Life in the Mother Hood: Weaving Sunshine

Krakow, Poland 2008

It was supposed to be perfect, but it rained.

It took months of groundwork, weeks of planning, and extra days of traveling to get to Krakow, the ancient capital of Poland. We were excited to see the largest medieval square in Europe, "alive with history, pigeons, and people."

Rynek Square, 2008

But from our well-chosen hotel room, famed for it's ideal view of the market, we looked out on huddled umbrellas and slick, wet cobblestones. Colorful awnings, outdoor cafes and flower stands were tucked under dripping eaves, and the horse-drawn carriages we expected were nowhere to be seen.

Towels not included, Krakow 2008

Instead, guys in plastic encased golf carts were giving tours around the city. Our guide spoke very little English, and it was his first day on the job. Unfamiliar with the route, he dodged buses and trucks in rush-hour traffic, while we wiped mist off the fogged "windows" and dried our mud-splashed legs.

Often the dream is better than the reality. Luckily the memory is better than the reality, too. Although the sightseeing in Poland was dreary, the experience was dazzling, and now the rain adds to the ambiance of our story.

On my travels through the Mother 'hood I had similar episodes: the Christmas Eve everyone threw up all night, Disneyland when everyone got the measles, that Thanksgiving the boys swung on the room divider and landed on mom's dining room table—I could go on for hours. Anticipation and preparation aren't guarantees when children are involved; tantrums and tears can dampen every parade. I've had to learn to deal. A blessing of motherhood is realizing that purpose trumps circumstance.

I now apply this truth to any situation. When I decide what I want to have happen (strengthen relationships, have fun, learn something, relax, accomplish a task, etc.) and make plans to achieve that goal, I know a storm won't make any difference. This insight is as valuable as any umbrella.

Sunny Polish Countryside, 2008

"Weave, weave, weave me the sunshine, out of the falling rain . . . "

(Christie won the Kid Giveaway hands down.
Read her story here to laugh, cry and see why.)

Growing Kids in the Motherhood

Image from Golden Legacy

Inch by inch, row by row,
Gonna make this garden grow.
All it takes is a rake and a hoe
And a piece of fertile ground.

Inch by inch, row by row
Someone bless these seeds I sow
Please keep them safe below,
'Til the rain comes tumbling down.

I've really never grown anything successfully—except children. But I think a garden is a good metaphor. One blessing of being a mother is to learn how blossoms bloom and grow.

When I was new to the Mother 'hood patch, I was too busy with weeding, mulching, and constant irrigation to appreciate what was happening under all that manure. Now as an Oma I can stand back and observe the process.

Most baby animals instinctively know how to eat; many stand up and walk almost immediately. But human moms and babies have to cooperate to learn natural activities: sucking, nursing, sleeping, even burping. Apparently God has a reason for this. Since none of us can remember learning this stuff as a newborn, I think the system must be for the mother's benefit. She can watch the challenge, effort and mastery involved with growing on a daily basis.

When one of my kids talked at 18 months, and another didn't talk until age three, I worried. (They both talk now.) It was the same with writing, climbing, reading, sharing; I gradually discovered that everyone learns on an individual timetable. I'm more patient with myself and others knowing we'll all master most things, but on different schedules.

Someone said, "I myself am made of flaws, stitched together with good intentions." One day my friend called to report on my five-year-old son's colorful vocabulary. She said, "I'm telling you this out of love." Of course his cuss words of choice were the ones he'd heard from me. The whole setting an example thing is the scariest part of the 'hood.

Third Man

Parents are continually humbled—humiliated, in fact—by the kids following in their footsteps. I learned the truth of: "Judge not that ye be not judged."

A baby grins, and notices his mom's excitement. He does it over and over because he likes the reaction. Pretty soon he mirrors her expressions and sounds, and before long he copies her attitudes. I used to think it was totally unfair that I couldn't be in a bad mood without the whole family spiraling down with me. I'd have my little pout or sulk, and then end up coaxing everyone else out of their funk. It seemed less trouble to hide my doldrums and pretend to be chipper, because the rest of the group followed my lead.

Glee Club

Another blessing hidden in the Mother 'hood was the discovery that if you act happy, you become happy. "As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he." It's the secret of a cheerful mother's nature.

Plant your rows straight and long,

Nourish them with prayer and song,
Mother Earth will make them strong
She will make it fertile ground.

I spent a lot of time raising my crop, watching them blossom.
But I think I've grown the most.

What has motherhood taught you?

Family: My Happiness Project

♫. . . we are a happy family! ♫

Forty years ago we started an experiment in happiness. A family is the perfect laboratory for testing philosophies on religion, education, health, relationships, finances . . . actually every philosophy is tested in a family. Living right in the Mother 'hood, I could observe, analyze and evaluate what creates joy.

My first discovery: being married is much more than getting married. There were lots of crazy ideas about love floating around in 1969. "Love means never having to say you're sorry" turned out to be a bad one. I thought love meant being patient with Dee until he realized I was right. That wasn't any good either. My experiment in happiness has taught me about marriage.

I think sex keeps a newly married couple in a state of frenzy long enough for them to start developing some relationship skills (communication, empathy, understanding, and patience) to add to the romance of it all. It takes some humility to realize you need those qualities, and some effort to gain them.

With practice, good relationship skills can mature into dependability, responsibility, trust and commitment; eventually the goal is charity, or pure love. The miracle is not falling in love, it's staying in love. Like Neil Diamond sings, "Love is not about you, it's not about me. Love is all about we."

Psychiatrists, therapists, ministers, teachers—think of all the experts who are trying to figure out marriage. A blessing of my happiness project is that I have studied it in depth and I'm beginning to get it.

Kids were the natural result of the frenzied years. We wanted them, but we weren't sure why. They turned out to be a combination of adorable, frustrating, entertaining, challenging and always there. That was the hardest part of living in the 'hood: the constancy. Love took on a whole new dimension, with no place to hide from anxiety, worry and stress. Crisis management and split-second decisions became daily events. There was no escaping it, so I learned to cope.

Again, think of all the seminars, discussion groups and drills designed to prepare folks to deal with emergencies. I gained those skills on the job. I can think fast, multi-task, create calm from chaos, and take charge. It's a blessing to know I would be a leader in difficult circumstances.

The blessing I cherish most is the relationship with our kids. Besides loving them, I like them. They're funny, smart, kind, caring, helpful, creative . . . they're my best friends. People ask all the time what we did to raise such a great group. I always answer that they came good. But there was some work involved: I read a zillion books on kids and tried all the trendy theories.

In the end, though, we subscribed to the best child-raising philosophy around. The scriptures
say:

"And it came to pass that we lived after the manner of happiness."
Nephi 5:27 (Book of Mormon)

So we looked into it. King Benjamin's advice became our standard:

"And ye will not suffer your children that they go hungry, or naked; neither will ye suffer that they fight and quarrel one with another . . . But ye will teach them to walk in the ways of truth and soberness; ye will teach them to love one another, and to serve one another."

—Mosiah 4:14-15

Our other motto was:

"And they shall also teach their children to pray, and to walk uprightly before the Lord."

—Doctrine and Covenants 68:28

I've had a lifelong Happiness Project.
And, I have to say, it's worked.

Life in the Mother Hood

"The family is central to the Creator's plan for the eternal destiny of His children.

The family is ordained of God."

—The Family, A Proclamation to the World

I had just moved to the hood—the Mother Hood. What did I know? I was twenty years old and I was a brand-new mom. No money, no experience, no education. I arrived in this new world with the barest necessities: a faith in God, a husband who loved me, and the example of a happy childhood. But life in the 'hood didn't come naturally to me.

I had enjoyed being the center of my own world. It was a shock to have a newborn who demanded all my energy and time, physically, mentally, emotionally—every tiny ounce I had to give! Some women prepare for this by postponing kids until after they've satisfied some of their own goals. This would not have worked for me. There would have been more to sacrifice. As it was, my initial feelings were still sometimes resentful and frustrated. Overwhelmed, I thought I wasn't ready for this season of selflessness. The time for preparation was past, and I had failed to prepare.

But I discovered something important. The abilities I wanted to have as a mother could only be developed by actually being a mother. I couldn't get them any other way. Just like a runner gains stamina from running, I would train best in the authentic mom-a-thon. This new baby was my first coach.

Oprah had a program highlighting all the negative stuff that nobody tells a woman about becoming a mom. You know: exhaustion, hemorrhoids, loneliness, boredom, lack of stimulation, lack of appreciation, lack of everything. I identified with it all, but I think she needs to have a program highlighting all the positive stuff nobody tells a woman about being a mom. The benefits don't come all at once, like a two-year-old's tantrum. They are scattered through the Mother Hood. I didn't find many of them for years, and I'm still discovering them hidden generously in nooks and crannies of my soul.

In honor of Mother's Day I'm going to write about some of the awesome blessings that have come to me through being a mother. I'm an expert, having had a forty-year career. Come back tomorrow and bring your friends. I'll raise your expectations of the Mother Hood.

Sorry to fake you out . . .

My blog has to take a back seat today.
Even when they're fake, don't you like them anyway?
(Posts, I mean.)

Cowboy Round-Up

Us, in the olden days, 1983

I been studyin' up on cowboys, horses, saloons and such. I can't sound like some greenhorn writin' a novel, sayin' "she had his photograph in her locket" when they ain't even invented the photography yet. Why, I almost said "he wore a hemp necktie to church on Sunday," til I found out that's a hangin' noose. I got to watch my p's and q's and make sure I don't get 'em backwards.

Folks set a lotta store by newspapers. Here's some of what was goin' on back in the day:


"Beginning with a single room, the old Sanders house grew like a game of dominoes. As each of the seven sons brought home his bride, he added a small room to one end of the paternal dwelling. Every room had its own outside door and gave the couples all the privacy they could ever want."

—Roland F. Dickey, New Mexico Village

"There were forty-eight lynchings in California during last year, and only nineteen were legal ones."

—Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper, March 1, 1856

"A couple came from Ohio, arriving in Leavenworth a few days since, and were married about noon. At 8 o'clock in the evening a bouncing boy weighing ten and a half pounds, was born to the blooming bride of less than ten hours."

—Sumner County Press, Wellington, Kansas, January 8, 1874

"A sore throat can be treated in several ways. Wrap the throat in red flannel, wrap it with a kerosene-soaked rag or place a poultice of fried onions around the neck."

—Dr. Francis A. Long, Madison, Nebraska, 1882

"The marriage of Miss Alice Tomlison reminds us that our premium school teachers are being gathered into the matrimonial net by men who place self above the public welfare. Suppose all the marrriageable female teachers in the world were to be married tomorrow, the country would go to rack and ruin."

—Times, Grand Island, Nebraska, September 15, 1883

"WANTED: YOUNG SKINNY WIRY FELLOWS not over eighteen. Must be expert riders willing to risk death daily. Orphans preferred. WAGES $25 per week. Apply, Central Overland Express, San Francisco, California."


They say to write what you know. I was brought up on pioneer stories, had a friend with a horse, and watched Gunsmoke every Saturday night—I thought I knew the old west. But I've realized I know nothing about cowboy days. Even so, I'm writing a western. It's takin' a heap of study.

Today I spent a few hours learning the parts of a horse. (It's hard to describe a horse when you don't know the vocabulary.) I found out that horses are measured "in hands, from their withers." I'd always thought palomino was a breed (it's a color) and that a colt was a baby horse. Actually they're called foals. Then they become yearlings and then, when they're two, the boys become colts, and the girls become fillies.

Afterward, I read up on Stetsons (the cowboy's umbrella,) bandannas (they were silk, not cotton,) chaps (protection from cactus spikes) and spurs. Do you know why a cowboy's spurs jingled? They attached little bells to make a tinkling sound, so the cows would hear them coming in the dark and not get startled. If a cow was spooked somehow, it could start a stampede, which always cost them money, time and a few lives.

"Read, every day, something nobody else is reading.
Think, every day, something nobody else is thinking."
—Christopher Morley

What random things have you been learning lately?

The Write Idea

Oma by Stephen Cartwright

I love you guys—I really do. You read my stuff. That's all I want out of this blog—an incentive to write and someone to read it.

When I was in 2nd grade I wrote a report on lettuce. I just made it up so it didn't have any factual information in it. I followed my mom around all morning begging to read it to her. When she heard it she said, (meaning well, I'm sure) "Let's look it up."

So she got out her cookbook and had me copy a paragraph about lettuce, and that's what I read in class. It was over fifty years ago and I still remember being devastated that nobody ever read my brilliant piece on lettuce. Since then I've followed lots of people around, begging them to notice my notations. Writers need readers.

At the Tattered Cover bookstore in Denver we went to a book signing/reading by Anne Lamott, the author of Bird by Bird. She said,

"When my students ask why I write I say, 'Because I want to and I'm good at it.' I tell them what it will be like in the morning when I sit down to work, with few ideas and a lot of blank paper, with hideous conceit and low self-esteem in equal measure, fingers poised on the keyboard. I tell them they'll want to be really good right off, and they may not be, but they might be good someday if they just keep the faith and keep practicing. And they may even go from wanting to have written something to just wanting to be writing, wanting to be working on something, like they'd want to be playing the piano or tennis, because writing brings with it so much joy, so much challenge. It is work and play together."

Oma 24/7

I'm there. I love writing for it's own sake, but it is a scary business. You strip off your false front and show your bare-naked heart and actually ask for judgment.

When I'm sitting at my desk, alone with my keyboard and screen, the ever present worry is, "Will they get what I mean?" They are ever present on the other side of the computer or looking over my shoulder while I type. But when I look up to ask them what they thought, they disappear. "Who am I writing this for?" I wonder.

I loved your comments and emails on last night's post. I think we're all wondering who we're writing for, and if what we have to say is worth reading, even though we have important ideas clambering to get out. We put pressure on ourselves to be consistent, creative, funny, honest and useful without hurting anybody's feelings. And then we compare ourselves, speculating that our original isn't as original as theirs.

Isn't it interesting that reading someone else's doubts is so reassuring? Your questions answer my questions, reminding me that it's not about being the best, or the most popular. It's not even about lettuce. It's about connecting with others through words to discover ourselves. What I'm trying to say is thank you for being my they.


*Homework:

~Who are you writing for? Write a letter to them.

Not Tonight, Dear

I've got a headache.

Sometimes blogging gives me a throb in the temples and a pain in the neck. Does blogging ever make you crazy? Leave a comment with your detailed frustration and we'll make it a discussion. And I'll do some research and answer your questions in a future post.

Now, I'm taking two aspirin and I'll call you in the morning.

A New Character in Twelve Steps

Ruby emerges from my typewriter

Ruby drank her colored water and wiped her mouth. "None of that tarantula juice sold here, Mister. Can I have another one?" She was perspiring from the dance, and cinnamon colored tendrils curled at her hairline. Leo wondered if she smiled like this at every cowboy who swung through the doors of the Fat Chance Saloon, or if she could tell he needed encouragement to drop extra coins on the mahogany bar. The dance had cost him 75¢ and every drink was a dollar, but a night in Sam's Town wasn't cheap—or typical.

"Are you a boarder?" Leo asked, embarrassed, knowing what this implied.

"I'm stayin' here, if that's what you mean. But just for a while. I've got a little boy back in Greenville, and I'm trying to get on my feet so I can take care of him proper." Leo looked down at his calloused hands.

"Don't you go judging, me," Ruby frowned, unwrapping the ribbon she had around her wrist and tying back her thick russet curls. "It's not like I'm some life-long soiled dove. I'm only nineteen. I just need to make some money for me and JJ."

The tinny keys of the piano roused her sense of responsibility as Sam slapped the bar. "Gents, balance your ladies onto the floor. The professor is going to play us a waltz. Tickets please."

Ruby teased the paper stub from Leo's pocket, tore it half-way through, and twirled out of his reach, sweet-talking him with her eyes. "C'mon. Take a turn with a fallen angel."—Son of a Gun, by Marty Halverson

These are some of my imaginary friends. We're just getting acquainted. I usually write short stories, biography or creative non-fiction, but now I'm trying my hand as a novelist. Son of a Gun is the story of Ruby's son JJ, his quest to find his father, and how Leo changes their lives. It is so much fun to create characters and then see what they say and do. I love it!

Do you want a new BFF? Here's how to get one in a dozen steps:

Character Sketch

1. Name:
2. Nickname:
3. Birth Date/Place:
4. Character Role: (Main or minor)
   
5. Physical Description: (Age, race, eye color, hair color/style, build, skin tone, style of dress)
6. Characteristics/Mannerisms: (Physical flaws, habits)
   
7. Speech pattern/voice: (Particular phrases)
   
8. Personality traits: (Strengths, vices, interests, favorites)
   
9. Background: (Family tree, childhood, pivotal events in life, religion, outlook)
   
10. Internal conflicts: (Personal problems, emotional turmoil)
11. External conflicts: (What is preventing his success?)
12. Occupation/Education: (How did he become what he is?)
    

I've spent the last few days writing character sketches, asking Ruby, Leo and some other folks questions, using these prompts. Then I write down their answers. I've been surprised at the details they supply: I noticed Ruby fiddling with her ribbon right off. And Leo mentioned that his mother was a Quaker. Interesting. So do Quakers drink and gamble and carouse? Why is he at the Fat Chance Saloon?

The more I get to know my imaginary friends, the more real they become. Where exactly do they live, and when? What's going on in their corner of the world? Why do they matter? I can't wait to tell their story.

Elizabeth George says, "Give your characters a chance to tell you what part they're going to play in your novel. Believe me. They will."

I'm listening.

*Homework:

~Create a new character. Use the twelve steps as prompts and let your imaginary friend run wild!

Love Story Update

Artwork by Polly

It was for real now.

On a glorious Saturday in late April, 1969, Dee and I hiked up to the Cafe Winkler overlooking all of Salzburg. Dee asked me to marry him. I said yes. We knew we would arrive home in six weeks to $00.00 so the timing was yet to be decided, and I knew that until he actually gave me a ring, he wouldn't consider us engaged. I had considered us engaged since his first "I love you," but thought it wiser not to announce it, even to him.

View from Cafe Winkler, Salzburg

To celebrate we went on a (chaste) group honeymoon to Budapest on April 30. Hungary was behind the Iron Curtain, and we had to have visas and official guides to go. We were told that the border was strictly guarded and we were not permitted under any circumstances to take photos as we crossed.

Guard towers on the road to Budapest, 1969

The guard towers were all around us, and soldiers with machine guns were watching every vehicle carefully. As we passed one of them, Dee took a picture out the window of the bus. I was shocked at his blatant indifference to the rules; (I've since discovered that Dee never thinks rules apply to him.) A few minutes later some soldiers on motorcycles pulled up next to us and waved us over. We stopped and the officers boarded our bus.

Guards working before they stopped our bus.

The driver was Czech and the communication was awkward between our German and English, and these foreign tongues. Of course it didn't take a linguist to figure out what they wanted. They had seen someone on our bus take a picture and they wanted to confiscate all our cameras for retribution.

Dee, realizing it was time to step up, volunteered that he was the criminal and they didn't need to take every one's camera; they could have his. After a little negotiation, the soldiers said he could just give up his film. This was 'back in the day' when it was impossible to tell what was on a roll of film until it was developed. Our friend Bryant slyly passed Dee his own film, allowing Dee to keep the fatal shot of the border towers. He handed over the phony film. To our relief, we were allowed to go on. None of our fellow travelers saw the humor in the event, or even the adventure; everyone was just mad.

Communist May Day parade

May Day in Eastern Europe had special significance because of the giant Communist Parade. I was clueless, and pictured floats and costumes. It turned out to be thousands of factory workers carrying Communist flags, marching past the government officials.

Dee said he wanted to take a picture and left me in the stands. He didn't come back. After the events of the day before, I was worried that he'd been arrested and sent to a concentration camp. The atmosphere at the parade was not comfortable for us Americans, and I could feel the oppression of the people.

Dee's new Commie buddy 1969
(We still have this flag, which Dee liberated from Communist captivity himself.)

Our guides started rounding us up to load into the buses and Dee still hadn't returned. I looked down at the workers in the parade and there he was, marching between 2 men, carrying a huge Hungarian flag. Somehow he made it back to the bus with photos of President Kadar and others who could put him in prison . . . I could hardly wait to get out of this country!

Gypsy singers in Budapest cafe.

That night we went to a quaint restaurant, decorated with brightly colored embroidered linens and hand painted pottery. There were gypsy musicians wearing tall, black hats, puffy shirts and baggy pants tucked into boots. Playing their violins, they wandered from table to table while we ate Chicken Paprikas and Palatshinken. As we were eating, some girls at the next table began talking about candle passings.

Back in the dorms there would frequently be a sign on the door announcing a special ceremony that night. Everyone would gather in anticipation, wondering who. Standing in a circle, with crossed arms, holding hands, we sang love songs while a candle decorated with flowers and ribbons was passed from girl to girl. Sitting on the candle was a diamond engagement ring. There were sighs, and whispers, and a little warbling:

♫ They say there's a tree in the meadow,
a tree that will give you a sign . . .
♫ Come along with me, to the Sweetheart Tree,
♫ Come and carve your name next to mine . . . ♫

After the candle had gone around the circle once, (or twice to add to the suspense,) the lucky girl blew out the candle and put her ring on. Squeals, hugs and tears followed.

That night in Budapest someone started passing a candle. It went around one table and then another before it came to our table. I was sitting next to my true love, the gypsies were playing, everyone was watching, and when it came to me, I blew the candle out. Our engagement was official.

It must have been a trick candle.
After forty-one years, the light has never gone out.

What keeps your candle burning?

Being Shot

Photo by Justin Hackworth

We were victims of a shooting and it wasn't painful at all. In fact, I think everybody should be treated to a personal photo shoot. (Check out Justin's blog to see how we did.) I picked up some tricks that even amateurs could use on friends who need a shot of self-esteem.

Shooting Tips

1. Loosen up your target. Ask them about themselves and really listen to their answers. Let them feel important.
   
2. Tell a killer joke, and then laugh at the ones they shoot back at you.
3. Bombard them with compliments. "You have a beautiful clavicle." "Just act natural. You're perfect." "I want to capture you the way you are."
4. Catch the details of their stories, and refer back to them, while you catch the details of their face.
   
5. Aim to please—welcome signs, water bottles, chocolate truffles . . . anything that signals it's their special day.
   

Then whip out your Coolpix and shoot 'em where they stand. With such gallant treatment, they won't even care what the photos look like!

In our case we got it all—preferential treatment, a free photo-shoot, and great results. Justin's studio is in a 100-year-old building overlooking the exact center of downtown Provo. Lofty molded ceilings, a wooden staircase and a gorgeous dark red wall add to the ambiance. But it's not just the atmosphere. Cool equipment that's the real deal, an artist's eye for light and shadow, plus experience and talent make Justin's photos one-of-a-kind.

Being shot in black and white for posterity was unique. Getting a shot of self-esteem shouldn't be so rare. Recharge some batteries—hold your own photo shoot and make someone you care about feel beautiful!

Photo Shoot

Some high-flyin' photographer has got me in his sights.

Marta (a photographer in her own right) told me a few weeks ago that my Mother's Day present was going to be a portrait of the two of us. She had the appointment all scheduled for April 20th. Was that OK? I pictured a cute 5 X 7 on my bulletin board and got my hair cut for the occasion.

Tonight I got some scary details about this modeling gig. Justin Hackworth doesn't just take pictures—he produces art. He doesn't photoshop out your double chin(s) or whiten your teeth; he finds beauty in shapes and textures (otherwise called bulges and zits.) And then he puts them on his blog.

This is the third year of his Thirty Strangers Project, a fundraiser he does for women and children in crisis. Every day during April he photographs mothers and daughters for donations to this cause. It has been so successful that people from all over the country vie for the chance to be part of the project. In February he announced on his blog that he would randomly give away the 30 spots. Out of hundreds of contestants, Marta was one of the winners, and tomorrow is our big day.

I checked out his awesome website and it's obvious Justin is into truth in art. Marta says we'll finally see what we really look like. That terrified me, so tonight I've practiced sucking up my chin(s), sucking in my stomach and sucking up to the artist while looking aesthetically pleasing at the same time. The authentic arty Marty look.

If I'm appearing on anybody's blog, I need some beauty sleep. I'll give you the full story later.
I may or may not let you know when I'm the centerfold on his blog.

Postcard: We're in Heaven

Oma in Heaven

"Book lovers are thought by unbookish people to be gentle and unworldly, and perhaps a few of them are so. But there are those who need books as wildly as the dope-taker in pursuit of his drug. They may not want the book to read immediately, or at all; they want them to possess, to arrange on their shelves, to place by their bedside." —Robertson Davies

Do you like to buy books? There's a wonderful shopping list by the author Italo Calvino— (I'm paraphrasing and editing because it's too long for a blog.) See if you recognize your bookstore habits:

In the shop window you identify the cover with the title you're looking for. You force your way through the shop, past the barricade of Books You Haven't Read, but you're not intimidated. You know that among them are:

1. Books You Needn't Read,
2. Books Made For Purposes Other Than Reading,
3. Books You'd Read If You Had More Time. You bypass them, and move into the
   
4. Books You Mean To Read,
   
5. Books You'll Read When They Come Out In Paperback section, and bump into the
   
6. Books That Everybody's Read So It's As If You've Read Them,
   
7. Books You Want To Own So They'll Be Handy Just In Case and
   
8. Books You Ought To Get Now So You Can Read Them Next Summer. Suddenly you see
   
9. Books Read Long Ago Which It's Now Time To Reread and
   
10. Books You've Always Pretended to Have Read And Now It's Time To Really Read Them.
    

Tattered Cover Bookstore, Denver, CO

Is there a more pleasant place than a room full of books?"
—Erik Christian Haugaard

Today we'll be at The Tattered Cover in Denver. Wish you were here?

"Some people say life is the thing.
I prefer books."

Postcard: A Grand Day

The Colorado Heroes

"The best thing about grandchildren is that they accept us, for ourselves, without rebuke or effort to change us. No one in our entire lives has been so loving: not our parents, siblings, spouses, friends, and especially not our own grown children." —A grandparent

"Every adult, abused by responsibility, worry, expectations and invisibility needs a grandchild."—Another grandparent

"They say genes skip a generation. Maybe that's why we find our grandkids so absolutely adorable. They take after us!"—Every grandparent

We're on a Cousin's Club tour.
Be back soon!

Lifesavers

♫ Search, Ponder and Pray ♫

My favorite way to start the morning is to wake up a few minutes before the alarm and just lay there and ponder. I think through my family list and remember (or wonder) what's going on with each one. Ideas start popping of how I can do what I need to do, and I pop up, too, ready to start.

When I was a little girl we always said a morning prayer. I still can't begin the day without one. I pray out loud (to keep my train of thought) and count my blessings. Then I outline what's on my schedule, and ask for specific things ("Help me say the right thing when I call Edith . . ." "Give me extra energy for the grandkids . . .") A prayer in the morning lifts my spirits, and gives me a desire to do something worthwhile that day.

During breakfast I search the scriptures for an encouraging nugget of wisdom that feels right to me. It's my soul food.

But mornings didn't always melt in my mouth. Sometimes they sucked.

"Mornin' time"

In my full-time motherhood days my early-morning routine was trounced by 2 am earaches and 5 am feedings. Hysterical arguing, giggling or crying replaced the alarm clock, and I rolled out of bed onto the daily merry-go-round.

The only time it was quiet enough to ponder was when I vacuumed up the spilled Cheerios, and I wasn't thinking kind thoughts. Instead of blessings, I counted seven lunches, seven backpacks and fourteen shoes. Sometimes we had a family devotional. But often I just recited a scripture after somebody said a prayer in the car as we drove to school. It was the McDonald's version of soul food.

Life has different flavors. Back then I was doing more and pondering less. Prayers were constant, but silent. I was gaining wisdom through experience—experience that has made my study now more meaningful.

Search, ponder and pray: three sweet, simple suggestions. And whether they are crunched in quick bites or savored slowly, they are lifesavers.