A week ago, I asked for book recommendations on my Facebook page, and, well, THAT exploded. I have a lot of friends who love to read as much as I do, apparently!
I'm going to be honest: I don't have the budget to buy every book that I want to on Amazon, and even if I did, I don't have the space! As we have traveled across the country, we have made abundant use of thrift stores, used book shops, and little free libraries, which are our personal favorites.
*Side note* You are basically an angel in human form if you create a little free library. It's really a perfect system: we drop off the books we are done with and get more. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU to everyone who maintains one of these, particularly in an area where there are campgrounds and RV parks. We love and appreciate you more than you can possibly know.
All this being said, sometimes we don't have a lot of choice in what we get to read. We do buy books on Amazon and other used book sites, but we try to save those for books that we are really excited about. The rest of the time, we buy whatever looks interesting. Some of my favorites are books that I bought because they were cheap and available.
It's been kind of chilly in Texas over the past few weeks, so I've had some good reading time. Here are a few I've enjoyed lately:
Swamplandia by Karen Russell. I know it's a cliche, but I could not put this one down. I bought it for the cover (a big alligator, and I like alligators) and the fact that it was nominated for a Pulitzer prize. It was fascinating. Ava Bigtree and her family run Swamplandia, an amusement park in the Everglades. Ava's mother dies of cancer, and how her family falls apart and rebuilds is beautiful and heartbreaking and suspenseful all at the same time.
Becoming, by Michelle Obama. Put y'er politics away. Whatever you think about President Obama or his policies, if you are a wife or a mother, you will love Mrs. Obama's stories. What is it like to be married to a man who decides to run for POTUS? Or to have a job that you didn't choose, weren't elected for, and has no clear boundaries or expectations? Becoming is personal, vulnerable, and funny, whether you agree with Michelle or not.
American Gods by Neil Gaiman. I've kind of been on a Gaiman kick lately, and this one started it. It's bizarre and hilarious and, like every Gaiman story, takes you to a world that doesn't exist...but could. I won't spoil it by describing the plot, but it asks the question, "What would it be like if everyone brought their myths to America, and they all came to life?"
The Night Journal by Elizabeth Crook was lovely. I chose this one because it takes place in the Southwest, and that's where we are headed next. This is a story about generations. How do your choices affect your children, your grandchildren, and your great grandchildren? It's exactly the book I wanted to read before traveling to an area, too: rich, atmospheric, and steeped in the culture of New Mexico.
I'm currently helping to edit my best friend Jenny's first book, Carry On Castle, about her husband's sudden death and the chaos of grief that followed. What do you do when your entire world falls apart? You write a book! Jenny's voice is strong and honest and heartbreaking, and it's a privilege to help her.
Editing is heavy work, though, so I'm lightening things up with Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, which is about an angel and a demon who team up to stop the apocalypse. It's goofy and hilarious and witty; all the things you'd expect from Gaiman and Pratchett.
What are you reading right now? Leave your list in the comments!
Wednesday, January 30, 2019
Tuesday, January 29, 2019
Camping and Your Marriage
I keep seeing these tee shirts and tote bags that say,
"I'm sorry for what I said while we were parking the camper."
Every time I see one I think I should buy them for both Jesse and me. They're funny and we could be twinsies, which would be fun. But there is some truth to them; they wouldn't be as amusing if they didn't have an element of familiarity. Parking the RV is, and I'm not exaggerating here, one of the most challenging things we have ever done in our 17 years of marriage, not because of the difficulty of maneuvering 60 feet of rig into tight spaces, but because of what doing so brings UP.
The first time I realized that we had some issues to work through was the night we got to Ohio. We had driven almost 600 miles that day, from Wisconsin, through Illinois and Indiana, to Cleveland. It was a stressful day. We had been crawling toward Cleveland for weeks at that point, so we planned the shortest route, but did not realize that we would end up paying an insane amount of money for tolls and super expensive diesel.
We were making excellent time until just over the Ohio border, when we got a flat tire in a very inconvenient spot. Not that there is ever a convenient place to get a flat, but we couldn't open the trailer door, which meant we had no access to a bathroom or kitchen while stopped. We stayed calm and kept the kids happy, but still had to wait several hours for roadside assistance.
Once we were on the road again, we were feeling optimistic, and looking forward to our campsite, but it was a lot farther to our campground than we had anticipated. By the time we got there we were out another $20 in tolls, it was nearly midnight, and it was pitch dark.
As anyone who has ever done it can tell you, parking an RV in the dark is rough. But parking an RV in the dark,
--after 18 hours in the car with four children,
--after spending $200 on tolls,
--after skipping dinner out because you spent all your travel day funds on toll roads,
--in the mud,
--with a huge tree in the way,
--on a spare tire,
--on a bloody hill
is AWFUL.
In short, it was the perfect storm. Jesse was asking me to guide him, and I was trying, but we were not communicating well. I didn't want to raise my voice because it was midnight and he was frustrated because he couldn't hear me. I thought I was being very clear with the flashlight and he disagreed. Blessedly, a neighbor came out of his tent and helped Jesse back into our spot.
As fights go, it was very mild. We said, "I'm mad at you, and this is why!" grabbed some dinner out of the fridge, watched an episode of The Office, and went to bed.
But it did spotlight some problems in our marriage that had been there for a long time. Namely, that I felt like Jesse didn't listen to me when we were trying to do something hard. It seemed to me that he did what he thought was best, and I was annoyed that he continued to ask for my help when he wasn't listening to what I had to say. Jesse thought that I wasn't doing my most effective work, which turned out to be true because I thought it wasn't really needed.
It was a small argument and a small issue, but it was important for us to work it out, because we learned more about each other and how we think. We also were reassured, through this conflict, that we have the same goals and intentions. We both wanted to get the trailer parked safely. We both wanted our extremely cranky children to go to sleep. We both wanted to eat and go to bed. It is good to have a partner that shares your objective, and it was beneficial to us both to see that we did.
A fight is not a bad thing if it's constructive and useful. We have come back, several times since, to the lessons we learned that day. Jesse listens to me more closely now, and if he asks for my help, I assume he really wants it and give him my best.
We both still hate parking the trailer, though. I don't think that's going to change.
"I'm sorry for what I said while we were parking the camper."
Every time I see one I think I should buy them for both Jesse and me. They're funny and we could be twinsies, which would be fun. But there is some truth to them; they wouldn't be as amusing if they didn't have an element of familiarity. Parking the RV is, and I'm not exaggerating here, one of the most challenging things we have ever done in our 17 years of marriage, not because of the difficulty of maneuvering 60 feet of rig into tight spaces, but because of what doing so brings UP.
The first time I realized that we had some issues to work through was the night we got to Ohio. We had driven almost 600 miles that day, from Wisconsin, through Illinois and Indiana, to Cleveland. It was a stressful day. We had been crawling toward Cleveland for weeks at that point, so we planned the shortest route, but did not realize that we would end up paying an insane amount of money for tolls and super expensive diesel.
We were making excellent time until just over the Ohio border, when we got a flat tire in a very inconvenient spot. Not that there is ever a convenient place to get a flat, but we couldn't open the trailer door, which meant we had no access to a bathroom or kitchen while stopped. We stayed calm and kept the kids happy, but still had to wait several hours for roadside assistance.
Once we were on the road again, we were feeling optimistic, and looking forward to our campsite, but it was a lot farther to our campground than we had anticipated. By the time we got there we were out another $20 in tolls, it was nearly midnight, and it was pitch dark.
As anyone who has ever done it can tell you, parking an RV in the dark is rough. But parking an RV in the dark,
--after 18 hours in the car with four children,
--after spending $200 on tolls,
--after skipping dinner out because you spent all your travel day funds on toll roads,
--in the mud,
--with a huge tree in the way,
--on a spare tire,
--on a bloody hill
is AWFUL.
In short, it was the perfect storm. Jesse was asking me to guide him, and I was trying, but we were not communicating well. I didn't want to raise my voice because it was midnight and he was frustrated because he couldn't hear me. I thought I was being very clear with the flashlight and he disagreed. Blessedly, a neighbor came out of his tent and helped Jesse back into our spot.
As fights go, it was very mild. We said, "I'm mad at you, and this is why!" grabbed some dinner out of the fridge, watched an episode of The Office, and went to bed.
But it did spotlight some problems in our marriage that had been there for a long time. Namely, that I felt like Jesse didn't listen to me when we were trying to do something hard. It seemed to me that he did what he thought was best, and I was annoyed that he continued to ask for my help when he wasn't listening to what I had to say. Jesse thought that I wasn't doing my most effective work, which turned out to be true because I thought it wasn't really needed.
It was a small argument and a small issue, but it was important for us to work it out, because we learned more about each other and how we think. We also were reassured, through this conflict, that we have the same goals and intentions. We both wanted to get the trailer parked safely. We both wanted our extremely cranky children to go to sleep. We both wanted to eat and go to bed. It is good to have a partner that shares your objective, and it was beneficial to us both to see that we did.
A fight is not a bad thing if it's constructive and useful. We have come back, several times since, to the lessons we learned that day. Jesse listens to me more closely now, and if he asks for my help, I assume he really wants it and give him my best.
We both still hate parking the trailer, though. I don't think that's going to change.
Sunday, January 27, 2019
Turkish Towels
My family loves to swim. Here is how much:
We got to this park, which has a heated, indoor pool, on December 1, 58 days ago. The pool heater was broken for our first week, so we didn't swim for 7 days. But during the last 51 days, we have swum approximately 62 times, for over an hour each. In the last 1,224 hours, we have spent 93 of them swimming.
We love to swim.
What we do NOT love, in our 450 square foot living space, is a bunch of damp towels draped over everything, making the air musty and the windows foggy.
Enter the Turkish towels.
I first took note of these magical, miraculous pieces of fabric way back in August, when we spent a week in Green Bay, Wisconsin. There was a French family there, all long limbs and effortless Continental beauteousness, and they were constantly wrapped in these light, airy, gorgeous cotton rectangles. They used them at the pool as towels. They tied them around their heads as turbans. They wore them as bright, colorful sarongs while walking around the park.
Now, I am 38 years old and I have LONG since given up on the idea that I will ever project that kind of effortless cool and glamor, and I am anything but long limbed and graceful. But my Hobbit eyes still appreciate lovely things, and my Hobbit practicality REALLY appreciates multi-use items that dry quickly. So I asked the family where they got their wraps, and the mother (Sister? Elves are ageless,) told me,
"We got them in Turkey. I don't think you have anything like them in this country."
Oookay. I let it go. I figured that my oafish American family was doomed to damp terrycloth forever, and that we just had to figure out a way to deal.
Fast forward to five months later, when I was (again) complaining to Jesse about wet towels, and he was (again) fretting about dampness inside the RV, I said to him,
"I'm just going to Google those Turkish things. Maybe if they're not too expensive, we can order them from Turkey."
Guess what, you guys?
They have them on Amazon. Six of them, for $45 and free shipping with Prime.
I wasted FIVE MONTHS being annoyed and frustrated and trying to dry myself with something that was still soggy from the last time I went to the pool, just because some leggy French goddess told me that they didn't have the pretty towels here. Lesson learned. I will check for myself from now on.
And let me tell you, my friends: these are the best towels in the world. They are exactly as bright and attractive as I remember, they are useful for EVERYTHING, and the best part is that they dry in about half an hour. If we go swimming at 1:00, and again at 6:00, they are dry!
Turkish towels are also huge, but because they are so thin, they take up far less room in the RV cupboards than regular towels. Space is always at a premium for us, so this is a major benefit. Plus, even at parks, like this one, where they have a "no clotheslines" rule, no one is going to complain about a bunch of colorful sarong-like pieces of fabric on a drying rack outside, because it looks decorative and pretty!
The bad part: they're not as immediately absorbent as terrycloth, and they are not "scrubby." You can rub yourself with them and not get dry. But if you wrap them around you, they will absorb all the water from your suit or body, and suddenly, without even noticing what is happening, you'll be dry.
However, I will say that when you wrap up your hair in one of these and wear it for a bit, while you do other things, you will get the flowing, beachy waves of your dreams. Secrets unlocked, beautiful French people.
Turkish towels are amazing and wonderful, but unfortunately, they have not yet turned me into Cate Blanchett. Maybe soon, though? I'm still hoping.
We got to this park, which has a heated, indoor pool, on December 1, 58 days ago. The pool heater was broken for our first week, so we didn't swim for 7 days. But during the last 51 days, we have swum approximately 62 times, for over an hour each. In the last 1,224 hours, we have spent 93 of them swimming.
We love to swim.
What we do NOT love, in our 450 square foot living space, is a bunch of damp towels draped over everything, making the air musty and the windows foggy.
Enter the Turkish towels.
I first took note of these magical, miraculous pieces of fabric way back in August, when we spent a week in Green Bay, Wisconsin. There was a French family there, all long limbs and effortless Continental beauteousness, and they were constantly wrapped in these light, airy, gorgeous cotton rectangles. They used them at the pool as towels. They tied them around their heads as turbans. They wore them as bright, colorful sarongs while walking around the park.
Now, I am 38 years old and I have LONG since given up on the idea that I will ever project that kind of effortless cool and glamor, and I am anything but long limbed and graceful. But my Hobbit eyes still appreciate lovely things, and my Hobbit practicality REALLY appreciates multi-use items that dry quickly. So I asked the family where they got their wraps, and the mother (Sister? Elves are ageless,) told me,
"We got them in Turkey. I don't think you have anything like them in this country."
Oookay. I let it go. I figured that my oafish American family was doomed to damp terrycloth forever, and that we just had to figure out a way to deal.
Fast forward to five months later, when I was (again) complaining to Jesse about wet towels, and he was (again) fretting about dampness inside the RV, I said to him,
"I'm just going to Google those Turkish things. Maybe if they're not too expensive, we can order them from Turkey."
Guess what, you guys?
They have them on Amazon. Six of them, for $45 and free shipping with Prime.
I wasted FIVE MONTHS being annoyed and frustrated and trying to dry myself with something that was still soggy from the last time I went to the pool, just because some leggy French goddess told me that they didn't have the pretty towels here. Lesson learned. I will check for myself from now on.
And let me tell you, my friends: these are the best towels in the world. They are exactly as bright and attractive as I remember, they are useful for EVERYTHING, and the best part is that they dry in about half an hour. If we go swimming at 1:00, and again at 6:00, they are dry!
Turkish towels are also huge, but because they are so thin, they take up far less room in the RV cupboards than regular towels. Space is always at a premium for us, so this is a major benefit. Plus, even at parks, like this one, where they have a "no clotheslines" rule, no one is going to complain about a bunch of colorful sarong-like pieces of fabric on a drying rack outside, because it looks decorative and pretty!
The bad part: they're not as immediately absorbent as terrycloth, and they are not "scrubby." You can rub yourself with them and not get dry. But if you wrap them around you, they will absorb all the water from your suit or body, and suddenly, without even noticing what is happening, you'll be dry.
However, I will say that when you wrap up your hair in one of these and wear it for a bit, while you do other things, you will get the flowing, beachy waves of your dreams. Secrets unlocked, beautiful French people.
Turkish towels are amazing and wonderful, but unfortunately, they have not yet turned me into Cate Blanchett. Maybe soon, though? I'm still hoping.
Saturday, January 26, 2019
A Patch of Weeds
Please feel free to share; just give me credit when you do!
Patches of
weeds
Are where
honeybees grow
Where
grasshoppers live
Where field
mice make their communities
And the fragrance
is more wild
Less stable
and consistent
Now you smell
it, now you don’t
Flower and musk
and herb and dew
But here
there is mercy
A grace
beyond the regal and cultivated
Generosity
of life, benevolent stamina
The
endurance of that which has not allowed itself to be tamed.
Can you save
us, patch of weeds
Untamed
tangle of chaos and life?
We are desperate
for your blessing
For your motley
masses of flora and fauna
Bring us
back to communion with the wild
To life
overbearing and uncontrollable
To earthy
vitality and uncivilized grace
Save me,
patch of weeds.
Friday, January 25, 2019
A Poem for My Daughter
I don't tell a lot of people this (although this blog is public) but I really like to write poetry. I took a long break from it, because raising children is hard and, for me, requires a lot of the same creative energy that I need to write poems. However, blogging seems to have sparked it a little, and I've written several in the last few days. Here is one that I wrote yesterday. I hope you enjoy it and if you do, you are welcome to share it. Please give me credit if you do.
My daughter
You are
transitioning the world
Like a seed,
just before sprouting
All
splitting and dying
All feathery
roots and fear of frost
Breaking
through into something
Pale and
green and sensitive.
But the
delicacy is a lie
Or not a
lie, but not reality either
Because inside
the fragile
The
vulnerable
The fear of
frost
Is something
sharp
Tough and
safe and wild and divine
Unbreakable
by outside influence
It’s your
heart and it is yours
Your spiritual
DNA
Given by no
man and completely fireproof.
Sprout,
daughter.
Fly skyward and
transform
Roots to rhizomes
Covering the
earth
Adapting to
where you are but refusing
To alter
yourself
Except how
it suits you.
Redefining
the landscape
Changing the
flow and the conversation
Creating the
world you need
For yourself
And your children
Because you,
my daughter
Are not a
flower
Sedate and
orderly and cultivated by man
For man’s
purposes
Your
fragrance is not suitable for perfumes
Too luxuriant
and savage
Too
unspoiled and feral
You,
daughter
Like your
mother before you
Are a weed.
Thursday, January 24, 2019
Perfectionism Is Insidious
One of my besties and I were chatting this morning (as we do every morning) and the subject of perfectionism came up. She has two year old twins and is in the thick of potty training, and it's both fascinating and heartbreaking (in that "Aaaaah, yes, I remember those days" way) to listen to her stories.
One of the babies has taken to potty training very quickly. He realized that he got a raisin every time he uses the toilet, so now he pees on command, whenever he wants a treat.
Girl baby, however, has not had such an easy time. She had a perfect first day, but an accident on Day 2, and in my friend's words,
"Now refuses to consider trying again, ever."
UGH. Heartbreak. Because I have been there. I remember, not just as a mom trying to get my children over that hump of perfectionism, but as a woman trying to get MYSELF over it. How many words have I not written, how many pictures have I not drawn, how many songs have I not sung, just because I was afraid I wouldn't do it perfectly?
My children struggle with perfectionism as well. Brofessor is really struggling with math right now. Not because he's not good at math; he's good at math, and he understands the concepts. But he looks at big numbers and PANICS. He is so afraid that he will make a mistake that he doesn't want to try. Creato-Girl will throw away pages of gorgeous drawings because of a tiny perceived flaw. Robo-Kid won't build when the scary green nitpicking monster rears its head. Honeybee will sigh, stomp her feet, and refuse to sing if she gets a lyric wrong. And frankly, it's stupid, because who would know? It's her song. She made it up. But perfectionism is mean and doesn't care if our screw ups are visible to the rest of the universe. It's about US, and how we see ourselves.
The thing is, most mistakes are not life altering. If I accidentally post a blog with terrible grammar or that just isn't coherent, who cares? If my kid makes a mistake and gets an answer wrong in math, who cares? None of these things change our lives. And, (irony!) fixating on the tiny mess ups is a great way to pull our focus away from the things that matter in our lives: our relationship with our Creator, our relationships with our fellow humans, and our ultimate goals.
We have all been given good gifts. We have all had those times (even just for a second) where we jumped in, rapturous and free, to something new. We have all experienced the pure, unspoiled pleasure of creating something just for the sake of creating it. I want us to get back there again, even if it means messing up. The perfectionism is insidious. But it does not have to steal our joy.
Tuesday, January 22, 2019
Souvenirs
I'm not big on souvenirs. I don't like clutter or knick knacks. Actually, I think I DO like those things, it's just that I can either have a bunch of stuff, OR remain organized and tidy. Not both, unlike my best friend, who has more stuff than anyone I have ever known, but everything has its place and stays clean. She is a world champion duster.
So I do not have a lot of stuff. We buy perishable things, of course. In Montana we stayed for one night at a winery and ended up buying three bottles.
Side note: the winemaker told me that they only make wine from grapes that are hardy enough to withstand a Montana winter. I didn't know there were ANY grapes that hardy. When I asked him how low the temperatures got, he told me,
"Oh, negative 20 or so." My jaw dropped and my eyes widened. As a Northwest girl, I have a hard time wrapping my brain around temperatures that low.
It was sad when we finished the Montana wine. Just as it was sad today when I used up the last of the black beans we bought in Louisiana. We got them at this awesome fruit and vegetable stand in Lafayette, called Fresh Pickin's, where the people were delightful and the produce was epic. Their shop is full of locally grown tastiness (local oranges, OMG) and Cajun treats.
We arrived in Louisiana late on a Saturday evening, and on Sunday we went out exploring and looking for groceries. We were a little tired and disoriented, as we always are after a long travel day, and the folks at Fresh Pickin's were fabulous. They welcomed us in, helped us find the fruit and veggies we needed, and were shocked when they found out we'd never had boudin before. Boudin is a spicy, meat and rice filled sausage that people in Southern Louisiana are, justifiably, very proud of, because it's delicious and filling and unique and just writing about it makes me want some.
After that first trip, we shopped at Fresh Pickin's at every opportunity. One of the opportunities we grabbed was for a full pantry and dry goods restock, which for our family includes things like rice, beans, popcorn, oats, and grits. At Fresh Pickin's, every one of those items was local and organic. Because we used to BE a small farm, we love to support small farms across the country, so shopping there gave us a chance to do that, and also to connect with people who became friends.
That, ultimately, is why I have this blog. Because I don't do souvenirs. But these stories, while they are simple and small and not particularly exciting, are important. I used the last of my Louisiana black beans today. The Montana wine was gone a couple of months ago. But my memories and stories of the people who provided them for us will never be used up.
So I do not have a lot of stuff. We buy perishable things, of course. In Montana we stayed for one night at a winery and ended up buying three bottles.
Side note: the winemaker told me that they only make wine from grapes that are hardy enough to withstand a Montana winter. I didn't know there were ANY grapes that hardy. When I asked him how low the temperatures got, he told me,
"Oh, negative 20 or so." My jaw dropped and my eyes widened. As a Northwest girl, I have a hard time wrapping my brain around temperatures that low.
It was sad when we finished the Montana wine. Just as it was sad today when I used up the last of the black beans we bought in Louisiana. We got them at this awesome fruit and vegetable stand in Lafayette, called Fresh Pickin's, where the people were delightful and the produce was epic. Their shop is full of locally grown tastiness (local oranges, OMG) and Cajun treats.
We arrived in Louisiana late on a Saturday evening, and on Sunday we went out exploring and looking for groceries. We were a little tired and disoriented, as we always are after a long travel day, and the folks at Fresh Pickin's were fabulous. They welcomed us in, helped us find the fruit and veggies we needed, and were shocked when they found out we'd never had boudin before. Boudin is a spicy, meat and rice filled sausage that people in Southern Louisiana are, justifiably, very proud of, because it's delicious and filling and unique and just writing about it makes me want some.
After that first trip, we shopped at Fresh Pickin's at every opportunity. One of the opportunities we grabbed was for a full pantry and dry goods restock, which for our family includes things like rice, beans, popcorn, oats, and grits. At Fresh Pickin's, every one of those items was local and organic. Because we used to BE a small farm, we love to support small farms across the country, so shopping there gave us a chance to do that, and also to connect with people who became friends.
That, ultimately, is why I have this blog. Because I don't do souvenirs. But these stories, while they are simple and small and not particularly exciting, are important. I used the last of my Louisiana black beans today. The Montana wine was gone a couple of months ago. But my memories and stories of the people who provided them for us will never be used up.
Monday, January 21, 2019
Why I Love to Travel
I've been a reader for as long as I can remember. I started reading early (my mom says I was four) and have never really stopped. I read anything and everything I could get my hands on, as a kid, and I read very quickly.
When I was ten, I caught a movie version of Great Expectations on PBS one night, and was enraptured. I immediately checked out the book from the library. It was not an easy read, and I missed a lot of the deeper themes, but I loved the story. Dickens led to Shakespeare, which led to theatre, which is another post entirely.
My favorite types of books are the kind where the atmosphere is as important as plot or characters. Great Expectations is like that. You can feel the marshes and the mists of England when you're reading it. Pip's senses become yours, and you are transported. The same can be said for Swamplandia, Karen Russell's gorgeous story of courage and grief in Western Florida. I smell sage and roasting chilies when I read Barbara Kingsolver's The Bean Trees. Years ago, I directed a community theatre production of Steel Magnolias, in a barely insulated hall with insufficient heating, during one of the coldest winters Oregon had ever seen. But through Robert Harling's script, the room was filled with the sultriness and dense humidity of a Louisiana summer.
I love books where there is a sense that THIS story can only happen in THIS place. The characters could stay the same. The plot could stay the same. But there is an essential belonging of the story to a specific place. Would Christy be Christy if it took place anywhere other than Tennessee? Twilight is a terrible book, but as a lifelong Pacific Northwest resident, I can tell you that it captures the fragrant green drizzle of my home perfectly.
All of these stories, with their differing flavors and moods, make me hungry for more. It's not enough to read about dripping Spanish moss and ghostly shadows in the gothic South. I need to experience it for myself. I read about frozen waves in New England and have to stop myself from loading up the RV and heading to Maine. Reading creates a longing in me for places that are unfamiliar, and (almost always) once we get there, the places are even better than they were in my imagination. Traveling fills in the blank spots and gives me a fuller, richer, more beautiful picture of the soil that grows stories.
So if your child is a reader, be careful. You might be raising a traveler as well.
When I was ten, I caught a movie version of Great Expectations on PBS one night, and was enraptured. I immediately checked out the book from the library. It was not an easy read, and I missed a lot of the deeper themes, but I loved the story. Dickens led to Shakespeare, which led to theatre, which is another post entirely.
My favorite types of books are the kind where the atmosphere is as important as plot or characters. Great Expectations is like that. You can feel the marshes and the mists of England when you're reading it. Pip's senses become yours, and you are transported. The same can be said for Swamplandia, Karen Russell's gorgeous story of courage and grief in Western Florida. I smell sage and roasting chilies when I read Barbara Kingsolver's The Bean Trees. Years ago, I directed a community theatre production of Steel Magnolias, in a barely insulated hall with insufficient heating, during one of the coldest winters Oregon had ever seen. But through Robert Harling's script, the room was filled with the sultriness and dense humidity of a Louisiana summer.
I love books where there is a sense that THIS story can only happen in THIS place. The characters could stay the same. The plot could stay the same. But there is an essential belonging of the story to a specific place. Would Christy be Christy if it took place anywhere other than Tennessee? Twilight is a terrible book, but as a lifelong Pacific Northwest resident, I can tell you that it captures the fragrant green drizzle of my home perfectly.
All of these stories, with their differing flavors and moods, make me hungry for more. It's not enough to read about dripping Spanish moss and ghostly shadows in the gothic South. I need to experience it for myself. I read about frozen waves in New England and have to stop myself from loading up the RV and heading to Maine. Reading creates a longing in me for places that are unfamiliar, and (almost always) once we get there, the places are even better than they were in my imagination. Traveling fills in the blank spots and gives me a fuller, richer, more beautiful picture of the soil that grows stories.
So if your child is a reader, be careful. You might be raising a traveler as well.
Friday, January 18, 2019
Whooooooo Are You?
Who who, who who?
I used to really like CSI. Is that show still on? It was one of those pre-streaming shows that we would get from Netflix, back when they still sent you DVDs. We would watch the three or four episodes on the disk, stick them back in the mail, and wait two days to watch the next ones. Or, if I'm being honest, we would run to the Blockbuster in town, rent the next disk, and then our entire Netflix schedule would be messed up.
Wait, what was I talking about? Oh, right. Who we are. From oldest to youngest:
Jesse. Main man. Dad. I call him Sweetle, but you're not allowed to. We have been married for almost seventeen years. We have lived in six homes, including Harmony. We have owned upwards of twenty goats, ten cows, five dogs, fifteen pigs, and about a million chickens, turkeys, ducks, and one ill fated flock of baby Guinea fowl who disappeared less than 24 hours after we brought them home. When we met, Jesse had four cats. The man loves animals and has some Dr. Dolittle level communication skills with them. He is good at fixing anything from your computer to your truck, and he has worked remotely in software support for eleven years. I basically worship the ground he walks upon. He is the reason we get to travel.
Stacie. That's me. I am Mama. Jesse calls me Sweetle. You're allowed to, but I might look at you funny. I love to read, swim, and bake. I make spectacular sourdough bread and feta cheese, I like red wine and growing things in the dirt, and am a good singer. I am a recovering perfectionist.
The Brofessor is our oldest. He's thirteen and awesome. He's a currently suffering perfectionist, which we are working on. He loves Star Wars and Marvel and is becoming a fabulous cook.
Creato-Girl is eleven, and our artist. She is so witty and funny and wry that sometimes I forget that she's only eleven. She loves puns, paint, making ANYTHING, and once she told me that she wanted to go to the dump and collect trash to make into art. I'm amazed by her.
Robo-Kid is seven, and you can read about him in the post "Robo-Kid and the Bike." He's quirky and clever and loves robots and technology of any kind.
Honeybee is five. She's what you get when you assume that your semi-infertility is the same as birth control. She is EXACTLY the person we needed to complete our family: funny, wild, sweet, and fierce.
These are my people. I'm ridiculously lucky!
I used to really like CSI. Is that show still on? It was one of those pre-streaming shows that we would get from Netflix, back when they still sent you DVDs. We would watch the three or four episodes on the disk, stick them back in the mail, and wait two days to watch the next ones. Or, if I'm being honest, we would run to the Blockbuster in town, rent the next disk, and then our entire Netflix schedule would be messed up.
Wait, what was I talking about? Oh, right. Who we are. From oldest to youngest:
Jesse. Main man. Dad. I call him Sweetle, but you're not allowed to. We have been married for almost seventeen years. We have lived in six homes, including Harmony. We have owned upwards of twenty goats, ten cows, five dogs, fifteen pigs, and about a million chickens, turkeys, ducks, and one ill fated flock of baby Guinea fowl who disappeared less than 24 hours after we brought them home. When we met, Jesse had four cats. The man loves animals and has some Dr. Dolittle level communication skills with them. He is good at fixing anything from your computer to your truck, and he has worked remotely in software support for eleven years. I basically worship the ground he walks upon. He is the reason we get to travel.
Stacie. That's me. I am Mama. Jesse calls me Sweetle. You're allowed to, but I might look at you funny. I love to read, swim, and bake. I make spectacular sourdough bread and feta cheese, I like red wine and growing things in the dirt, and am a good singer. I am a recovering perfectionist.
The Brofessor is our oldest. He's thirteen and awesome. He's a currently suffering perfectionist, which we are working on. He loves Star Wars and Marvel and is becoming a fabulous cook.
Creato-Girl is eleven, and our artist. She is so witty and funny and wry that sometimes I forget that she's only eleven. She loves puns, paint, making ANYTHING, and once she told me that she wanted to go to the dump and collect trash to make into art. I'm amazed by her.
Robo-Kid is seven, and you can read about him in the post "Robo-Kid and the Bike." He's quirky and clever and loves robots and technology of any kind.
Honeybee is five. She's what you get when you assume that your semi-infertility is the same as birth control. She is EXACTLY the person we needed to complete our family: funny, wild, sweet, and fierce.
Thursday, January 17, 2019
Robo Kid and the Bike
This is Robo-Kid. He's seven.
Robo-Kid was born on a gorgeous fall day back in 2011. My Midwest Bestie, who is a very talented doula, was in town for one week, and we were starting to get anxious that he was going to wait until she left to decide to come out. He didn't, but she didn't get to be at the birth either.
That morning, I woke up early. Jesse had gone into the office for work, which was about an hour away, and that meant that he left around 5. I got up an hour later and started to feel like maybe things might be moving along, but didn't want to jinx it by announcing it to the world. When MWB got up at 7, I told her (because she was my doula) that things were happening. She said,
"What do you need?" and proceeded to make eggs for my other kids, who were starting to stir. I took a shower and had more contractions. She asked me how things were going, and I said,
"Okay, but I think it's going to be a while, so I'm just going to go down to my room and hang for a bit!"
At that point I texted Jesse and asked him to come home, but I still didn't think things were moving very quickly.
I spent the next hour in my room, refusing to talk to anyone (because apparently I am a giant bitch while in labor) and denying that things were progressing.
When Jesse got home, he called our midwife, who told us to come in immediately. Jesse relayed her orders to me and I refused. (See above RE: giant stubborn bitch.)
Finally, I saw the sense in going to the birth center. We got in the car, and ten minutes down the road, Jesse pulled over, and I pushed out Robo-Kid, on the side of an Oregon country road.
Basically, that's Robo-Kid. He does what he wants, on his own time, in his own Robo-Kid way, including being born.
For years, Jesse and I have been trying to get Robo-Kid to ride a bike. He figured out tricycles very quickly and has excellent hand/eye coordination, so we figured that a bike would be a piece of cake.
It was not a piece of cake. It was a mess. He struggled for two years. He would ride the bike with training wheels, but wouldn't countenance the idea of riding without them, and the bike was getting too small. We took the training wheels off in Montana, thinking that perhaps a little tough love was necessary. He simply refused to touch the bike at all after that.
But one day, while we were in Mississippi at a tiny RV park with almost no amenities, he decided to ride. He took the bike out of storage, watched his older brother for a few minutes, got on, and rode quietly around the track. Then he did it again. And again. And over and over again, until he could go fast, slow, one handed, and standing up.
There are challenges that come with a kid this stubborn, but he's nonetheless a joy.
Robo-Kid was born on a gorgeous fall day back in 2011. My Midwest Bestie, who is a very talented doula, was in town for one week, and we were starting to get anxious that he was going to wait until she left to decide to come out. He didn't, but she didn't get to be at the birth either.
That morning, I woke up early. Jesse had gone into the office for work, which was about an hour away, and that meant that he left around 5. I got up an hour later and started to feel like maybe things might be moving along, but didn't want to jinx it by announcing it to the world. When MWB got up at 7, I told her (because she was my doula) that things were happening. She said,
"What do you need?" and proceeded to make eggs for my other kids, who were starting to stir. I took a shower and had more contractions. She asked me how things were going, and I said,
"Okay, but I think it's going to be a while, so I'm just going to go down to my room and hang for a bit!"
At that point I texted Jesse and asked him to come home, but I still didn't think things were moving very quickly.
I spent the next hour in my room, refusing to talk to anyone (because apparently I am a giant bitch while in labor) and denying that things were progressing.
When Jesse got home, he called our midwife, who told us to come in immediately. Jesse relayed her orders to me and I refused. (See above RE: giant stubborn bitch.)
Finally, I saw the sense in going to the birth center. We got in the car, and ten minutes down the road, Jesse pulled over, and I pushed out Robo-Kid, on the side of an Oregon country road.
Basically, that's Robo-Kid. He does what he wants, on his own time, in his own Robo-Kid way, including being born.
For years, Jesse and I have been trying to get Robo-Kid to ride a bike. He figured out tricycles very quickly and has excellent hand/eye coordination, so we figured that a bike would be a piece of cake.
It was not a piece of cake. It was a mess. He struggled for two years. He would ride the bike with training wheels, but wouldn't countenance the idea of riding without them, and the bike was getting too small. We took the training wheels off in Montana, thinking that perhaps a little tough love was necessary. He simply refused to touch the bike at all after that.
But one day, while we were in Mississippi at a tiny RV park with almost no amenities, he decided to ride. He took the bike out of storage, watched his older brother for a few minutes, got on, and rode quietly around the track. Then he did it again. And again. And over and over again, until he could go fast, slow, one handed, and standing up.
There are challenges that come with a kid this stubborn, but he's nonetheless a joy.
Things I Miss About Sticks and Bricks Life
1: Bathtubs. It's hard to shave your legs in a teeny RV shower, although I will admit it's great for flexibility and a good workout.
2: My Oregon besties. One of my besties is the mom of a lovely fellow RV family, and we've gotten to see each other quite a bit, both last summer and this fall and winter. We even got to have Thanksgiving together, which was GLORIOUS and probably the best Thanksgiving ever. But I miss our other two besties terribly.
3: Bathtubs. I'm mentioning this again because there is nothing like sinking in to a hot bath at the end of a very long day. And even on the road, which, let's face it, is basically a permanent vacation, you still sometimes have very long days.
4: Grandparents. My parents retired a couple of years ago and I had gotten spoiled, having other adults to talk to whenever I felt like it. I also miss my awesome mother-in-law, who used to come visit and just hang out for an afternoon.
5: Bathtubs. You know, there are RVs that have bathtubs. Our first one did. It was tiny, you couldn't really fill it up because it held 16 gallons of water and the hot water heater only held 7, but it was a tub, nonetheless. Harmony is far superior to our first trailer, but she lacks this amenity.
6: Also, bathtubs.
2: My Oregon besties. One of my besties is the mom of a lovely fellow RV family, and we've gotten to see each other quite a bit, both last summer and this fall and winter. We even got to have Thanksgiving together, which was GLORIOUS and probably the best Thanksgiving ever. But I miss our other two besties terribly.
3: Bathtubs. I'm mentioning this again because there is nothing like sinking in to a hot bath at the end of a very long day. And even on the road, which, let's face it, is basically a permanent vacation, you still sometimes have very long days.
4: Grandparents. My parents retired a couple of years ago and I had gotten spoiled, having other adults to talk to whenever I felt like it. I also miss my awesome mother-in-law, who used to come visit and just hang out for an afternoon.
5: Bathtubs. You know, there are RVs that have bathtubs. Our first one did. It was tiny, you couldn't really fill it up because it held 16 gallons of water and the hot water heater only held 7, but it was a tub, nonetheless. Harmony is far superior to our first trailer, but she lacks this amenity.
6: Also, bathtubs.
Too Fast Travel and the Do Nothing Day.
When we first started our RVing journey* we tried to do a LOT of things.
First, we traveled way too much and too quickly: we would drive 300 miles, stop for the night, get up early, pack up, and do it all again. In our defense, we were trying to get to Cleveland, to visit my Midwest Bestie, as fast as we could. But it was exhausting and we were spending a fortune on diesel, so for us, traveling that way was not sustainable.
Second, we tried to do ALL the touristy things in an area, for the short amount of time that we were there. In Idaho we swam in Lake Coeur D'Alene. In Montana we visited a state park and a prairie dog sanctuary. We explored Theodore Roosevelt State Park in North Dakota twice, and we only stayed in the state for a week. It made for a great adventure, but it was too much, too quickly, and too expensive.
Here's the thing: we are going to be doing this for a while. At this point we are looking at two years, minimum, but we may continue on for as long as it stays fun. But we stay a month in places now, and we've been in San Marcos, a college town outside of Austin, for two months and are thinking about staying for a third. This place has a heated indoor pool.
We do not have to rush. We don't have to hurry through and make sure we see stuff, with the exception of the Gulf Coast, which will probably disappear, eventually. (Oh, sad and depressing thought!) We thought Kentucky was exquisitely beautiful, but only spent about eighteen hours there. It's okay. We can go back.
With all of that in mind, allow me to introduce you to one of my favorite type of days: The Do Nothing Day, or the DND, for short.
We did not have DNDs back at the farm. The nature of farming is that there is NEVER nothing to do. Even in January and February, when the garden is sleeping and goat babies haven't been born yet, there is still lots to do. Chickens, for example, don't care what day it is or how cold it is outside. They still need to be fed and there are always projects to work on to get ready for the next season.
Do Nothing Days are exactly what they sound like: days with no clear plans or direction, and we usually don't leave the RV park. Today was a DND and while the little kids took naps, I introduced the big kids to Baz Luhrmann's Romeo+Juliet.
Do Nothing Days sometimes happen after we've made a trip to a used book store and everyone has a lovely stack of new things to read. Sometimes they occur because we are sick or had a bad sleep; when you live in 450 square feet, if one person wakes up, you all wake up. But mostly DNDs are about freedom and NO PLANS.
Here are some things that have spontaneously occurred on Do Nothing Days:
-We discovered that Brofessor (oldest child) loves Shakespeare almost as much as his mama does.
-We found that we can grow celery in our RV, in little cups of water. Now they're everywhere and adorable.
-Robo-Kid (third child) taught himself to swim.
-Much sourdough bread has been created, including focaccia and beignets.
-Creato-Girl (second child) found an Art History class on Khan Academy and discovered a new passion.
-Much screen time. No shame and no regrets. Video games are both valuable and healthy, if used appropriately.
Do Nothing Days are essential for my family's creativity and well-being, even if they only involve popcorn and movies. They restore our spirits and refresh our minds, give us quality together time (or alone time, with everyone on headsets,) and help calm what can be an overwhelming lifestyle. Everyone needs Do Nothing Days! Go forth and don't make plans!
*Note: I love to say things like "When we first started," but honestly, we've been doing this for seven months and we are FAR from experts. Just so you know.
First, we traveled way too much and too quickly: we would drive 300 miles, stop for the night, get up early, pack up, and do it all again. In our defense, we were trying to get to Cleveland, to visit my Midwest Bestie, as fast as we could. But it was exhausting and we were spending a fortune on diesel, so for us, traveling that way was not sustainable.
Second, we tried to do ALL the touristy things in an area, for the short amount of time that we were there. In Idaho we swam in Lake Coeur D'Alene. In Montana we visited a state park and a prairie dog sanctuary. We explored Theodore Roosevelt State Park in North Dakota twice, and we only stayed in the state for a week. It made for a great adventure, but it was too much, too quickly, and too expensive.
Here's the thing: we are going to be doing this for a while. At this point we are looking at two years, minimum, but we may continue on for as long as it stays fun. But we stay a month in places now, and we've been in San Marcos, a college town outside of Austin, for two months and are thinking about staying for a third. This place has a heated indoor pool.
We do not have to rush. We don't have to hurry through and make sure we see stuff, with the exception of the Gulf Coast, which will probably disappear, eventually. (Oh, sad and depressing thought!) We thought Kentucky was exquisitely beautiful, but only spent about eighteen hours there. It's okay. We can go back.
With all of that in mind, allow me to introduce you to one of my favorite type of days: The Do Nothing Day, or the DND, for short.
We did not have DNDs back at the farm. The nature of farming is that there is NEVER nothing to do. Even in January and February, when the garden is sleeping and goat babies haven't been born yet, there is still lots to do. Chickens, for example, don't care what day it is or how cold it is outside. They still need to be fed and there are always projects to work on to get ready for the next season.
Do Nothing Days are exactly what they sound like: days with no clear plans or direction, and we usually don't leave the RV park. Today was a DND and while the little kids took naps, I introduced the big kids to Baz Luhrmann's Romeo+Juliet.
Do Nothing Days sometimes happen after we've made a trip to a used book store and everyone has a lovely stack of new things to read. Sometimes they occur because we are sick or had a bad sleep; when you live in 450 square feet, if one person wakes up, you all wake up. But mostly DNDs are about freedom and NO PLANS.
Here are some things that have spontaneously occurred on Do Nothing Days:
-We discovered that Brofessor (oldest child) loves Shakespeare almost as much as his mama does.
-We found that we can grow celery in our RV, in little cups of water. Now they're everywhere and adorable.
-Robo-Kid (third child) taught himself to swim.
-Much sourdough bread has been created, including focaccia and beignets.
-Creato-Girl (second child) found an Art History class on Khan Academy and discovered a new passion.
-Much screen time. No shame and no regrets. Video games are both valuable and healthy, if used appropriately.
Do Nothing Days are essential for my family's creativity and well-being, even if they only involve popcorn and movies. They restore our spirits and refresh our minds, give us quality together time (or alone time, with everyone on headsets,) and help calm what can be an overwhelming lifestyle. Everyone needs Do Nothing Days! Go forth and don't make plans!
*Note: I love to say things like "When we first started," but honestly, we've been doing this for seven months and we are FAR from experts. Just so you know.
Tuesday, January 15, 2019
Welcome to the Family!
Once upon a time, there was a family. They were a happy family, whose lovely home-schooled children never misbehaved and always completed their schoolwork without argument. Their dogs were perfect too. They never barked, or peed on the floor, or ran around like demons on meth until someone screamed at them to STOP IT BEFORE I TURN YOU INTO FISH BAIT! We were that delightful family.
LOL. Just kidding. We are far from perfect. We are messy, and sometimes we yell at each other, the two youngest try to murder each other fairly often, and someone threatens to turn the dogs into fish bait at least once a day. But we are, actually, pretty happy.
For the last seven months, we have been living in our 40' fifth wheel trailer, exploring America and getting REALLY close to each other, both emotionally and physically, because while a 40' fifth wheel seems humongous on the dealer's lot, it's actually only about 450 square feet of living space.
There are six of us, not including the puppers: two parents, four children, two dogs, and a cat who does not love to travel, but really loves her people and would be miserable without us. For the last ten years, we have lived with my parents on the family farm in Oregon. Sometimes I think we are crazy for leaving, because besides my parents (the best babysitters on the planet) the family farm also has chickens, barn kittens, and room for dairy goats, which are my favorite animal.
Still, we left. And mostly it has been a spectacular adventure. We have stayed in thirteen states (and driven as fast as we could through two more,) we have been swimming in the Yellowstone River, seen herds of wild mustangs in North Dakota, and met Amish people in Ohio. We stayed at a distillery in Kentucky, and rode roller coasters at Dollywood. We listened to "Coal Miner's Daughter," at Loretta Lynn's Ranch. We explored a Cajun plantation in Louisiana, and now we are in Texas, eating way too much barbecue. We have met some amazing people and really have become closer as a family.
At first we planned to travel for a year and come back to Oregon. We love it so much now, though, that we might never stop! We would love for you to share our adventure with us! Thanks for reading!
LOL. Just kidding. We are far from perfect. We are messy, and sometimes we yell at each other, the two youngest try to murder each other fairly often, and someone threatens to turn the dogs into fish bait at least once a day. But we are, actually, pretty happy.
For the last seven months, we have been living in our 40' fifth wheel trailer, exploring America and getting REALLY close to each other, both emotionally and physically, because while a 40' fifth wheel seems humongous on the dealer's lot, it's actually only about 450 square feet of living space.
There are six of us, not including the puppers: two parents, four children, two dogs, and a cat who does not love to travel, but really loves her people and would be miserable without us. For the last ten years, we have lived with my parents on the family farm in Oregon. Sometimes I think we are crazy for leaving, because besides my parents (the best babysitters on the planet) the family farm also has chickens, barn kittens, and room for dairy goats, which are my favorite animal.
Still, we left. And mostly it has been a spectacular adventure. We have stayed in thirteen states (and driven as fast as we could through two more,) we have been swimming in the Yellowstone River, seen herds of wild mustangs in North Dakota, and met Amish people in Ohio. We stayed at a distillery in Kentucky, and rode roller coasters at Dollywood. We listened to "Coal Miner's Daughter," at Loretta Lynn's Ranch. We explored a Cajun plantation in Louisiana, and now we are in Texas, eating way too much barbecue. We have met some amazing people and really have become closer as a family.
At first we planned to travel for a year and come back to Oregon. We love it so much now, though, that we might never stop! We would love for you to share our adventure with us! Thanks for reading!
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