Shortly after I turned 30, I realized that water slides are fun. Now, I have yet to go to one of the big stand-alone water parks with the super high slides that my mother-in-law once said seem to be designed for feminine hygiene purposes. (It's a douche that gives you a wedgie!) But I started with the tame offerings of a Disney World hotel kiddie pool a couple of years ago and worked my way up to, last week, riding in a tube with David down the 'Whiplashing Whirlwind of Possible-Lingering-Injury', screaming a few choice expletives and trying not to lose my contact lenses.
Many people spend their youth believing they're invincible. They take risks, strike out, goof around and then, eventually, settle down and develop more caution. I did this backwards. I was so careful and cautious. No risks, or at least very few. I wrapped myself in safety, taking it as some assurance that fear and pain were optional and I could opt out quite happily. Didn't try anything I might fail. Didn't do anything when I couldn't foresee a happy ending. And it did produce a happy life, for a time.
But then, you learn. We all learn. Fear and pain are not optional - they are standard features. No, they are essential components - parts of the engine that drives the whole human experience. Rejecting those things means a flat life, lived on level surfaces, and it means you're all the more shocked and dismayed when a chasm opens up beneath you. If you have no experience with the dynamic of falling, then the fall hurts you twice because you haven't yet grieved the notion that you might never fall in the first place. And after a few tough years in a row, I just didn't fear that sliding, sinking, falling sensation so much anymore. It's not that I was numb to it - far from it.
It's that I knew eventually I'd splash down into a pool of water that buoyed me up again, that I could wipe the sopping strands of hair from my face, blink my contacts back into place, and rise up to climb again. Also, I started to look at my whole life, this entire human experience, as a place where we come to play. To learn, to test our mettle, to laugh and scream and sputter and get scared together. Can I see it as a safe place, rather than somewhere to be scared of? I don't mean to imply that we come through unscathed. Bones and hearts are broken, and there is no shame in resting on a lounge chair or sitting in a warm, bubbly pool. But if I'm able, can I move from the comfortable placidity of the Lazy River to the thrills of the highest, scariest slide, trusting that it's still all been designed to create joy? There is still fear in that slide. There is, as my mother-in-law intimated, discomfort in our most sensitive places. But there's a unmatchable thrill in trusting that the water will carry your body safely down, that eventually you will land, that you will come up and out, that you will take a moment to breathe, that there's more fun to be had.
Monday, October 31, 2016
Friday, October 28, 2016
Wednesday, October 26, 2016
Death Row and Water Slides, Part 2
Huntsville was green and pretty that day - I remember waiting outside while our professor made arrangements for our security orientation. The prison itself is beautiful old red brick building, and looks more like a high school than a prison. There were 'trusties' mowing and gardening outside - throughout our prison tour we didn't encounter anyone in any kind of confinement, and instead watched men going to and from education classes and exercise. This unit is where many Texas prisoners are transferred to be released from the system. Our tour guide was a guard who had worked at the prison for many years, and who personally had overseen many executions. I have the vague recollection of a mustache, a paunch, and a Texas drawl, but I don't think his appearance or voice would fall outside of whatever you might imagine a longtime Texas prison guard to resemble.
The tour began with the oldest cell block in Texas, dating from 1849. I'm 5'9", and a cell for two people would have been too small for me to stand tall or stretch my arms in. They had even set mannequins in antique prison garb inside to demonstrate and give us a feel for the times. We also had an opportunity to be shut into 'the hole' as a group for a time - a small, black-walled box of a room that would occasionally house dozens of prisoners at once as punishment. There were nervous giggles, rather than horror or solemnity. Our guide was knowledgable and matter-of-fact, and gave us accounts of famous prisoners and an eleven-day hostage siege in 1974. Then we proceeded to the space used for executions.
Three cells, a short hallway, and a green room with a gurney. 'Death Row' doesn't actually house prisoners until their time of execution - they arrive shortly before their appointed time to die. In 2010, they told us about the prisoners' last meals - made from whatever the kitchen already had in stock, and produced in bulk. If the person wanted a burger, they got four burgers. The guard explained that it helped 'slow down and calm' the person. Apparently in 2011, they did away with providing a particular 'last meal'. There's a table with a couple of Bibles and a Quran. The person can request a chaplain. And when the time comes, they are escorted down the hall to the execution chamber. Some go willingly. Some must be dragged.
I was surprised by my lack of emotional reaction to this experience at the time. I had always been firmly anti-death penalty, but I found myself hearing such a sensible understanding coming from this guard, and felt so much more aware of the process and rationale behind it. We crowded into the chamber, some of us touching the gurney. We could see the observation room, divided into two halves. There was a microphone coming down from the ceiling to allow the prisoner to give last words, and the guard directed us to the Department of Criminal Justice website where all these last words have been recorded for the public. And he talked us through the process of an execution and told us about his own emotional experiences and ability to compartmentalize so that these moments stayed on the unit, rather than following him home.
We filed out again into the crisp sunshine, piled onto the hired school bus, and headed to grab fast food and tour the nearby Texas Prison Museum, which houses, among other artifacts and interactive exhibits, 'Old Sparky', the formerly employed electric chair. Then it was back onto the bus for the ride home, chatting casually about nothing much with my classmates. Finally, I loaded up a bag and headed to Great Wolf Lodge to eat dinner with the weary adults and water-logged kids who had been mightily enjoying themselves.
When my mom asked about the trip, I remember saying it had been interesting, and I remember, for the first time in my life, defending the death penalty as rational and necessary. After spending all that time thinking about it, I felt like it all made sense. And my mom flushed red and her eyes widened and she was completely bewildered and probably horrified. But I didn't really want to discuss it so I just squeezed into my swimsuit and headed out to do my thing.
Dave asked, for the inevitable umpteenth time, if I would finally do a waterslide. 'Asked' might be a weak word to use - he had been pretty much begging me to do things like ski and rollerblade and rollercoaster and waterslide for the entirety of our almost 10 yr relationship at the time. I'm a chicken. I didn't like to have anything without an engine and brakes between me and the ground. But I decided it was time to try it. I was brave. I'd spent an entire day in a prison! I'd touched the gurney in an execution chamber! I could do this!
I got halfway up the first flight of stairs before I started to shake. I was looking down, a very short way down, into the churning water where the slide would exit. The riotous echoes of kids yelling and splashing, the muggy chlorinated atmosphere, the chaotic motion of water and people had me swaying and rooted me to the railing. And I had my first real panic attack. I sat down hard on the concrete stairs, breathing fast and shallow, and was sure I would pass out. I'm not sure who helped me leave the stairs, I'm sure Dave was there and maybe my sister Abby, but I remember shivering until my teeth rattled.
Within two days, I was against the death penalty again. I still am. In my opinion, it has no place in a civilized society, and it's a practice born of our baser desire for revenge rather than the better angels of our nature. In truth, I wish I could fully live my convictions and become a vegetarian, because of my distaste for killing. But I've also convinced myself that I could slaughter a hog or a cow or a chicken to feed myself and my family if need be. Of course I could. I'm brave.
On Friday - Waterslides and what's changed since then.
The tour began with the oldest cell block in Texas, dating from 1849. I'm 5'9", and a cell for two people would have been too small for me to stand tall or stretch my arms in. They had even set mannequins in antique prison garb inside to demonstrate and give us a feel for the times. We also had an opportunity to be shut into 'the hole' as a group for a time - a small, black-walled box of a room that would occasionally house dozens of prisoners at once as punishment. There were nervous giggles, rather than horror or solemnity. Our guide was knowledgable and matter-of-fact, and gave us accounts of famous prisoners and an eleven-day hostage siege in 1974. Then we proceeded to the space used for executions.
Three cells, a short hallway, and a green room with a gurney. 'Death Row' doesn't actually house prisoners until their time of execution - they arrive shortly before their appointed time to die. In 2010, they told us about the prisoners' last meals - made from whatever the kitchen already had in stock, and produced in bulk. If the person wanted a burger, they got four burgers. The guard explained that it helped 'slow down and calm' the person. Apparently in 2011, they did away with providing a particular 'last meal'. There's a table with a couple of Bibles and a Quran. The person can request a chaplain. And when the time comes, they are escorted down the hall to the execution chamber. Some go willingly. Some must be dragged.
I was surprised by my lack of emotional reaction to this experience at the time. I had always been firmly anti-death penalty, but I found myself hearing such a sensible understanding coming from this guard, and felt so much more aware of the process and rationale behind it. We crowded into the chamber, some of us touching the gurney. We could see the observation room, divided into two halves. There was a microphone coming down from the ceiling to allow the prisoner to give last words, and the guard directed us to the Department of Criminal Justice website where all these last words have been recorded for the public. And he talked us through the process of an execution and told us about his own emotional experiences and ability to compartmentalize so that these moments stayed on the unit, rather than following him home.
We filed out again into the crisp sunshine, piled onto the hired school bus, and headed to grab fast food and tour the nearby Texas Prison Museum, which houses, among other artifacts and interactive exhibits, 'Old Sparky', the formerly employed electric chair. Then it was back onto the bus for the ride home, chatting casually about nothing much with my classmates. Finally, I loaded up a bag and headed to Great Wolf Lodge to eat dinner with the weary adults and water-logged kids who had been mightily enjoying themselves.
When my mom asked about the trip, I remember saying it had been interesting, and I remember, for the first time in my life, defending the death penalty as rational and necessary. After spending all that time thinking about it, I felt like it all made sense. And my mom flushed red and her eyes widened and she was completely bewildered and probably horrified. But I didn't really want to discuss it so I just squeezed into my swimsuit and headed out to do my thing.
Dave asked, for the inevitable umpteenth time, if I would finally do a waterslide. 'Asked' might be a weak word to use - he had been pretty much begging me to do things like ski and rollerblade and rollercoaster and waterslide for the entirety of our almost 10 yr relationship at the time. I'm a chicken. I didn't like to have anything without an engine and brakes between me and the ground. But I decided it was time to try it. I was brave. I'd spent an entire day in a prison! I'd touched the gurney in an execution chamber! I could do this!
I got halfway up the first flight of stairs before I started to shake. I was looking down, a very short way down, into the churning water where the slide would exit. The riotous echoes of kids yelling and splashing, the muggy chlorinated atmosphere, the chaotic motion of water and people had me swaying and rooted me to the railing. And I had my first real panic attack. I sat down hard on the concrete stairs, breathing fast and shallow, and was sure I would pass out. I'm not sure who helped me leave the stairs, I'm sure Dave was there and maybe my sister Abby, but I remember shivering until my teeth rattled.
Within two days, I was against the death penalty again. I still am. In my opinion, it has no place in a civilized society, and it's a practice born of our baser desire for revenge rather than the better angels of our nature. In truth, I wish I could fully live my convictions and become a vegetarian, because of my distaste for killing. But I've also convinced myself that I could slaughter a hog or a cow or a chicken to feed myself and my family if need be. Of course I could. I'm brave.
On Friday - Waterslides and what's changed since then.
Monday, October 24, 2016
Death Row and Water Slides, Part 1
I'm writing this post on Sunday night because tomorrow we are heading to Great Wolf Lodge for a little family getaway. This may well be the most highly anticipated event in Asher's life so far, because it is with this trip that he has discovered the calendar, and perhaps on a broader level the passage of time itself. For seven weeks or so, I have been helping him count down the weeks and days until we go to 'Big Bad Wolf Swim Suit'. We put a sticker on the calendar. Dave made a chart for him to 'X' off the days, but he prefers to write a 'yes' instead (which is a wonky checkmark, often on the wrong square). And when I say 'for seven weeks', I mean '10-25 times a day for seven weeks'. Luckily, after the first week or so, he seemed to believe that we really would go, so he stopped being wildly disappointed every time I explained the calendar.
We've been visiting this particular hotel/indoor waterpark occasionally for several years now, including for Asher's first couple of birthdays. But we also went before we ever had Asher, to play with our nieces and nephew and enjoy the only-now-understood thrills of being the childless couple on family vacations. (Go eat dinner at 8 pm! Quietly! Sleep in! I can't keep writing about this or I might start crying a little with nostalgia.) What never really worked for me was the water park bit - I never liked big slides of any kind after the traumatic surprise of a 'Super Slide' at a local carnival - it was way higher and bumpier than it looked from the ground and I was never again enthused by any way of descent that didn't involve stairs. But I enjoyed the Lazy River, the Wave Pool, and playfully but definitively pushing off Dave's pleadings for me to 'just try the Howling Tornado of Death, it's really not that bad when you get up there.' No thanks, bud. Not gonna happen. Each time, I thought, 'I'm just gonna do one, I'll survive and he'll stop asking when he sees how much non-fun I had.' But I never did. I just drank Diet Coke from a bucket while I watched the kids play, and played arcade games with the rapt absorption that I can no longer muster with one eye scanning to see if Asher has climbed up into a Skee-ball machine again.
In 2010, I was taking some college classes near our home in order to apply for nursing school. I already had a BA in Sociocultural Anthropology, but the huge salary I was promised for ethnographic fieldwork had never materialized. (I thought about making a dweeby joke about getting paid in potlatch but I thought I'd embarrass myself enough by just threatening to make said joke for the .2% of people who would even get it or care, and they'd still probably correct me so it would be an utter waste. I have a lot of pride in my idealistic choice of major, but it comes with a hefty sidecar of eye-rolling at myself.)
One of the required classes was in Sociology, which I had always seen as Anthropology's second cousin who you get lumped in with at reunions but don't really enjoy too much. But I liked the class and it was easy as pie, so I was enjoying the experience. We were offered a special field trip to Huntsville, where we would tour the oldest prison in Texas, and in particular we would visit the state's execution chamber, which is the most active site of execution in the country. I was willing and intrigued, but, as I'm sure you can guess, the trip happened to fall on the week of our family's jaunt to 'Big Bad Wolf Swim Suit'. So I planned to go on the field trip (about 8 hrs long) and meet up with everyone at the end of the day, spend the night at the hotel and do the whole Wave Pool/Diet Coke/Not Watersliding thing.
But it went a little weird.
We've been visiting this particular hotel/indoor waterpark occasionally for several years now, including for Asher's first couple of birthdays. But we also went before we ever had Asher, to play with our nieces and nephew and enjoy the only-now-understood thrills of being the childless couple on family vacations. (Go eat dinner at 8 pm! Quietly! Sleep in! I can't keep writing about this or I might start crying a little with nostalgia.) What never really worked for me was the water park bit - I never liked big slides of any kind after the traumatic surprise of a 'Super Slide' at a local carnival - it was way higher and bumpier than it looked from the ground and I was never again enthused by any way of descent that didn't involve stairs. But I enjoyed the Lazy River, the Wave Pool, and playfully but definitively pushing off Dave's pleadings for me to 'just try the Howling Tornado of Death, it's really not that bad when you get up there.' No thanks, bud. Not gonna happen. Each time, I thought, 'I'm just gonna do one, I'll survive and he'll stop asking when he sees how much non-fun I had.' But I never did. I just drank Diet Coke from a bucket while I watched the kids play, and played arcade games with the rapt absorption that I can no longer muster with one eye scanning to see if Asher has climbed up into a Skee-ball machine again.
In 2010, I was taking some college classes near our home in order to apply for nursing school. I already had a BA in Sociocultural Anthropology, but the huge salary I was promised for ethnographic fieldwork had never materialized. (I thought about making a dweeby joke about getting paid in potlatch but I thought I'd embarrass myself enough by just threatening to make said joke for the .2% of people who would even get it or care, and they'd still probably correct me so it would be an utter waste. I have a lot of pride in my idealistic choice of major, but it comes with a hefty sidecar of eye-rolling at myself.)
One of the required classes was in Sociology, which I had always seen as Anthropology's second cousin who you get lumped in with at reunions but don't really enjoy too much. But I liked the class and it was easy as pie, so I was enjoying the experience. We were offered a special field trip to Huntsville, where we would tour the oldest prison in Texas, and in particular we would visit the state's execution chamber, which is the most active site of execution in the country. I was willing and intrigued, but, as I'm sure you can guess, the trip happened to fall on the week of our family's jaunt to 'Big Bad Wolf Swim Suit'. So I planned to go on the field trip (about 8 hrs long) and meet up with everyone at the end of the day, spend the night at the hotel and do the whole Wave Pool/Diet Coke/Not Watersliding thing.
But it went a little weird.
Friday, October 21, 2016
Fried-Day - a Postscript
Well, we were in Dallas yesterday, and the siren song of Fair Park was too loud to ignore. All of Asher's cousins were in attendance, and I couldn't resist. Of course, it was a very different experience, but no less memorable.
Alas, the joys and pleasures of Senior Citizen day are no more. Greatest Generation dodderers have been usurped by grim-faced Baby Boomers bemoaning the length of the line for corn dogs. The tone has definitely changed. The place was packed on a Thursday morning - it ain't right. However, I did enjoy my fought-for fried food, and Asher actually sat for the entire puppet show! (The word 'sat' is used very loosely, as it consisted of crawling between my lap and kneeling on his seat. Also, that show has some pretty serious copyright infringement going on, but I don't think anybody's gonna rat them out. Plus, Ash laughed the hardest when they re-enacted a Kermit the Frog bit, so I'm not the stoolie for the job.)
My biggest head-wag is reserved for The Food and Fiber Pavilion (insert gregorian dirge here), which is now an uninspired cattle chute filled with poor suckers in a long line for a cup of Activia. That used to be ice cream! There was once a cow! HER NAME WAS ELSIE. HER BABY'S NAME WAS BEAU. AND THERE WAS CHOCOLATE MILK. I'm devastated.
Here's a tribute to the now-defunct ice cream station. Now everybody has to buy actual scoops of ice cream rather than relying on anemic ice-frosted sample-sized cones. Okay, maybe it's not the saddest thing in the world.
Wednesday, October 19, 2016
Desert Island Discs
Every Sunday, I like to listen to a BBC radio show/podcast called 'Desert Island Discs'. Host Kirsty Young interviews all sorts of people and asks them to pick 8 music tracks they would take when stranded on a deserted island. She also asks what book you would choose to add to the Bible and the Complete Works of Shakespeare (I'm taking Jane Austen's oeuvre) and a luxury item (Knife? Flint? I'm tempted by a lifetime supply of Diet Coke in cans, because that would be tools, shelter, and a party in my mouth.) Naturally, I've been working on my own list of songs, but I only have a few nailed down for sure.
1. Beethoven's 7th Symphony, Allegretto. Beautiful, haunting, adds drama to any situation.
1. Beethoven's 7th Symphony, Allegretto. Beautiful, haunting, adds drama to any situation.
2. Eric Idle: Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life. Funny, heartwarming, adds perspective to any situation. Seriously, any situation. As evidenced by the video. Warning: one well-placed swear word.
3. Edith Piaf: Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien. I recently introduced this song to Asher and now he wants to listen to the first 30 seconds ad infinitum. And I have no problem with that - it's two minutes of sheer ballsy courage and ferocity.
4. Animal Collective: What would I want? Sky. Complex weirdness and beauty from a longtime favorite band. Also nice and long and makes me feel like I could maybe fly.
I have a few more, but I'm really interested in yours! What's one song you wouldn't want to live without?
Monday, October 17, 2016
Trying Times
I spent a lovely weekend alone, recharging and rediscovering the good, quiet places inside myself.
I held a lorikeet at the zoo, and he licked my finger. I didn't know birds could lick.
I also listened to a few favorite podcasts, including On Being with Krista Tippett, and I want to share something with you that she shared with me.
I have been through times of great pain and difficulty. I have quite a few friends who are in pain and difficulty right now. And, as life continues, we will all take turns in their places. Here's a bit of something beautiful for those dark moments. I'm wishing peace, love, and healing to all of you.
I held a lorikeet at the zoo, and he licked my finger. I didn't know birds could lick.
I also listened to a few favorite podcasts, including On Being with Krista Tippett, and I want to share something with you that she shared with me.
I have been through times of great pain and difficulty. I have quite a few friends who are in pain and difficulty right now. And, as life continues, we will all take turns in their places. Here's a bit of something beautiful for those dark moments. I'm wishing peace, love, and healing to all of you.
Quiet friend who has come so far,
feel how your breathing makes more space around you.
Let this darkness be a bell tower
and you the bell. As you ring,
feel how your breathing makes more space around you.
Let this darkness be a bell tower
and you the bell. As you ring,
what batters you becomes your strength.
Move back and forth into the change.
What is it like, such intensity of pain?
If the drink is bitter, turn yourself to wine.
Move back and forth into the change.
What is it like, such intensity of pain?
If the drink is bitter, turn yourself to wine.
In this uncontainable night,
be the mystery at the crossroads of your senses,
the meaning discovered there.
be the mystery at the crossroads of your senses,
the meaning discovered there.
And if the world has ceased to hear you,
say to the silent earth: I flow.
To the rushing water, speak: I am.
say to the silent earth: I flow.
To the rushing water, speak: I am.
Rainer Maria Rilke, Sonnets to Orpheus II, 29
Friday, October 14, 2016
Baptism by...
I don't really feel like writing today. I have already changed 12 foul diapers and the clock just struck 10 am, so my ratio of awake hours to bum wipes is disheartening. There's nothing like waking up to the angelic sound of your sweet, sickly babe hollering "Change a poo-poo?"
When Ash was 5 or 6 weeks old, I remember feeling like life was an endless session of Red Light Green Light. I would get up, change him, feed him, probably change him again, get him to sleep, pump (a whole other story), lie down, look at my phone in a delusional state of exhaustion, and finally remove my glasses and shut my eyes. Despite a diagnosed hearing loss in one ear, the kid had a perfect alert system for the sound of my glasses hitting the bedside table and it would start right back up again. We kept the lights low to encourage sleep and to try to maintain some differentiation between day and night but it was all pretty much delirious sleepwalking.
One morning, after a dazed and memorably messy 2 am encounter, I got up, dressed, got Asher bundled up, and set off to do some necessary errands. It was only when I pulled up to an ATM at 830 or so that I reached for my wallet and saw it.
Poop.
Dried.
On my hand.
Just the lightest smear on the back of my thumb, but I was dumbfounded.
Once I got over the shuddering horror of being slimed and scrubbed the residue with the abundance of baby wipes I kept in my vehicular equivalent of a hobo's bindle, I had a humbling and transformative realization:
I was a mother.
After 5 years of infertility and 30 years of 'girl-' and 'woman-' hood, I had been granted a new identity to proudly claim. That was a badge of honor, my friend.
(One that I quickly went home and scrubbed off again. And again. And again.)
When Ash was 5 or 6 weeks old, I remember feeling like life was an endless session of Red Light Green Light. I would get up, change him, feed him, probably change him again, get him to sleep, pump (a whole other story), lie down, look at my phone in a delusional state of exhaustion, and finally remove my glasses and shut my eyes. Despite a diagnosed hearing loss in one ear, the kid had a perfect alert system for the sound of my glasses hitting the bedside table and it would start right back up again. We kept the lights low to encourage sleep and to try to maintain some differentiation between day and night but it was all pretty much delirious sleepwalking.
One morning, after a dazed and memorably messy 2 am encounter, I got up, dressed, got Asher bundled up, and set off to do some necessary errands. It was only when I pulled up to an ATM at 830 or so that I reached for my wallet and saw it.
Poop.
Dried.
On my hand.
Just the lightest smear on the back of my thumb, but I was dumbfounded.
Once I got over the shuddering horror of being slimed and scrubbed the residue with the abundance of baby wipes I kept in my vehicular equivalent of a hobo's bindle, I had a humbling and transformative realization:
I was a mother.
After 5 years of infertility and 30 years of 'girl-' and 'woman-' hood, I had been granted a new identity to proudly claim. That was a badge of honor, my friend.
(One that I quickly went home and scrubbed off again. And again. And again.)
Wednesday, October 12, 2016
It's All Yours Already
Obedience is something that comes naturally to me.
There are very few rules, or even suggestions, that I disobey with impunity. I could probably name all of them, but here's a sampling: I rarely keep off the grass if it's just a mowed lawn - that's just a tidy version of nature's sidewalk and it feels better to my feet.
Actually, I just sat here for two minutes trying to think of another one and I couldn't.
Oh yeah! I drive across the middle of parking lots. Don't tell me what to do, white paint. Yellow and red paint are the only bosses of me.
But I'm definitely not touching the things with the 'no touching' signs. I'm not going into 'employee only' areas. I'm staying in the bounds, no matter how puny the bounds are.
I think a lot about the story of the Prodigal Son. For most of my life, I saw it as a lovely tale of repentance and redemption, about those 'other people' who don't obey and twist off and need to come to their senses in a pile of manure. About the times when I maybe DID cross a line and got caught and shamed and ran back crying and humiliated. About the people who betrayed me, who I needed to run to with open arms and retrieve them and reassure them and teach them how to do it 'the right way' again. There's an unflatteringly self-oriented thread running through those, so I'm just letting you know I'm aware of it.
But, as often happens with those TARDIS-like parables (they're bigger on the inside, and I'm a nerd), I have discovered and drawn close to a new character. Perhaps (no, certainly), uncomfortably close.
Now his elder son was in the field: and as he came and drew nigh to the house, he heard musick and dancing. And he called one of the servants, and asked what these things meant. And he said unto him, Thy brother is come; and thy father hath killed the fatted calf, because he hath received him safe and sound. And he was angry, and would not go in: therefore came his father out, and entreated him. And he answering said to his father, Lo, these many years do I serve thee, neither transgressed I at any time thy commandment: and yet thou never gavest me a kid, that I might make merry with my friends: But as soon as this thy son was come, which hath devoured thy living with harlots, thou hast killed for him the fatted calf. And he said unto him, Son, thou art ever with me, and all that I have is thine. (KJV Luke 15: 25-31)
Here's one of the downsides of innate obedience - the rules become more important than the real. Pain and relief have both come from mourning all the moments and relationships and eras of my life when I was focused so much more on watching and maintaining the fences than I was with turning around and exploring the garden I'd been given. Anxiously coloring inside the lines but never changing crayons from a dull, drab brown.
As religious and/or thoughtful people we often focus on righting wrongs and healing from harm. We challenge ourselves to grow in goodness, in patience, in love. Obedience to moral and religious codes can free us to make bigger, better choices. I've heard these boundaries described as guardrails on a bridge - without boundaries we are slower, more cautious, more unsure as we cross the bridge, and with them we can more quickly and confidently move forward.
But it's a scenic bridge! We didn't come here just to move along - we came to look and linger and enjoy and smell and embrace. And too often I found myself clinging to the guardrails and warning others of the potential for doom, rather than looking up and down and around at all the joy that's there to be received.
We don't have to wait for some benevolent pat on the back and a goody bag. We can have songs and dancing and roasted goat on a spit whenever we desire. Everything He has is ours - we don't only received it when we make desperate missteps. It's the inheritance we live and breathe.
(Three Wise Men I'm learning from: Rob Bell, Timothy Keller, and Adam Miller who is actually a real person I know. I assume the other two are real but I've never eaten taquitos at their houses.)
Monday, October 10, 2016
Fur-Weather Friends
Everywhere you look right now, you see my spirit animal. Fall decor has appropriated the squirrel, and I'm reclaiming them as year-round objects of my affection and admiration.
My middle name is Forrest. I feel closest to my primordial self when surrounded by trees - they populate my favorite stories and scriptures and art of all kinds. The woods are full of symbols and meaning that I don't think I could begin to touch in a light and fluffy blog post, but I can definitely touch on my feelings for light and fluffy squirrels.
Some people see squirrels as pests, and they can certainly live up to that expectation. They're tree rats who chew through your attic and leave unpleasant souvenirs - my mother once saw one peering into her kitchen through an air conditioner vent. She was not thrilled. I'm not thrilled by regular non-tree rats, incidentally - ten years ago one jumped from a shelf by my face onto my bare foot and I screamed and peed my pants as a full grown adult. Let's pretend that's the only time I've peed my pants as a full grown adult though - makes for a better story, I think.
Here's a brief list of reasons why squirrels are my best wild animal friends.
1. Big eyes, brown fur, fluffy. That's pretty much me.
2. They are everywhere. Squirrels live in almost every habitat on the planet, so anywhere you go, you can spot one, which means I can be easily delighted anywhere on earth. If your spirit animal is a giraffe or a katydid or a ring-tailed lemur, sucks to be you. Have fun at the zoo, my unfortunate friend. I'll be over here in this random parking lot communing with my symbol of selfhood.
3. They are inherently funny. Lions? Majestic. Dolphins? Adorable. Butterflies? Delicate and beautiful. Squirrels? Hilarious.
Exhibit A:
Exhibit B:
Need I go on? I CAN DO THIS ALL. DAY. LONG. (Don't think I haven't already, multiple times.)
4. They are brave, intrepid, enthusiastic, curious, hard-working, and ridiculously cute; and have a reputation for being overexcitable and somewhat flaky. Me all over. Except the
hard-working part, but that's a topic for another post.
So the next time you see a squirrel (which, let's face it, will be pretty soon), give it a little wave in my honor, and imagine it in a sweater. See what I mean? Delightful.
Friday, October 7, 2016
Good Old-Fashioned Blech
One of the many blessings of preschool (hallelujah) is that when you feel crummy, you can take a true sick day. Well, a sick morning-midafternoon, but don't kill my buzz, people. I've got blankies, pillows, TV, and a barrel of ice water with a straw. This certainly beats the pre-preschool routine of 'put Disney movies on repeat, toss a pile of cheerios on the floor and try not to pass out while the kid tears the house down around you'.
But nothing compares to sick days as a kid, right? I had mono as a kindergartner, which is unusual, but I was nothing if not precocious. I was sick from Thanksgiving to Easter, VERY sick, and bedridden for a good piece of that time. I don't remember feeling sick, just tired. But what I DO remember is getting to lay in my parents' big bed, reading and coloring, and that they borrowed a VCR from somewhere and brought a TV into the room so I could watch The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. And maybe Faerie Tale Theatre. And whatever other great PBS shows that came on before McNeil Lehrer - we really loved 'Frudal Gournet', which I still love and might go watch on youtube today. Here's a blast from the past for you:
As an adult, you don't usually get that same sensation of being fretted over and doted upon. To be fair, I know when Dave is sick my doting only lasts for so long before it's tinged with envy and resentment, with a splash of suspicion. But I'm not gonna lick his spoons to try to get some down time in return - it's just not worth all the catching-up you have to do after really being down for the count.
However, a couple of years ago I had a really bad virus and was absolutely miserable, and my dad brought me crayons, a coloring book, and some lottery scratch-offs. He's maybe the best person in the history of ever, and this incident will be included in his Nobel nomination, I am sure.
But nothing compares to sick days as a kid, right? I had mono as a kindergartner, which is unusual, but I was nothing if not precocious. I was sick from Thanksgiving to Easter, VERY sick, and bedridden for a good piece of that time. I don't remember feeling sick, just tired. But what I DO remember is getting to lay in my parents' big bed, reading and coloring, and that they borrowed a VCR from somewhere and brought a TV into the room so I could watch The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. And maybe Faerie Tale Theatre. And whatever other great PBS shows that came on before McNeil Lehrer - we really loved 'Frudal Gournet', which I still love and might go watch on youtube today. Here's a blast from the past for you:
As an adult, you don't usually get that same sensation of being fretted over and doted upon. To be fair, I know when Dave is sick my doting only lasts for so long before it's tinged with envy and resentment, with a splash of suspicion. But I'm not gonna lick his spoons to try to get some down time in return - it's just not worth all the catching-up you have to do after really being down for the count.
However, a couple of years ago I had a really bad virus and was absolutely miserable, and my dad brought me crayons, a coloring book, and some lottery scratch-offs. He's maybe the best person in the history of ever, and this incident will be included in his Nobel nomination, I am sure.
Wednesday, October 5, 2016
Deep Wednesday Thoughts
Something created for everyone but now considered childish:
Disney animated movies. Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (I wanna say Dwarves but that's not what they called it, English is weird and whatever Walt says goes) was created with adults and kids in mind - and it was a massively crazy hit. Adjusted for inflation, it's one of the top ten box office performers in US history. (Per Wikipedia. Do I have to cite sources in a blog?) Buddy loves 'Heigh-Ho', but I'm always a bit thrown by how scary the first part of the movie is. Freaky trees with claws! Also, I took him to a repertory screening of 'Sleeping Beauty' - that is a beautiful film on the big screen. Just stunning.
Something created for kids but now considered for everyone (aside from the aforementioned coloring books):
Gummy vitamins. Why is this a thing? Did no one in my generation learn to swallow pills? Does melatonin need to be candy so that adults will begrudgingly go to bed? I got over the thrill of consuming fruit-flavored erasers at too early an age, I suppose. Also, they're marketing those squeeze-pouches of fruit to adults too - it's baby food, people. If you're gonna get into baby food, man up and get it in the little jar and eat it with a rubberized spoon. Don't think you're fooling anyone with your 'I'm grown and on the go so I'm gonna suck down this little pouch of apple-kale-sauce through a tiny spout right before I whine about wanting to take a nap' vibe. Also coconut-water juice boxes. Also cupcakes (which I actually have no beef with because I'd have to be a fool to turn my nose up at those, no matter how many sprinkles are on top).
Disney animated movies. Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (I wanna say Dwarves but that's not what they called it, English is weird and whatever Walt says goes) was created with adults and kids in mind - and it was a massively crazy hit. Adjusted for inflation, it's one of the top ten box office performers in US history. (Per Wikipedia. Do I have to cite sources in a blog?) Buddy loves 'Heigh-Ho', but I'm always a bit thrown by how scary the first part of the movie is. Freaky trees with claws! Also, I took him to a repertory screening of 'Sleeping Beauty' - that is a beautiful film on the big screen. Just stunning.
Something created for kids but now considered for everyone (aside from the aforementioned coloring books):
Gummy vitamins. Why is this a thing? Did no one in my generation learn to swallow pills? Does melatonin need to be candy so that adults will begrudgingly go to bed? I got over the thrill of consuming fruit-flavored erasers at too early an age, I suppose. Also, they're marketing those squeeze-pouches of fruit to adults too - it's baby food, people. If you're gonna get into baby food, man up and get it in the little jar and eat it with a rubberized spoon. Don't think you're fooling anyone with your 'I'm grown and on the go so I'm gonna suck down this little pouch of apple-kale-sauce through a tiny spout right before I whine about wanting to take a nap' vibe. Also coconut-water juice boxes. Also cupcakes (which I actually have no beef with because I'd have to be a fool to turn my nose up at those, no matter how many sprinkles are on top).
Monday, October 3, 2016
Whelm
Some days, the world just feels way too big.
I know that there are people I know - people I love, people I respect, people with huge Facebook followings - who feel energized and excited by getting into the turmoil of the larger world. Politics, religion, social and cultural issues. There are dozens of articles to read, comments to debate, thoughts and feelings and values to examine and proclaim and decry. There are huge hurts and wounds in the world that we are all called to help to heal. We all claim some level of involvement in or responsibility for the various communities of which we are a part. We have identities, tribes, nations, genders.
With all of those identities come expectations. I should read all the books and articles that will make me a better wife, a better mother, a better writer, a better American, a better Mormon. I should talk to people and teach and lecture and correct and listen and discuss with humility and expand my network and broaden my reach. I should challenge myself, break new ground, go outside all of my comfort and stretch, stretch, stretch.
Some days that feels like too much for me.
Some days, I just want to make sure my kid eats breakfast. I just want to make my bed, and read old words that bring me peace. I want to sweep and mop and pull some weeds. I want to make bread. Check my mailbox. Feel connected to my small, immediate, physical life. I want to hug my mother. Kiss my husband. Ruffle my little boy's hair. Feel the sublime sensation of having my own hair ruffled by God and the universe and everything bigger than my self. Know that this - just this - is plenty.
(Isn't it?)
I know that there are people I know - people I love, people I respect, people with huge Facebook followings - who feel energized and excited by getting into the turmoil of the larger world. Politics, religion, social and cultural issues. There are dozens of articles to read, comments to debate, thoughts and feelings and values to examine and proclaim and decry. There are huge hurts and wounds in the world that we are all called to help to heal. We all claim some level of involvement in or responsibility for the various communities of which we are a part. We have identities, tribes, nations, genders.
With all of those identities come expectations. I should read all the books and articles that will make me a better wife, a better mother, a better writer, a better American, a better Mormon. I should talk to people and teach and lecture and correct and listen and discuss with humility and expand my network and broaden my reach. I should challenge myself, break new ground, go outside all of my comfort and stretch, stretch, stretch.
Some days that feels like too much for me.
Some days, I just want to make sure my kid eats breakfast. I just want to make my bed, and read old words that bring me peace. I want to sweep and mop and pull some weeds. I want to make bread. Check my mailbox. Feel connected to my small, immediate, physical life. I want to hug my mother. Kiss my husband. Ruffle my little boy's hair. Feel the sublime sensation of having my own hair ruffled by God and the universe and everything bigger than my self. Know that this - just this - is plenty.
(Isn't it?)
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