Brief commentary on Christmas, and Writing & Education issues

Hope the holidays have been wonderful for all readers. We enjoyed some family time at home, then drove to my parents' house for more presents and yummy food. My sister-in-law brought some of the same appetizers that she brought last year. I'd forgotten all about them until I gazed upon them in the kitchen: guacamole and a taco dip, kind of a seven-layer thing. She couldn't have chosen a more saliva-producing spread for me. I scooped up guacamole until I truly couldn't eat any more of it. Yum.

Today the children are playing with some of their gifts, concocting elaborate scenarios with some Playmobil they received. I love that stuff. It's food for the imagination like nothing I've ever seen. I had Fisher Price people with the barn, the schoolhouse, the plane, the house. That was great stuff, too, and I managed to compose some great stories with Barbies and Breyer horses, galloping to someone's rescue, or escaping something fearful. But Playmobil just goes on and on, encouraging nonstop creativity.

I'm getting ready for my New Year's resolutions. I don't really make a list, but it's definitely a time of year when I tend to get a little more motivated and eager to tackle more. I hope that happens this year. I could use a little eager motivation.

[slight shift of subject matter, though it loosely connects through my motivation in writing--if I spent a little time on a transition, I could make it work. But lacking motivation, as I have already cited, I'm just going to take this parenthetical approach]

Recently I read these statements in a book about writing: "Americans and their culture are now significantly 'dumbed down.' Having said that, let me immediately recognize and point out the exception: that is, a few thousand American English majors and writing students have been taught by elementary teachers to be expressive. They have been read good books and learned to love them. They have been guided by high school teachers to make connections between the stories and poems they read and the stuff of their own lives. They have been taught to stand apart from both life and literature enough so they can make judgments based on their own tastes.

"But they are the exception. Most Americans have been 'dumbed down'...As the secretary of education under Richard Nixon said, if this low level of American schooling had been laid on us by a foreign country we'd have gone to war against that country." (p. 4, Beyond the Writers' Workshop, by Carol Bly)

She goes on to point out that most children don't learn about conceptual thinking, connective principles behind data (though they may memorize the data), and can't identify the organizing principles behind information. Some even graduate from high school illiterate. The other day our newspaper printed a report about the low comprehension of college graduates.
http://www.indystar.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20051226/NEWS06/512260409&SearchID=73230752363581

All of this has me thinking about my children, their education, their ability to be expressive, make those connections and enjoy great literature. How are they doing?

She also observed that people who want to write read "astonishingly" few books. This leaves a would-be or beginning writer reading only for "sense impression" rather than "for the ancient balance of both sense impression and contemplation. The mix of sense impression and consulting one's own mind is an acquired taste that comes from reading literature." This has me thinking about my own "continuing education," if you will. Am I reading enough of the right literature for an ongoing mix of sense impression and consultation of my own mind? What does that mean for the writer-reader? Should I develop a reading plan? Should I be reading more in the genre I'm attempting to write? Should I gather people with whom I can discuss the books I'm reading? How can I maximize personal literacy?

Then she said something that humbled me even more. She referred specifically to creative writing teachers, but it could apply to writers, as well: [they] "are horribly ignorant of the sciences--not just of the abstract, conceptual sciences such as physics and chemistry, but even of the descriptive sciences such as botany and biology."

Uh oh. I'm a stranger to most scientific concepts and vocabulary. I fit that description in most areas. From the classes and conferences I've attended, I remember being told many times that one must be specific. A writer should not write that a character leaned against a tree trunk; rather, the character should lean against a sugar maple trunk, or a shagbark hickory. A girl should watch a monarch butterfly ascend from the prairie grass, not a butterfly. I wouldn't do so well if someone in my writing needs to stare up at Orion or Cassiopea. I'd spell it wrong or have them facing the wrong direction in the wrong hemisphere. I don't understand black holes enough to refer to them with confidence. There was a time when I tried to read up on such things after being inspired by Madeleine L'Engle. She's an amateur scientist who researched physics (among other things) simply as a curious human being and a writer. Her research wove through her award-winning science fiction.

Finally, in this early chapter that made such an impression on me, Bly pointed out our diminished vocabulary, even the extinction of language in our culture. I've seen this in myself. As I've been reading and studying, I have been keeping a page of vocabularly words. I am running across so many words I don't know. As a reader, I must have gone through a season of limiting myself to simpler books. Now that I'm trying to challenge myself a little more with classics, I am stopping on words I'm not sure about. It's time to invest in a better dictionary.

As a writer I have a casual style as do many contemporary authors, and a casual style doesn't require advanced, multi-syllabic expressions. This, too, may be a reason I find myself uncomfortable with her observations--I may be a person of diminished vocabulary realizing my inferiority. Maybe it doesn't bother most people to think they may have a dimished vocabulary. Our IM, emoticon method of communicating may threaten nuance and specificity more and more. In 40 years, we'll be speaking in nothing but acronyms, KWIM?

Many thanks to an alert reader--my mother--who pointed out that my domain name had expired. Oops. I renewed it and therefore you can return to this mish-mash of stories and odd observations about life. If you enjoy these unrelated entries, thank my mom for her help in getting me back up and running.

Speaking of getting back up and running, I donned my Adidas Supernovas and went for a 30-minute jog today. It's been a while. I've been using a stairclimbing machine in my basement during these frigid winter temperatures, and it just isn't the same. After that hiatus from pounding the pavement, I've grown soft. I just couldn't keep up the distance and pace I had been only a month or so ago. If I want to do more than crawl across the finish line of the Spring half-marathon I'm signed up for, I'm going to have to pull on the cold weather layers and get out there more often to train. Brrrr.

A college-aged guest who likes movies visited us for a few days, so I loaded her up with my four kids and bought tickets to Narnia. Oh, wouldn't that be nice if we could all buy tickets to Narnia? I meant tickets to the movie, of course. We weren't sure how the youngest would do, so we prepared him that we would be covering his eyes through some of the scary parts.

[no real spoilers, but if you haven't seen it and want to be completely ignorant, skip a paragraph]

Early in the movie the children are exploring the professor's house playing hide-and-seek. Nothing happens, but they are slipping around corners and it's possible that the music was adding tension. At any rate, my youngest was cringing and worried, "oh...ohhhhhh...." I looked at our guest with wide eyes--if he was this upset over a game of hide-and-seek when nothing at all happens, what is he going to do when some really scary creatures emerge? Well, I did hide his eyes from some of the more hideous and evil creatures, and during one of the climactic sequences when things were very dark and horrible, I also shielded his view. But by the time the battle sequence begins, he was rooting for the hippogryphs as they soared overhead and dropped stones on the enemy army! Maybe when he knew he was in a fantasy world, it was less scary than the real-life sequences? Or maybe it's just a frog-in-the-kettle syndrome, where he was exposed to suspense in the movie and grew accustomed to it.

Okay, then I realized that the only way I was going to get out to see "Pride and Prejudice" before it disappears from theaters was to drag them all out to see it with me. It's already gone from the closest theater, and there were only three time slots left at the theater we drove to. I think "Kong" is kicking it out along with "Cheaper by the Dozen 2."

We walked into the theater late due to Christmas traffic, and about a dozen older ladies were settled into their seats. Seriously, I think everyone in that room received a Senior Citizen's discount. I didn't think of the film as being for an older audience. Maybe it was the time of day. Anyway, our guest bought us all popcorn as a treat. The youngest immediately spilled his all over the floor, and during the quiet scenes, the theater seemed filled with the rattling and crinkling of my children messing around with their popcorn bags. They whispered loudly that they needed drinks of water, and after shushing them, I made them wait for the next ball, when things would be noisier. They would crunch-crunch-crunch over the spilled popcorn each time they moved along the row to the aisle. I was so embarrassed and felt so bad for the people sitting in front of and behind us.

[Spoiler alert--don't read if you don't want to know the end, but surely you already know it from reading the book? Or from watching one of the other twenty cinematic attempts at capturing the heart of the novel?]

Our youngest liked the end. The marriage is implied--they show before and after, but not the wedding itself. "Are they married?" he asked loudly as the credits rolled by. "Yes, they got married," I answered. The ladies behind us smiled and laughed, so I felt that if they may have forgiven our clamor at least a little. My youngest particularly liked the way he kissed her first on the forehead, then one cheek, then the other, then the nose...then I think eventually on the lips. Preceding each kiss, he said, "Mrs. Darcy." So as my youngest tried to explain that scene to my husband when we got home, it was a little confusing. The romantic element was lost.

I am delighted that I got to see it, however. I'll rent it again and force my husband to stay awake through it. I'm also reading the book again. It's been so long, I'd forgotten some of the details. This review is great. Go see it before it is completely overshadowed by the big ape:

http://lookingcloser.org/movie%20reviews/H-P/prideandprejudice.htm

One of my kids wants a set of Playmobil that includes plastic dinosaur bones imbedded in ice. It's a paleontologist kit, and they get to move the people around with picks and ice transporters to dig out the frozen remains. Pretty cool for a girl who wants to be a scientist.

Her younger brother the preschooler was flipping through the Playmobil catalog and said, "You need to watch out, because your dinosaurs are gonna die and then they'll be bones. So you need to watch 'bout dat. You need to slow down."

"What do you mean she needs to slow down?" I asked.

"I mean (vowels stretched out for emphasis) that she needs to slow down. Otherwise (yes, he used the word "otherwise") they'll be bones. That's why I said she needs to slow down." He said this with a slight tone of "mom, you are so slow to catch on." Hmmm....I guess I really am slow to catch on. I have no idea what he means.

On the other hand, a conversation earlier this morning with my future paleontologist was very clear. We were picking up toys in the basement and I asked her, "Would you help your brother clean up those toys?"

"Sure," she agreed.

"Too bad you can't just magically wave that wand and have it all cleaned up," I said, gesturing to the pencil she held in her hand that doubled as a pretend wand. "In real life, we have to pitch in with our own strength and just do it."

"Yep," she agreed. She was on her hands and knees helping her brother with the cleanup. As she continued working, she pointed out, "But when you pitch in and lend a hand, it's almost like magic because it goes so much faster."

Add to the Beauty (what began with Writer's Almanac)

I'm sending you to this link rather than pasting in, in order to avoid violating copyright problems.

http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/

You have to read today's to see the bit about Grace Paley. I found bits of how I feel about myself when I read the description about her work.

A good friend of mine is involved in some important work that might be considered social action. On a day when she was aggravated with the system, she tried to get her mind off of things by reading my blog. During that season the blogs were particularly trite and ordinary-dayish, and my ordinary days are really about nothing more powerful than sweeping and mopping. At the time I recorded some thoughts about church, then wrote about a garage sale. Nothing very monumental, as you can see. I wrote nothing that would change the world or make a huge difference politically or socially.

She hadn't been there for a while, so she caught up on several entries. At some point, she pulled up an email and tapped out a visceral response. She said she knew people were reading my blogs and wished I were writing about things that really mattered: what about children who are dying, people who are hungry, oppression, programs that aren't working and people who are suffering as a result? Shouldn't I consider using my blog for something that can really make a difference?

I felt pretty stupid. My life seemed trite and meaningless. I'm not making much of a difference at all, when you look at it that way, it's true. She was frustrated with some walls she was hitting in her own life's calling. For her to read her friend's entries about broken sugar bowls and puppy house training and garage sales seemed like a ridiculous waste of Internet space. If people are actually reading my blog, then why not write things that matter?

The thing is, I agreed with her. I never have quite figured out what this blog should be. Generally, it's a storehouse of the random ideas and experiences of my life. That's it.

There are so many things that matter--really important things I could be writing about. And yet my life is still--at least for now--mostly about broken sugar bowls and homework monitoring and garage sales and such. After nearly 4 decades, I think I'm still trying to discover what I should be doing. I love my family and am trying to be the best wife and mom I can be. I love to think and read and write. I love to learn and enter into discussions with people about ideas. None of that sounds like a plunge into social action. It sounds more like a plunge into academia, higher education, grad school, which is what I've been pondering. But you can't change the world when you're studying for the GRE, so I don't know.

The Grace Paley portion of today's (December 11, 2005) "Writer's Almanac" quoted her as saying that she was pretty sure she wouldn't be writing "the important serious stuff." She said, "As a grown-up woman, I had no choice. Every day life, kitchen life, children life had been handed to me, my portion... [Now] people will sometimes say, 'Why don't you write more politics?' And I have to explain to them that writing the lives of women is politics."

I don't know if what she says is right or true, but it sure does sound close to my "portion." My everyday life is just what she said: kitchen life, children life. That's what's been handed to me as a grown woman; no, it's what I've chosen.

You'll see in that section that during an illness she had to arrange full-time childcare, and that's when she started writing a short story. Hmmmm....maybe I need to get a little bit sick and find myself some childcare? Maybe then I could write, and maybe I could figure out how to write stuff that matters. Is it enough to write about women? Does that impact the world "politically"? If so, how?

I believe that caring for my family is an important calling. I find it humbling, however, to look at my friend's life. She does so much, makes so many sacrifices, and is really changing the world a few kids at a time through her work as a foster mom. I don't know how a short story could do something as meaningful as that.

Sometimes I think about Oprah. She really tries to make a difference with her millions and her international influence. She still invites movie stars on the show and in her magazine to talk about their projects and relationships and whatever else they have to talk about. She still oohs and ahhs over cute shoes and lipgloss and gives away goodie bags to her audience-fans.

But she also tries to get people to think about AIDS in Africa, genocide in Darfur, poverty in America. I appreciate that. It makes me understand my friend's comment that I should try to do more with whatever influence I have. Oprah could just keep doing her show and hang out in her mansion and have parties and play with her dogs. She doesn't need to to more than that. But she recognizes her power and influence in our society, and she's trying to use it for projects and ideas that she feels are good and will make a difference. She's generous. She's creative in her generosity, and while we may or may not do the same if we were in her shoes, she is at least doing what my friend was challenging me to consider.

When I went to that Sara Groves www.saragroves.com concert two years ago, she paraphrased Bono, from U2. I had read the same interview as she, and Bono said something like, if fame is a commodity, then I'm going to spend it in a way that makes a difference. Of course he's done just that. He's an activist trying among other things to put pressure on the United States and other countries to forgive Third World debt and raise awareness for the AIDS pandemic in Africa. www.data.org Sara used that concept of "spending" her fame--conceding her limited fame compared to Bono's--to promote a child adoption program. I think it was www.compassion.com

Sara's new album is "Add to the Beauty." Regarding the album's theme, Sara wrote (on her website) "The kingdom of God doesn't just come in the rally or worship event. It comes when we speak respectfully to our spouses, and refrain from letting our anger spill over onto our kids or friends, when we have an opportunity to gossip and refrain, when we open up our homes, when we mess up royally, and have the stuff to go apologize, when we refuse to blame everyone else for our own problems. In the everydayness of the kingdom, we are invited to be brilliantly beautiful, all of us moons with no light of our own, invited to shine."

For now, with no big important social action to undertake, I think I'll just throw away the clementine peel that's drying up on the plate next to me, left by a quick snacker. I'll empty the popcorn kernels from the big bowl over there. I need to hang up the snowsuits to dry, put away the bread bag and mop the muddy melted snow puddles from the doorway and kitchen floor. I hope I can add to the beauty literally and figuratively in my everyday life. Grace Paley, Oprah, U2, Sara Groves, and my friend the foster mom are doing it in bigger and more important ways. I may be doing it in everyday ways. No matter how big or small, "add to the beauty" is a simple summary and a working phrase to remind us of our choices.

If you'll excuse me now, I've got to pick up a few things and get out a cleaning rag. My kitchen table is definitely not adding to the beauty.

I paused on the Style channel, watching Naomi Campbell's evolving runway outfits for about 2 minutes. After that, I got fed up with the excess and clicked up a channel using the remote. The next channel up is Animal Planet. I went directly from someone putting makeup on a supermodel to two babboons lip-to-lip, picking bugs off each other and kissing. Seeing the animals care for each other was not only funny, but it also helped overcome the superficialness of the Style show.

On a completely different note, at dinner tonight our four-year-old prayed. It was a long prayer, with thanks for everything that passed through his mind. Then he prayed, "Thank you that we're free, that we can live and that we can die."

Yesterday he prayed that he didn't have to eat "those round things that I don't like, those circle things (with our eyes still closed and heads bowed, someone quietly and reverently suggested, "tomatoes?") yes, thank you that I don't have to eat po-po-pomatoes. Thank you, because I don't like pomatoes."

Amen?

Frozen Tongue

Snow day today, and the kids were out in their heavy coats and boots, hats and gloves, making snowmen and snow angels and flying down the slick slide into eight-inch mounds left from last night's storm.

Then one of my kids came in. "Mom, my tongue feels funny." She stepped inside and stuck it out for me to examine. The bottom third down to the tip was red. A redder, slightly bloody line seemed to mark the healthy pink from the injured portion.

"What did you do?"

"I sucked on some ice and it stuck to my tongue, so I ripped it off." As she was retelling it, she started to relive it and realize the pain. In seconds she was screaming and weeping.

What first aid do you do for a tongue?

I googled for quick ideas, but couldn't hit on the right combination of words. Instead, I kept getting references to the flag pole scene in "A Christmas Story," which we no longer found amusing.

I phoned the doctor's office while trying to get her to relax and watch TV. A nurse returned my call and asked a few questions about the extent of the injury and how red it was. Then she admitted, "We hear about this year after year, but this is the first time I've ever had it really happen to someone!" She said it'll heal on its own. "Avoid citrus fruit and salty foods or it will sting."

Two of the kids--one was a guest--were still outside, so I stepped out and said, "Don't put any ice in your mouth. Nathalie did and it stuck to her tongue. She had to rip it out and it ripped off part of her tongue. You hear me?" They nodded.

A while later I realized those two were still outside. I looked in both the front and back yards, but couldn't see them. I stepped out the garage door and called for them. They appeared from behind the storage shed--sucking on icicles.

"Didn't I just say not to suck on ice?"

They shrugged and left the ice in their mouths!

"Spit it out and come inside!" I insisted. What was at work there, curiosity? Rebellion? Stupidity? Or did they just want to prove me wrong?

It's probably pretty simple psychology. I need to remember this, learn from it, and figure out how to apply what I learn to discussions about drinking and drugs and dating.

Our young boy said that one of the other kids threw snow at him. "It covered my face and I couldn't lick it all off, because my tongue wasn't long enough."

With mixed emotions, I write to say that we bought a fake tree.

After enduring a few arguments while browsing the trees in the lot outside Menard's, a building supply store, we were split. Two of us liked one specimen, while several others preferred shopping for a fake tree. We had to come to some kind of consensus, and it wasn't the most pleasant process. Of course, getting six people to agree on anything isn't easy, and selecting a family tree is notorious for causing chaos. So we decided to wait for another shipment of "fresh" trees (we all know they aren't all that fresh) and in the meantime browse the selection of fake trees there and at Target. Menard's had run out of the two we thought were attractive, so we went to Target and found a nice one already wired with white lights. I wasn't sure what I thought of the prewired lights idea, but the pressure was on, they had one in the back, and we had to make a snap decision. We got the tree.

I'm still not sure what I really think, except that it is the straightest, fullest, finest looking tree we've ever selected. Plus, the new dog doesn't really think of it as a tree, which I'm sure is good for our carpets.

Another plus is that we don't have to fall asleep worrying about the tree drying out and sparking a fire. We can have it up longer. The kids love it.

But we won't have that experience of picking out our tree next year (after this year's disagreements, however, I think this is a plus, not a negative). We don't have that pine-y smell in our house, though I think I'm going to pick up some real garland or a handmade wreath this week to compensate.

The whole thing leaves me unsure what I should be feeling. Is it better or worse for the environment? Did we spoil something really special about the season? Will we really use this fake one for enough years to offset the cost of buying fresh each year? Will it quickly get ugly and worn looking?

I'm not sure. But it certainly was easy to set up and decorate. Just plugging it in made my husband smile (we added colored lights to suit the children's tastes). He happily toted away the tree stand that he pulled down from the attic when he thought we'd come home with a real tree. He disliked keeping those things watered, and none of us enjoyed needle droppings that poked us in the foot (that is, when our feet are bare--mine are usually covered, as you may recall).

So we have a fake tree. We have a 7-and-a-half-foot, prewired, perfectly symmetrical, straight Christmas tree that will be a part of our lives for at least 5 years, or we won't get our money's worth. It seems strange to sing "O Christmas Tree" in light of this manmade creation. Then again, that was always a funny carol to me anyway, I mean, singing to the tree?

Thanks to www.flylady.net, I've been wearing shoes all the time. This may not seem like a big deal to most grownups, but I really love going barefoot, especially in the summer. The transition to continuous daytime shoe-wearing has taken a long time. Now, however, it's my new norm, so to be without shoes during the day is unusual.

I went upstairs to try on a new pair of slacks and someone called me from downstairs. I started down in my sock feet. About halfway down, I slammed my heel onto the hard edge of a light saber handle. The force of the blow rang through my body and I cried out so loud, the children all came running. I plopped down from the blinding, ringing pain spreading an internal alarm.

"What happened, Mama! What's wrong?"

"I...stepped...light...saber."

"Take it upstairs!" the oldest daughter ordered her brother.

"Okay," he said humbly. He picked up the light saber from under my legs where I was sitting, swung it around and whacked me in the face.

"AAAAA!" I shouted, my hands flying from my foot to my face.

"I'm sorry, Mama," he said softly, carrying the light saber out of sight. The others gathered around and quietly watched me, waiting to see what would happen next. The pain lessened, so I slowly got up and walked on down to the kitchen, still in sock feet. My son came back down and put on some high-heeled shoes he's been using for dressup. I stood with one hand on the counter, trying to remember what my original errand was that compelled me to take to the stairs shoe-less, when my son clopped around the corner in those shoes and bang! He clopped down hard on the outside of my unprotected foot, ramming the heel somewhere down onto the tendons and bone.

Today I bought a pair of short leather boots. I couldn't find adequately stylish steel-toed boots, so I'm settling for ankle-high boots. Either way, I need maximum coverage, because you just never know.