Favorite Things...

This is one of my favorite books. The pictures, the story line, everything about it I love. I mean what kind of witch is afraid of witches?

Picture this: An old couch with fuzzy 1970's floral print. My mom in the middle with two kids on each side, the baby on her lap and two children wrestling for the coveted spot on the back of the couch where they could peer down at the pictures while she read to us. This was our nightly ritual. We read story after story this way. And that's where my love of reading, and books and cleverly drawn illustrations was planted.

One of my guilty pleasures is curling up in my bed and reading all night. Sad that I feel guilty for reading, huh? Ok, well I don't always feel that guilty. It just seems like there is always an endless list of "other" things that should take priority, like cleaning my room for instance. This week reading has won out over the mess though.

Recently I've been revisiting some of my favorite out-of-print children's books. I don't know why but we just seem to belong together. As a child I loved the "older" books section in our school library. I would run my fingers over the heavy hardback covers that were built like a 1970's station wagon; made to last. I would pull the books with interesting titles off the shelf and thumb through the worn pages; soft with age. I can still remember the musty smell of old print. Our librarian soon noticed that I had an affinity for old books so she made a few recommendations such as The Velvet Room and Magic Elizabeth. I read them over and over again.

Back in those days our library had a loft where you could lay on the floor and read for a half an hour if you so pleased. That was back before schools thought about things like 'you can't have a loft because children might fall off a ladder', or a merry-go-round for the same reason. Not that I'm against keeping children safe, there was just more of a carefree nature to my childhood. And--the inner child in me wishes I still had a loft to curl up in and read a book.

A few years ago my mom surprised me at Christmas with an old familiar green hardback book. It was the very same book I'd read over and over as a girl, The Velvet Room. It turns out that my elementary school was selling off all of their old books to make way for newer up and coming titles. I was estatic to have that book in my hands for keeps!

The novel is about a girl growing up in Depression Era America who discovers a secret passageway leading to a library in an old abandoned house. A library she endearingly nicknames "The Velvet Room." Someday, when I am neither rich nor famous perhaps I'll own a cute little cottage with a room like that...or at least a loft. Until then my extra comfy twin bed will have to do.

Here are a few of my favorite out-of-print titles:

Andrew Henry's Meadow
The Witch that was Afraid of Witches
Mumps!
The Velvet Room
A Tree for Peter
Pickles and Jake
Homer Price and the Doughnut Machine

Springtime in Utah

Last weekend my roommate and I rode our bikes down to the local greenhouse so we could dream about our yard in the upcoming summer months. On the way home we started talking about the lovely spring green that was abundantly sprouting up along the side of the road. That vibrant green color which is so fleeting in Utah. I appreciate it more after a long, cold winter.

I noted the traces of winter still mixed in with the new growing things. Old dry leaves, some of them turned to lace; brown bushes and such. And it made me think about re-growth in my own life. I've been through a few rough patches, just like anybody else. Moments when hope and growth and new things seemed but a luxury I could no longer afford. But thankfully, always, new things appear in sometimes unexpected places. New people to meet, new laughter to create, new places to see and smell and enjoy. Those things that feel like splashes of fresh spring green after a long winter of absence. It takes time to allow things to re-grow and blossom and fill in the winter gaps but life can still be beautiful in the meantime. That realization, though simple, makes me feel like I can be more patient with myself and more patient with life in general.

Anyone that has spent some time in Utah knows that springtime is a bit of a tease. One day you feel like you're well on your way to summer and the next you're throwing on a coat and drinking hot chocolate again. So I can be a little more patient with the traces of "winter" that surface in my own life from time to time. It reminded me of an article written by Jerry Johnston that so adequately captured those feelings of desolation we all face at one time or another and why we can always look forward with hope. You can read his article here

In the meantime I'm going to hop on my bike and fill my soul with another deep draught of fresh spring green.

To Mom And All of The "Village Moms" Out There

Last week I started running again. Outside. I love being outside in the morning. I get that from my mom. Perhaps that is because her cheerful whistling served as my alarm clock for 3/4 of my life. She is a definite morning person and I love that about her.

It just so happens that a giant lilac bush is also growing along my route. Of all the smells I miss right now,  Lilacs are one I miss most.

One time we went on a walk together, just me and my mom, down our usual route. It was about this time of year and as we neared the halfway point there was a lilac bush loaded with blossoms and spilling over the fence. We both stopped to take a look when all of a sudden she plunged her head right into the thick of that thing, trying to soak in the fragrance. I laughed and followed suit and there we were looking foolish on the side of the road with our heads swallowed up in that massive bush. The scent was wonderful. The moment, though simple, is something I'll never forget.

I told one of my co-workers about this walk one time. She loved it because she was a mom too and understood that sometimes you just need to go for a walk and plunge your head in a lilac bush.

One Spring day she came bobbing into work with the most beautiful bouquet of lilacs I think I have ever seen. It was shortly after I had moved out of my parents house and my little brother, and best friend, had just left on his mission. She simply said to me: "I had a dream that you were crying last night so I decided I better do something." It was such a sweet gesture and it meant so much to me. She is one of my adopted moms, one of those ladies that has also had a mothering effect on my life.

You've all heard the old adage "It takes a village to raise a child." Well I'd like to thank all the "village moms" in my life. Women who continually fed, encouraged, and occasionally reprimanded me. Those who invited me onto their porches to talk, endured long nights of giggling during sleepovers, hiked mountains, went to girls camp, rode bikes, chaperoned trips, and organized fundraisers. Women that have honked and waved, played taxi, and said hello at church. Women that taught me to ice skate, swim, and sew. Women that welcomed me into their families while I was dating their sons and have continued to hug and love me when I wasn't. Women that sacrificed their time so I could see my potential more clearly. Mostly, just women that know how to love. I cherish those moments and am grateful for the ways they have enriched my life.

For a few years I worked as a buyer in the textile industry and I kind of miss the familiar thick accent of one of our suppliers who always called me about this time of year.

"Hello gorgeous lady! How are you?"
"I'm great, thanks!"
"I'm calling to wish you a happy Mother's Day."
"Oh, thank you!"
"Yes, gorgeous lady. Do you have any children?"
"No, not yet."
"Well maybe next year...I will hope for you next year."
(We both laugh)
"Thank you."
"Of course, gorgeous lady. I hope you have a marvelous, happy, wonderful weekend!"

The next year came, and the next, and the next and though I still don't have children of my own I am learning how to be a village mom.

Recently my brother and sister-in-law went out of town. My mom had charge over their kids for most of the week but I tried to drop by at night to help out and give her a break. Their youngest daughter who I endearingly call "Migsy" was happy to see me but did NOT want to go to bed.

I tried all the old tricks my mom used to use. I read, and read, and read, and read but she did not even blink an eyelid! I sang primary songs, played soft music when my voice got tired, tried the rocking chair, and gave her abundant snacks only to hear once again: "I miss mommy, I miss daddy, I'm hungry!!!" I knew that child was tired but she was pretty good at faking it.

Finally, my mom told me it was okay to leave. Somehow she'd figure out a way like she always does to get that little one to sleep. As soon as Miggs saw me grab my purse she began wailing like it was the end of the world. I couldn't bear it. So I sat down on the bed and held her in my arms and we talked until she let me lay her down and snuggle next to her. Slowly, slowly she stopped saying "I miss mommy" and her heavy breathing signaled she was asleep.

Later that night my mom said little Migsy woke up once and said; "I miss mommy, I miss daddy, I miss Nae." I guess I earned my right as a village mom. And it feels pretty good.

Mid-day Slumps

I've been feeling the mid-day slumps. Apparently it can strike anyone at any age. I'm thinking I should have a sleep shelf installed next to my desk to be used at my discretion. Of course I would camoflauge it with paper supplies and things. Perhaps my boss won't notice if I take a little fiver on the shelf every now and again.

Capture it, Remember it

Last weekend I went on one of those trips that you just wish you could bottle up and open on a bad day now and again. It was pure happiness, totally spontaneous, and a completely refreshing get away from the daily grind. I spent the weekend soaking up some sunshine, with good company, while climbing rocks. How can life get better than that?

Rock climbing has been a favorite past time of mine for the last 8 years. I can still remember the first time I went climbing as a teenager in the City of Rocks in Idaho. I nervously watched every move of the climbers before me. Trying to memorize their foot placement and beta so that I wouldn't look so awkward on the rock when it was my turn. When I finally got tied into the rope I think I prayed every few seconds "Please don't let me die, Please don't let me die..."

I never would have guessed that that experience would eventually lead me to be standing on top of a 100 foot rock tower in the middle of the desert. But there I was Saturday night. Basking in a certain satisfaction that is hard to describe except that it felt like I did something hard and because of that today means something.

Since that first trip to Idaho I have been able to look out over many a sunset while dangling from the edge of a tall cliff. I'll be honest though, even with experience and time I still sometimes battle the same fears. Thoughts like "Did I tie in correctly? Is my gear still safe? Is my belayer paying attention?" still roll through my head at the most inopportune moments. Last Saturday it just so seized me when I was merely 15 feet off the ground.

It started raining and the wind started blowing like crazy. I couldn't see or hear my belayer. I was stuck in a spot that I couldn't figure out how to get out of and to make matters worse when I shot a quick glance back over my shoulder I discovered I was the current roadside attraction for the tourists driving through Arches National Park. Lovely, everyone watching me through binoculars when I'm struggling through a rough spot. Don't we all LOVE having our weak moments magnified? I wanted to give up, and for a few minutes I think I did. Good thing the wind kept me from communicating with my belayer.

Finally the rain let up and I got a hold of my mental game. Anytime I am in a spot that starts to feel impossible I try to tell myself, "OK, if you can just get your feet up another 2" you might find something else to hang onto." It took me half a bucket of tries but I finally made it past that spot. I remember thinking, "FINALLY!!! The rest should be easy..." only to repeat the same awkward grappling with the rock 3 more times. It was frustrating to say the least, especially when I used to be able to climb at a much higher level. But I was so glad I didn't let my pride keep me from making my way to the top.

What a spectacular view it was! After gawking at our surroundings and admiring the sunset we rappelled down into the twilight and smiled back at this Desert Tower called Owl Rock. Later that night as I drifted off to sleep under a canopy of desert stars I was fully aware of the hard desert ground my hips were digging into but I was completely satisfied, and happiness was wearing in every wrinkle on my dirty face. I can't think of a better way to end the day.

This is me...This is who I am...

So I've made a few halfhearted attempts at blogging. But despite my inability to stick with it, it really is something I've wanted to do (really, I promise). I have an innate need to capture words and thoughts and explore them on paper (errr...computer screen) but I think I just keep getting tangled up in the need to have a "theme" or something like that. Problem is 1. I don't have an adorable little family to blog about and 2. I'm a dabbler. I like to be involved in a lot of different activities and thus I have a hard time staying on topic. I'm one of those people that is good/OK at/enjoys a lot of things but not a genius when it comes to any one thing. So, I apologize for the semi ADD feel that this blog is bound to have. But you know what? Who cares, 'cause you never know what tomorrow will bring and I am strictly interested in exploring just what that might be.