Winter's Worth

It's half past spring and time to be busy again. The winter was a lovely time to slow down and rest a little. I've learned I need to prioritize if I want to be active and not crashing from exhaustion. This means I had to give up a few things like my art classes at the high school... and dance. Prioritizing isn't easy.

This meant that other than spending time with our grandchildren and my parents, I mostly stayed in hibernation at the University of Colorado at Denver. I had done my research and the data had been promising. A great number of students are capable of sleeping in university classrooms. It was, of course, my intention to sleep as much as possible through the winter. It didn't work out so well.

The classes I chose were too interesting. No way could I sleep through them. Just so you know, in case you plan on following my example, here are two classes to avoid if you want to sit in a corner and sleep:

American Political Thought with Professor Thaddeus Tecza

Some people might mistakenly assume that any class talking about political thought would be boring. Even if it were possible to find such a class somewhere, discussing politics with Professor Tecza is anything (and everything) but boring. This was a 3 hour evening class and I still couldn't fall asleep. After the first 20 minutes, I stopped trying and started learning.

This was a challenging class as the group of students was, in many ways, a microcosm of our society. I learned just how paralyzing it can be for those who are so rigid in their thinking, they cannot consider anyone else's point of view. I also learned how paralyzing it can be if you insist on understanding and respecting every point of view without thinking critically about what you believe and why. This class may have ended, but the learning goes on.

Introduction to Creative Writing with Professor Eliot K. Wilson

Professor Wilson is too creative and funny to miss anything he has to say. Besides, he encourages students to bring food to share - food as in cookies, brownies, chocolate. By the end of the semester, I had eaten enough I could have gone into hibernation. He's also a demanding teacher. My blog readers (all three of you) will be grateful to know he has challenged me to write better. This is a humbling task. He gave us the tools. Now it's time to practice and practice - and read good poetry and short stories.

For class assignments, I often spent days carefully choosing the words for one line of poetry only to have the professor suggest tossing out the entire stanza. I doubt anyone would consider blogging to be great literature, but to be on the safe side, I didn't tell him about my blogs. 

What happens now? With spring and summer there is a lot of garden work to be done and places to go with the grandchildren. The senior auditing program is being revamped this summer, so I don't know what possibilities there will be in the fall. If at all possible, I plan on continuing with my studies. Maybe I can be the world's oldest college student some day.

For Small Moments

The dog comes to greet us every morning before we get out of bed. We're retired now. This reminds us we can sleep in later than our daughter. We chuckle at the dog, watch her leave as Emma calls her from the door, and turn over to embrace each other before starting our day.

“Tell Grampa the joke, Lucien.” Two year old Lucien pokes his grampa in the nose and says, “EAR”, and giggles because he knows it's a nose. That's the joke.

A fat cheeked, dimpled baby Opal with wide eyes watches her brothers play with smiles turning her face into a round, joyfilled sun.

Dropping Patrick off to babysit the grandkids, I hear Mattheus yell from the dining room “UNCLE PATCHY!!” and Lucien just yelled.

Two ladies on the train in Chicago laugh and joke with us, telling me how I would look good with my hair in corn row braids. One of the ladies has stayed with us at Ronald McDonald House. I know what she's going through with her new grandson. We embrace and cry a little when Emma and I have to leave.

A homeless man sees us trying to figure out where we are going at the train station. He comes over and asks where we want to go, then he escorts us straight to the platform. Only after we are at the right place does he ask if we have some spare change to give him. When I admit I don't have any at all, he smiles and wishes us a safe trip.

We make it out to the passenger pick-up area just as Chris drives up. For two tired travelers, this is a wonderful moment.

On Thanksgiving morning, I receive a message from an out-of-town friend, expressing gratitude for our friendship. It means more to me than I can express. Today our family is getting together for a meal. The house will be wonderfully loud and crazy. 

Some times I find myself waiting for the big things to happen and forgetting that small moments make up most of our lives. This year, I want to try harder to appreciate all the small moments.

Today I get to practice this after I stepped in dog poop. It was a small moment too, and I'm really, really thankful it wasn't any bigger.

When Novel Characters Go on Holiday

It's November, which is also called National Novel Writing Month or NaNoWriMo, which is also called, How to Torture Yourself by Writing Fifty Thousand Words in Thirty Days or HoToYoWriFiThoWoThiDa. As a number of women in my author's group were joining in, I figured I would try it, too. It would be good practice for me and, who knows? Maybe I'll end up with one of those surprise successes and be the next J. K. Rowling.

First things first. I had to figure out what to write about. This didn't take too long. I went thirty-four years into my past and decided to write a novel based on my experiences working in a deaf/blind preschool. If nothing else, there were plenty of quirky characters involved. I remember the psychologist who came to the school to offer his advice and ended up talking mostly about the good old days when one could use electric shocks and other aversion techniques. It still makes me shudder.

Next? There wasn't really time to plan anything else. Suddenly it was November 1st and I had a word quota of approximately 1670 words per day over the next thirty days. I've learned a few things about writing in this way:

If you're working towards a word quota, always spell everything out. One thousand, six hundred and seventy counts as more words than 1,670. 

Don't go back and read what you wrote. You'll be tempted to delete something and that will take away from your word count.

Keep tea and chocolate on hand at all times.

Don't over think your writing. The characters sometimes just say what they are going to say. This is called, getting into the flow.

I was doing well with this until yesterday when one of my characters started to yawn. What's the matter, I thought, is my writing really so boring? He yawned again and I started yawning, too. It was contagious. I decided we all needed a day off. I announced this to my characters and let them know I would expect them back promptly the next morning. A couple of them cheered.

This isn't a new concept. I first learned of the secret lives of book characters when I read "The Eyre Affair" and "Lost in a Good Book", both by Jasper Fforde. The characters in these books travel around and generally do whatever they want to do at those times when they aren't needed for the story until page 178. 

If you haven't read these Thursday Next detectives stories, I would highly recommend them to anyone who enjoys intelligent literary humor and having your brain tied in knots while you try to figure out what's going on. Even if you read it just for the bookworms, who sometimes have digestive trouble and start farting apostrophes whi'ch make' eve'ry'one' tal'k li'ke thi's, you'll be glad you did.

Anyway, it got me thinking about the characters in my story. I decided they needed a break just as much as I did. It paid off. They were all back and ready to go to work today. Nobody yawned. I didn't ask them where they went or what they did. I figured it was their time and their business.

We're definitely back in the flow.

A Neighborhood Library

Our family loves books. They can't help it. Our son, Patrick, has enough books to fill a small bookstore, all in his bedroom.. and the studio.. and the back kitchen. I think there's one in the bathroom, too.

Book collecting comes to our family naturally. Chris worked at the University Library for nearly 30 years and his mother, Natalie, was the librarian and reading teacher at Notre Dame Catholic School in Denver for almost that long. Patrick is now working for a company that sells used books online.

When Chris was growing up, their family read out loud every evening. It was a beautiful tradition which we continued with our own children. In fact, we used to read out loud to each other even before our children were born. P.G. Wodehouse and Pogo were my favorites.

There's only one problem when books are such a big part of one's life. They start to take over the house. We have fantasies and mysteries, gardening books and build-it-yourself manuals. We have whole sets of Dickens, Shakespeare, J.K. Rowling, Patrick O'Brian, Dorothy Gilman, Ellis Peters, and Agatha Christie. There are spiritual books and collections of Doonesbury cartoons. I doubt there is anywhere in our house where you couldn't find at least one book within arm's reach. I believe used bookstores have a magnetic pull on my family.

It's time to share. We've loved the idea of the Little Free Libraries and decided to create our own. The website (littlefreelibrary.org) says this: "In its most basic form, a Little Free Library is a box full of books where anyone may stop by and pick up a book (or two) and bring back another book to share." If you go to their website, you'll see photos of some amazing Free Libraries, some looking like large birdhouses on fence posts or trees.

Ours has been created from an old metal cabinet which once held motor oil or transmission fluid, or something like that, in a gas station. We cleaned it up, painted it, and it is now filled with books, just waiting for some of you to come by.

A few titles to tempt you:  Twilight by Stephanie Meyer, A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle, The Jim Chee Mysteries by Tony Hillerman, several Cadfael mysteries by Ellis Peters, a number of old Oz books by Frank Baum, and lots, lots more.

Come by and visit!

Common Sense and Respect vs Blame and Shame

(Note - many people responded to the blog article which upset my daughter so much. Most bloggers responded within hours. It took me 5 days. I'd like to say it's because I think about things more before I respond, but it's mostly because I'm just slow. Emma encouraged me to post this anyway.)

When my daughter came out to talk to me the other day, she was angry. Not just a little perturbed, not miffed, she was so livid I instinctively reached for the fire extinguisher.

This is a young woman who rarely gets angry about anything. She has, after all, inherited her mother's calm demeanor. So what got her so upset? She had read a blog article about modesty and how girls are posting indecent photos of themselves on their Facebook pages. According to the article, this family goes through their son's Facebook page together. They talk about what is decent and what is not decent, and all those indecent girls are unfriended. No second chances.

A friend of mine is disgusted with the local Catholic newspaper. She says their focus seems to be on creating more and more rules to follow. Specifically, she pointed out an article which went into detail about how women should dress. This friend is also one who rarely gets angry at anything.

Neither of these women wear clothing I would ever consider to be inappropriate nor could I imagine either of them posting indecent photos on Facebook. They both use common sense when it comes to what they share on social media. I figured I'd better read these articles to see why they were so upset.

By the time I finished both articles, there was a knot in my stomach that wouldn't go away. Why? What bothered me?

These articles are directed towards females and only females.

I do understand the concern of parents regarding social media. The internet has opened up infinite possibilities for us and these possibilities include sexual photos, videos, chatrooms, and other activities which are not healthy for children. Heck, adults are struggling to figure out what the new normal might be in this regard. It's not only good, but important for parents and teens to have conversations about all sorts of issues surrounding sexuality.

I went online and looked for other sources of information about appropriate dress for women and men. On one of the few sites which list guidelines for men, there are only a fraction of the rules compared to those in place for women. Dressing appropriately makes sense, but when these suggestions, guidelines, and rules are focused so strongly towards women, other things start to come to my mind:

A Toronto policeman who said “women should avoid dressing like sluts in order not to be victimized.” (link here)

In India, a woman is brutally beaten, raped, and murdered. Women are rising up in India and saying enough is enough. Sucharita Eashwar of WEConnect International states, "Politicians are saying that the women demonstrating are 'painted, dented women'. Women must wear traditional sarees and salwar kameez and be stopped from wearing skirts as their clothes attract rapists to them." (link here)

Dean Saxton in Tuscon, Arizon preaches christianity to his fellow students while holding a sign which says, “You deserve Rape”, suggesting that any girl wearing short shorts in 90 degree weather was asking to be raped. (link here)

Imam Shahid Mehdi has stated in a television interview that women who do not wear headscarves are asking for rape. “Women are not entitled to respect when they walk around without a Hijab. They are to blame for it when they are attacked.” (link here)

I understand the concern of parents when it comes to the internet. We all need to educate ourselves and decide how we will use this technology and when we will decide to limit its use. This is not just an issue for teenagers and their parents. It is not just a matter of scolding young girls for being “indecent”, however mildly and tactfully is it done.

My daughter said the article was condescending, not tactful. It was telling her to be ashamed of her body because if she's not careful, some boy might have impure thoughts and it would be her fault. It may be obvious, but what one person considers to be indecent may be very different from another.

I told her boys will have all sorts of thoughts, no matter what she wears and no matter what she posts on Facebook. Sexual arousal is a normal process. Sexual thoughts are normal. We do our sons no favor if we tell them otherwise. Shame is a strong force, a powerful and potentially destructive emotion.

So, Mrs. Hall, if you insist your son unfriend all his indecent friends, that's fine with me. It's your family decision. I have no argument with that. What I will argue is the appropriateness of addressing this subject with the girls in this way. Asking girls to be “decent” in order to keep your son's thoughts pure isn't terribly far from telling a young woman she is asking for rape by wearing a miniskirt.

Teach your son to respect and value women, regardless of what they are wearing.

Teach your son that sexual feelings are normal, natural feelings. There is nothing wrong or impure about them. Women and girls have sexual feelings, too. We all learn that we don't act on every feeling, no matter how strong they are. This is part of growing up.

Teach your son to consider the consequences of his actions, especially how they will effect others. Then trust him to do just that. Be a good example. When you mess up and hurt someone by your words or deeds, do what you need to do to make it right.

Know that, regardless of what might go through the minds of boys and men, the males of our species are much more noble, more protective of women, and more easily embarrassed than we women give them credit for. Most young men will rise up to our trust in them.

As for the article in the Catholic newspaper telling women how to dress properly, most women are quite capable of figuring this out for themselves.

I, on the other hand, need my daughter to supervise me when I dress, at least if I have to dress up to go somewhere. She's much better at style than I am.

Death by Watermelon

Okay, first the good news.  Josephine is back after an attempt to hatch eggs in our back shed.  She was hiding very well, but something found the eggs when she dashed off to get a bite to eat.  When I finally found her, she was looking sadly at a few small pieces of egg shell, the only evidence of her hard work.  She's safe and sound and now laying her eggs in the nesting boxes.

Now the bad news.  Earlier this evening, I was looking out the window and saw chicken legs pointing into the air.  That's not good.  Chickens will sometimes lie down in odd positions while they take a dirt bath, but I've never seen one sleep on its back.  I figured something had to be wrong and it was.  Our old white hen was dead, unmistakably dead.  The little x's on her eyes were a dead giveaway.  What could have happened?

My husband, Chris, had come out with me.  He said something about compost and food scraps and that he didn't think anything had hit the chickens.  When I figured out what he was talking about, I looked into the pen. There was a large piece of watermelon on the ground, which obviously had been in the food scrap bucket when Chris had tossed everything over the fence.  The watermelon must have bounced and turned lethal while no one was watching.

I briefly considered finishing the job and preparing the old hen for dinner. This was an old hen.  She was so old, she even laid wrinkled eggs. And she was scrawny.  If this had been one of our large hens, there would be no way I would have passed up the opportunity for good chicken soup, but this one?  Chris convinced me it wouldn't be worth the time and effort... not to mention the smell.

As we dug the hole and buried her, the other hens started cackling, much in the same way they do when they lay eggs.  Maybe they were worried.  The old white hen hadn't laid an egg in a few weeks.  The others must have decided not to take any chances.

We'll see how many eggs we get tomorrow.

Napoleon Meets His Waterloo

It had been a few days since we'd heard our bantam rooster, Napoleon, crow.  Not that we were worried.  Napoleon wasn't so loud and we knew he had taken to patrolling the area just behind our fence, which made him harder to hear.  No, Napoleon had been with us a long time.  He was a survivor.

The next day we started looking for him, without success.  I started to miss the little bugger. Without him, who would run up behind me and attack my feet and ankles?  

It had become a daily battle.  Every time I walked out of my studio, I had to be on the alert, for I knew Napoleon would be waiting for me... somewhere.  Sometimes I armed myself with a broom so I could get across the yard unscathed. Other time, I fooled myself into believing he wasn't around and I took off barehanded.

It never failed.  Before I had taken ten steps, I would hear his feet running toward me, and my heart would start to race.  I'd speed up and he'd run faster, too. At the best of times, I was never as fast as he was, so I finally braced myself for the inevitable.

I swore.  I threatened to turn him into rooster stew.  If I tried to brush him away with the broom, he was ecstatic!  Here was a battle with a new enemy!  He would charge at the broom repeatedly, occasionally making a quick dart at my feet, until I finally slipped into the back of the house and pulled the door closed.  My heart was pounding.

It was a game we both enjoyed, most of the time.

After a week and after seeing a fox in our yard a few times, we realized Napoleon wasn't coming back.  He had met his Waterloo at the drainage ditch behind the back fence.  No more crowing. No more attacks on my feet.  No, I didn't shed any tears, but I was a little sad.

A few days later, Chris came in and said he hadn't seen Josephine for awhile.  This time, I was ready to think the worst and I concluded we must have lost her to the foxes, too. The thought of losing Josephine was hard. She was nothing like Napoleon. Josephine, a Golden Seabright, was tiny, fast, fearless, and amazingly sociable.  She would follow me around the yard and let me pick her up and carry her.  She would be missed.

We'll hold out a little hope. She went missing once before and was eventually found sitting on a nest full of eggs under the rabbit cage.

We'll let you know!