Saturday, December 29, 2012
"Solvitur Ambulando"
One of my dearest friends handed me a piece of paper with the above Latin quotation a few weeks ago. She smiled as she handed it to me saying, "I have a present for you." I have thought about this quotation, credited to St. Augustine, ever since Mary Beth gave it to me.
Translated, it is simply, "It is solved by walking."
My friend knows me very well, and she also knows that even though St. Augustine said it first, I have come to the same conclusion as this great Christian thinker. I spend an inordinate amount of my time walking. Of course, given my druthers, that walking would take place on a mountain trail in Colorado, on a beach in the panhandle of Florida, through an old-growth forest in Alaska, along a rocky cove in California, you get my drift; some place that is really, really beautiful. But, if I am not in a picture-postcard environ, I will walk, anyway. I walk through my neighborhood, I walk on dusty, country roads, I walk in malls, airports- wherever I may find myself with time to put one foot in front of the other.
In the summer, when I am in the mountains, I walk with Babe, my Labrador Retriever, at least twice every day, usually more. We walk the Fish Road, at the ranch, every morning. That walk might be a mile-and-a-half, it might be four miles. Later, we will hike. Sometimes, we hike with friends. Sometimes, we hike alone. These hikes are might be filled with:
1. Gossip
2. Dirty Jokes
3. Laughter
4. Tears
5. Deep, Intense Conversation
6. Silence
7. Recipe-Exchanging
8. Complaining
9. Advice-Seeking
10.Advice-Giving
11. Venting
12. Future-Planning
13. Confessing
14. Soul- Searching
15. All of the above
16. None of the above
Then, after supper, Babe and I go for a quick hike or walk the Fish Road again. If this seems excessive, I am unapologetic. My sanity, my faith, my physical health are all better for this excess. When I am alone with my dog, not really thinking about anything, a problem will unwind and unknot in my mind and be resolved. It is through no great effort on my part, I may not even be consciously aware of the process that goes into the solution. There is something freeing, soothing, therapeutic and wonderful about walking that leads to peaceful resolution of many of my cares and worries. My best prayer time, my most profound encounters with my Creator and myself have happened as I have walked. My deepest fears are quieted, my best talks with friends take place, my heaviest burdens lighten significantly.
A couple of months ago, I read a book that involves lots of walking. The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry, by Rachel Joyce , may be the best book I read in 2012. I read many books, and I will probably review some of them later. This book, I can recommend whole- heartedly. When I first read it, I had several friends, including Mary Beth, read it to determine it was really THAT GOOD, or if I was over-selling it by telling everyone I saw that they HAD to read it. Most of my friends were profoundly affected by the story. So, after taking almost a year off from blogging, I will close out 2012 with a whole-hearted endorsement of Ms. Joyce's book. I told one of my friends that I thought we should read it as part of a Bible Study group, and she pointed out that the profanity and cursing would probably preclude Pilgrimage as a study selection. Perhaps, but I still think it would be a great choice.
Love and Grace,
Paige
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Scars, Grace and Healing
When Baron asked me to write a guest blog telling "my story" of the past two and 1/2 years, I wanted to give the creative juices time to simmer before I started to write. Writing about one's own life experiences is not always easy. It is important to get to the heart of the matter, to try and tell the truth and to be somewhat succinct. What may be fascinating about my story to me could be a real yawner for someone who doesn't know me, or even someone who does. I have told my story many times, but there are always little snippets that strike me as being really important because I lived through it all. I will try to do my best, knowing that God knows my heart, as does Baron.
On August 19th, 2009, I was driving from Midland to southern Colorado after a quick trip to check on things at home. Our middle daughter was putting on her first horse show, our youngest daughter had just moved to Lubbock to pursue a second college degree, and Baron had been injured during football practice. The horse show was a great success, Laura Paige's apartment in Lubbock was darling, and Baron's injury was an imposition to him, but not at all catastrophic. I had made the drive dozens of times and was almost to the Colorado border, in northern New Mexico when I fell asleep at the wheel. Mind you, it was 2:00 pm, a
perfect day for traveling, and I had never even come close to falling asleep while driving. My last conscious thought was," Wow! I am really tired. I will stop in Antonito (CO) , walk the dog, get a diet coke and be fine." I was approximately 15-20 minutes from Antonito.
My next conscious thought was in the ICU of St. Vincent's hospital in Santa Fe, 10 hours later. My husband was standing over me, I was in intense pain from my head to my feet and very confused.
Paige: "What happened?"
Ed: " You almost died. You were in a wreck near Antonito. Do you remember anything?"
Now, "almost dying" is a phrase my family has taken license with for years. As Ed says, no member of my extended family has ever had the flu without "almost dying." My family is very dramatic and illness/injuries are always described as being life-threatening. It is one of the things that has irritated and amused my husband for over 35 years in his association with my nearest and dearest relatives. Apparently, in this case, it was finally true. It took several days of Ed's detective work to figure out what had occurred at 2:00 pm on that highway in northern New Mexico.
After visiting the scene of the wreck, talking to the highway patrolmen who worked the accident, as well as hunting down and thanking all the people who stopped to render aid, Ed was able to piece together what had happened. I fell asleep at the wheel. I woke up and over-corrected as the car was going off the highway to the right, the car flipped over sideways and then rolled over eight times in a pasture before finally stopping its sideways progress. As it rolled, all the windows broke, my left shoulder, arm and hand flopped outside the window and the car rolled over that part of my body several times. How everything stayed attached to me is remarkable. No one actually saw the wreck, a truck driver found me shortly after it happened. When he called Ed from my cell phone, he didn't even know if I was alive. Now, that is telephone call no loved one wants to get. Things apparently happened very quickly after that. People began stopping to render aid. Not just random people, but people who were uniquely qualified to help. An off-duty EMS technician from Antonito and a holistic doctor and his wife from Denver assessed my condition after I was dragged out of the broken windshield, fashioned a splint out of car parts for my shattered arm, bandaged my degloved hand and stabilized my crushed shoulder. A vet tech from Taos stopped and took my mortally wounded Labrador Retriever, Honey, to the veterinarian clinic in Taos. Honey was thrown from the car as the windows broke and broke her back. All these people were essential to my subsequent recovery. It was no accident that they all arrived within minutes of the crash.
Oh, perhaps I should mention that I have almost no memory of any of this. Ten hours are completely gone from my life, which is a blessing in itself. According to everyone there, I was conscious, I was coherent, and I was in excruciating pain. How wonderful that my mind has erased all of that terrible time from my consciousness! I do have one memory from that 10 hours. I am being loaded into the ambulance or onto the helicopter, not sure which one. I am looking into the eyes of a man who is Native American. He has a long, grey braid, high cheek bones, bronze skin and piercing blue eyes. He is holding my good hand as I am being loaded-up and says, "Don't worry, Paige. I promise you are going to be fine." Now, whether he was a doctor, nurse, paramedic or angel, I cannot say. All I know is that he was real, he comforted and calmed me, and I am eternally grateful that he was there for me. I believed him then, and his words have stayed with me through almost 2 and 1/2 years of surgeries, physical therapy, set-backs, triumphs and pain.
We will skip most of the next three days in Santa Fe. It was a nightmare. The hospital was dirty, noisy and understaffed. I have never been to Bangladesh, but I would not be surprised if the medical facilities there were very similar. My husband spirited my away with the help of our oldest daughter, who had flown in from Los Angeles, and my sister, who had driven in from Amarillo. I spent the car trip leaned full-back in the passenger seat surrounded by pillows, blankets and oxygen tanks. Although we would not know the full extent of my injuries for quite awhile, I can now catalogue them perfectly:
1. concussion and vertigo
2. cracked ribs and punctured lung
3. de-gloved hand, crushed thumb, broken finger(s) crushing injuries to all my fingers that resulted in it looking more like a catcher's mitt than a hand.
4. both bones in my forearm were crushed.
5.shoulder dislocated, crushed, rotator cuff and bicep stripped off.
All of the really serious injuries were on my left shoulder, arm and hand. When the windows broke as the car commenced its eight rolls, my shoulder and left arm ended up outside of the car. Why my arm remained attached is just one of the puzzles and miracles that no one can explain.
I could write about my experiences these past couple of years and fill a book, but Baron has asked for a blog. I could tell about the doctors, the nurses, the physical and occupational therapists who have saved my shoulder, arm and hand- but they have done so much more for me. They are my heroes, my cheerleaders, my prayer partners and friends. The friends I made in Wound Care (excruciating, by the way) I will never forget. My hand therapists who took me from zero to 100 percent are angels. My hand was a non-functional catcher's mitt when I started my therapy and they gave me back my ability to write, type, make jewelryand play the guitar. Oh, yes, I am left- handed, so their task was not easy. My plastic/reconstructive hand surgeon in Austin is a genius surrounded by an amazing staff. Two of his team are ladies I have known my entire life- Midland girls who I grew up with and have been delighted to reconnect with after many years. I walked into his office with no knowledge that they worked there, and the comfort and encouragement, plus expertise at their jobs made my recovery infinitely easier. Again, the right people at the right time, to make a horrible situation not only tolerable, but full of grace. This is beginning to read like an over-long acceptance speech at the Academy Awards. I need to cut to the chase!
So, my seventh and last (fingers crossed) surgery took place in San Antonio, December 14, 2011. It was my birthday. My birthday present was a reverse shoulder replacement. (Laura Paige, with a wink," So, Mama, does this mean your hand is going to be backwards now?" Laughter is the way we have coped with much of the drama.) I am, after almost 2 and 1/2 years, free from pain. That was the real birthday present.
Before that fateful day in August, I thought I had a grateful heart. I thought I appreciated my life, my family and friends. I thought I woke up up every morning with a thankful spirit for the beauty of this world, the gift of every breath and experience that came my way. But there was a shift in my attitude and my relationship with my God that changed everything that day. Since then, I have spent so much time, awake and hurting, day and night; but always incredibly aware of God's presence and care. I understand, as much as I am able, the reason the Holy Spirit is sent to be the Comforter. Through all of the pain, tears, wakefulness and worry, He was there. My husband, my children, all of my family and friends who have been faithful and loving supporters, sounding boards, counselors, prayer partners- I can never thank them adequately or love them enough for seeing me through. God has used them, each and every one of them, in a mighty way through this journey of mine. I can honestly say, and this is impossible for many people to understand, I am grateful for the accident. Pain, uncertainty and vulnerability have brought me to my knees, to my Lord and to a deeper spiritual walk.
So, as the song says, "It's a long and winding road that leads to Your door." I can't wait to see what happens around the next bend! Whatever reason I was spared on that northern New Mexico highway, I am thankful for the opportunity to spend just a bit more time here, surrounded by Love, held up by Grace. Am I worthy of it? Of course not! But, as Baron knows, scars are reminders of the healing we experience, inside and out. These scars keep me cognizant of all I was, all I am, all I am yet to be. We are weak, but He is strong.
Love and Grace,
Paige
On August 19th, 2009, I was driving from Midland to southern Colorado after a quick trip to check on things at home. Our middle daughter was putting on her first horse show, our youngest daughter had just moved to Lubbock to pursue a second college degree, and Baron had been injured during football practice. The horse show was a great success, Laura Paige's apartment in Lubbock was darling, and Baron's injury was an imposition to him, but not at all catastrophic. I had made the drive dozens of times and was almost to the Colorado border, in northern New Mexico when I fell asleep at the wheel. Mind you, it was 2:00 pm, a
perfect day for traveling, and I had never even come close to falling asleep while driving. My last conscious thought was," Wow! I am really tired. I will stop in Antonito (CO) , walk the dog, get a diet coke and be fine." I was approximately 15-20 minutes from Antonito.
My next conscious thought was in the ICU of St. Vincent's hospital in Santa Fe, 10 hours later. My husband was standing over me, I was in intense pain from my head to my feet and very confused.
Paige: "What happened?"
Ed: " You almost died. You were in a wreck near Antonito. Do you remember anything?"
Now, "almost dying" is a phrase my family has taken license with for years. As Ed says, no member of my extended family has ever had the flu without "almost dying." My family is very dramatic and illness/injuries are always described as being life-threatening. It is one of the things that has irritated and amused my husband for over 35 years in his association with my nearest and dearest relatives. Apparently, in this case, it was finally true. It took several days of Ed's detective work to figure out what had occurred at 2:00 pm on that highway in northern New Mexico.
After visiting the scene of the wreck, talking to the highway patrolmen who worked the accident, as well as hunting down and thanking all the people who stopped to render aid, Ed was able to piece together what had happened. I fell asleep at the wheel. I woke up and over-corrected as the car was going off the highway to the right, the car flipped over sideways and then rolled over eight times in a pasture before finally stopping its sideways progress. As it rolled, all the windows broke, my left shoulder, arm and hand flopped outside the window and the car rolled over that part of my body several times. How everything stayed attached to me is remarkable. No one actually saw the wreck, a truck driver found me shortly after it happened. When he called Ed from my cell phone, he didn't even know if I was alive. Now, that is telephone call no loved one wants to get. Things apparently happened very quickly after that. People began stopping to render aid. Not just random people, but people who were uniquely qualified to help. An off-duty EMS technician from Antonito and a holistic doctor and his wife from Denver assessed my condition after I was dragged out of the broken windshield, fashioned a splint out of car parts for my shattered arm, bandaged my degloved hand and stabilized my crushed shoulder. A vet tech from Taos stopped and took my mortally wounded Labrador Retriever, Honey, to the veterinarian clinic in Taos. Honey was thrown from the car as the windows broke and broke her back. All these people were essential to my subsequent recovery. It was no accident that they all arrived within minutes of the crash.
Oh, perhaps I should mention that I have almost no memory of any of this. Ten hours are completely gone from my life, which is a blessing in itself. According to everyone there, I was conscious, I was coherent, and I was in excruciating pain. How wonderful that my mind has erased all of that terrible time from my consciousness! I do have one memory from that 10 hours. I am being loaded into the ambulance or onto the helicopter, not sure which one. I am looking into the eyes of a man who is Native American. He has a long, grey braid, high cheek bones, bronze skin and piercing blue eyes. He is holding my good hand as I am being loaded-up and says, "Don't worry, Paige. I promise you are going to be fine." Now, whether he was a doctor, nurse, paramedic or angel, I cannot say. All I know is that he was real, he comforted and calmed me, and I am eternally grateful that he was there for me. I believed him then, and his words have stayed with me through almost 2 and 1/2 years of surgeries, physical therapy, set-backs, triumphs and pain.
We will skip most of the next three days in Santa Fe. It was a nightmare. The hospital was dirty, noisy and understaffed. I have never been to Bangladesh, but I would not be surprised if the medical facilities there were very similar. My husband spirited my away with the help of our oldest daughter, who had flown in from Los Angeles, and my sister, who had driven in from Amarillo. I spent the car trip leaned full-back in the passenger seat surrounded by pillows, blankets and oxygen tanks. Although we would not know the full extent of my injuries for quite awhile, I can now catalogue them perfectly:
1. concussion and vertigo
2. cracked ribs and punctured lung
3. de-gloved hand, crushed thumb, broken finger(s) crushing injuries to all my fingers that resulted in it looking more like a catcher's mitt than a hand.
4. both bones in my forearm were crushed.
5.shoulder dislocated, crushed, rotator cuff and bicep stripped off.
All of the really serious injuries were on my left shoulder, arm and hand. When the windows broke as the car commenced its eight rolls, my shoulder and left arm ended up outside of the car. Why my arm remained attached is just one of the puzzles and miracles that no one can explain.
I could write about my experiences these past couple of years and fill a book, but Baron has asked for a blog. I could tell about the doctors, the nurses, the physical and occupational therapists who have saved my shoulder, arm and hand- but they have done so much more for me. They are my heroes, my cheerleaders, my prayer partners and friends. The friends I made in Wound Care (excruciating, by the way) I will never forget. My hand therapists who took me from zero to 100 percent are angels. My hand was a non-functional catcher's mitt when I started my therapy and they gave me back my ability to write, type, make jewelryand play the guitar. Oh, yes, I am left- handed, so their task was not easy. My plastic/reconstructive hand surgeon in Austin is a genius surrounded by an amazing staff. Two of his team are ladies I have known my entire life- Midland girls who I grew up with and have been delighted to reconnect with after many years. I walked into his office with no knowledge that they worked there, and the comfort and encouragement, plus expertise at their jobs made my recovery infinitely easier. Again, the right people at the right time, to make a horrible situation not only tolerable, but full of grace. This is beginning to read like an over-long acceptance speech at the Academy Awards. I need to cut to the chase!
So, my seventh and last (fingers crossed) surgery took place in San Antonio, December 14, 2011. It was my birthday. My birthday present was a reverse shoulder replacement. (Laura Paige, with a wink," So, Mama, does this mean your hand is going to be backwards now?" Laughter is the way we have coped with much of the drama.) I am, after almost 2 and 1/2 years, free from pain. That was the real birthday present.
Before that fateful day in August, I thought I had a grateful heart. I thought I appreciated my life, my family and friends. I thought I woke up up every morning with a thankful spirit for the beauty of this world, the gift of every breath and experience that came my way. But there was a shift in my attitude and my relationship with my God that changed everything that day. Since then, I have spent so much time, awake and hurting, day and night; but always incredibly aware of God's presence and care. I understand, as much as I am able, the reason the Holy Spirit is sent to be the Comforter. Through all of the pain, tears, wakefulness and worry, He was there. My husband, my children, all of my family and friends who have been faithful and loving supporters, sounding boards, counselors, prayer partners- I can never thank them adequately or love them enough for seeing me through. God has used them, each and every one of them, in a mighty way through this journey of mine. I can honestly say, and this is impossible for many people to understand, I am grateful for the accident. Pain, uncertainty and vulnerability have brought me to my knees, to my Lord and to a deeper spiritual walk.
So, as the song says, "It's a long and winding road that leads to Your door." I can't wait to see what happens around the next bend! Whatever reason I was spared on that northern New Mexico highway, I am thankful for the opportunity to spend just a bit more time here, surrounded by Love, held up by Grace. Am I worthy of it? Of course not! But, as Baron knows, scars are reminders of the healing we experience, inside and out. These scars keep me cognizant of all I was, all I am, all I am yet to be. We are weak, but He is strong.
Love and Grace,
Paige
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
The Hunger Games
I have been hearing about The Hunger Games from friends of all ages for months now. Since the motion picture is about to come out, I thought I had better read the first book to see if it was worthwhile. Well, I was completely enthralled by the story. In fact, I read the entire trilogy in 2 and 1/2 days because I could not wait to see what was going to happen next.
The story takes place in post-Apocalyptic North America, sometime in the not-so-distant future. North America is now split up into 13 regions ruled by a dictator who resides in The Capital, a place of complete self-absorption, greed, graft and corruption- in other words, Washington, D.C. Anyway, the 13th district, which tried to revolt unsuccessfully and was destroyed (or was it?) by the rulers in The Capital, gave the government an excuse to start the Hunger Games, an annual televised event in which young people, selected by lottery, are pitted against one another in a to-the-death competition. Each district sends one girl and one boy as "tributes", and the murderous games end with last-man-or-woman standing.
The comparisons to reality television are deliberate and thought-provoking. The premise of the book is chillingly presented as a distinct possibility, given a culture consumed with entertainment and instant gratification. The young tributes range from heroes to murderous thugs. This is a cautionary tale that is well-written, action-packed and nerve-wracking. I highly recommend it to most everybody. That being said, this is NOT a children's book. Grim and graphic, at times, it would lead to nightmares for young readers.
Do not wait for the movie. The book is always better.
The story takes place in post-Apocalyptic North America, sometime in the not-so-distant future. North America is now split up into 13 regions ruled by a dictator who resides in The Capital, a place of complete self-absorption, greed, graft and corruption- in other words, Washington, D.C. Anyway, the 13th district, which tried to revolt unsuccessfully and was destroyed (or was it?) by the rulers in The Capital, gave the government an excuse to start the Hunger Games, an annual televised event in which young people, selected by lottery, are pitted against one another in a to-the-death competition. Each district sends one girl and one boy as "tributes", and the murderous games end with last-man-or-woman standing.
The comparisons to reality television are deliberate and thought-provoking. The premise of the book is chillingly presented as a distinct possibility, given a culture consumed with entertainment and instant gratification. The young tributes range from heroes to murderous thugs. This is a cautionary tale that is well-written, action-packed and nerve-wracking. I highly recommend it to most everybody. That being said, this is NOT a children's book. Grim and graphic, at times, it would lead to nightmares for young readers.
Do not wait for the movie. The book is always better.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Inspector Gamache Is My Hero
I have neglected my blog shamefully for weeks, but I have a terrific list of excuses/reasons for being so negligent. I will only admit to a few reasons/excuses, so I will attempt to pull out the best ones from a VERY lengthy list.
1. I have been working very hard selling jewelry and wonderful clothes at trunk shows. It was a blast, very successful, fun and insanely busy.
2. I had lots of fun celebrating a very significant birthday for Ed with family and friends here at the house.
3. I had not-so-much fun planning the date of my next, and last ( I hope) shoulder surgery with doctors, family and doctors-who-are-family.
BUT, during all the above and much, much more I have been reading. My friend and spiritual advisor/minister, Mary Beth, clued me in on a fantastic series of books by Louise Penny. The protagonist, Inspector Gamache, solves crimes in Montreal. His jurisdiction extends beyond the metropolis to a charming village, Three Pines, which is so small/mysterious that it does not appear on maps. The murder rate in Three Pines is astonishingly high,which is fortunate for Gamache, his team of investigators and the readers of these books. The villagers are all fascinating, the scenery is gorgeous and the cuisine is fabulous. The descriptions of the meals consumed by the policemen are enough to raise one's cholesterol and make one want to hot-foot it to Three Pines for a long visit.
Inspector Gamache is a charming, sensitive, intuitive crime fighter. He solves his cases with the finesse of a very learned psychologist, priest and Sherlock Holmes all rolled into one well-dressed and self-assured package. He surrounds himself with a group of misanthropic, maladjusted young investigators who are gifted and flawed. He is a leader and mentor who, in spite of the horror and sadness his job entails, manages to see beauty and promise in everyone. He adores his wife, worries about and dotes on his grown children, and strives to be the best person he can be each day.
This is a great series of well-written books. Ms. Penny describes her characters beautifully, digs deeply into their motivations, hopes, fears- in short, lets the reader into their lives in a significant way. I have never been to Quebec, but these books really make me want to go there. I will explore Montreal, then, rent a car and set off on a search for Three Pines.
1. I have been working very hard selling jewelry and wonderful clothes at trunk shows. It was a blast, very successful, fun and insanely busy.
2. I had lots of fun celebrating a very significant birthday for Ed with family and friends here at the house.
3. I had not-so-much fun planning the date of my next, and last ( I hope) shoulder surgery with doctors, family and doctors-who-are-family.
BUT, during all the above and much, much more I have been reading. My friend and spiritual advisor/minister, Mary Beth, clued me in on a fantastic series of books by Louise Penny. The protagonist, Inspector Gamache, solves crimes in Montreal. His jurisdiction extends beyond the metropolis to a charming village, Three Pines, which is so small/mysterious that it does not appear on maps. The murder rate in Three Pines is astonishingly high,which is fortunate for Gamache, his team of investigators and the readers of these books. The villagers are all fascinating, the scenery is gorgeous and the cuisine is fabulous. The descriptions of the meals consumed by the policemen are enough to raise one's cholesterol and make one want to hot-foot it to Three Pines for a long visit.
Inspector Gamache is a charming, sensitive, intuitive crime fighter. He solves his cases with the finesse of a very learned psychologist, priest and Sherlock Holmes all rolled into one well-dressed and self-assured package. He surrounds himself with a group of misanthropic, maladjusted young investigators who are gifted and flawed. He is a leader and mentor who, in spite of the horror and sadness his job entails, manages to see beauty and promise in everyone. He adores his wife, worries about and dotes on his grown children, and strives to be the best person he can be each day.
This is a great series of well-written books. Ms. Penny describes her characters beautifully, digs deeply into their motivations, hopes, fears- in short, lets the reader into their lives in a significant way. I have never been to Quebec, but these books really make me want to go there. I will explore Montreal, then, rent a car and set off on a search for Three Pines.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
The Night Circus
I love magical, mystical, unusual stories. I grew up reading fairy tales, C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien and all the Oz books by L. Frank Baum. I adore Roald Dahl. Madeleine L'Engles's books still make me think, deeply. Some of my fellow Christians have a problem with magical, mystical stories. But, that is a debate for another time and place. I think one of the great things about literature is one can always close the book. I suppose the same can be said of this blog. Is this a great country, or what? Diverse opinions and open forums for discussion are precious freedoms, indeed.
I just finished reading The Night Circus, by Erin Morgenstern. The book was "recommended" by Amazon based on prior purchases. Sometimes, Amazon gets it SO right. I clicked it to my Kindle after being intrigued by the description and reviews, and spend the better part of three days immersed in a great story.
Keep in mind, I had no business reading for hours at a time. This is my busiest time of year for making and selling jewelry. The Christmas season is fast approaching, I need to strike while the iron is hit and "move the merch(andise)" as my cousin Lauren would say. I have four trunk shows scheduled in the next two months and Ed's 60th birthday party to plan. What am I doing spending hours reading a book?
Such is the problem of finding a really fabulous, enthralling, imaginative "can't put it down" book.
Ms. Morgenstern has a way with words that is so rare these days. She paints her scenes and her characters with very fine strokes. Do you ever read a chapter or two, regretfully close the book to do some mundane task and feel like you have been dreaming? I mean, REALLY? The NIght CIrcus affected me that way. I felt like I was dreaming as I read, and had to shake myself awake when I closed the book. Sort of magical, don't you think?
I am not going to give away any of this story. Read it, if you love good story-telling, the age-old battle between Good and Evil, Love and Loss, Choices and Consequences, magic and beautiful prose.
"The past stays on you the way powdered sugar stays on your fingers."
Widget, The Night Circus
I just finished reading The Night Circus, by Erin Morgenstern. The book was "recommended" by Amazon based on prior purchases. Sometimes, Amazon gets it SO right. I clicked it to my Kindle after being intrigued by the description and reviews, and spend the better part of three days immersed in a great story.
Keep in mind, I had no business reading for hours at a time. This is my busiest time of year for making and selling jewelry. The Christmas season is fast approaching, I need to strike while the iron is hit and "move the merch(andise)" as my cousin Lauren would say. I have four trunk shows scheduled in the next two months and Ed's 60th birthday party to plan. What am I doing spending hours reading a book?
Such is the problem of finding a really fabulous, enthralling, imaginative "can't put it down" book.
Ms. Morgenstern has a way with words that is so rare these days. She paints her scenes and her characters with very fine strokes. Do you ever read a chapter or two, regretfully close the book to do some mundane task and feel like you have been dreaming? I mean, REALLY? The NIght CIrcus affected me that way. I felt like I was dreaming as I read, and had to shake myself awake when I closed the book. Sort of magical, don't you think?
I am not going to give away any of this story. Read it, if you love good story-telling, the age-old battle between Good and Evil, Love and Loss, Choices and Consequences, magic and beautiful prose.
"The past stays on you the way powdered sugar stays on your fingers."
Widget, The Night Circus
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Salmon In The Trees
What a summer it has been! Spending four months in Colorado, surrounded by mountains, trees and water could only be topped by a week in southeast Alaska with The Boat Company.
The Boat Company is the brainchild of Michael and Winsome Mcintosh. Michael and Winsome have dedicated the McIntosh Foundation, their energy, time and hearts to educating people about the largest temperate rainforest in the world, the Tongass Wilderness. Ed and I have been fortunate enough to travel with Michael and Winsome on the Mist Cove three times in the last four years. I believe the Boat Company is the only educational non-profit organization that uses this unique approach to raising conservation awareness by sending clients through the Tongass on their two boats, the Mist Cove and Liseron, for six glorious days of hiking, kayaking, whale watching and salmon fishing. The crew is committed to educating the passengers so they can spread the word of the beauty, fragility and importance of the old-growth forests and the amazing fishery provided by this part of our country. The relationship between the health of the forests and the health of the salmon population is best explained by seeing it first-hand. Honestly, a trip to the Tongass National Forest is life-changing and eye-opening. I cannot overstate the beauty, wildness and wonder of this national treasure. The Boat Company advertises itself as a "luxury eco-cruise", which it is; but the relationships built between the passengers and with the crew members make it so much more than just a cruise.
The boats are small, beautifully- appointed and comfortable. With only 24 passengers and half that many crew members, everyone becomes well-acquainted quickly. The food is gourmet, the staff is energetic and fun (without being cheesy), and every day is designed so that the passengers get to do any variety of activities. Every day is planned with each passenger's interests in mind. My husband is an avid fly-fisherman. The fishing, both spin-casting and fly-fishing, is phenomenal. I am a hiker. The nature hikes and talks are amazing. Although we have taken this trip three times, I still have hiked new places every year, seen sights I have never seen and learned new tidbits of geological, historical and natural lore that were completely unknown to me before. Ed and I love walking through the marshes, old-growth forests, along the coastline. We never miss the the chance to ride in a skiff up near a glacier to watch it calf. Kayaking in a cove, viewing huge, colorful sea stars, jelly fish, sea urchins and fish at the base of waterfalls is incredible. Whale-watching? Practically guaranteed. We ALWAYS see whales. Bears? Grizzlies are also viewed, though some years they are rather shy and elusive. The naturalists and guides are always on the alert for brown bear, and are well-trained to keep passengers out of harm's way. We have made lifelong friends with fellow passengers as we all share in the glorious beauty of "Southeast", as it is called by the locals. Yes, I am very high on The Boat Company.
Whether or not you are able or willing to explore the Tongass National Forest next summer, I hope you will read Salmon In The Trees, a collection of essays, photographs and audio that explains the Tongass and its amazing ecosystem far better than I ever could. Amy Gulick, whose photography illustrates the essays, has actually been a passenger on one of the Boat Company vessels. The book is beautiful, informative and worth having on your coffee table. Look it up, settle back and read it, and then book a trip to the Tongass with The Boat Company.
The boats are small, beautifully- appointed and comfortable. With only 24 passengers and half that many crew members, everyone becomes well-acquainted quickly. The food is gourmet, the staff is energetic and fun (without being cheesy), and every day is designed so that the passengers get to do any variety of activities. Every day is planned with each passenger's interests in mind. My husband is an avid fly-fisherman. The fishing, both spin-casting and fly-fishing, is phenomenal. I am a hiker. The nature hikes and talks are amazing. Although we have taken this trip three times, I still have hiked new places every year, seen sights I have never seen and learned new tidbits of geological, historical and natural lore that were completely unknown to me before. Ed and I love walking through the marshes, old-growth forests, along the coastline. We never miss the the chance to ride in a skiff up near a glacier to watch it calf. Kayaking in a cove, viewing huge, colorful sea stars, jelly fish, sea urchins and fish at the base of waterfalls is incredible. Whale-watching? Practically guaranteed. We ALWAYS see whales. Bears? Grizzlies are also viewed, though some years they are rather shy and elusive. The naturalists and guides are always on the alert for brown bear, and are well-trained to keep passengers out of harm's way. We have made lifelong friends with fellow passengers as we all share in the glorious beauty of "Southeast", as it is called by the locals. Yes, I am very high on The Boat Company.
Whether or not you are able or willing to explore the Tongass National Forest next summer, I hope you will read Salmon In The Trees, a collection of essays, photographs and audio that explains the Tongass and its amazing ecosystem far better than I ever could. Amy Gulick, whose photography illustrates the essays, has actually been a passenger on one of the Boat Company vessels. The book is beautiful, informative and worth having on your coffee table. Look it up, settle back and read it, and then book a trip to the Tongass with The Boat Company.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Quiet Time
When I was a child, Nap Time was dreaded. I could not believe that I had to stay in my room, in my bed, every single afternoon for a nap. No doubt, my mother needed a Quiet Time more than I did, but that is neither here nor there. I found the whole idea of naps demeaning, oppressive and utterly unnecessary. Never mind that my "nap years" were spent in Victoria and Houston,Texas, or Oklahoma City, Oklahoma where the summers could be stifling hot. I should have been delighted to spend the Heat Of The Day in a darkened, air-conditioned room, surrounded by my toys and books in a cozy bed. I always slept, eventually. Obviously, my mother knew that I needed that nap as much as she needed at least a little time to herself. (Oh, and I knew for a fact that it was the Heat Of The Day because every adult in my life told me so: "Nancy Paige Kemper! Are you crazy or do you think I am?!?! Go upstairs RIGHT THIS MINUTE and get in your bed! It is The Heat Of The Day and your Nap Time, young lady!"
When I went to kindergarten at Ridgeview Elementary school in Oklahoma City, Nap Time was replaced by Quiet Time. After lunch, Miss Service, our teacher would command all 15 of us to get our Quiet Time mats out of our cubbies and lie on the floor of our classroom. She would dim the lights, sit in her chair in the middle of our prone, wiggly bodies, and say the following in a soft, soothing voice:
"THIS is my Quiet Time.
My head is down, my eyes are closed;
My hands and feet are still.
THIS is my Quiet Time."
She would repeat the Quiet Time Mantra 3 times, and there was not a sound in the room. We didn't move, we didn't open our eyes, we were completely under her hypnotic spell. Quiet Time was serious business at Ridgeview Elementary. I don't know how long Quiet Time lasted. All I know is that I never whispered to my friends, never opened my eyes and my hands and feet were STILL. I adored Miss Service, but the Quiet Time Mantra, besides being soporific, was somewhat terrifying. I don't know what I thought was going to happen to me if I squirmed, sniffed or giggled. I only knew that silence and stillness were essential to my survival and promotion to first grade.
I have matured considerably since I was a kindergartener. I have had many months, sometimes whole years go by without a nap to my credit. What a foolish girl I was!! What was I thinking?!?! Nap Time is Golden!
Although I appreciated the occasional nap during college, I didn't fully realize the true value of an afternoon lie-down until I was pregnant with our first child. Napping was not a luxury, it was a compulsion that could not be ignored. By one o'clock everyday, my eyelids weighed 10 pounds each. My limbs felt like enormous water balloons that I could only move in slow motion. As soon as I could get home from teaching school (well-past the one o'clock siren song of slumber), I would throw myself face-first on the bed where I would dream, snore and drool happily until morning sickness hit me at 5:00 PM. Yes, I only had morning sickness in the evening. Fortunately, the seasick feeling only lasted the first three months of my Great Expectation. Otherwise, I believe Ed may have jumped the matrimonial ship completely. Bad enough to come home everyday to a wife with sheet marks all over her face, a cold kitchen as well made the future look pretty grim.
Young mothers are very resourceful when they need Quiet Time. I had a friend who was pregnant with Precious Baby #2 when Precious Baby #1 was 14 months old. My friend was desperate for a nap and #1 was not remotely interested in closing her Baby Blues for even a quick snooze. Desperate Mama closed the door of the Baby Darling's room with both of them in there, made sure all the child-proofing was in place, sprinkled the floor with Baby #1's favorite toys and climbed into the crib herself for 40 winks. Precious Toddler was perfectly happy to cruise around the room playing with her Fisher-Price collection and my exhausted friend was handy, although unconscious, in the baby bed. Now THAT is grace under pressure!
Now that I am beyond the child-rearing years, naps still have so much to offer. There are many nights when sleep eludes me, so recharging with a Power Nap after hiking several hours in the morning is heavenly. I open all the windows, let the mountain breezes and bird songs take me away to the Land of Nod for an hour (or maybe two) and wake up refreshed and restored. The dog is a big fan of The Nap after a morning chasing chipmunks and running in-and-out of streams, so she plops down on her dog bed and snores right along with me.
I invite you to partake of a nap, now and then. Just close your eyes, think back to those early days when you would finally give in to the softness of your favorite pillow and blankey, and surrender to slumber for just a little while. The rest of your day will be ever-so-much-more pleasant for you and your loved ones, I promise. Repeat after me: "THIS is my Quiet Time...
Sweet Dreams.
Young mothers are very resourceful when they need Quiet Time. I had a friend who was pregnant with Precious Baby #2 when Precious Baby #1 was 14 months old. My friend was desperate for a nap and #1 was not remotely interested in closing her Baby Blues for even a quick snooze. Desperate Mama closed the door of the Baby Darling's room with both of them in there, made sure all the child-proofing was in place, sprinkled the floor with Baby #1's favorite toys and climbed into the crib herself for 40 winks. Precious Toddler was perfectly happy to cruise around the room playing with her Fisher-Price collection and my exhausted friend was handy, although unconscious, in the baby bed. Now THAT is grace under pressure!
Now that I am beyond the child-rearing years, naps still have so much to offer. There are many nights when sleep eludes me, so recharging with a Power Nap after hiking several hours in the morning is heavenly. I open all the windows, let the mountain breezes and bird songs take me away to the Land of Nod for an hour (or maybe two) and wake up refreshed and restored. The dog is a big fan of The Nap after a morning chasing chipmunks and running in-and-out of streams, so she plops down on her dog bed and snores right along with me.
I invite you to partake of a nap, now and then. Just close your eyes, think back to those early days when you would finally give in to the softness of your favorite pillow and blankey, and surrender to slumber for just a little while. The rest of your day will be ever-so-much-more pleasant for you and your loved ones, I promise. Repeat after me: "THIS is my Quiet Time...
Sweet Dreams.
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