Luckybeans

Grandmothers, creeks, sisters...

Simon may be away in the Philippines, but his lovely mother has come to stay with us for the week. We are all so grateful and excited to have her here, a voice of wisdom and a cause for a break from the routine of packing and imminent moving.

Wgrandmacreek
We went down to the creek with her yesterday, where Bella tried in vain to master her floating technique-- a technique she herself mastered while paddling for countless hours with these same grandchildren under Zambian skies. 

Sistersincreek
I watched these two girls of mine enjoy one another. How grand it must be to have a sister. 

3increek
And of course where there are two enjoying themselves, a third will soon join in.

Ana suddenly remembered today that one of my oldest and dearest friends, May, sent her some photos via Facebook a few months ago. Photos of a baby Ana (those ears! and peach fuzz head! and little stork bite! and pudgy fists!), scanned in from film, of her with May (she has the blonde streaks) and me (was I really ever twenty?). I can only assume that it was her camera and we took turns taking the photos. I've no idea, really. It was so sweet to find this just as I was contemplating how dear sisters are and how how much I treasure family. Some family we build ourselves, but most of it is a gift we are given, and a blessing I am more grateful for with each and every day. 

Ai-Ana-1
Ai-Ana-2
Ai-Ana-3
Ai-Ana-4

11 July 2013 in 3 Monkeys, AnaBanana (Ai Ana), On Vacation, Out in nature, Troupe Leader (Me) | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBack (0)

I Sat Down and This Appeared

Simon said the other day, after reading the blog as he got ready for bed in Zambia (which is where his bed is these days), "You lead a funny sort of double life."

I knew what he meant. I spend my days in tightly choreographed motion (dance would imply far more grace than this reality of mine): I am easily overwhelmed by it all. I feel like I am guiding a suspect dinghy through deep waters and bailing for all I am worth without even knowing the first thing about nautical-type stuff. We have children who are at various stages in their lives, all of them demanding. Tomorrow I have meetings at the school regarding special concerns for two of them. We are active participants in not one, but two, Baha'i communities. I still have to manage things like laundry and food for everyone and keeping a clean house. And I am a full-time student with a very heavy course load. So. There is that. It is real and often messy (if not downright ugly), and generally not easy to either document or share. Becasue really, a lot of it has to do with issues of privacy, and also, how do I take photos of draft three of the same chapter of an unfinished book? Should I honestly be discussing the ins and outs of quantitative corpus analysis and situational charactersitics? Plate techtonics? Not so much? 

Which all means that what you see here, in this space, is a sliver, a wedge, a small portion of the days and events that form our days. It is, I dare say, the very nature of the medium. 

Lately, I have been wondering about this space. I'm not all that happy with it, to be honest. The design is tired. The comments few and far between.

But. Here's the thing: if I blog things here, it means I have noticed them. It means I have found some bits and pieces in the whirlwind of days to linger over, to hold tight, to record because I just can't bear to forget them. It ensures that the moments of joy and beauty are remembered and acknowledged.

It works both ways, too. If I'm not taking any photos, if words aren't coming, I know things just aren't right in my world. It helps me seek these things out, even when I am sure it is quite impossible.

So here I am, in a funny corner of the internet, perched on a fugly design in dire need of updating, not sure who is even out there, but glad to be here. I'll keep on bailing. Because in the end, it is worth it. And all the friends who I happen to bump into in this leaky old dinghy of mine? An incredible, unexpected pleasure that brightens even the darkest of my days. Consider yourselves the life jackets that appeared from nowhere, or a bird swooping overhead, or the dizzying diamonds of bright sunlight between breaks in the cloud, or some other equally lovely, metaphor appropriate thing.

Well. I'm not entirely sure where any of this came from. But here it is. And now I must run off to class, so I haven;t even spell-checked. Yikes!

(Oh, and also-- spring in Oregon is spectacular):

Oregonspring

25 April 2013 in Craft, Art, Writing, Troupe Leader (Me) | Permalink | Comments (38) | TrackBack (0)

Odds and Ends from Here and There

Alright. This is the last one of the bits and bobs and then we are all nicely documented and caught up just in time to disappear again. Isn't that just how it goes? These are mostly from last week, and of nothing in particular. Just snippets of days to remember.

Oddsnends
Asher's toys, Simon working on a bookshelf, squishing Asher, Asher and Bella playing their new game, and me working on finals.

I know I shared this on Facebook, but the other day, after I'd said prayers with Asher, he quietly asked, "Mom, is it possible to say prayers for anyone who might need it, even if we don't know who they are?" I still tear up thinking about his soft voice in the darkened room. The earnest sincerity and unself-consciousness of it. It has also reminded me to really think about what I do as a parent. How my job is not to teach my children things, but to provide them with the tools and environment that enables them to become the shining people they intrisically are and yearn to be. Because I couldn't teach Asher to pray like that. So humbling, in the very best of ways.

And since I'm on a parenting/ my kids are awesome kick anyway, there is also this: Ai Ana will complete her first Fast this evening. For nineteen days, she has not eaten or drunk from sunrise to sundown. She has handled it all with a grace and ease I find astounding. She is now at the point where she can accomplish things which I cannot (ie-lasting for more than three hours without crumpling into a pathetic ball of exceedingly cranky misery). Sometimes the older I get, the less certain I feel that I understand much of anything at all. I'm just lucky I get to come along for the ride.

 

20 March 2013 in 3 Monkeys, Monkey Boots (Asher Paul), The Baha'i Year, Troupe Leader (Me) | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBack (0)

More Thoughts on Contentment

Over this past week, I have spent more time on this theme than perhaps  I ought to have. Specifically, what are some of the practical ways I cultivate contentment in my own life. Even when I am well within the normal range of emotional flux, I find that there are certain tangible things I can do to optimize my health and well-being. These are not conceptual, but specific actions I find helpful. They are painfully obvious, most of them, but I am very forgetful at times, so if nothing else, take it as a reminder for myself.

Physical Well-being:

Eat well. For me, this means eating three meals a day and having at least two snacks. None of these need to be large, but they need to be regular. Eat fresh food, plenty of fruits, vegetables, legumes, nuts and yogurt. Be mindful of processed foods, caffeine and sugar.

Take a Vitamin D supplement, and B complex as needed.

Move my body. I'm taking pilates three times a week, and must get outside at least once a day, even if it's just a walk around the block.

Set routines for bed and rising. This is important for me in order to prevent insomnia, which can bring everything crashing down faster than anything else.

Keep my environment reasonably clean and orderly. Do something to make it special (right now I have a beeswax candle by my bed and a potted primrose on the dining room table).

 

Emotional and Spiritual Well-Being:

Cultivate a prayer life. I pray first thing in the morning and last thing before going to bed. I also read sacred writings at these times. This doesn't need to be long or complex, but it does need to happen.

Spend time in nature at least once a week. A good, long time, where I really stop to watch and listen and connect.

Sometimes I get sucked into the internet. If I am spending more than an hour at any given time on it, I need to walk away.

Engage in some sort of creative process. This can be anything: taking a photo every day, a sewing project, a sketch, practicing a musical instrument for a few minutes, or writing. I keep a small notebook at hand to record ideas for stories or inspiring quotes. Sometimes this is all I manage. But it is something, and I can look at it at the end of the day and be grateful to have it.

Participate in your broader community in a way that contributes to its well being. For me, that means hosting Baha'i events in our home, acting as a tutor for a study circle and teaching a level one children's class. It pulls me out of myself, and even though I sometimes resent it or find it exhausting, in the end it is invaluable.

 

Taken together, I realise this sounds like a lot. However, most of these things are small aspects of daily and weekly routines that add up to surprisingly little amounts of time and effort. And sometimes I give myself permission to say no to it all and disappear. I need that once in a while, too.

For profound thoughts on the importance of meaning over that of mere happiness, expressed far more eloquently and with more insight and experience than I possess, I suggest taking the time to read this article.  

 

 

 

05 February 2013 in Troupe Leader (Me) | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBack (0)

Cyclical Contentment

This has been such a strange week for me. I am whole and healthy and well once more. The sun is shining. My children are home and happy (actually they are out and about in parks and on walks with friends). I have finished half of my story for this semester, and I like it. We attended parent teacher conferences and found teachers we respect, admire and trust.

But somehow I feel incredibly fragile right now, a bit tremulous, as if even the smallest of surface tears will send everything unravelling. January, February, March-- they are so hard for me. As I have gotten older, I have become much better at identifying and managing periods of depression or anxiety. I no longer suffer the indescribable oppression of pre- and post-partem despair that left me flattened for much of my early twenties, or the endlessly exhausting insomnia that accompanied an undiagnosed hyperthyroidism just a few years ago. But I still go through spirals of emotional change. I am still subject to the wash and repeal of these waves. 

Post-surgery, I was given a drug that pushed until I was curled up on the end of the bed, a weeping mess with no desire to recover, because the wretched likes of me certainly did not deserve such hope. Fortunately, I know enough now to articulate that things were not alright, and I was not so hale and hearty as one might wish. So the pills were pulled, and 72 hours later it gradually dawned on me that life continued to exist and I might be interested in it after all.

So, all things considered, I am ok. Really, truly, deeply, at the most basic level, pretty gosh darn good. And what I am coming to understand is that I can feel fragile and muted and introspective. I can take the wash of grey and slip into the shadows once in a while. I can explore the darkness and feel the fear and grief and regret. And I can still be really, truly, deeply, at the most basic level altogether fabulous.

We live in a time and a society that place an enormous amount of value on "happiness." We want bright, loud, fun, glorious, exuberant joy. The constitution of this country includes the pursuit of happiness as one of its most basic tennants. And yet. I would not be who I am without the dark as well as the light. There are aspects of what others might label as depression that I find indispensable. These are often the times when I am the most reflective, the rawest: the ones that lead me to deeper insight and greater understanding. They instruct, inform and mold me, granting a capacity to feel and acknowledge, to perceive, see and appreciate to a far greater extent than I would have been able to otherwise.

Simon and I have talked about this before: would I change what I have been through to be happier, to have a more predictable and easier life. And I always say no. No, I never would. I would not want to sink back into the deep debilitating depressions. But I would not want to be left wholly devoid of darkness, either.

These days I do my best to seek contentment and peace with who and where I am. I seek insight to understand what others experience. I seek the clarity to comprehend the purpose of experience, and the ability to share this with others. I seek beauty, even in the unlikeliest of places. I seek truth. I seek personal grace so that I may treat those I love as they deserve to be treated. And I seek patience with myself and the wisdom to know how to find balance in it all. 

All of these are facets of light, penetrating, incorruptible spiritual realities that I hold in the core of my being. I slowly polish them, add to them. Sometimes I stumble and drop a few bits. When the clouds gather, they can be obscured and seep into dimness. But sometimes the dark only makes them shine more brightly. Sometimes it is the sepia wash that brings the glow and warmth of experience and the joy that can only be appreciated because it has been tempered with pain. It is only with shadows that we can see depth. So I am working hard at not being afraid of the dark. Of, in fact, accepting it. Of opening myself to this experience, of seeing what I can learn from it and how I can use it in my own life, and in how I relate to others.

Maybe "happiness" is not for me. But joy-- I can do profound joy, even from the darkest of corners.

(Lest you are wondering what prompted all of this, it is never far from the surface this time of eyar. And I am currently reading Johnson's Rasselas, which does beg the question. Also, my apologies for the lack of pretty pictures. If you have read this far, by all means have some tulips).

Tulips

31 January 2013 in Troupe Leader (Me) | Permalink | Comments (11) | TrackBack (0)

On Raising Readers

Recently, I have been asked several times, by friends whom I love and respect very much, for advice on books for children, and reading to and with children. How do we raise readers? What do we read? How do we find books that we enjoy and also have depth and meaning?

Readers1
As an aspiring writer/linguist, I am acutely aware of the role that stories have in shaping our values and perspectives. I am also aware that we live in a time when books are everywhere, and most of them…well, most of them are probably better suited for purposes other than reading (such as cleaning your windows or bum fodder). But that still leaves stacks and piles and shelves and rooms full of books that are very much worth bringing home and reading until the pages curl and the rhythm of the words sink so deeply into your mind that they pop back out in odd places like the checkout line or drive home from school. 

 So I suppose my first piece of advice is this:

Read what you love. Don't settle. Yes, they can bring home what they like from the library, but that doesn't mean you have to read it to them. You are under no obligation to read aloud the glitter fairy stories or the adventures of Timmy the Dumptruck or what that insipid rabbit did this week. When your children snuggle up next to you, the words you read need to come alive, the story needs to be an experience that you are sharing. Stories are here to connect us, after all. And it is pretty hard to find a meaningful connection or a love of language if one participant is undergoing nefarious lexical torture.

My second piece of advice slipped in up there, too: read aloud, together. I am terrible at talking to my babies. I would happily pass the entire day without uttering a word. But they need to hear speech, they need to develop spoken language. So I read. To my teeny tiny babies. I read them poetry that I printed out and taped up over the changing table so they could get lost in the cadence of A A Milne as I wrangled floppy limbs into sleeves. I chanted the Shaker Abecedarius propped on a music stand as I swayed babies to sleep. I collapsed into the corner of the couch with "Quick As a Cricket" to make animal noises for the five hundredth time. But read I did, and it was a time for closeness, a time for focusing on something special that was shared. 

Readers2
I also, when they became older and decided they liked this whole being read to thing, set limits. Three books and then I fell asleep. Every time. It was amazing really, how I just could never make it into that fourth book. But they could thumb through it themselves, of course.

Books are an integral part of our lives. I read books for my own pleasure, and make sure they see me reading. We have always, even in the wilds of Africa (I say that a bit tongue in cheek, you know, lest anyone jump on me for slighting an entire continent) had books in every room. Now we have weekly treks to the library. Books have always been accessible for them. First board books, and slowly more and more. Some people rotate their books, setting out a few at a time. I have never done this. But we have placed different books in different spots all over our home, so perhaps this achieves a similar, less overwhelming effect. 

The final piece of advice I want to reinforce is this: read good books. I said this before, but I really mean it. If you don't love it, don't do it. Sure, there are books we get tired of reading after the 428642864829th time. Fair enough (funny how they sometimes fall behind the back of the shelf, though, isn't it?). But do not inflict horrible literature on either yourself or your children. Language is glorious, stories are numerous. Find the ones that touch your heart, give you courage, expand your mind, open your eyes. Don't settle for drivel.

To this end, I've started a pinterest board ingeniously titled "Children's Books" (I know!). There are books here from board books for itty bitties all the way through to chapter books my twelve year old is currently reading. I chose these books because these are the ones that have survived getting hauled to Zambia, Malawi and back again. They are well-written, but beyond that, these are all books that illustrate strong values. They address morals without becoming moralizing, and lead to discussion or reinforce what we teach and learn in our home. Sometimes the connections can be harder to see (Little Pea, about a pea who hates eating candy, can be used to discuss eating your veggies, but it can also take a look at how ridiculous our stubborn prejudices are). Most of these are not overtly moralistic tales. I find those hard to stomach. And sometimes we like one part of a series, but not the rest (like The Gruffalo's Child). It is also important to note that these stories are written for children. Does that seem obvious to you? Well, it ought to be obvious to authors and publishers as well, but often they do get sidetracked by what is hip and current, or important and "must be told", or simply sells well. At least, it appears so to me.

Readers3
I hope this is helpful to those of you who have asked me about this recently. In one of those grand coincidences at which the internet excels, Robert (Kyrie Mead's husband, and perfectly qualified in his own right through his work as a father and in early childhood development/care) also wrote a post today on how to choose good books for children. 

There are many, many conversations to be had on this topic of course, but at the very least, I say this: make reading a source of enjoyment, and something you all look forward to.

 

25 January 2013 in 3 Monkeys, Troupe Leader (Me), Tutorials & How to | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBack (0)

We Returned

On another icy day, well dressed and layered, with Grandma and Daddy. You knew we would.

Merrygoround2
Bythebridge

Icyicy
Hauling
We whirled and wandered and stomped and played and crunched and hauled and piled until we were throughly muddy and frozen on the end bits like toeses and noses. Then we came home again.

Until next time.

In completely different news, I had minor surgery yesterday (nothing serious, but certainly uncomfortable) so I am doing my best to rest and recover. It was my first experience with anesthesia and Simon was very disapointed that i was not at all loopy, forgetful or entertaining. The one-size fits all disposable underpants were, though (entertaining, not forgetful). I have a lot of reading to do, so these next few days will see me tucked in and popping pills and working my way through Milton, Swift, Frost, Chestnutt and O'Connor. And not talking much as my throat was really scraped up by the breathing tube.

The children are making dinner right now, and fighting over who gets the underpants. Actually, one of those things is a lie. You decide.

 

16 January 2013 in 3 Monkeys, Out in nature, Troupe Leader (Me) | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBack (0)

Disappearance

It happens sometimes. Straight from Thanksgiving into dead week, finals, and a virus that landed me in bed for a full week. And the first day I made it out of bed, it was to the news of the Connecticut shootings. And then what can I say? 

I know many mamas do not want to discuss the tragedy with their children, and I understand this. I do. But I also know that this has never been my own parenting approach, so I thought maybe I would reflect a bit on why.

We moved to Zambia when my girls were very small. Asher was born there. My children have grown up knowing clearly what poverty looks like, what hunger and AIDS and not having shoes or school fees or vaccinations looks like. They learned from a very early age to be gracious, to be grateful, to be generous. And also to be guarded, because this world, for all its wonder and beauty, is hard. When we were in Malawi there was a measles outbreak, and many elderly and young died. Of measles. My children heard all about it because relatives of people we knew died. And they knew there were peope queueing up outside clinics (the same clinics they went to) for medicine that didn't come. That would never come.

I suppose I could have protected them many many times in their young lives. I could have wrapped them in the warmth of my love and vision, and eased in them into this shocking world. But the truth is, I want them to be able to see this world with clear eyes, to love more fiercely, to dedicate their lives and hearts to serving their fellow man because they know exactly what the cost is if they don't. If we all don't.

Friday afternoon, my children went straight from school to do what they always do: Asher went to children's class, Ana taught one, Bella joined her Junior Youth Group in a pre-planned service project. That night, when we discussed the shooting as a family,  I didn't have answers to all of their questions because there are no answers to these questions. But I was able to tell them that they are helping this miserable world. They are actively participating in building community, in reaching out and involving others, in using all they have been given to construct a reality that is new, hopeful and moving forward. That slowly, slowly, others join them and these little sparks of light and goodness spread and grow, and they are the ones fanning these fragile flames. While their hearts were breaking, I could hold them close and tell them that their driving desire to love and serve is all they can do, and even though it will never feel like it, it is enough. 

I look at them, and I know without question that the weight of the world is on their shoulders. This is what it means to be human. I see their compassion, their dedication to justice, the tenderness of their hearts, how desperately fragile but uncompromisingly strong they are. And there can be nothing more beautiful in all this world.

We weep, we pray, we grieve. And then we pick ourselves back up and love more deeply and serve more faithfully, and while the path will never be easy, it is good. I think of all of those who have come before us, and all of those who are yet to come, and we all do what little we can for all of them, in gratitude.

I am not saying that how we have done things is the only way, or the best way. I am not offering these words as any sort of judgement or set of instructions for anyone else. This is simply the path that unfolded before us, and we have done our best to negotiate it with grace and wisdom and love. And I am so humbled to see these children before me who are still tender saplings, but who can withstand the mightiest and most terrible of storms.

Sorry for the lack of photos, and for any incoherence on my part. Back to our regularly scheduled programming soon. In the meantime, breathe deeply, have a cup of tea, and "look upon thy neighbor with a bright and friendly face."

With love. K.

17 December 2012 in 3 Monkeys, Troupe Leader (Me) | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBack (0)

So much

Truly, there is so much to be grateful for. We had a quiet, fairly well documented Thanksgiving, followed by a not-so-quiet and not at all documented birthday. Sometimes the more fun you are having, the less you think about your camera. Sometimes.

Pumpkinpies
Bella made us pies (Asher added the marshmallows).

Cransauce
Asher the cranberry sauce.

Stuffingish
The winter garden was raided for filling up that turkey cavity (with six of us we had a small one, and no stuffing fans among us).

Pottermore
The children spent some time on Pottermore (alright, maybe it wasn't just the children).

Walk
We went for both pre and post dinner walks where we admired mushrooms, climbed the play structures, collected conkers, and worked up an appetite (firstly for dinner, secondly for dessert).

Table
The girls organized a beautiful table (thank you Jordan and Darrin for the potatoes!), and we spent a long time eating...

Eating
...some with more elegance than others.

It really was a tremendous day. And yesterday was my birthday, so we had friends over for an Indian feast (which I cooked as it was also one of our friend's birthday), and we were all up until almost midnight, the company was so good.

So very, very much to be grateful for.

 

24 November 2012 in 3 Monkeys, FOOD! , Troupe Leader (Me) | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBack (0)

The Way Things Stand

Lunch
Tuesday was an absolute gift of a day. I had no classes, no homework, not even any laundry. It was also bright, sunny and unseasonably warm. So I headed out to town, ran errands, poked around in a thrift store, and took myself out to lunch. I sat alone at a copper-topped table with a new notebook, and spent a long time figuring out which classes to take next semester in light of what I've learned this one. Because suddenly, everything's changed. I am now in writing classes. Stories and ideas bubble up constantly: words, images and rhythms parade endlessly in my mind. It takes energy, time I must sacrifice to make, and commitment in the face of scepticism. 

But. I am writing, and it brings a deep joy and satisfaction. So I took a few hours to ponder this, to evaluate where I am and where I would like to be going this year, and next. Writing means letting things that I have been putting energy into slide away into the background more (like, perhaps, this blog). It means personal risk, emotional vulnerability. Most importantly, however, it means I am finally doing what I have always wanted to do.

I don't know where any of this will go yet. Things are still small, unformed, unfolding. The tiniest germ of a seed. I know absolutely nothing about the publishing world or the business of writing. Right now I am trying to take this step by step, and right now I have my work and a clear purpose to be getting on with. So much change, such a different self-concept after fifteen years of nothing but being mama full time. Yet this is how it is meant to be, this life of ours, ever-changing, beautiful and new. 

Marshwalk
After lunch, I packed up my notebook and drove to the edge of town. I walked in warm sun through beautiful marshes. I smelled damp earth, heard marsh-wrens, flocks of robins, tree frogs calling. Chickadees chipped and chattered, fluttering around me, and a lone wooly bear scooted by.

Marsh
Me
And I felt full, and content, and ready.

 

09 November 2012 in Troupe Leader (Me) | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBack (0)

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