book chat - Crow Call

I've been reading Crow Call by Lois Lowrey to my students, because it's a great example of a personal narrative. The absolute best thing about being a librarian is reading great books aloud. I love when an author has given you something amazing to perform. Crow Call is like this. You do not just read this story, you perform the part. I feel like taking a bow at the end of this book. The vocabulary is advanced and intricately woven. This is not a read a loud for the young, this is for older students, 4th and 5th graders.

Crow Call is about a day Lois Lowery spent with her dad soon after he got home from the war. I would guess that she was about ten years old at the time. He is a stranger to her and she feels self conscious calling him daddy. He buys her an overgrown men's hunting shirt, because it is rainbow colored and she really wanted it. Then he takes her out for breakfast where they eat pie and joke around. The mood changes when they set out for the real reason for the trip. Hunting crows that have been eating their crops.

"I want to scamper ahead of him like a puppy, kicking the dead leaves and reaching the unknown places first, but there is an uneasy feeling along the edge of my back at the thought of walking in front of someone who is a hunter"

She is torn between the fear of hunting and the fear of disappointing her dad.

When the crows come out in response to the crow call, she becomes wrapped up in the delight of being a bird.

"Listen, Daddy! Do you hear them? They think I'm their friend! Maybe their baby, all grown up!"

Of course, her dad doesn't shoot the birds. How could he?

"I feel there is no need to say thank you - Daddy knows this already. The crows will always be there and they will always eat the crops; and some other morning, on some other hill, a hunter, maybe not my daddy, will take aim."

This story has inspired me to write my own personal narrative. Something from the long past. I don't know what it will be yet, but I'm going to keep Crow Call close for inspiration.

problem, not a problem

My work inspires me to write, it also takes up a lot of my writing time. This is a problem and a not-problem.
9:08 AM May 7th via Twitta

I said this. I'm lucky to do the kind of work I do. Work that pays well enough, and encourages me. It also takes up my time. And it distracts me from my family.
Speaking of distraction....this has been a crappy week. We are still kind of reeling from this, and then this happened:

Our dogie is home safe. We got so lucky.
3:24 PM May 10th via Twitta
Our dog is found!!!
9:01 AM May 10th via Twitta
I keep hoping I will find her hiding in my closet.
7:15 PM May 9th via Twitta
It just went from zero to blame in like 5 minutes.
6:41 PM May 9th via Twitta
I think we might have lost our dog. I feel so careless and horrible. I hope she comes home soon!
6:04 PM May 9th via Twitta

I let you read it backwards so you would know ahead of time to expect a happy ending. Yes, we lost our dog. It took us about seven hours to realize she was missing. This is like the opposite of paying attention.

This life has been such a huge distraction.

I was at school until 8:00 last night trying to get an important project done. I didn't get to see Ramona before she went to bed.

I haven't had time to write about the things I really want to write about. I haven't had time to take the breaths that I really want to take. I haven't had time. But at least I know I want to. Right?

The bad thing about all of it is that I know better. I know this is what I have to work with. I know there isn't some better, more manageable life around the corner. I know this is me. The mom that sometimes is working too late to see her child, the person who lets her dog go missing for seven hours before realizing she is gone, the woman who has been washing her clothes one outfit at a time all week. This is me,this is me right now.

happy birthday, beautiful

Ramona's birthday didn't go as planned. I was going to spend the evening before her birthday reminiscing about her birth and getting ready for her big one year old birthday party. I was going to write a post about the day she was born. I was going to write a post about her fun party.

What happened is that we got sick with a horrible stomach bug. All three of us, and then some. We had to cancel her party.

But I still did a lot of reminiscing. As I went to bed the night before her birthday, I thought, "this time last year I thought she would never come". I went into labor with Ramona with a bang at midnight. From nothing, to two contractions and then broken water. By 6:17 am we had our little girl. I will never forget the moment she was put in my arms. I felt choked. I couldn't squeeze out words. I held a sob in my body. At that moment, holding Ramona, I felt there was no difference between mother and daughter. I felt like I had been born enumerable times. And I felt shock at seeing Ramona again. I felt certain that I knew her, like I knew myself, like I knew nothing.

I've felt a lot of other things in the last year, things less pure than that. Things muddied by life and expectation. But that moment. That moment of holding out my arms, and getting back myself. That moment I will think of in my last breath.

I was disappointed that we had to cancel her party and were too worn out from our illness to make her first birthday very special. We took advantage of the fact that she's one and had no idea that a fuss should be made. That evening I decided to make her a special birthday dinner. Not some crappy baby food, but a real meal. Scrambled eggs, toast, and banana.

I'm going to just cut to the chase and tell you that we discovered that night that Ramona is allergic to egg. We had to rush her to the doctor. Ramona is fine, it was as small of a deal as a big deal can be. But the limitless possibility is what scared me, and still scares me. As we were rushing to help, I was trying to determine how bad this really was. Could she breathe? Was her silence a bad sign? Am I going to lose her in this seven minute car ride?

Friends, my child didn't come close to that. But my mind went there. My brain eeked out, screamed out the words, "Are we going to lose her?"

Today, my baby girl, Ramona Maple, is one year and 3 days old. She walks beautifully and doesn't say a single word. She speaks her own cute language of strung together syllables. She is willful, but sweet. She loves jokes and dancing. And I feel never-endingly fortunate to be her mama.
Happy Birthday, Beautiful.

approaching one

When I was pregnant with Ramona I thought I wanted to nurse her. I didn't have a reason why. I'm not a person who gets up on the soapbox of natural, nutritious, organic.....it's just not my thing. I also don't really go for all the scientific study stuff about the benefits. (I know...I know, you're right, I'm wrong.....)
I just felt in my heart that I wanted to do it. It was simply that I wanted to experience that aspect of mothering.

When I brought Ramona home from the hospital I somehow forgot how to do it. I roamed around my house trying to find the perfect spot, but I just couldn't do it. I was panicked because I knew she should eat and she needed to make a wet diaper. It was late that first night and I was a mess. Then Brian saved me. He stopped me, grabbed my hand and said, "Nova, look at your baby. (She was sleeping sweetly in my arms) Does she look hungry or sick? Does she look like there is something wrong?" Those words, "Nova, look at your baby" echo in my ears still. He was right. She was fine. I eventually found the special spot and I sat down and proceeded to nurse her for 3 months straight.

My heart is grieving a little bit, because this special aspect of my relationship with my daughter is coming to an end. I keep telling myself that she will always be my baby. That I will find new ways to comfort her. I'm still a little sad to see the time pass.

getting older

Yesterday morning I was getting my teeth cleaned, and the dental hygienist happily chirped:

I saw your birthday on your chart. I noticed that you're turning 30 this year!

She had her tools and stuff in my mouth at the time, so I wasn't able to speak. My first instinct was to correct her, "No ma'am, I am not going to be thirty!". Seriously, I think we should all walk around with fingers and tools in our mouths all the time, so our brains have some time to think before we speak. See, I AM going to be thirty this year. Actually, in just a few months.

At that moment, 30 sounded shocking to me. It sounded grown up. I didn't disagree with her because I didn't want to be thirty, I disagreed because I just found it unbelievable.

I'm not the only person who is getting older. Ramona will turn one in exactly one week. ONE. Prepare yourself for a deluge of posts about this girl's birth and birthday and birthday party. I'm realizing that your own personal birthday is just a day to get older. But for your mother it is an event, it is the day the biggest thing ever happened. It is a day to remember.

the buddha

I finally got around to watching the PBS documentary on The Buddha. It was simply the story of the historical Buddha and I felt so refreshed by it.

Most of the readers of this blog are Christian and don't know the story, so, for you I'm going to stumble through the telling of the life of the Buddha. I'm going to do the best I can.

****
Siddhartha was born a prince. He lived a sheltered life with great pleasure and riches until he was 29. On a trip outside his palace he saw suffering and death. He was so disturbed by the suffering he saw. A question formed in his mind, How can we live with so much suffering and change? In order to answer this question, he left his palace, wife, and baby to become an ascetic.

During his six years of asceticism he tried to reach enlightenment by torturing the human desire out of his body and mind. He was trying to answer the question of suffering and gain enlightenment. During this time, he ate one grain of rice a day, he ceaselessly meditated. He became a living skeleton, but he got no closer to the answer.

After six years, he stopped. He thought of the happiest he had ever been. His mind went to the quiet repose of a childhood memory. He decided that fasting was killing him and that he needed to live as a human. A young girl offered him rice pudding that he ate. He was then so nourished by the rice that he sat under the Bodhi tree and began his meditation. It was then that he became the awakened one. He achieved enlightenment on his own, he found the answers he needed from within. He saw the world as it was. His desire did not go away, but he lived in the balance of equanimity. The good and bad, the right and left, it all fell away. He then left the Bodhi tree and began his teachings. He lived into his 80s teaching the Dharma.

****

Simple. No magic. Just an ordinary man, waking up.

I am so moved by the thought of Buddha sitting under the Bodhi tree, seeing the world as it really is. It fills me with joy to know that this is our work. To pay attention without judgment. To see each moment as it really is. That's all it is. This is not an easy thing, but it's not complicated either.

Book chat - Hand Wash Cold

I read Momma Zen: Walking the Crooked Path of Motherhood by Karen Maezen Miller when I was pregnant. I have read it again and again since. I know the thing by heart. As I would sit in the dark, nursing and rocking, gripped with anxiety and fear, I would pull the book out of my rocking chair and read. Those words were a life jacket for me. The love in them kept me afloat. A simple book kept my postpartum depression at bay.

I have been looking forward to Maezen's new book, Hand Wash Cold: Care Instructions for an Ordinary Life for months. But, not really. I loved Momma Zen. How on earth could she do any better than that? I was afraid I would not like the book at all.

It came in the mail about two weeks ago, and I read it up fast. Too fast. So, I read it again. Momma Zen cradled my heart. Hand Wash Cold spoke right into my bones. It's not about being a mom or a wife. It's about being you.

I don't want to review this book. I want to write every word right here on this blog for you to read. I want to sit around and read it to you, and nod and smile with you.

Here is my favorite thing about this book : Karen Maezen Miller lives in the oldest private Japanese garden in southern California. She lives in a Zen garden and I don't, and that has changed my life. My husband says "Well, that's pretty fancy. It's easy to be Zen if you live in a Zen garden". "It's easy to think laundry is cool if you used to have someone doing your laundry for you." (I bet my husband and Maezen's husband would get along really well.)

But, when he said this to me, it clicked. Everything she said clicked. My life is what it is. My practice is not anyone else's. It's my job to do what is at hand, for me. My practice is to love what I have in front of me. And what else is there?

This book is magic. Ordinary magic.