Questioning My Principles

Wax tablet book

Would it really be that bad to change? Times are different, after all. And even if I adopted a more modern approach, I'd never abandon my old truth: I love reading books.

Bronze book

Maybe if I break that sentence into two phrases I could discover a new truth. I love reading, and I love books.

As far as reading: I'll read the minuscule writing explaining my new prescription's side-effects; I read cereal boxes and instruction manuals for things I don't own any more. So loving to read can be separate from loving books. After all, if this bronze-covered book was sitting on my desk, I'd try to read it. But I wouldn't be tucking it in my purse to peruse during a pedicure.

The Book of Darius

The rough stone box would disqualify this as a coffee-table book, although I'd be dying to find comparisons to The Book of Mormon.

Ancient Greek Scroll

And this one might be trouble when I'm sitting in the window seat of my Delta flight.

I guess I've already adapted to modern technology. But can take the next step?
A friend of mine asked:

To Kindle or Not to Kindle?

And that's my question to you.

You know me and mine:

1. We love bookstores.
2. Dee repairs old books.
3. We write and design books.

Could we hold our bookish heads high and still carry a Kindle?

I'm anxious for your advice.
Answer any or all questions, or just a yay or nay for getting one.

Is it hard to learn to use one?
Is it worth the price?
Which is the best kind? Why?
Can you use them on an airplane?
Do you need free wi-fi to make a connection everywhere you want to read?
About how much does it cost?
Does it cost to use it?
Would an iPad be a better purchase?
Pros? Con?

What do you know that I don't know?

PLEASE COMMENT!

How Do You Google?

A while ago I wrote a random post called A Letter to My Grandkids: Anne Frank's Diary. It's been googled 25,000 times! I get emails about it almost every day. What makes a post catch fire?

Trial Separation

I am so frustrated!!

I gave him my total loyalty. I can't count the nights I've stayed up with him, pouring out my heart, baring my soul . . . today I spent twelve solid hours doing his bidding and what do I get for my troubles? Nothing. N-O-T-H-I-N-G!

Why, Mac? Why? I've put everything I have into our relationship. Why are you holding back? Just spit it out. Don't keep it all inside. And don't tell me my attachment's too big—I've heard that one before. What?? You can't support my choice of font? Puh-lease!

Look, I'm sick of all those warning pop-ups. You want warnings? Here's a warning . . . I want my document! Give me my document!!

OK. I need a break. Let's cool off, get some rest. I'll turn you on again in the morning. It'll all work out. No, no. I'll feel better in a while.

I'm going to finish off the pie.

"I love deadlines. I love the whooshing sound they make as they fly by."


What has kept you from making a deadline lately?

Never Too Late

Art by Carl Larsson

One of my heroes died last week at age 95.
She was the Grandmother Who Wrote Best-Sellers.

Belva Plain wrote her first novel at an age when most people are wrapping things up. Evergreen, the saga of a Polish immigant girl torn between two men, was published in 1978, when Plain, 63, had already raised three children. It stayed on The New York Times bestseller list for 41 weeks in hardcover and another 20 in paperback, and was later made into an NBC miniseries.

As a young woman she was a prolific writer, and sold a few stories to magazines. After marrying an ophthalmologist, she settled in New Jersey and put her career on hold to raise her children. "I couldn't have done both," she said.

By the time Evergreen became a success, Plain was a grandmother. She never owned a computer, and wrote her novels in longhand. More than 28 million of her books are in print, including Random Winds and Eden Burning. She believed coming to novels late in life gave her a unique writer's perspective. She said: "You see your grandchildren, you remember your grandparents, and there's a sense of overall family continuance.

Plain maintained a disciplined work schedule, writing five hours a day, four days a week, and published a novel about every two years until her last, Crossroads, in 2008. Shortly before he death, she finished a sequel to Evergreen, to be published in February.

She's my hero!

Belva Plain 1915-2010

*It's never too late to start doing something you've always wanted to do! But it takes the get up and go you thought got up and went (scary stuff!) Go find it!

Scary Stuff: Being the Newbie

Pumpkin Heads by Wendell Minor

What if you're the new kid on the block?
Now that's scary stuff.

PJ and Benji

Baby PJ leads a quiet life, being the only kid at his house. Benji's from out of town, similar background. Tonight they hung out together and discovered they had some things in common. They're both wary of strange women.

Girls that travel in packs scare them.

So do princesses in low-cut gowns,


Chics with come-hither eyes,


Boisterous crowds,

And anything that looks suspicious.
What about you?

Have you been the newbie?
The one everybody looks at?



The odd man out?

I live in an apartment building where newbies arrive on a daily basis. Some have a knack for fitting in fast. They look right at me and smile, introduce themselves, and they're not offended the next time when I don't remember their name. They say things like "Are you off work today?" or "I just finished that book," or "In Seattle it never gets this hot," to start a conversation and let me know they're willing to visit a minute. They notice my dry-cleaning, or my loaf of bread, or my pedicure flip-flops and ask where they should go, and they look for folks who do what they do.

"Do you know anybody who plays dominoes?"

or

"Does anyone want to show me their scrapbook?

Being the new kid is scary stuff.
Sometimes you just need someone to stand next to.
Jake's a newbie in his school this year,
so he knows what it's like when you need a new friend.

Do you have any suggestions?

Directions

Without mountains I'm totally lost—north, south, east, west, I haven't a clue. Dee, on the other hand, always knows where he is. He stands still for a second, turns a little bit one way or another and then says, "That's north." He can do it wherever we are in the world. I asked him today how he can always tell. "I swallowed a compass when I was a little kid," he said.

Some people seem to know where they are and where they're going. PJ just turned one. Last week at his birthday party his mom set him on the grass and he immediately took off crawling toward a little rock ledge in the yard. Every time he got close, giant arms grabbed him from above and carried him far from his goal, hoping he'd lose interest in his risky adventure.

PJ

Not this boy. He'd look around to reassess his position and start again. Danger or no danger, he knew where he wanted to go.

Many times I've been heading one way and some giant circumstance came along to change my course. Sometimes it saved me from falling off a ledge, I guess, but most of the time it just frustrated my timetable or took me sightseeing.

Every once in a while I try to stand still and feel my inner compass, remind myself of where I'm going. Then I turn a little bit one way or another and set off again to find what I'm searching for.

Tonight I asked myself, "What do I want to have happen between now and New Year's Day?" These are a couple of my answers: Have a fun, memorable conversation, one-on-one, with each of my kids and grandkids and express the joy they give me. Now that I know where I'm going, I can plan holiday activities that will take me there. There's a purpose to the busy-ness of the season.

When I just make a list of all the fun stuff I need/want/ought to do, I often lose track of why I'm doing it. Asking myself what I want to have happen focuses me on the reason, and gives me a more exact direction to prioritize my plans.

I had a dear friend who was teaching a Sunday lesson one week. She got carried away by the darling sailboat handouts she was making. From Monday to Saturday she cut white cotton triangles, stitched rickrack and tied string, crafting perfect little sails. It took her hours to write a message in an artsy calligraphy on a tiny life-saver she dangled from the sail. Finally the sails were ready to stick in the donut that would make the boat.

That Sunday morning she called me frantically and said, "I was finishing the handouts til after midnight and now I have to go pick up the donuts! I didn't have time to prepare the lesson. Could you teach it? It's on priorities."

All during my lesson she stuck the sails in the donuts with the reminder saying: Keep your eye upon the donut and not upon the hole. I don't think it even occurred to her that she'd spent the whole week too busy for the donut because she was so focused on the hole!

With so many directions to choose from, it's good to consult our inner compass, figure out exactly where we are, and decide what we want to have happen next. Then we can figure out the direction we need to go.

Benji

What do you want to have happen in your life?
So what direction do you have to go?

Looking Forward

One day you'll just be sitting there,
minding your own business . . .



And someone wise will say,
"Hey! You ought to try something new."

Don't be afraid if it looks too hot to handle.

Just dive right in.

"Swe-e-e-t!" you'll say.

And that's the meaning of life.

Self Discovery in Five Easy Steps

Gabi and Dee

"Be yourself.
Everybody else is already taken."
—Oscar Wilde

Ask yourself:

1. What would you do if you knew you could not fail?
2. Where would you live if it was totally up to you, and a good job was there waiting?
3. If you could plan what you'd do all day at work, what would you do?
4. If you could go out to dinner with anybody, who would you invite?
5. What do you wish someone would ask you to do?

Think through your answers.
Write a paragraph about the real you.
Get acquainted and make some plans!

A Great British Education

My school bus.

Everybody in the family went to school when we lived in York—except me. However, I got a British education that year, too. Every time I stepped outside my house I encountered a situation that made me think. Teachers were around every corner (although they seemed like regular people.) Here's some stuff I learned:

~Yorkshire folks live their lives in the rain. We flew kites, went to the beach, had picnics in the park . . . none of the locals batted an eye. Josh went spelunking with the scouts for a week with torrential rains the whole time. He and Micah did a 45-mile hike in the rain—it started at midnight—across the moors in muddy bogs filled with frogs. The weather report was always "bright at times, showery at intervals."

Life Lesson #1:
You'll miss life if you wait for perfect conditions.

Lyke Wake Walk Marker

~In York, the beauty of a home has nothing to do with square footage or interior decorating. Friends lived in cramped row houses, with minuscule yards on narrow streets. Pete played with his friend in a pub the father managed. The family lived upstairs. Neighbors ran a bed and breakfast, and lived there. Our house had originally been the servant's quarters.

Life Lesson #2:
Don't confuse a house with a home.

Dale Street, across from the kid's school.

Blossom Street, across from our house.

~In York, parents don't all look like parents. I waited for my kids everyday outside their school with people I was scared of at first. It was 1985 and punk had not arrived in my Salt Lake City neighborhood. Tattoos, mohawks and piercings signaled danger to me. That was before I saw how they interacted with their kids, swooping them up, carrying them on their shoulders, examining spelling tests and essays. Before long I realized I was naive, arrogant and condescending. They, on the other hand, were friendly, interested and hospitable; in other words, nicer than I.

Life Lesson #3:
Don't judge a person by their hairstyle.

Punk Rocker Parents

~In York, ancient is normal. Our primary school was Scarcroft. It was built in about 1840, and looked like a haunted house. There were still gas masks on the shelf from World War I. We'd been warned the school was in a "roof (rough) neighborhood," but the teachers were wonderful, the kids were taught Bible stories and they opened each day with prayer! The headmaster took our kids under his wing and made sure they were integrated into the school quickly. They were each inundated with friends and invitations.

Scarcroft Primary School

Our three teenagers took unfamiliar subjects like Latin, and were placed in 4th year French classes, although they'd never studied French. They learned cricket in Games and now understand the British education system and terms like O Levels, and Firsts.

Dee's school was the King's Manor, built in the 1600's. His labs and workshops were in the York Minster (built about 1100) where they studied architecture and the restoration of stained glass, among other crafts.

Life Lesson #4:
Modern doesn't mean better.

Kings Manor, University of York

~In York I learned to "try it." Our kids jumped into experiences just because their friends were doing it. I'd always said, "Well if your friends walked off a cliff, would you do it, too?" I'll let you judge for yourself:

Micah in the panto (3rd one over)

Peter in the panto

Marta in the Community Christmas Panto
A Pantomime is a very traditional play w/ cross dressing leads.

Dee and Marty in the community Dance Festival (we're on the right.)

Life Lesson #5:

It's OK to try things you've never done before, and might never do again. Don't compromise your standards, but occasionally jump into something new.

Major Life Lesson:

There is a world full of hard-working, God-fearing, family-loving people who are very different from me. They are trying to make the world better by living decent lives, that are different from mine. The world does not revolve around me, or the USA. I am not better. Differences make us interesting, and similarities make us strong. Other people don't want to be like me, any more than I want to be like them, so I won't presume to force my ideals on them. I will cram myself full of all the goodness they share with me, and I will be a better person.

I consider that a pretty good education.


To be concluded . . .

What Can You Do?

Marta, 2010

mwrites is on a quest to make us feel good about ourselves with her How-To Series. She says:

"the how-to series was created to encourage confidence in creativity. to focus on what we can do rather than what we can't. i am excited to showcase your talents and unique ideas."

'Do not let what you cannot do interfere with what you can do.'
- John Wooden

She invited her readers to send a guest post on something they know how to do. They responded big time, with how-to posts on a huge variety of topics: how to cut a birthday cake, how to cope with losing a baby, how to photograph a child, how to shop for swimsuits and many more.

Today I was featured. I explained How to make an Oma kit. Check it out, and think about the hundreds of things you know how to do. (We're all pretty awesome in our own way.)

Marta and Marty show how to eat dough.

Art Form

—Somebody's blog.
(Please claim it if it's yours.)

Fear of Guns

The shoot-out.

Saturday I faced a fear.

I'm terrified of guns. Dee grew up with them, hunting pheasants and rabbits when he was just a kid. He took our sons duck hunting and target shooting even though my stomach would be tied in knots the whole time they were gone. "Boys need to learn how to shoot," he told me. (I've realized mothers and fathers are different, and that it's supposed to be that way.)

All our kids remember a major melt-down I had at the Holladay Gun Club twenty-five years ago. After an adventurous day in the mountains (the kids climbed rocks, built fires without matches, used ropes to cross the river on a log) Dee announced a surprise grand finale. Our Heroes (ages 14-3) cheered with anticipation as he drove up the hill to a shooting range. I practically threw up. Shots rang out as we pulled into the parking lot. I freaked out and refused to participate. As Marta and I sat in the car crying, my indignation and imagination ran wild—fear took over.

Oma takes aim at her fear.

As fears sometimes do, this one became irrational. Gun safety was a concept lost on me. I've assumed guns spontaneously go off and shoot people; that shooting ranges are filled with drunk militia weirdos in camouflage; that bullets fly randomly through the air in all directions constantly. Refusing to even consider a different scenario, I let it become a phobia.

Safety rules.

So now I'm ghost-writing a western novel. JJ, the star of the book, is a cracker-jack shot even though he's only twelve. This seemed preposterous to me. But Dee was like that, and my son-in-law Dan was, too. Even my own sons and grandsons have been familiar with guns by age twelve, in spite of my anxieties. In the old west most little boys learned to hunt and handle firearms when they were tall enough to hold a .22.

Colts, Winchesters, bullets and calibers—Dan has been my go-to guy, guiding me through the mysteries of 1870's hardware for the book. So he decided I needed a research trip. JJ can only be as knowledgeable as I am.

Dan planned our outing as my Father's Day gift to him. Because he's such a fabulous father of such a darling grandson, I couldn't say no. But I was scared silly.

Opa and Oma on the range.

Target shooting was so different than I'd imagined. No self-exploding bazookas, no crazies— everybody knew and followed the rules. Except me. I shot at another guy's target which is a major faux pas. (He was very nice about it, though.)

And there was an incident during the ceasefire. Every fifteen minutes there's an announcement and all shooting stops. Guns are unloaded and placed on the tables and everyone steps back behind a red line. Then, when it's totally safe, they announce that you can go check your targets. Shooters stay behind the red line until they announce the range is hot, and then you go back to your stations. Anyway, during the ceasefire, I forgot, crossed the line and started to load my gun. "MA'AM! STEP AWAY FROM YOUR WEAPON!"

My chaperones were very patient and assured the others they'd watch me closer.

Right on target.

A little experience shot my fear to smithereens.