Without a nature center engagement this morning, for the first time in 4 days, I allowed myself to sleep in and have some pillow talk with Steve. Basically, that amounts to an intimate conversation about where I’ve been emotionally and philosophically while I’ve been active socially. And now, we’re heading off to Madison to fete my oldest daughter for her birthday. So, this is it for today’s post. More anon…..
It was tracking day at the Wehr Nature Center for a group of 24 third graders. They made plaster molds of animal tracks and then went outside in the bright sunshine to find some animal evidence. Those hearty species who stick out the Wisconsin winter without migrating or hibernating include squirrels, weasels & mink, deer, raccoon, opossum, fox, skunk, cottontail rabbit, pheasant, and a bunch of birds (cardinals, chickadees, woodpeckers, doves, nuthatches). Of course, we didn’t see all these, but we did find clues: tracks, scat, and browse marks where they’d eaten branches and bark.
This is how we draw the kids' attention to a find
Whose little hands have been here?
And then, the sunshine creates lines and angles everywhere.
And the water that isn’t frozen ripples and sparkles, creating more textures of light and shadow.
I’m liking the black and white idea today. Steve & I are planning to see “The Artist” this afternoon, a new silent film in black & white. Sometimes, the world seems just too much to comprehend, so we break it down into stylized bits and patterns so that we can wrap our feeble brains around some part of it. What would it be like to walk around open to everything at once, without compartmentalizing or simplifying? Would we explode?
So, here’s a pictorial view of my week.
I made almond cookies for Chinese New Year. Extremely tasty with Amaretto and orange slices.
Honorable Almond Cookie
I supervised a bunch of 4 year-olds (68 of them, actually!) as they played in the Wehr Nature Center’s play space with spray bottles of diluted liquid watercolors.
Like a giant sno cone
I watched the sun setting in the west from my second story bedroom window.
"World turning on the burning sun...." (James Taylor)
And I felt the frost fly up on feathered wings into the morning light…and into my bones.
This morning, I took a group of Kindergarteners out on a nature hike. One little boy walked beside me, counting excitedly. “I found a hundred things!” he shouted. Oh, there so many more than that, I thought.
—Say it, no ideas but in things—
nothing but the blank faces of the houses
and cylindrical trees
bent, forked by preconception and accident—
split, furrowed, creased, mottled, stained—
secret—into the body of the light!
-William Carlos Williams (from “Paterson – Book One”)
Things…winter things…frosty filigreed, foggy white, cold-packed and angular, distant and spare.
Ideas…winter ideas…hard and dense, insular, desperate, furtive.
A group of 68 pre-schoolers visited the Wehr Nature Center today. I volunteered to supervise their play time outside. Six groups rotated through my station, staying 15 minutes. I spent an hour and a half standing in the snow, watching them spray diluted liquid watercolors onto that white, frozen canvas. It ended up looking like a flavored snow cone playground. I didn’t think to get a picture of it at the end, though, because all that was on my mind was getting feeling back into my toes. Brrr….
The sky is gray, the bare branches are gray, the ground is gray, my gray matter is gray. Suddenly, a flash of red whips over the roof and settles at the bird feeder. A cardinal! Oh, happy wings of fire!
We were hiking the Ice Age Trail, through a dark pine forest by the Oconomowoc River. Through the trees, I saw a red barn with it’s face shining in the late afternoon sun. It burned like a beckoning hearth.
I’m wearing a red sweatshirt, half wishing it would burst into flames and warm me up. What I really wish….is that I had a fireplace. I love building fires. I love the smell of a fire. I love watching the flames in their colorful dance. I love the warmth. When I was a child, I would pester my father to start a fire in the fireplace. It made an otherwise ordinary evening feel like a holiday.
Alas, I have no fireplace, so I am going to attempt a simulation. Mesquite incense sticks, flannel pajama pants, and several layers of blankets. Maybe I’ll warm up enough to fall asleep for a little while. For all you warm-blooded, hibernating, furry creatures out there, stay snug. It ain’t over yet.
I crossed a threshold. My life was completely altered, impacted, and enhanced by a single event: I gave birth. What that has taught me about myself, from biology to personal philosophy, and about the rest of the world by extension, might fill a future book. Today, I’ll just touch on a few categories.
Biology – I was 21 when I got pregnant, 22 when I gave birth. I weighed about 105 lbs. starting out and 128 lbs. at delivery. Baby Sooz weighed 7 lbs. 4 oz. I had never experienced so much physical change in so short a time, and each new symptom and sign astonished me. I remember looking at myself in a full length mirror and thinking that I looked like a road map, every vein in bright blue following the landscape of my pregnant body. Weird! I read every bit of literature the doctor handed me with utter fascination, and photographs of babies in utero by Lennart Nilsson kept me spellbound for hours.
Family – My mother had given birth just 11 years before me, and that had been the most exciting thing in my life at the time. I would rush home from school every day to play with the baby. I read all the baby magazines that came in the weekly diaper service delivery. At 22, I wanted to be as confident, as devoted, as blissful a mother as I found my own mother to be. My father helped me pick a name. I had originally intended to name my first daughter after my sister who had died at 20, but then, the thought of using that name all the time for another person began to seem odd. Then my father told me that he dreamed about a little girl named Susan, and that name sounded just right with my sister’s name following. And, of course, she got my husband’s Italian last name to add the exotic touch. First grandchild on both sides. Three generations assembled for her baptism. A whole lot of expectation going on.
Personality – Just after delivery, I was wheeled to the recovery room with the baby in my arms. The baby. Susan. Not my baby, not my daughter, not my family’s latest addition. Susan. A person I had just met. She had a bunch of dark hair on the top of her head. My husband and I were blonde. I looked into her completely alert brown eyes and told her, “I love you.” It was a conscious act of will. She hadn’t done anything, yet. I didn’t feel anything, yet. I was stating my intent for our relationship, for my own benefit. I don’t think anyone else was paying attention. I wanted to start things off with a pledge to her, and I wanted to leave room for her to be herself. I remember being conscious of that position when I spoke to her for the first time. I love that she has been teaching me about who she is ever since.
As Tenebrous at The Faerie Festival
Education – Showing a young person the world for the first time is an absolute joy – a shared joy, too. I’ve always loved teaching. I’ve always loved learning. To have the opportunity to engage enthusiastically with new experiences day after day is the greatest part of parenting, I think. Language acquisition, scientific experiment, art, music, dance, games, literature….oh, wow! The truth is, I was afraid to take her out into the world outside much. We lived in a rather nasty section of Southern California. I didn’t feel safe in the neighborhood, so we spent a lot of time indoors, truthfully. I did take her to my college town a few miles away for outdoor exploration pretty regularly, though. What I remember is a lot of time together looking at books and that when a friend asked to test her IQ just out of curiosity, her gross motor skill were the only ones that weren’t advanced for her age. So, she’s not an athlete. But, man, does she read!
Literature – My father delighted in bringing literature into her life. When she was able to sound out words of three letters just before her third birthday, he wrote her little stories containing only words of three letters or less. He sent her cassette tapes of family readings of Dr. Seuss books and various musical selections. We visited the children’s library every week and took home as much as we could carry. Very early, it was Richard Scarry for vocabulary, Peter Spier for detailed illustrations to talk about, A.A. Milne for poetry and stories. Later, I remember going through all of Dr. Seuss and Bill Peet and Chris Van Allsburg and Steven Kellogg and Robert McCloskey because it was quicker to just find their stuff all at once and check out…this was when I had younger kids in tow. Then the day I knew would come finally did. She surpassed me. Her reading speed and voracity and curiosity outstripped mine. She read Stephen King’s It at the age of 9. I hadn’t read it, and I didn’t want to read it. She was on her own. (Not that she didn’t do that earlier; she probably did. But this was the one I remembered.)
Psychology – This section would require her approval and collaboration. Suffice it to say that we have learned a lot together about who we are, who others are, and how to be in relationship. We have always “gotten along”, though, and shared a remarkable honesty. As adults, we really enjoy each other’s company and we genuinely like each other. We stimulate each other in all sorts of ways…like sharing a history that enables us to reference entire concepts and discussions with one or two words.
I think that our first conversation was prophetic:
“I love you.”
*brown eyes alert, gazing back, positive*
Stay tuned for Sunday’s blog, where I’ll probably write about how we celebrated her birthday in Madison the night before….
one of those arm's-length self-portraits she took of us on our road trip to Massachusetts
I just got back from my visit to Chicago to see my youngest child, take her to the Lyric Opera, eat dinner and sleep over. Had a grand time, and stashed my camera in my purse so that I could share the event on this post. So, here are the characters:
Scillagrace, actually wearing make-up and a new scarf from the Fair Trade store
...and Mema, who is always too fabulous for words
And here is the Lyric Opera House in Chicago….
Grand staircase with gold banisters and red carpet
Iconic fire-proof curtain screen
Theatrical gold chandeliers
Patrons people-watching over the balcony
The matinee performance of Die Zauberflote (imagine 2 dots over that ‘o’) attracts a younger audience and satisfies the anticipation of spectacle by including plenty of flashy pyro effects, disappearances through the trap door, animal costumes, flying and gliding set pieces with people on them, and all that good fun. The hyper-vengeful Queen of the Night was a tad disappointing. Her famous raging aria was not always on pitch (actually sharp on a high D!) or facile in the fast passages. She’s a younger singer, not as seasoned. Pamina was exquisite, however, showing superb control in her dolce pianissimo. Mema felt the chills! And Papageno was an expert clown as well as a spot-on baritone who had the audience eating out of his hand. Bravi tutti! On to dinner…
A little Ethiopian restaurant with only 8 people in it besides us. I’ve never eaten authentic Ethiopian food before. It is served without utensils. You break off pieces of the spongy, sour flat bread (injera) and grab the spiced food with that. I ordered a lamb stew; Mema had a vegetarian platter which took up half the table! Five different spiced vegetable dishes on one huge round of injera: squash, green beans, mushrooms, chick peas, and salad.
The injera is sort of like a damp rag...but tastier
Delicious, and new! Toddled off to Mema’s apartment to get into comfy clothes, cuddle the cat, watch a video of my late husband (her dad) singing a recital, have a few drinks and a good, cathartic cry before going to bed in the king-sized cushy bed that used to be mine….
I love my daughter, as a person as well as a family member. I love that we can talk honestly about everything, share on the deepest level, feel genuine affection for each other, and play together!
One thing I noted, however; nighttime in the city is noisy! The elevated train rumbles by, rattling the brick building; the floors sag and creak when anyone walks through the apartment; the cat purrs loudly next to my ear. So, now that I am back home, I’m going to take a nap! Toodles….
I have a rather social weekend lined up. Tonight is our Chinese New Year celebration with Steve’s sister. Tomorrow is the Lyric Opera (Die Zauberflote) with my youngest. So, here’s a quick share…photos I took this morning as I watched my squirrel friend digging around in the fresh powder for the leftover popcorn I put out on his chair.
Sorry for the poor quality…the windows in the living room are pretty dirty!
More anon, good friends…..Happy Chinese New Year!
Transitions. Stuff. Accumulation and de-acquisition. Now that I am almost 50 years old, I have seen a lot of cycles of hoarding and purging. When I was a kid, my mother would periodically declare that it was time for “one great hour of swearing”, meaning it was time to clear out clutter and clean house. She is a highly organized and tidy person, rarely sentimental about material things. However, she is also an historian, an archiver. Things that were deemed valuable were carefully stored. Sterling silver was always wrapped in the proper cloth. Her off-season shoes were in a zippered case, so were blankets. Photo slides and correspondence were kept in carefully hand-constructed boxes of just the right size and shape. Sometime in the 70s, recycling became a household habit. She always had her glass bottles in separate containers, according to color, and everything perfectly sorted. She’d load up the station wagon and make the trip to the recycling center about once a month. I got to help her throw stuff on the appropriate piles or in the dumpsters. Breaking glass can be fun! She’s worked for the past few decades as a museum docent, cataloging the music collections. She has my wedding dress stored in an archival quality box. She keeps a full pantry (for earthquake preparedness), but she is not a hoarder. I think she regularly updates her pantry and donates stuff she’s not going to use before its expiration date. She’s a great example to me, and ahead of her generation’s learning curve.
Steve’s aunt is delightful and messy. She thrills for a bargain. She will go to great lengths to capitalize on a sale. She knows that this creates problems for her, though, and is somewhat like a struggling addict, trying to quit. She lives alone in the house in which she cared for her mother. She’s never been married. She solicits our help in taming the clutter she has accumulated in that house. Steve is a willing worker, completely kind and patient, but always clear about his own limits. He has some professional experience with estate sales from the book business, so he has worked with elderly strangers as well doing similar service. He can assess and clear out an entire house in a weekend, if he must. No one boxes more efficiently, in my opinion.
What do we do with stuff?
Rusted wire along the Ice Age trail
Reduce, reuse, recycle, freecycle. Keep it out of the landfill, off the streets, out of the woods and wetlands. Don’t buy it if you don’t need it; if you do anyway, give it away. My mother has always had a habit of sending me “care packages” of stuff she acquired, often by mail order, that wasn’t quite what she wanted. She was always on the lookout for a good home for something she didn’t want. I would often end up taking some of that stuff to donate to Goodwill or the Salvation Army, but it didn’t get thrown away. We’re working on finding good homes for Steve’s aunt’s stuff. I’m fixing to give care packages to each of my children from what we brought home yesterday. Beauty and cleaning products from her bathroom, mostly. The unopened items will go to a local shelter. A bottle of shampoo that was used once and turned out not to be to her liking can make some useful suds. Would you just pour that down the drain? Somehow, I can’t.
How long do you figure it would take to use up the stuff that’s already been made before we make more? Depends on the stuff, of course. But there must be categories of products that we could use up…and then, maybe, discontinue forever. How many varieties of shampoo do we need? How many varieties of cleaning products? You could use Dr. Bronner’s Magic All-in-One Soap (made from hemp and essential oils) in peppermint to clean your entire body (including teeth), your clothes, your dishes, your surfaces, your car, etc., and we’d never need to make anything else. Sounds like de-cluttering to me. Of course, there are a million ways to disagree with me and get on your own soap box. We like choices. Depending on how old you are, you may be just beginning to explore all your options, and you’d hate to have anyone restrict you. Wait 50 years. Then you may be cleaning out your house and wondering, “Why do I have all this crap?!” You’ll give it to your kids, who want to have stuff but have no money to buy it. Some day there’ll be a story out there of a family who free-cycled the same object for 5 generations. Why not? I’m still using my grandmother’s electric mixer/food grinder. But nowadays, things are built cheaply according to the economic principle of Planned Obsolescence and the landfills overflow. It’s a sickening trend.
One great hour of swearing is not gonna cure the planet of its clutter these days. (sigh) We’re way out of scale. Something’s gotta give. I wonder what…and how… and when.
Steve & I borrowed a DVD from the library called “Between the Folds”. It’s a documentary about origami, but not just the decorative, brightly-colored little figures that school kids make. It’s about science and mathematics and art and exploring the fusion of all those disciplines. To learn more, click here. One of the fascinating paper-folders interviewed is Erik Demaine, “an associate professor of electrical engineering and computer science at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Called one of the most brilliant scientists in America by Popular Science, he received a MacArthur Genius Fellowship at the age of 22. Demaine’s work combines science and art, geometry, paper folding and computational origami.” The interview also includes footage of him with his dad, who apparently home-schooled him as a single parent and prepared him to enter college at the age of 12. These two bear a touching family resemblance of soft-spoken, constantly smiling Geekdom, complete with pony-tails, facial hair and glasses. It is obvious that they have enjoyed sharing a couple of decades exploring the world with bright-eyed curiosity.
I also happened upon a Mom Blog called RaisingMyRainbow. Its blurb reads: “Adventures in raising a slightly effeminate, possibly gay, totally fabulous son.” Her son is 4 years old. She writes with wit and whimsy and a very open attitude, chronicling how their family navigates what seems to be a mainstream suburban life with an emerging non-mainstream human being. It seems very honest to me, no agenda, no axe to grind, no added drama, just very loving and willing to engage with what arises.
Super Kids (photo by Joe Griessler)
I am inspired by this kind of parenting, and I want this to be what I pass on to my children. My own kids are already in their 20s, though. But I figure it’s never too late to model something positive. After all, they may be parents themselves some day. My parenting models were quite limited. Growing up in the 60s & 70s, I didn’t know one kid whose parents were divorced until I got to High School. My dad’s own parents were divorced, but he never talked about that. My best friend’s parents had been divorced from previous marriages, but that didn’t seem to impact their family life when I knew him. I got the strong impression that there was a ‘right way’ and a ‘wrong way’ to do everything, and the ‘wrong way’ was to be avoided at all costs. Consequently, I complied and conformed and walked the narrow way. It wasn’t a bad response, but it wasn’t necessarily the right response or the only reasonable response. The difficulties with my response became apparent as my circle of awareness widened. Other people were living other responses. Do I tolerate, embrace, include or exclude those people? What if some of those people are my own children?
“There are as many different ways to be a Christian as there are Christians”, my spiritual adviser told me one day. He was a former Jesuit priest, born in India, married to a former nun, both still very active in the Catholic Church. I couldn’t have been more astonished. My father would never have said that. There are as many different ways to be a parent as there are parents. Those ways may be judged according to certain values. To make any kind of distinctions, you really have to look at those values. Do you value conformity? Okay, then call it ‘conformity’. Do you value love? Okay, then look very closely at what you think ‘love’ is. Does love punish? Does love shame? Does love reject? Do you value certain beliefs that you respect? Why do you respect them? Because someone told you to? Because they support something you’ve experienced? There are so many good questions to consider, but it’s hard to find a safe place to consider them. As a parent, I felt attacked, judged and defensive. Competition crept into my parenting way too much. I own those as my issues, but I also believe the suburban environment supported that. Parental support groups I was in may have effectively reinforced the competition rather than offered support.
Hindsight. I was 22 when I became a parent. I didn’t think about a lot of this stuff beforehand. However, I have four totally fabulous children nevertheless. I give them credit; I give me and my husband credit; I give the Universe credit. In general, if I lighten up on my ego, I can avoid creating stuff that’s FUBAR. Instill wonder, curiosity, creativity. Play alongside the kids, and step back. We are all learning and growing up together, folding rainbows into the process.
It’s bitter cold and sunny outside today. A crisp, bright world, intensely interesting. Here are some things that have captured my attention:
frost on my bedroom window
I doctored these shots a bit, which I rarely do. There’s so much to explore in photography, even when you don’t have the latest equipment.
My mother sent me this last night. It evoked those happy tears I told you about.
Steve brought a book to breakfast that my mother and father would love. It’s called The Superior Person’s Book of Words by Peter Bowler and includes such delightful entries as:
“CALEFACIENT — a. A medicinal agent producing a feeling of warmth. ‘Calefacient, anyone?’ you inquire as you pass around the cognac.”
I am creating, with Steve, an Art Trivia Game to be debuted at a dinner party at Steve’s sister’s house celebrating Chinese New Year. I will also be baking almond cookies to bring to the affair. The first effort is challenging me to be humorous and inventive. The second will require that I follow instructions precisely. I’ll let you know if I succeed at either of those. I do know that I’m succeeding in keeping myself entertained!
Be warmed and be well, my friends. It’s a wonderful world we live in!
scillagrace 