" the teacher teased as she began her remarks.

Emma reminds the teacher of her middle daughter, who even as a baby would utter only the slightest "Unh, unh" if she needed something. In class Emma is self-sufficient -- trying to find solutions on her own before asking for help. She works hard. In a sea of different personalities, the teacher said, it is so nice to have a bit of calm. She appreciates Emma. She hopes she's meeting her needs.

I can relate. I am delighted that Emma got recognized at school, but I also listened to the teacher with a bit of sadness. She put into words the exact dynamic Emma fills in our home, too. Do I do enough to acknowledge this sweet daughter? Am I meeting her needs?

We call Emma our Quiet Wheel. Get it? The opposite of the squeaky wheel, and let me tell you, she follows a VERY squeaky wheel whose demands for name-brand oil exhaust us some days. That's not to mention the other noisy wheels spinning around here.

Throughout it all, Emma keeps turning. She is centered, with a steel-will axle at her core, and I love her more than I can say.  "We could have 10 more of her," Jeff said. "Well," I answered, "maybe five." She is a teenager, you know.




Emma wrote this for her 9th grade English class.

Where I’m From

I am from Salt Lake and Switzerland

From my parents, my brothers, and my sister

From sibling rivalries and jokes

I am from a loud, busy, messy, crazy house

From inside jokes and funny moments

I am from gingerbread houses and extended family, from Kohler and Hatch.

I am from bobby pins, from hairspray, and ballet shoes

From fruit trees and sunflowers

From scriptures and praying

I am from brown hair and brown eyes

From be nice and looks don’t matter

I am from piano keys and learning how to play them

I am from music and laughter and singing.

Melt my heart

Spring has a way of doing that to me. Yay, spring!

On the morning that a deep snow bank captured James' sneaker on the way to school, making him hobble home in shoe-sock-shoe-sock defeat to ask for my help finding it, I spied this shape elsewhere along the sidewalk. If it hadn't been for a lovable, wandering boy and his crazy, inconveniencing misstep, I never would have seen it.

Funny how things work.

Nourishment

I've had an event from the past year on my mind. I don't know why. I've been thinking of all I learned from it and thought perhaps I'd share that here.

Our family is lucky to be able to use some land, that belongs to a friend, to raise a garden. One Monday last May we went there to prepare the ground and plant our seeds. It was fun. Yet all too soon the setting sun marked that it was time to go.  Elise, James and Samuel had carried some tools to the back of the truck, which was parked along the road, and were standing in the bed of it while Jeff and I gathered the rest of our things and locked the gate. Happy children through and through, they were making a game of standing in the truck bed, jumping and waving to the cars driving by, trying to get them to honk.

As I walked toward our vehicle I saw a flash of white and heard a thud -- two things my mind didn't really understand. Elise bent her head to her knees. When I got closer and she rose back up, I saw that her face was completely bloodied. She had been hit by eggs.

I couldn't fully make out the source of her injuries -- was it her nose, her mouth, her teeth? Thankfully her eyes were spared. There was precious little available in the truck to wipe away the blood, maybe a fast food napkin or two. Yet when she burst out between sobs --  "Mom! Why would someone do this to me?" -- I knew it wasn't the physical injuries that would need the most tending. Her faith in mankind had been crushed as completely as those eggs.

Jeff at this point came to our side. His back had been to the street while he locked the gate, and he hadn't seen what happened. Yet one look at Elise spurred him into angry action. The kids reported that the eggs came from a truck full of teenagers, and that the truck had gone that-a-way. Jeff wanted to pursue them so urged us quickly into our truck. Elise begged instead to go home, all she wanted to do was to clean up and rest. She didn't care about finding the person who hurt her. (By now I could tell no teeth or bones were broken, and that she'd heal OK.)

Lesson #1: Listen to your children. 'Tis better to let go.

Nevertheless, Jeff bolted off, with all of us in tow, to find the perpetrators. He said he merely wanted to get a license plate to report to the police, but I was worried his violated papa-bear instincts might go overboard and cause a confrontation that would make things worse. I didn't like seeing him like that. It was scary!

Lesson #2: Don't get between a bear and its cubs. Even if you're the mama bear.

We drove all over that part of town, never catching sight of the evil truck. I was actually glad. Still, we felt a duty to report what little info we had so drove to the police station. (We hadn't called 911 because it wasn't a true emergency.) Wouldn't you know it, the police station was locked.

Vigilantism thwarted, only then did Jeff drive to a gas station so Elise could clean up.

Lesson #3: Justice can -- and often should -- wait.

That particular night the gas station was running low on ice; hand-written signs taped to all the soda fountains tersely told people to back off the stuff. I explained to the clerk that my daughter had been hurt, could I please have some ice for an ice pack? Not only did he kindly oblige, he showed genuine interest in what had happened to her. He was indignant when we told him someone egged her. "What?! I'd beat 'em up if I knew who it was!" Misguided, but sweet all the same. It made Elise feel better.

I took her to the parking lot where Jeff was scrubbing egg off his truck. Eggs pelted the inside of the truck, too, thanks to the cab back window having been slightly open. Then it was James' turn to be cleaned, for he got splattered as well, although without the same force as Elise.

"What? They hit you too?" the clerk cried out when I walked in with my son. He gave James two suckers. "Make sure your sister gets this."

Lesson #4: Good people abound. 

When we finally made it home the first thing Elise did was to pick up her violin. I've heard it said that the violin is the closest instrument to the human voice. That night I heard my precious daughter "speak" her fears, her worries and ultimately her acceptance as she aligned herself with the rhythms of a happy tune. I was so, so grateful she had such an outlet. I knew she would be all right.

She went to bed with a smile.

Lesson #5: Our children have their own sources of remarkable strength.

This story could end here, but there was even more to learn. The next day, Tuesday, Jeff contacted the police during ... ahem ... business hours. We didn't expect anything to come from it -- except maybe to help establish a pattern if there were other similar incidents. Late Tuesday afternoon an officer called Jeff back. Turns out there was a witness: a driver behind the egg-toting truck saw Elise get struck, and got the license plate.  In our confusion during the incident we hadn't even known there was another car. This driver talked to a different officer than Jeff did. But lacking the victim, that officer could not proceed on any charges. Thankfully, the two officers -- the one Jeff reported to, and the one the other driver spoke to -- compared notes.

Lesson #6: Don't avoid sharing information just because you think you don't have the full story. Yours may be the important missing piece.

Now, we did not want to seek revenge against the young people who hurt Elise, but we did want them to realize their joyride had consequences. We did not want them to hurt anyone else. We made this very clear when explaining to James and Elise why they should give their statements to the police. There was some difficulty setting up a mutually agreeable time. In the end an officer arranged to come to our home Tuesday night, after we got home from the Pack Meeting Bike Rodeo.

What a kick that it was the very same officer who delivered the bike safety presentation to the Cub Scouts!

Lesson #7: Laugh when you can.

This incident made its way to Juvenile Court, and the young men involved were charged with various counts of assault, vandalism and criminal mischief. In the victim statement forms we had to complete, we expressed our hope that the young people would rise above this one act and make the most of themselves. We do not know what sentences, if any, were issued. That doesn't matter. We did receive one letter of apology, which Jeff dismissed as court-ordered, but which I was very touched to read.

I'm not sure how much Elise thinks about that May night. In the weeks that followed she did not want to go to the garden again, which was understandable but still hard for me to see. At first she wondered if she'd done something to provoke them. No, we told her, they already had their eggs in hand. She asked in the moment, "Why would someone do this to me?" I didn't have a satisfactory answer then and I still don't. It crushed me too. But I think back on that night when she took her violin in her hands and brought her reserves of goodness to the surface and looked forward with a smile.

Lesson #8: We don't need to understand why we got hurt, we need to understand how to move on.

Literary circles: Which books have you read more than once?

All of the recent buzz about the "Les Miserables" movie (tremendous, I say!) has made me want to jump back into the source material, Victor Hugo's luminous novel.

I read it -- that is, finished reading it -- about 18 years ago. I checked it out of the university library my first quarter on campus, probably in a burst of idealism that hadn't yet been squashed by cramming study sessions, roommate adjustments, minimal sleep and the need to survive. I actually thought I'd have time for leisure reading! So cute.

Didn't matter. Back in my dorm I realized the weighty book I'd hefted home was Volume 2. The library had no other copies available and I dropped my pursuit as I was swallowed by economics and biology texts instead.

The following summer a church speaker included Les Miserables on her list of great books.  It was the second time I'd heard the book referenced in church; the first was when my Laurel teacher (for ages 16 and 17) told us the story of the thief Jean Valjean and the priest who helped him.

I bought my own copy, dabbling in it here and there. My second summer after college I had three jobs so I could pay upfront for the next year of housing. Was I crazy? Probably. Add to this that I didn't have my own car. Yep, crazy. When I took the bus from one restaurant job to the next a county away, Les Miserables was my companion. I loved it. Passage after passage spoke to me. I was in awe that a translation could remain so poetic.

Still, it's a very long book, and I hadn't completed it before more school, internships, engagement and marriage took over my focus. Finally, on a quiet summer night when Jeff was asleep, I finished. I was well fed.

It's been a treat to reread my well-marked copy, to see what was important to me then, what stands out even more now. I suspect it may take me just as long to read it this time around, (I've already read two different novels in the time I started Les Mis again), but that's OK. I actually look forward to the extended journey and contemplation.

One thing I've really liked in my second read, and which I'd kind of forgotten because the Broadway and new movie adapatations don't dwell enough on it, is the depth of Bishop Digne's character.

Here are just a few passages I love:

• "The most beautiful of altars," he said, "is the soul of an unhappy man who is comforted and thanks God."

• He would not be deterred from traveling far distances to visit those in need, even if meant encountering highway robbers.

"But Monseigneur, the bandits?"
"True enough," said the bishop, "you're right. I may meet them. They too must need someone to tell them of God's goodness."

• And this, which I'm thinking of framing: (yeah, right, how often do my projects get off the ground?)

Sometimes he would dig in his garden, and sometimes he would read and write. He had only one name for these two kinds of work: gardening. "The spirit is a garden," he said.

Maybe after I've finished reading it all the way, I'll write more about how this book has affected me, and do it justice. For now I'd really like to know --  What books are your favorite? In a world of so many options, what books have been so amazing that you've taken the time to read them more than once?



My multiple reads: 

Les Miserables, Victor Hugo

To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee

Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen

Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte. I know my friend doesn't like this one (hi, Circe!), but I do. I think it's so much more than a romance.

Peace Like a River, Leif Enger

Rebecca, Daphne du Maurier

The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett. I think this is my perennial January read, when I need to be reminded of the transformation of spring. It will come, right?

The Count of Monte Cristo, Alexander Dumas. OK, so I read an abridged version the first time and followed it with the entire tome. Glad I did!



Loved it the first time, but was disappointed the second:

Tess of the d'Urbervilles, Thomas Hardy


Read it all the way, hoping to eventually like it because it's a classic, but just couldn't: 

Phantom of the Opera, Gaston Leroux


Critically acclaimed books I started and dropped midstream: 

Three Cups of Tea, Greg Mortensen. I just could not get into this, and then felt somewhat validated when controversy arose over its truthfulness.

Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte

The Red Tent, Anita Diamant

Wicked, Gregory Maguire



Please leave a comment!

The official update

I am really embarrassed at the need to clarify my last post. Kyle didn't write it, I did! I truly thought everyone would know it was me, and I even assured Kyle as much.

In fact, when sending a holiday letter around er, the holidays was a possibility, he and I had discussed how fun it would be to write it from his somewhat myopic perspective. With Christmas behind us, he didn't think a letter was still in the offing. So for me to have done it in blog form mortified him. (Not the content, mind you, because that's all true.)

"Now everyone's going to think I write a blog!" he lamented. Oh, the horror! (Joining anything remotely akin to his mother's interests = kiss of death.)

"Don't worry, Kyle, they'll all know it was me."

Oops.

In honoring Kyle's wish to set the record straight, I also don't want to crush the believers. Thank you for championing Kyle and cheering him on ...  no matter who's speaking his mind. ;)



And now on to a non-comprehensive update of what we've been up to in my three months of blog hiatus:

We

• Got exhausted climbing the steps of the St. George Temple with cute cousin Greenliee.

• Made Elise blush during an Apples to Apples game.  (Something to do with a card labeled "boyfriend" and the notorious tease, Uncle Jeff.) Isn't that gray and white wall in the background striking? My creative sister-in-law Madison stenciled it.

• Filled our St. George trip with more games. I'm still not sure whether my Jeff pitched the idea of our trip, THEN planned hikes with his friends; or if he had the hikes already planned and eased me into the idea with the chance to see my brother. No matter. It was a fun trip. He took Kyle and Emma on one of the hikes. Later the wife of one of Jeff's hiking friends asked me how Emma was doing. What?! Turns out they dropped her and her rappel line. But because she had landed in the creek she didn't think anything was amiss. Tough girl. 

• Had fun with pumpkins. Kissing, mimicking, upstaging.

•Vowed to NEVER AGAIN go visiting teaching the week of an election. 

• Captured a rare moment of sisterly affection. (Yeah, Elise's expression is a clue.)

• Breezily celebrated birthday 11.

• Quietly turned 41 (in the shadows!)

"Happy Birth ay" greetings were brought to me by my darling friend Melinda, and a D-snitching child who still won't fess up. (I think it was Emma.)

• On Dec. 14, cried, cried and cried some more because of the school shooting in Connecticut.

• Dismissed end-of-the-world theories with this wisdom from Emma: "Well, if the Mayans couldn't predict the end of their own civilization, why should we believe them?"


• Scratched our heads at Kyle's parking job. After finally clinching the good student discount and landing on our insurance, we let him drive. The very first day, he took Emma to mutual, came home and lodged the car in the garage. You couldn't back out onto the driveway. This is the doorframe into the house. We had to remove shelving and the freezer to make room for Jeff's 40-minute journey of carefully angled short spurts forward and back. Hoo-boy.

• Celebrated a wonderful Christmas with our families, and look forward to a great 2013. I hope it involves all of you in many happy ways.

The holiday letter that wasn't

Hey.

This is Kyle.

I asked my mom before Christmas if we were going to do a card. She said sure. Then I asked her again after Christmas. She said sure, go ahead.

All right. I'm the only one that had anything cool happen last year anyway.


I turned 16!!!!! I got my license. I got a job at a fast-food place. It kinda sucks (Uh-oh, Mom doesn't like me to talk like that). I'd rather not work but it helped me to get money to buy a really sick longboard (that I had to walk all the way to the mall in the heat to buy). My mom was visiting teaching and I wanted it right now. I don't know why Mom and Dad wouldn't take me.

One day at the end of summer when my mom wasn't home I forgot if I worked later that night, so I wanted to go to work to check my schedule. So I got on the longboard. The hills by my house are sick. Sweet ride! But I hit a curb or something and fell off. I don't really remember. I took pictures of myself with my phone and texted some cool shots of my bleeding head to my friends. Then Mom got home and said I needed to go to the doctor. Whatever.

It was cool how all the nurses looked at me. I was an official longboarder! Yeah! I broke my nose, got stitches by my eye and had to go somewhere for some scan on my head.  Oh, I had a concussion too. Because of that the doctor wouldn't let me work. I guess I didn't work that night after all, ha ha.

It wasn't so bad until a guy called me that night and asked me to give a talk in church the next Sunday. And it was my Eagle Court too. At least I healed before yearbook pictures! Juniors rock!

Another cool thing this year was that I got to baptize James. Oh, I guess that was his thing, too.

I think my sisters are still doing ballet. Wait, I know Emma is, 'cause I've driven to pick her up. I know Elise is still doing violin because she always practices right when I'm trying to listen to a youtube video or do something else on the computer. James and Samuel make a lot of noise, that's all I know. Oh, yeah. Samuel started kindergarten.

I take guitar. I'm always thinking of the next concert I want to go to. My mom teaches piano lessons but I still haven't figured out her weekly schedule. All I know is it never works with my plans. My Dad is STILL in Scouts.

We went on a cool trip to the Oregon Coast. It would have been better if they let ME drive.

Well I guess that's about it. Oh, yeah, it's my birthday this week.


Chill,

Kyle

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!