The Aftermath

On Sunday, the minister at my church said she had a hard time figuring out where to start for her message that day because "there is so much to say, but it was hard to find words to put around it." Here we are a whole week later and I still feel much the same way. On my run this morning, my mind raced, jumping from anger to sadness and disappointment. As the dust has begun to settle this week, and the 'post mortum' is taking place, there is more blame and more anger. I think we are all still in a state of shock and I'm not sure when it will sink in, but the biggest thing this election has shown me is that we have work to do. We, the individuals that make up our always-has-been-great-nation have work to do with each other. More than anything, I think this election was a choice from the amygdala, the lizard part of our brain where the fight-or-flight response comes from. Things have gotten to the point where we have shut down so much that is the only part left working. This is serious, but it's not that anyone had a choice. The ugliness and hate, the fighting and mudslinging contained within this election cycle was a showcase of how far our breakdown as a nation has gotten. We are so divided we have resorted to hate and fear and bullying. If we want anything to change, we must stop the hate. The wonderful FLOTUS Michelle Obama did have wise words when she said 'When they go low, we go high." But even those words were taken and twisted and used to sling more ugliness around. What does that really mean, 'go high?" I am deeply saddened by this election and for what I see coming in our future. It makes me worry for my girls, my friends and my fellow Americans and I am prepared to resist, I am prepared to speak out and fight to make sure we don't undo all of the good that has happened here. But I am not going to raise my fist either in anger against or in solidarity with anyone. I am going to fight with love and understanding. The way we can take back our country, help heal the divides I see among neighbors and friends is through love and understanding. Isn't there a song somewhere that says "Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me?" That is my plan. I am lucky to live in a mixed town. I say mixed because I know that I have friends that have far different political leanings than I do. I know who they are and how they voted and that is great because I also know that they are wonderful women with strong families and some of my favorite children. I am going to have coffee with them and ask, specifically, why they voted the way they did and what they'd like to see in our future. I want to know what they see that I don't and I will listen. As President Obama has said, 'we are all on the same team', so let's all start playing together. It isn't us vs. them, so let's figure out a way to be together. I know it's cliche, but we are more alike than we are different and we need to start shifting the focus in that direction instead of promoting the fight. Congress worked tirelessly for eight long years to prevent anything the President wanted to do and we must stop following that horrendous lead. If Trump could really figure out a way to impose term limits on Congress, I'd support it! If he can figure out a way to make health care better, bring it on! I know there is fear on that horizon and I understand the implications of who he is appointing and what may be in store for us all. But, what if we provided momentum for getting something done? What if we could all agree on one thing and we worked together to make it happen? Maybe then could we find some common ground on other things and help shift the focus from the fight?

Gandhi said, "In a gentle way, you can shake the world." I am going to reach out and talk and listen with a truly open mind and just maybe I can change my street and then my world.

Are you with me?

Disney Magic

In the spirit of 'The American Way,' we went to Disney World. We stayed at a Disney Resort, had Disney 'magic bands,' and visited a different park each day. We saw it during the day and at night and we got see the transition between Halloween and Christmas (actually there was no transition, it was simply Halloween one day and Christmas the next). We ate the food, drank the water and stood in the lines. We wore Disney shirts and traded Disney pins with 'cast members' (anyone who works at Disney is a 'cast member.') We rode the Magic Express Bus to and from the airport and the Disney Transit System bus from park to park. Everything went off without a hitch! My sister and her family (she and her husband have two girls, just stair-stepped down from mine) had the adjoining room and the door stayed open all week, one big, happy family of 8 for 6 days! It was a vacation to remember! As it was November, the parks were all relatively empty. We drove through acres and acres of empty parking lots and walked through mile after mile of roped off lines with no one standing there. It was the ideal Florida vacation. Every day was 84 degrees and sunny. Shaun had spent hours and hours making sure we knew what we were doing and when. The entire experience was exactly perfect. But everyone keeps asking me if it was 'magical.' It wasn't magical, it was perfect. Our family has never been obsessed with Disney in any form, Mickey & Minnie or any of the movies. Sure, the girls loved to sing the songs from Frozen for longer than I'd wished, but they only watched the movie a handful of times. We had to show them The Lion King the week before we visited as we had tickets to see the show at Animal Kingdom and they still haven't seen Aladdin. There were no squeals of delight as we saw Pooh & Tigger run across the park, or Chip & Dale bound around the corner. There is no connection from our girls to any of the princesses, so maybe that's a big part of the 'magic' that was missing. Or maybe it was just me. Magic to me comes from the unexpected. Magic, to me, was looking at the Ponte Veccio bridge in Florence, Italy and seeing it the same way it had been seen 500 years ago. Magic was hearing a guide in northern Mexico talk about the altar in front of me being used for Aztec human sacrifice 700 years ago. Magic is looking down from the top of Longs Peak and seeing all the way to Kansas. Magic is watching the fog roll in and take away a view from the Royal Arch, above Boulder. Magic is watching the snow fall, the sun rise and the rivers run. To call Disney 'Magical,' is to cheapen magic somehow.

Disney was fun, it was a week of sights and sounds that I won't soon forget. It was an experience that will last a lifetime for the four girls who walked, hand in hand around the park and screamed their lungs out as we hurtled around curves and left our stomachs at the top of roller coaster hills. Now, this makes it sound like it didn't live up to some expectation or it wasn't that great. That's not it at all! It was exactly what I expected! Every nook and cranny of each line has something to look at. Disney thinks of each and every detail in their parks and makes sure it is perfect. We saw a hose, coiled in the three circle shape of Mickey's head and ears. The shampoo and conditioner in our bathroom had ears, and any latte ordered anywhere within the walls has foam art in the shape of ears as well (and even though the lid is put on before it sees the customer, it's there.) Disney thinks of everything. Despite the hoards of people walking through the park at any given moment, there is not a single scrap of trash outside of a trashcan. Nothing is broken (if something does break, it is walled off with an appropriately colorful barrier so that you don't even look at the offending brokenness. There are plenty of places to sit, just enough shade and water fountains and bathrooms around every corner. It was perfect. The mom of two young children part of me thinks this perfection is incredible, rather impossible really, that they could think of everything! I can see why families of little ones flock down there and return again and again. We had our own Disney travel agent to make sure we knew what we were doing before hand and the handy Disney app to answer any questions while we were there. And yet, 'The Happiest Place on Earth,' wasn't really that happy. Of course there were loads of people smiling and some kids genuinely beaming at watching the characters bounce around, but the overwhelming majority of these kids were either asleep in the stroller or begging to be. Red eyes and sullen faces, dragging themselves (or having their parents drag them) through the streets. Screaming babies, tantrum throwing toddlers, whiny preschoolers and their very frustrated parents dominate the landscape, but since there's always a kiosk selling Mickey key chains, Donald Duck t-shirts and Snow White's magic mirror, no one has to notice all of the unhappiness for more than a moment.  The fire hose of stimulation blasts from every angle, every moment of the day. They're smart, those Disney folks, they have taken care of everything and when I stop to think about it, it is truly an amazing feat. We walked about 7 miles every day and not once did any of those four girls complain. They too were distracted by the little depictions of Brer Rabbit stories or picking out all of the animal shapes carved into the Tree of Life.  They were always tired on the bus back to the hotel, but had no qualms about changing and jumping into the pool immediately and swimming for the next 2-3 hours! All of us adults headed for a beer and put our feet up, because yes, there is a bar at the pool (and more lifeguards than I've ever seen.) I'm telling you, they've thought of everything.

Maybe it's that I don't like to think my needs are that easily predicted. Maybe it's that I like adventure more than excitement. Maybe it's simply because I've never felt a special connection to anything Disney related, or maybe I'm just cynical and un-american. But wait, I'd recommend it to anyone! Disney was perfect and loads of fun and a trip I'll never forget, but for whatever reason, I'm quite satisfied in the knowledge that I never have to go back.

On to something new!

Thinking About Thinking

Being an unabashed introvert, it will not surprise you to hear that I am a thinker. While reading How To Think Like A Freak recently, one of the authors asked the question, 'How much time do you spend thinking? Do you spend any time really just thinking?" This led me to think about what role thinking plays in my own life. Well, it's a big one. Sure, you can say that we're humans, therefore we're always thinking and trust me, if you've ever tried to meditate, it feels like we cannot ever stop thinking. But what Levitt and Dubner are really asking is how much time we spend actually mulling things over, thinking about something instead of just absorbing what is hitting our brains with the force of water from a fire hose. Not much actual thinking when there's a fire hose involved. We are so bombarded, so surrounded and so steeped in opinions, images and headlines, I'm not sure we know where to start real thinking. Within the first chapters they propose that actually thinking about something, perhaps from a different point of view, or with a slight twist, we can work our way into explanations and eventually solutions for every day problems. The reviews on Goodreads weren't very kind to this book, saying it was 'dumbed down' and certainly 'didn't provide any actual help.' But along the way, they keep mentioning how we need to keep it simple, but not too simple. Peeling back the layers of our interconnected lives and constant awareness of everyone else's opinions, maybe it is that simple. Think about it. Think about a problem in a real, honest way and there may just be a solution, or at least an explanation, which could eventually lead to a solution. If it is that easy, why aren't people doing it, you ask? I didn't say it was easy, I said it was simple. Thinking about things isn't easy. It's hard and messy and very time consuming.

I believe, in order to be engaged citizens, mindful parents and all around good people, we must think. We must be informed about the opinions we carry and be able to change our position, intentionally, when the situation calls for it. Shaun and I have worked hard to create a life for ourselves that allows this. For me, it's silence. I pause the podcast, physically leave the computer or close the book for a moment. Being in silence gives the thought a little elbow room, going for a walk or run out in the sunshine gives it nutrients to grow and then finally discussing it with a friend brings all sorts of roots and branches to the thing that otherwise may have just slipped right in one ear and out the other. So, when asked if I think? Yes, I think. I think a lot. I've been told I think too much, an over-thinker perhaps. Alas, I'll take it.

In thinking about thinking, well, I started looking at all of the time, energy and effort that has gone into thinking in past versions of society. Women of Jane Austen's time, who certainly weren't headed for a boardroom or corner office, were still expected to have a solid grasp of mathematics, understand history, speak several languages, be proficient at an instrument know how to embroider, mend and manage a household. Men spent hours and hours in front of a chess board or engaged in political discussion. At least the upper crust of that particular society was expected to think quite a bit. I couldn't help but look at today's society and blink. Where is the space for thinking? Our instant culture wants reactionary soundbites and it wants them now. It also demands that we stick our steak into the ground on a side of every single issue that exists, and make sure it's deep. There are lots of examples I could give about me changing my opinion about something after I've had a chance to actually give it some thought. With no space for thinking, we react and then when called upon to defend our position, we simply end up further entrenched. Individual thinking is not even shown anymore, much less taught or fostered. I am not sure how we got here, and although I'm certain it would be an interesting research project, I am more curious about how we can move back toward actual thinking and into discussion about thoughts and ideas and opinions without any name calling, pouting or mudslinging (11 days until the election and counting). We certainly can look to no political entity, news broadcasting agency or social media outlet for a good example.

I also recently listened to a podcast (Inflection Point with Lauren Schiller) where I got to hear an interview with Joan Blades and John Gable. Joan is politically left and John is right. There is a lot they don't agree on, but there is much more they do agree on and they've decided to spread the need for listening and dialogue and thinking, (see, you knew I could tie it all together!) though something called Living Room Conversations*. You invite one person with a different view point into your home and each of you invite two friends. Six people with differing views then talk and listen to each other in a controlled and safe space. Real people sitting around a real home thinking, together, about real issues. This is how change happens. This is how thinking gets back into the mix. This is how we begin to see those areas where we do agree, instead of being blinded by the red or blue that we tend to color over every piece of a person's being. Not one of us is entirely one color, no one can be purely defined so easily, and when we start looking at places where we're both green, we can start to soften our own hard edges. We can slowly lift the tinted glasses through which we see our world. Once this happens, we can look at issues and problems within our communities with a much wider perspective and work on solving them, instead of worrying about defending our territory. Thinking about Congress makes steam come out of my ears when I hear more about not granting hearings for a Supreme Court Justice nominee. They're so busy defending and doubling down on this position, they're harming the foundation of our nation that already makes us great.  I can see this happen all over social media as well. What once was a superficial crack between us has grown so deep and wide, we can hardly see the other side, much less realize there are actual human beings standing over there.

Can you think about an issue from the other side? Is it possible to take off those bias glasses and look at an issue straight on? Do you have people in your life with different views, opinions and life situations? Could you have a conversation with any of them about one of those differences and your relationship remain intact? I know I have people on either side of that question. But somehow, if we remain in each other's lives, doesn't that also mean we already have something in common? Even it if is only blood itself, it's something, right?

------------------
*Joan and John have also founded an organization called All Sides for Schools which looks at bipartisan ways to help schools succeed. Also a terrific idea!

The importance of fiction

In talking with a friend about the two most recent books I read (see previous post) and how much reading fiction impacts my life, I realized I should discuss this more. I believe in fiction, I believe in the power of stories and connections and the capacity that fiction has to bring us all together and help us with compassion and empathy. I understand the need for non-fiction, I really do! I read plenty of that as well, and find a nice neat shelf in my brain to store all of those nice, neat little facts, arguments and checklists (subtle shoutout to Atul Gawande for his great work). I am better for what I have learned from non-fiction. I finally realized that being and introvert was not only normal but actually great. I understand the reality of decision fatigue, and how incredibly powerful the placebo effect is. I have greatly benefited from the science behind anxiety and how I can use that to make my days better. I loved learning all about how Sweetgrass grows much better if it's harvested, speaking to our place on this planet, and how an Octopus may just be the smartest creature in the ocean. I appreciate non-fiction for showing me the reality of the justice system in Alabama today and I have a stronger marriage because of the wonderful Sarah Napthali and her work on Buddhisim and Marriage. But these works, these facts and figures and sentences with footnotes and bibliographies that are sometimes longer than the actual text (I'm looking at you, Sam Harris!), they are interesting in a cerebral and heady way. A scratch your chin and look up and to the right kind of "hummm," sort of way. Not so with fiction. Not even close with fiction.

The real beauty of fiction is that you cannot pick out a book for any specific reason. You cannot wander through the isles, let your fingers drag along the spines and decide what you're going to read (and by default what you're going to learn) about. No sir. Fiction has a mind of it's own. Well, really, fiction uses your own, already working 24/7 mind to come up with all sorts of things that you aren't really focused on, consciously anyway. Still not buying it? Well, just take the last two books I read, What Alice Forgot and Dark Matter. Good old Alice is categorized as 'Women's Fiction' and Dark Matter is Science Fiction at it's best. these two books would never sit side by side in any catalog, book shelf or required reading list (my Goodreads feed may be the only place, ever they've existed side by side! Or in this version of the multiverse anyway). The great thing about fiction is that these two books, these two vastly different set of characters and plot lines, they tell the same story! To me at least, their messages were so similar it honestly made me shiver. The importance of decision making and consciously leaning into choices in a mindful and intentional way is the main take away from both of these worlds. I also understand String Theory in a way that is only possible through story. Rest assured, I couldn't read any non-fiction on the multiverse and understand it to 1/10th the degree that it was brought to life for me as I followed Jason from one strand to another and watched him watch himself in another reality. Sound confusing? It's mind boggling, but I didn't sleep for two nights after I finished it because I understood String Theory so well that the vastness and implications drove me down into a long and very dark hole for a bit. I had to actually distance myself from the idea quite intentionally because it could have made me, literally, go crazy.

Fiction is the nitty gritty, the real and the raw parts of life that we like to skim over in intellectual conversations. Fiction lets us see each other in ways that matter on a daily basis. We root for the child with dyslexia, instead of wanting her disciplined, because we feel her struggle (Fish in a Tree) and we talk about how it would feel to be so different from the other kids. We see how gender roles have boxed us into corners where we feel uncomfortable (The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate) and have discussion around if things have changed today. Fiction breeds discussion because we don't all get the same exact thing out of one story. Feeling the struggle between being African-American and African in America was something I was not aware of until I walked next to the shoes of a recent immigrant (Americanah). The seamless intertwining of religion and tradition into life (Outlander) was made real for me and I now have someone to look up to when I bump into uncomfortable places. We all percolate thoughts in our minds constantly and heaven knows we've all got different ideas about most things. Fiction gives us a common language through which to have these rich and thought provoking discussions. I've read books around World War II from the point of view of so many sides (Japanese Kamikaze pilot included) I feel like I have a good understanding of the human toll, much more than I ever would have gotten from the facts presented in non-fiction. One book read by many people gives them some ground from which to launch all sorts of new ways to solve problems and different angles with which to come at life. Fiction whips us forward and backward though time and space and forces us to see the filth of 1900's New York City (Brooklyn, Triangle) and the violence of 1740's Scotland (Outlander, yes again). We can be propelled into other worlds but still face common problems because they're human problems whether we're in Michigan or Mordor (The Lord of the Rings). Fiction shows us how to summon courage in a patronis, how to navigate friendships and how to age gracefully (Harry Potter). But fiction does it all while also allowing us to hide under invisibility cloaks, fly on broomsticks, travel along the chimneys of London using floo powder, touch a stone and be transported into another time or take up a bow and arrow and inspire a revolution. We get to try on characters and see how it would feel to be someone else, to live in another time, to fight, to win, to loose, to be sick or in a dangerous relationship without actually putting skin in the game.

I read to my girls for about 45 minutes every night and I audibly sighed with relief to hear a teacher suggest I was supposed to continue reading aloud to them though "middle school, at a minimum." I dread the day when we don't have a common story in our home.

Stories, Choices and Possibility

Have you ever read a book that stayed with you? I mean really stayed with you, like you were actually living in that book for days after you'd actually finished reading? This happens to me a lot. Stories get to me. They get under my skin and live deep in my bones for a while. When I was growing up, this meant my thrillers would keep me up late into the night and then seep into my bedroom. In order to get any sleep, I'd have to go wake my peacefully sleeping sister, beg her to come sleep with me and even give up my already warm side of the bed. She did it. Every single time. Thank heavens for her, because I'm not sure I would have made it through high school! Now, thankfully, my husband sleeps beside me (without any begging!) and wakes me up from any book residue that haunts my dreams. I don't read many thrillers anymore, because my sleep is vital to me now, and also because they so deeply color the world I live in. I don't want to be so close to the violent and high strung world they drop me into. But lately, two books I've read have really gotten to me. It was not violence or anxiety or ugliness that got to me with these two, however, it was possibility and the absolute affect of the choices we make.

What Alice Forgot by Laine Moriarty is a novel about a woman who, after falling off of her spin bike and hitting her head, wakes up with no memory of the preceding ten years. She thinks she is happily married, pregnant with her first child and very full of potential. She slowly realizes what happened and how the last 10 years have changed her. She's given this perspective that is nearly impossible for those with a head full of memories. She can look through her ten-years-ago eyes and be reminded of who she was and what was important to her then, instead of being muddled by experience and circumstance. Over time, things build so slowly we don't even see it happening. Like the family members who see your kids once every few months and remark on how much they've grown, or comparing their school pictures year after year. It's there, but the change is so incremental, it's hard to recognize. Life happens this way too. This book made me try, as best as I could, to do the same. Go back ten years and try and remember who I was, what my dreams were and where I was headed. Before the reality of kids and marriage. Before the messiness and sleep deprivation made their marks on my life. Thankfully, very much unlike Alice, I am quite happy with my circumstances and I think my 29 year old self would be proud (surprised, but that's ok) of who I've become and what my life looks like now. Through the shiny newness of early marriage and new pregnancy, it's hard to grasp the difficulty that comes along with theses choices. Then again, Shaun and I have always been nose-to-the-grindstone kind of people. We work really hard to make our reality and it has paid off in spades. The deeper question I rolled around, however, was the more personal one. What kind of person am I now and what would most surprise my 29 year old self. Things that were so desperately important to me then (career!), aren't even part of my life anymore. People with whom I spoke and interacted on a daily basis back then, I haven't talked to since then. Wow. The new people in my life are understandable, but some of the friendships that haven't stood the test of time would be startling. For several days, I was able to see each little part of my 'now' world through these 'then' eyes. Thankfully I'm quite pleased what what I've found, but what an inspiring reminder about life and change and growth.

The second book kinda made my head explode. I like it when books do that to me, even though I'm currently reeling in the aftermath. Dark Matter by Blake Crouch was recommended on NPR's Science Friday show several months ago. It's also a novel, but its story line is based in String Theory. I am understand String Theory like I understand much of physics. I am aware it is there, I know the most basic idea of the idea, but from there, I pretty much leave it alone. Science Friday recommended it as one of the best science books of the year, and one that is pretty accurate with the science part. So, I decided to try it out. I haven't read a whole lot of science fiction, but I really do enjoy it once in a while. I think trying to wrap my brain around something so foreign is good exercise and just plain fun. Lets just say that I'm still there, reeling in the ideas put forth by this story. I thought the science portion was perfect, just enough explanation to maybe get the gist of what was going on, but it was the story line, as usual, that put the whole thing into play for me. A physicist, married with a family, gets kidnapped and somehow wakes up in an alternate reality where he is a world renowned physicist who has figured out how to 'beat the system' and travel within the multiverse proposed by String Theory. Every choice we make, no matter how seemingly unimportant, produces two versions of reality and all realities co-exist within the multiverse. Or at least, something like that. Again, this theme of choices comes up and it makes me realize how incredibly important choice is in our otherwise mundane lives. Of course there are the big ones, I chose to come to Colorado for college instead of staying in New Mexico. Obviously this choice had a huge effect on the trajectory of my life (I wouldn't have gotten my job at Mentor Graphics where I met Shaun, for example). But there are little choices we make that we don't even realize have such overarching effect on our day to day. Have you ever missed being in an accident by just a couple of seconds and thought about stopping at the yellow light instead of zooming through? That was a choice, and String Theory would say that in one version of reality, you went through the light and ended up in that accident. At first, I was interested, and thought, 'of course, every decisions matters, yea, I get it.' But then, this story takes it to the extreme and really shows how vast and incredible this multiverse really is. There are versions of me on such a different path, it would be hard to even recognize me in there. The implications of how experience impacts us and how vital choices are really made me stop and think about where I am now and how I got here. Maybe I'm lucky to be here. Maybe I'm smart. Maybe I have no idea what could have been. I can't really tell right now, however, because those synapses up in my brain are still forging through, trying to make sense of it all. 

Fall

"I'm so happy to live in a world 

where there are Octobers!"

~LM Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

Oh fall, you get me! 

Your warm sunshine on my face reaches deep into my soul, your chilly evenings force me to cuddle up with those I love and just be. Dark mornings say, "Here is an extra moment, be still. No need to hurry." Walking to school, my eyes almost hurt from the clear sky and multicolored trees. Looking to the mountains, I can see every individual layer before the Rockies, as they all have come out to be seen. The crisp air puts a little bounce in my step, the laziness of late summer gone for another year. The golden aspen leaves exude an urgency that says 'notice me now, and notice me well, for I will not be around much longer.' Sometimes I feel like I need to stop blinking for October. 

Our windows are still open during the day and into the evenings, but now I close the house up tight before bed, tucking our cozy family in together each night. The crickets have quieted, they know what's coming. The rustle of dry leaves already on the ground sound comforting to my ears. 

And the spices. Oh the spices! 

Fall, you get me!

Pots full of simmering goodness spread cumin and coriander throughout the house. Cinnamon, ginger and cloves waft from the oven and delight my senses. Walking through our front door on a day like today begs you to come in, sit down and savor it all. It's a time of paying attention, the world itself just begs to be seen and that memory carried into the next season. Harvest in full swing, farmers' markets and grocery stores are overflowing with all of my favorite things, pulling me quickly into the kitchen. During the last weeks of summer, I don't even feel like eating, much less cooking. But fall? Fall makes me want to bake and cook and eat all of the deliciousness that has been working so hard to grow all summer long. We had pumpkin scones earlier this week and we will have pie before the week ends. Why wait until Thanksgiving? October is for pumpkins! Butternut risotto and roasted broccoli with fresh pesto. Roasted beets, delicata squash and carrots. 

October is for absorbing it all. 

I feel like the little mice in the children's book Frederick by Leo Lioni, taking it all in, both literally and figuratively. For me, though, in this time and place, it's more about the gathering, the absorbing, the collecting and the relishing and less about the preparing for winter. October is a time to reflect. I learned about the Jewish holiday of Rosh Hashana recently and was struck with the power of taking a look at the past year's mistakes, trying to make them right and then letting them go. It seems fitting for this time of year. Fall is also the time for the Mexican holiday of Dia de los Muertos, with altars that honor and remember the dead. We have long had an altar in our home, and I always find it fulfilling to talk with the girls as we put up pictures and little tokens for those who've left us. Shaun's grandmother gets four aces, my grandfather has a crossword puzzle and there is even a bit of grass for the horse who taught the girls to ride. Things get added every year, and we talk a little more deeply about it as the girls get older, but it adds such a richness to October. 

Oh fall, you get me.

Pause

I had my last (very stubborn) wisdom tooth out yesterday. Yes, know I 'should' have had them out when I was 18 or so, but that's just not what happened for me. And, as the Chinese proverb goes "The best day to plant a tree was 20 years ago. The second best day is today." Soon enough, this will be 20 years ago! This whole event, however, gave me what I am calling a pause. I had to be under general anesthesia, you see, and although I have successfully managed general anesthesia several times before in my life, there was still that little worry in the back of my mind that somehow I wouldn't wake up. I know it's unlikely, but still I had to sign about 8 pieces of paper acknowledging that 'in severe cases, death' could happen. Thankfully, I only had about 10 days to worry about all of these things and, being me, I got some things in order. I made sure there was food in the house for Shaun to cook and a double batch of pancakes made so that the girls could fend for themselves for breakfast and make their own lunches for a couple of days. I also got the laundry done, the kitchen cleaned and the floors swept. I re-did the chalkboard in our entryway. You know, the important things (he he.) But then, as I was saying good night to the girls on Sunday evening, I just lingered a little longer than normal and told them all of the reasons I love them. I know, I know, it's crazy, right? It's just a 20 minute procedure and then life. Well, I've always been one to be prepared, so, why not this time too, I guess. It made me feel better anyway. So, finally I'm hunkered down in the chair and given the drugs. Man, that stuff works like a charm. I swear I was out before the last syringe hit the trash. Then, I woke up and was wheeled down to Shaun's waiting car and away we went. Yesterday is kind of a blur, in and out of sleep, ice packs, murmuring girls, mushy food and lots of pills. Heavy duty pain killers make me dizzy, nauseous and generally icky, thank heavens there is no chance of addiction for me. But yesterday, as I lay on the couch, fairly unable to move, I took a pause. It's like life was so focused on the surgery that once it happened, there is a little blank space afterward. Similar to rebooting a computer, it takes a moment for it to come back on. And even today, as I rest at home with absolutely no agenda except self care and healing, life is slowly regaining it's former speed. Tomorrow, I'm sure I'll hear the screeching as I get back to full speed. A bunch of jumbled sounds, waiting like a damned up river to flow again. But for now, I sit on the couch, watch some documentaries without too much mental attention required and drift in and out of sleep.

Ten Years!

Somehow my Malia has turned 10. Ten feels big. Ten feels different. Ten feels like change and growth and the beginning of something new. She's excited about the double digits and her newly published book. I'm looking through the last 10 years like pages in a photo album. She's growing and changing and being. I'm trying (and mostly not quite making it) so hard to stay a step ahead of her. A step? At this point it's like a .001 of a second. Mostly likely she'll pass me by the end of the day. Today. She is stepping out of her child self and into a whole new level. She's looking at the world with her own eyes and her own thoughts and her own ideas. I'm happy to just be watching her for a moment. She's normally a pretty even keeled person. It's hard to rile her up about much of anything, but when the box arrived with 20 copies of her very own book, she was excited. As she sat there, touching each book, flipping through page after page of her own words, I was over come. At first, sure, it was pride that washed over me. Pride that she worked day after day after day on this work and stuck with the story for an entire year. Next came relief that I was able to help her make it all happen. Trying to find a book printer that would do it justice and not drain her college fund (although maybe if she starts selling these books, she'll pay her own way! Ha!) was not as easy as I wanted it to be. But we got it all done and it's printed and totally fitting that she is releasing it out into the world on her 10th birthday. I have always wanted to help my kids feel like they could do anything they put their minds to and I am pretty sure Malia is feeling that right now. I only wish I could bottle this moment and keep it for her struggles ahead. Sigh, a mother's view.

Through this entire process, Malia has been such an inspiration to me as well. She plugs away at the keyboard (yup, the whole thing was typed into a Google Doc) hour after hour. She sometimes gasps in the middle of dinner, or a walk, or as we cuddle up each night before sleep. Her eyes get big and she says, "Just a minute, Mom, I need to write something down." Or "Wait, I just got an idea flood...can you hand me that pencil, please?" This is her thing. This is who she is and what she does constantly. Her published story started out slowly, certainly a short story, talked about with her good friends at recess, lunch and every spare moment at school. Then, it grew and changed and grew and then changed again. I finally enlisted the help of her former teacher to help edit the thing as I didn't feel I was the right person to help her. It changed some more and got a little more streamlined. And still, hour after hour she pounded away at the keyboard and found out more things about her characters. She still worked on other stories as well, but her focus never wavered. I finally found a website that would print it, so we ordered one and she edited the whole thing again. Then she had me read it out loud to her as she needed to make sure it sounded good too. Finally, the last edits were made and box with 20 copies arrived last night. Ever so gently cutting the tape across the top of the box, she carefully opened it without any damage to the treasure inside. Her baby. Her creativity and all of her hard work. This girl is persistent to the nth degree. And now she has a book!

The most amazing thing about this entire process, the thing that has most fascinated me anyway, is that she never once asked if anyone else would like it. She's giving out copies like water, signing them with incredible pride without batting an eye. I want that kind of ... what, naivete? Panache? Confidence? Whatever it is, I want it. The other interesting thing I felt today was a little bit of my own childhood through my mother's eyes. I felt her big smile and shining eyes as Malia handed the book to her teacher this morning. Sometimes this mother's pride is a moment I feel more connected to her, as a mother, and some of those moments I feel like I understand her on a much deeper level. This motherhood thing, 10 years in, is pretty great.

In a word

What's in a word? What meaning do we attach to words, or do we really attach any meaning at all? In my rose colored version of history, our words meant much more, held more weight. It was a compliment to say that someone was a man 'of his word.' and so much of society was based upon spoken words. But somewhere along the way, we got less formal and now words are just to placate. So much of our conversation is just boiler plate language we have repeated over and over and now it's nearly meaningless. "How are you?" 'Fine, you?" "Me, good. Busy, you know!" Then we have people in public life saying whatever they want to grab a headline with absolutely no consequence. It doesn't matter that these statements are mean spirited, ugly and outright lies. While I am grateful for the chance to be able to express my sentiments and say things to other people that might have been considered inappropriate under Victorian era etiquette, I can't help but think we have swung a little too far in the other direction. We want friends and family to feel nice and happy so we twist things every so slightly to give our excuses (or maybe ourselves) more clout. We say we have plans when we just want to go home and be alone or appointments when it's really just meeting a different friend for coffee or knowingly double-book and then cancel later instead of just saying no. That always acceptable "too busy!" becomes something much closer to 'no.' All of these little, seemingly innocent, not-quite-the-truth-but-not-quite-a-lie statements start to add up, are accepted by all and slowly, but ever so steadily we chip away at the meaning of our words. Soon enough, perhaps now, we don't know what to think as we simply cannot believe what people say. I know it's much worse right now, due to the theatrics, mud-slinging and childish behavior precipitated by the election, but it isn't only mainstream media and political candidates that gloss over the truth. It's all of us, all of the time. I recently read 'Lying' by Sam Harris and was delighted by his insistence that telling the truth matters. Our words matter. This is why I write, because our words matter.

Awesome: causing feelings of fear and wonder, causing feelings of awe, extremely good. 
When Shaun and I were looking out over the city of Manhattan from the Top of the Rock last fall to celebrate our 10th wedding anniversary, the view was awesome, in every sense of the word. But to say that, the most perfect and appropriate word for the situation, didn't come close to what I felt. "Awesome' has been overused in such underwhelming situations for so very long, it doesn't actually mean it's meaning anymore. Awesome has been eroded down to now mean something closer to neat or nice. I realize this is all part of the evolution of language and there are other words that fill in, are invented or borrowed from other languages to build our vocabulary back up, but still, It pains me to see real, meaningful and perfect words thrown around in such casual and insufficient ways. This is why I write, because our words matter!

Tradition

We were camping at Turquoise Lake, near Leadville, CO over the weekend, as we normally do. My husband's parents and two other families have been going to the same spot for over 30 years now. I started going on this annual trip just after we started dating, 14 years ago. It was already a long standing thing for them, and I felt it upon arrival. The original campers, Grandparents at this point, all pull into their spots with incredible ease and familiarity. As the kids grew up and had their own families, the number of sites has grown and now there are bunches of us, gathered around the same campfires every year. It takes a few years for something to feel like a tradition. Sometimes it happens accidentally and sometimes it takes a lot of work to keep it up. But at some point, it just becomes part of our fabric. Turquoise Lake is like that for me. As we pull off of I-70 and head up high into the Rockies, something else seems to take over. The scenery up there is dramatic, both beautiful and horrific at the same time. The mining from the past century has definitely left scars on the mountains and we will never see its original beauty. But, strangely, the waste ponds are brushed with so many different colors and the bald mountain sides cut so deeply, it is unlike anywhere I have been. The air is thin and I feel small, a tiny drop upon this harsh landscape. Nature at it's finest and man at his worst, all wrapped up into a 10 mile stretch of highway. We skirt the edge of town, stop at Safeway for some ice for our cooler and head out to the campground. The same trucks and trailers, same faces waiting for our arrival. As the girls jump out of the car and run to say hello to everyone, we see how much other kids have grown and changed and what new additions there may be. This year there was an additional kiddo and a newly married couple. There were 10 kids, from 15 months to 13 years and a smattering of parents and all six of the original campers. We all share conversation, play games, gather around the campfire and huddle under cover to get out of the rain. We can almost hear the clouds sail by above us and watch the squirrels grab anything they can and dash up the towering trees. Camp robbing jays come closer and closer to scraps thrown from the 15 month old's grubby hands and we are together. Some people fly fish down the road, some fish at the lake. The kids play in the dirt, climb on rocks and build sand castles on the beach. We have been in shorts and bundled up as the year's first snow flakes fall around us. We watch out for turning leaves and note the water level of the lake. We take the same walks along the same trails that we have done now for years. This tradition is worn and comfortable and easy. It is also new and different each year as no one of us is the same as we were at our last visit. It is a tradition I am so very thankful to be a part of.

I Am 'Back'

As I mentioned in my last post, it has been four years since I last blogged. It has really been four years since I felt anything like control in my life, which is hard. No matter how much I understand there is little that I do actually control, I am just one of those people who needs it. I need to be organized and I need to have time and energy to clear my brain. I'm an introvert, to the core introvert. I know, I know, we're a trendy breed right now, but I've been an introvert my whole life. I'm glad to see the mainstream finally realizing that there are many more of us than our societal founders thought, and we actually do bring a lot to the table. But, we're not going to force it on anyone and sometimes we won't even say anything unless we're asked. Now, I hear my family not stifling their very loud coughs of disagreement, but I'm different 'out there.' It takes a while for me to volunteer information, time or energy in situations that are new to me. But, once I'm in, I'm pretty much all in. So, for the last four years, I have been biding my time, I guess. Recovering, so to speak, from not having a moment to myself until my girls went to school ... for years! Then, as a reaction to this newfound time without the girls, I jumped into elementary school with both feet. I started out being in each classroom for 2 hours per week. Then, my wonderful 88 year old grandmother moved here from California and I started spending a lot of time with her as well. Helping her settle into a new life with four seasons, in a place where she too was surrounded by people. She has her own apartment, but her community is a busy place and, like me, she was slow to jump in. She has been a wonderful addition to my own and my family's life. We see her often and the girls have developed a relationship with her that is truly priceless. They are also getting to know old people in a way so uncommon in life today. I am so very grateful for this time we share. However, all of this has taken me away from being me. My anxiety went through the roof and I tried meditation, reading, counseling and finally medication. The medication helped instantly and I am so very glad I gave it a chance. Sometimes that is just the way we need to go. I was at the time and remain convinced that if I were a hermit far from society and responsibility of any kind, I could kick anxiety out the window and over the next mountain in no time. But we all know that isn't even close to reality, so meds to the rescue. While they did really turned the tide and helped immensely, I wasn't without some nasty side effects (like insomnia ... really!?!),so I got off for a couple years and then eventually, last fall, I had to get back on again. Again, it was a switch. The constant boiling that I felt in my chest disappeared and I could plan and think and live without such a high level of panic. Unfortunately, the side effects came back with full force and I kind of felt like I was moving through life in slow motion. I've always been a highly motivated, driven and productive person and all of a sudden, I realized that I was none of those things anymore. I did just enough to keep my family afloat and that's it. I stopped sewing and slowed even my work outs to a snail's pace. Around this time, I read "Cure: A Journey into the Science of Mind Over Body" by Jo Marchant. Talk about an awakening! This book confirmed everything I used to believe about myself was true (ever since I willed myself out of being ticklish as a child, I knew my mind was powerful!) And backed by science! All of a sudden I could see the toll both anxiety and the medication were having on me and my life. It dulled me, sure it made me calm down and not worry about a serious stock market crash every single day, or that my husband wouldn't come home from work every single night, or that my girls were still alive in their beds, but it also chopped off the top of that wave where I was energetic, productive and excited about doing things that made me happy. So, I slowly weaned myself off of the meds (a truly horrible process that I really never want to repeat) and started to think about what makes me, me. What is it that I am at my very core, not the mother/wife/friend/sister/daughter piece, but the who am I piece. Quite quickly, I came to the conclusion that what makes me, me is all the crazy! It is all of the driven, intense and productive things that make other people exhausted. I realize not everyone is like this and thank heavens that's true. But I am. And it is what makes me happy! This is not to say that I run around like a chicken without a head 24 hours a day, I'm an introvert for goodness's sake! I need alone time. I need slow, easy time with my whole family and with just my loving and incredibly patient husband. For maybe the first time since we had the girls, I think I'm back. I think I lost my voice, my self, my juju. But maybe I've found it now.

What makes you, you?

Ponder on,
Hannah

Diving back in

It has been a while. It has been almost exactly four years since I stepped out of the blogosphere and into life with elementary school kids. Phew. With M in 4th grade this year, the volunteering wanted has dropped way down, in fact I hope I can still go on her field trips! Thankfully, I'll still be able to get into A's classroom once a week. I really have enjoyed getting to know the school, the teachers and all of those other kids. It's so much fun to see the interactions, the varied personalities and amazing amount of energy those teachers put up with on a daily basis. I most always need a nap when I get home from just one hour of that intense involvement. Ha! However, this leaves me with a little more time in my day, for the first time in a long time. So, what's a girl to do? Follow her dreams? Okay then ... here it goes ... I just want to write. I have so much running around in my head at any given moment, I just want to get it all down and out into the world. Not that my thoughts are all that different than anyone else's, but every time I read letters from long ago, or hear individual stories, I am struck by the fact that what binds us is our similarities, our sameness, the fact that we get what other people say because we understand, we've been there too. In this same moment, I feel as if I need to tell my story, to put my own voice out among the masses because if not, if feels as though they speak for me too. My silence is agreement and acceptance. So, I throw my voice in among the many and know it can only make music.

I am currently reading 'What I Told My Daughter' a compilation of essays gathered by Nina Tassler about 'Lessons From Leaders on Raising The Next Generation of Empowered Women.' Right now I am caught in the cross-hairs of raising two girls in main stream America. Yikes. M will be 10 in two short weeks and A has already asked me if she is fat. I tend to be a 'tell it like it is' type of Mom, but I find myself hesitant in times like these. These waters we're stepping into are deep, and so colored with perspective that it's hard to know where to start. My sister and I frequently talk about our childhood and have vastly differing, if not opposing memories of events and even conversations as we grew up. Trying to tailor a message to each personality seems to be the way to go for me, as my girls couldn't be more different. But, at the end of the day, which message is it that I'd like to send? I think we all agree on the body image problem, and thanks to so many tools now available at the touch of a button, my girls already know that a picture of something does not mean it's real. They mess around with their own faces and see for themselves, first hand, how to squish cheeks, make bigger eyes and even join heads together. They even question photos from other parts of the world, asking how something could even be real. I like that, this questioning they're developing. I think this will take them much farther than any insight or lesson I could teach. Still, I grapple with which message I'd like to send. I want them to know that they can do/be anything they'd like to be in whatever form that takes. I caution them, however, to be mindful about choices they're making, even now. Music lessons, soccer practice and games already fill our calendar. Does adding in an art class make sense? One of my favorite quotes, credited to Abraham Lincoln, "Whatever you are, be a good one" speaks volumes to me and guides me in my own life. I try and pass this along when I can. Are you able to be a good soccer player, student, violinist and artist? How much downtime do you need to make sure you're getting your head clear? I think it has got to start with choices like this, now, that will lead them to question those same things as they grow and are faced with much bigger ones. Can I be the kind of person, wife and mother I want to be if I keep working outside my home? My answer was no, other women have answered yes, and that is a win-win. I feel like my girls will have the choice, I just hope to give them the tools to make informed decisions. This is probably the closest thing I'll get to a parenting philosophy ... to work myself out of a job. Give them the skills to ask the right questions, to seek out people who can help answer those questions and then, to always be true to themselves.

I digress, here it begins. I write again ...

Ponder on,
Hannah