The Weight of Words

It is quiet and I am sipping my coffee and happily enjoying my computer time.  Perfect time to write.  Noooo!  Why have I been avoiding writing all summer long?  I have gotten lazy.  Came across this quote from Confederacy of Dunces author, John Kennedy Toole:

"...When my brain begins to reel from my literary labors, 

I make an occasional cheese dip."

If I haven't been writing this summer, at least I could have been eating cheese dip.  I have done neither.  Which makes me feel guilty.  Which makes me sad.  Which makes me feel more guilty.  Which makes me sadder.  Do you sense a downward spiral here?

There are many things to blame here, none of which are me, of course!  I blame the lack of structure of the summer.  I blame the kids.  Just being kids and being around.  I blame all the fun things on the internet that take what little attention I have left and pull it away from writing.  But most of all I blame that OH-SO-EVIL...  dun, dun, dunnnnnnn (sinister music playing in the background)

PINTEREST

There.  I said it.  I am Dina.  I am a pinner.  I have been pinning for two months.  Non-stop.  I love that Pinterest is visual.  I love images.  I love words.  I love words combined with images.  Like this:

I made this on my computer.  It was quick.  It was easy.  A sweet sentiment for Mark on our anniversary.  So unlike writing a post.  Images seem so quick and easy while words sometimes feel like the weight of the world.  Painting a picture of me on Pinterest is so simple.  Oooo...pretty...click and pin.  Yes!  That is me.  But to paint a picture of me or what I think or feel with words takes time.  And thought.  And effort.  Too much for the average summer day.

Where to go from here?  I need to remember that words can be a light and airy as a balloon floating in the sky.  There is joy in trying to capture and pin it down.  Sort of like finding a word that means Maria! :-)  Oh, that is too good!  How to follow that line?  A flibbertijibbet! A will-o'-the wisp! A clown!  Perfect! 


I feel the weight of words lifting.  Writing can be fun and lighthearted.  Thanks for sharing this moment of therapy with me.

Dina

Simply Summer

These things happened at my house yesterday and made me so happy:

Elise playing with letter tiles

Yummy and easy bacon-wrapped asparagus bundles

Pretty and practical way to keep track of electronics time. 

*sigh*

 Hope you have a summer filled with simple joys.
Dina

For Love of Children's Literature

 A teacher at the kids' school had a baby and I offered to take her maternity leave so I have been teaching first grade since the beginning of March.  It has been fifteen years since I have been in the classroom.  The actual teaching and time spent with the students has been enjoyable.  It is interesting for me to flex my teaching muscles once again.  There are ways that I think I am a better teacher now and ways I was a better teacher then.  There are things I like better about teaching now and things I liked better then.  One thing has not changed.  I love enjoying a good book with my class!  I have a scrapbook of notes and cards I received during my years as a teacher.  One of my favorites was a card that said- "You sure can pick a good book."- then proceeded to list all the read-alouds for that year.

My fourth grade teacher read aloud books by Beverly Cleary.  This lead to a life-long love of the author and her books.  I read Mrs. Cleary's books to almost all of my students, then to my own children.  I have read books about her life and even brought my children all the way to Portland just to see the Beverly Cleary sculpture garden.  Recently, on Facebook, a student of mine sent a photo of a street sign he saw in Portland that is a mainstay in several of her books.  I teared up knowing that those books had touched him as much as they had touched me.

My fifth grade teacher read The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe to us which introduced me to the literary giant, C.S. Lewis who is among my favorite authors.  I came across a quote by him about children's literature and as a lover of children's stories, I couldn't agree more.

"A children's story that can only be enjoyed by children 

is not a good children's story in the slightest." 

 One year while teaching, I had announced that I was pregnant.  I had a miscarriage and was struggling with how to share this with the children.  I was heartbroken and wishing I had waited to share the news.  At the time, I was reading Charlotte's Web with the class.  The goose on the farm was hatching eggs and one didn't hatch.  Templeton the rat was drooling over it and asked the goose if he could have it.  That one is a dud, she replied matter-of-factly and turned it over to the greedy rat.  That was my moment.  I explained that my baby was like that egg.  It just couldn't be born and that was that.  It was healing to put it bluntly and succinctly.  It also reminded me that this happens all across God's creation and I needed to trust him.

The same teacher I am substituting for taught several of my children.  She read The Trumpet of the Swan to them and I have been wanting to read it.  I decided that reading it aloud with this class was the perfect opportunity.

You know, it's funny the slight difference in reading aloud to the class a book which you have read before and one which you have never read.  The first is like introducing two people you care a great deal about.  You are excited for them to meet and eager that they feel the same about each other.  Reading a book with the class for the first time is like getting to know a new friend with someone you love.  They are both enjoyable experiences, just different.  It has been quite sometime since I have been able to fall in love with a book with my class.  And falling in love, I am!

The writing of E.B. White is so achingly beautiful.  You can't imagine you would ever want to be friends with a talking swan but E.B. White writes him as personable as any human being you can imagine.  To read a particularly poignant or funny passages and to look out at that sea of bright, young children and see the emotion in my heart spread across their faces is nothing short of magical.  To think someone who is no longer on this earth can still evoke such joy through his writing is amazing to me.  I had been pondering this very thing then was blown away by this quote from the author himself:

“Books are good company, in sad times and happy times, 

for books are people-- people who have managed to stay alive 

by hiding between the covers of a book.”

I am thankful so many fabulous writers have managed to hide themselves between the covers of countless great books for us to encounter again and again.  If you are a reader, don't overlook children's literature.  As C.S. Lewis says it is only good if it can also be enjoyed by adults.  It is fun to reread a book you loved as a child.  You will be amazed how differently you experience it the second time around.  If you have children, never underestimate the power of reading a good book out loud together.  I think this is especially true with older children since we tend to stop reading to our kids when they can read themselves.  Reading books with my third, fourth and even seventh grades are among our favorite memories.  We often recount favorite passages and characters.  It greatly enriches our shared memories.  The stories and characters become woven into the fabric of our lives.  I think this is true of every book so be careful what books you pick.  If you are going to weave it into your life's tapestry why not choose one with sparkling thread.  Like E.B. White also said:

"Always be on the lookout for the presence of wonder."

This summer I challenge you to be on the lookout for the presence of wonder in the books you read.  Children's literature is a great place to start.

Dina

Story

The other day at lunch, I was talking to the social worker at my kids' school.  The topic of where she was from and where she had lived came up.  She was from Vermont and had lived in DC and NYC.  After comparing notes on living in DC, I asked her more about the circumstances of her time in New York City.  Her face lit up as she began to revisit that time in her life and remember details squirreled away in the corners of her mind.  She painted a picture of a young girl in miniskirts and platform shoes walking twenty blocks or more to work and happily window shopping the whole way.  Young, happy and energized by all the big city had to offer.  I was enthralled, being the HUGE New York City junkie that I am.  I was thrust back in time to a cleaner, safer, better city.  You know, the one in Barefoot in the Park with Jane Fonda and Robert Redford.  Oh, to be able to visit THAT New York City!  Through this woman, however, for a moment I was transported there.

I am currently reading a book set at the end of the Sixties.  I was reading about what this group of women was doing when man landed on the moon.  It made me realize that I had no idea where my parents had watched this historic event.  I could hear my mom smiling, almost holding back a giggle as she remembered.  "We were at the bowling alley with our bowling league and you were in the playroom in the back."  I laughed, imagining reporting this to anyone.  "Hey- Where were you when Armstrong made that giant step?  Oh, I was in the playroom of a bowling alley."  The rest of the story came spilling out.  All the details that had us laughing so hard.  About how it was my mom's idea as a newly married couple that they should make new friends and what else to do but join a bowling league.  How they were the worst team in the league.  How my dad would sweat profusely when he was under pressure and the team relied on him for the winning points.  The ball would always slip and land in the gutter.  Humiliating for someone who, under normal circumstances was a pretty good bowler.  I enjoyed hearing the story, picturing my parents as a young couple.  My mom and I laughed so hard.  I could almost hear her reaching back in her memory for details that painted a vivid picture for me.

Why then is it so hard for us to go from verbally telling a story, to writing it.  My point is, we all have a story.  LOTS of stories.  When we share them we share ourselves.  We can escape our bodily prison to truly connect with others.  That is why story is so important, why there has always been a storytelling tradition.  As long as there are human beings, there will be story.

Cam across this on a blog today.  It was a good reminder for me and I want to remind you too:

Your story matters. 
Tell it.

Happy Sunday,
Dina 

Easter Witness

Yesterday in church, there was a lady in the pew in front of us.  As I waited for Mass to begin, I started taking in details.  Her hair was dirty and straggly, her clothes mismatched and she smelled.  She wore a woolen scarf and had a sweater stuffed in an olive green canvas tote.  I wondered how she had arrived in this church, at this moment, together with me.

There was a kind gentleman who I recognized as the father of two of the altar servers.  He had probably been to another Easter Mass and was only here to escort his daughters.  Without them or his wife, he floated around the pews trying to make room for families to sit together.  He bounced around like a pinball as the church filled to capacity and beyond.

In walked an elegant older lady who found a place in the pew with the strange woman but at a safe distance.  The well-dressed husband arrived a few minutes later, forcing his wife to inch towards the undesirable pew-mate.  Finally, with Mass beginning in moments, the kindly yet portly gentleman ended up needing to nudge into the pew.  The woman in her lovely spring green jacket and gold bangle bracelet was forced to push down even further.  The portly man was scrunched in about half the space he actually required, much of his girth spilling out over the edge of the pew.  The stately lady tried with all her might to maintain some distance between herself and her "fragrant" friend.  So they sat there, three pretty people clumped together clinging to each other and the pew while the stranger seemed oblivious to their plight.

As the Mass began the cantor asked us to rise and greet those around us.  I froze for just a minute waiting for the woman to turn around.  How would my kids react to her outstretched hand?  How would I?  I looked up to be greeted by a sweet face with round, deep brown eyes.  I looked straight into her eyes trying to read her story in them.  She nervously but persistently greeted every person within her grasp.  She seemed to reach out with more than just her hand, as if she wanted desperately to connect with someone.

The greetings subsided and we all faced the altar.  There we were- my family, the elegant couple, the portly man and the strange, smelly lady.  At that moment, all things superficial faded away as we faced Jesus.  After all, it was Easter and Jesus had risen for that lady who was breaking my heart as much as for all the well-groomed people crowding the church.  After Mass, I would be enjoying a day with family and friends.  Good drink.  Good food.  Good conversation.  What did this lady's day hold?  It brought tears to my eyes.  Then another thought crept in that brought happy tears.  In the end, we all have one thing in common.

HE DIED FOR US.

Not just the beautiful.  Not just the church-going.  For ALL of us.  He offers that gift to this strange woman as freely as He does to us.

Happy Easter to her.
Happy Easter to you.

Dina

Constrained and Free

 Found this on a blog tonight and thought I would give it a try:

Write whatever is happening around you WHILE you are writing (sometimes that’s the very best) OR whatever DETAILS you remember about your day or a specific experience.

Next, try not to clarify or explain what you want to speak through your post too much. (Try not to force a theme or message.) Just write your experiences.  What did it make you think?

Then watch how your ordinary and extraordinary experiences speak all on their own.

So here goes:

 I am sitting with Elise on my bed.  I am reading a blog post that is so beautiful it breaks my heart.  Like hearing the first giggle from your baby.  Like a moment you wish could be suspended in time.

She is wearing an I "heart" NY shirt.  A classic.  A sentiment I share.  I love when any of my kids wears that shirt as we have many floating around the house, worn thin and passed from sibling to sibling as they are outgrown.  First worn too big as pajamas.  Then just worn and worn.  She has a silver tinsel halo on her head.  She is waving a plastic pink scepter.  It is perfectly topped with a dollop of marabou, so soft and fluffy.  As she waves her scepter she is weaving words into poems and songs.  They are silly.  They are serious.  They makes us giggle.  I am struck by how free she is.  Not constrained by conventions of language or dress.  Paying no attention to what makes sense.  Playing with words like notes on a piano keyboard.  Striking them just to see how they sound.  "Feathers float to the ground as cows begin to nibble them.  And then you be and then you do.  And that's how it go-ed."

Oh to be that free.  To be oblivious to the rules.  I am always glancing at the person next to me, wondering if I am getting it right.  Mostly measured, usually constrained.  It can be tiring.  There are moments of breaking free and finding the real, true me.  The whole me.  Not a portion that has been checked against all the rules and deemed okay.  Just me floating to the ground, light as a feather for one breathtaking flash of light then I am nibbled away by that pesky cow.

And then I be and then I do and that's how it goes!
Dina

Love Song for my City

Last night Mark and I went to a wedding in the French Quarter.  The Mass was at St. Louis Cathedral,  a magnificent setting for a wedding.  Trumpet sounding, crystal chandeliers sparkling, Latin phrases in gold proclaiming the glory of God all enhanced the event.
After the ceremony it was a short walk next door to the Cabildo.  As we left the Cathedral, bells began to  peal proclaiming the happy event.  The large group of wedding guests attracted the attention of tourists wandering the area and I felt like we were in a scene from The Princess and the Frog.  At that moment, I felt blessed to be living in New Orleans.  There are many moments like that for me.

When my family is together on the parade route, a band marching by, drum beat pounding in my heart, I feel blessed.
In Audubon Park with a live band playing surrounded by friends all dancing, eating, drinking and taking time to enjoy life, I feel blessed.
When I see tourists gazing with awe at stately homes on Saint Charles Avenue as they enjoy a streetcar ride, I feel blessed.
Looking out at the Mighty Mississippi from the view afforded by the Aquarium of the Americas, I feel blessed.

Living in New Orleans is living a life enhanced.  It's as if someone slipped a stained glass window before your eyes, changing your view of everything for the better.  Colorful, vibrant- that's life in the Crescent City.  Strange, exotic- that's life in the Big Easy.  Dazzling, breathtaking- that's life in New Orleans.   

I could go on and on about my beloved city but I will have to leave it as a snippet for now.

If you are living here, take a moment to think of your reason to be thankful.  If you live away, come visit and see life from a new perspective.

One last thought- if New Orleans was a taste there are tons I could offer but I think it can be summed up nicely by the appetizer we were offered upon entering the wedding reception:

ARTICHOKE BEIGNETS

Wow!  Life in New Orleans is delicious.

Happy Sunday from my beautiful city,
Dina