Category Archives: Observations

One-Million is a Big Number

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In several places I’ve seen the declaration that it takes 1,000,000 words to be a really good writer.

Leaving aside the arbitrariness of the number and the implied assumption that quantity leads to quality (since I will admit the two are related), I checked out my own record against this.

And I’m barely half-way there.

Okay, technically I did scrape together over a half-mil, but that was with *everything* over 300-words I’ve got on this computer: including old school papers and my 3 months of daily foster-care notes.

Half of that is my estimate of word-count from my blogging the last three years, and maybe a quarter could be attributed to my novels.

There’s a reality check for me.

Every now and then I think I write a lot, and this new measuring stick is like a reminder of the Biblical admonition Don’t think you are better than you really are. Be honest in your evaluation of yourselves.

Too often we evaluate ourselves (in every arena) in relation to what others are doing, when the only healthy ways to evaluate are against what we were and against what we’re called to be.

Those should be enough to cheer, shame, and challenge us without adding other people to the equation.

Memory and the Pace of Time

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“Life is like a toilet paper roll: the closer you are to the end the faster it goes.”

The 40-something children’s director at my home church used to say this, and I’ve heard a similar sentiment from people my own age.  But the feeling did not quite reach me until a couple weeks ago when I was remembering an excellent (and entertaining) post of Jen’s about Dying to Self.

I had linked it in the post with the poem in my sidebar (“I think this is the prettiest world– so long as you don’t mind a little dying…”) so it was a quick find and just as good as I remembered.  So I was understandably surprised when I realized it was written more than a year ago.

“But I remember it so well,” I thought, puzzled.  And that’s where my current theory was born (yes it had been gestating a while– I don’t expect this many elements to combine instantly).

I like to say, We never really forget anything, it just takes the right trigger to bring it back. And we all know that things more frequently accessed tend to be more easily remembered.  Also those things that have a personal or emotional connection also are remembered with less effort (more potential triggers, you see?).

So the writing down of something combines several of these factors and makes them easier to access.  Words we spend time with can stay fresh indefinitely (reinforcing the value of daily Bible-reading, btw).

///

As children we learn that things that happened a long time ago are harder to remember.  In fact, we know there are some things so long ago we can’t remember at all.

One theory about this is that without the hook of language to hang our memories on there is nothing to keep them from blowing away.

/

This explains the limited (by ratio at least) our number of pre-verbal memories, and may explain why we remember more as we get older: we tend to use more words, and therefore have a way to revisit memories, reinforcing them.  I have memories that I am certain are artificial, having heard (and even told) them so many times.

Now it stands to reason that as we get older (and our language skills improve in proportion to our experience) that events and things may become easier to remember.  This means the clarity of our memories ceases to be a useful measurement of their age, and might become disappointing when everything seems so much faster.

I believe any disappointment (if it exists) should be directed into making the wisest use of the present.  Because God is never finished this side of heaven, we don’t need to fear that anything is irredeemable.

///

Some things still feel further off, reinforcing the dim-is-distant assumption, but some things are so significant they are relived or long on our minds before they slowly move into “past.”

This is what I think of when I hear people say, “I can’t believe we’ve been married 18 years!” or “How did you get to be 24?  I still remember the day you were born!”

I resist (okay, really I feel threatened or defensive toward) every hint and inclination that any stage is supposed to be “the best” because I feel so intensely aware it will not last.

Every stage and season takes just as long as it’s supposed to, and everything changes, except my God’s promises.  He remains the same, the source of all love, protection, and provision.  Because of Him I can feel secure that every stage and season is orchestrated by Him, and find peace in that assurance.

No matter how fast life seems to be unrolling.

Saying What You Mean (and a giveaway)

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At a McDonalds Playland about a year ago, my then-3-year-old carefully tipped her tiny cup of ketchup on its side, explaining, “It’s not much left, and this is how you do it.”

“Mine’s almost gone, too,” Jay said. “Would you like a refill?”

“No,” said Melody, focusing on her ketchup. “No,” said Natasha, waiting her turn.

“Maybe you should tell them what a refill is,” I suggested. And after he did, and repeated his offer to refill the answer was a chorus of Yeses.

“It’s all about definitions,” I said. “Everything in life comes down to definitions.”

I say this all the time, like it’s profound or something.  But, as Jay pointed out in that moment, it’s not really the definitions, it’s the whole process of communicating and how you choose to respond to it.

Yes. God created the perfect man for me.

It makes me think about how we can do “everything” right without being understood, because it’s not just about us, the senders of the message; it’s also about the receivers.

Years ago I was riding with a lady who’d been married just a few months. As we conversed I was vaguely aware of the conversation moving slower than I was used to, but I hadn’t pinned the feeling yet on anything specific.

“I’m so sorry!” she said suddenly. “I’ve been talking this who time like I was having this conversation with my husband.”

She went on to explain that she had used the (frequently useful) tool of “reflecting” in our conversation– the practice of rephrasing what she’d heard to verify she understood.

“He really needs that, but with you I’m basically repeating exactly what you said. It’s so different to talk with someone who says exactly what they mean!”

When I told my mom the story she agreed that was the way she talked too (I come by everything honestly), and a that her pastor’s wife, a counselor and therapist, had complimented her on it.

“Everybody knows right where they stand with you,” she said. “There’s no ambiguity or insecurity and people are so comfortable with that.”

Mom pointed out that she had plenty of examples to the contrary, and the woman amended that the positive response was the more logical.

I agree with the pastor’s wife, but take this as yet another example of how many people in this world aren’t logical.  A surprising number of people are not content with getting “The Golden Rule” (Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.), they seem to expect some kind of platinum rule (“Do unto me as I would have you do.”)

`

This is much harder to apply, for the simple reason that unless I really know you I have no guidelines other than my own preferences.  And like my mother I have plenty of experience with people who don’t want to be treated the way I do.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

[The original post included a giveaway that is now closed.]

 

Learning Humor

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I *really* don’t want one more more thing to investigate– one more thing to learn– but, like I mentioned a while back, I’ve always wondered if I could learn to be funny(er).

Two examples of my inherently serious nature/demeanor:

  1. When the kids were younger and growing more verbal, one of the girls asked me, “Why is your face angry?”  I realized I was concentrating on something and she couldn’t tell the difference between that and angry.  I tried to soften my expression and excuse it by saying, no, Mother wasn’t mad, it was my “thinking face.”  The explanation obviously sank in because they asked several times over the next few weeks, “Mama, are you thinking again?”
  2. My children have made it quite clear to me that it is the role of men to be “silly.”  Mommies and Grandma’s are most-definitely not silly.  (And, most of the time in this family, they’d be right.  I come by most things naturally.)

I was vaguely troubled by the realization that so much of what we find funny comes out of anger (sarcasm, slapstick, thwarted expectations), so I was both relieved and delighted to come across another example of humor in the book I finished a couple weeks back.

Gladwell used improvisational theatre as an example of topic of instant-processing and discussed what made it successful.

In the course of this discussion he compared improv to basketball– pointing out the parallels of working within a set a rules to know how to respond to the people around– while you want to win ultimately you want to keep the game going.

Actors working together on an improv have to agree to a set of rules before they begin in order for the piece to “work.”

The rule that Gladwell emphasized in particular:  One must accept everything that is offered.  The unnatural state that invariably follows can hardly help being funny.

“Think of something you wouldn’t want to happen to you or to someone you love,” wrote Keith Johnstone, one of the founders of improv theatre.  “Then you will have thought of something worth staging or filming… In life most of us are highly skilled at suppressing action.  All the improvisation teacher has to do is to reverse this skill and he creates very ‘gifted’ improvisers.  Bad improviser block action, often with a high degree of skill.  Good improvisers develop action.”

~

“The humor arises entirely out of how steadfastly the participants adhere to the rule that no suggestion can be denied.”

In those two summaries– essentially by looking cross-genre– I understood better than I ever consciously did before what to do when I’m looking for a story.  I’m not just trying to be a sadist (though that frequently helps), and I’m not strictly looking instantly for conflict (I’ve complained before that feels like a cheep shortcut).

That is, I’m not looking to instantly make it as huge as possible– two immovable forces– because then, despite its hugeness, it will stall.

In reading the book’s examples of following or not-following the rule, I remembered my one semester of high school drama.

I was most-definitely a blocker.  There was only one improv over the whole semester I was in that went well (probably because this rule was never articulated), and that one should have humiliated me, but it didn’t.  It might have been the only time that semester I was in complete “agreement” and had locked-in with my classmates.

In that moment, having “clicked,” I got a taste of why kids will do stupid things for their peers.

~

There was a near-psychic unity of purpose that frightened me just a little: we were dancing on the edge of “inappropriate,” but winning, and I mistrusted myself for being able so easily to align with those whose character I didn’t trust.

It wasn’t until my senior year in high school that I fully “relaxed” enough to see my peers not as subversive tools of an oppositional force but young humans swimming after purpose and focus the same me.  Until that point I felt resistance to them was part of resisting sin.

On some level this makes me sad– that I spent 2 ½ years on high-alert (approaching fear) of my age-mates– but on the other hand I sometimes think that schooled mistrust was what (ultimately) kept me safe until I developed greater discernment.

And so I’m recognizing that my kind of being funny has a lot to do with trust, because until I trust that a situation is “safe” I don’t relinquish control.

Jay and I (like most couples) have our own humor that hinges on things like looks and lines half-spoken or left unsaid.  But invariably they depend on one person taking a fall trusting the other one will catch them.  That sort of mutual dependence feeds itself, growing stronger and deeper the more times it’s proven.

One becomes “ingrown,” perhaps, but that becomes delicious: “your own brand of magic,”

the quips, the witticisms, the slant
adjusted to just a few, those loved ones nearest
the lip of the stage…

their response and and your performance twinned.

The jokes over the phone.  The memories packed

in the rapid-access file…

(from Perfection Wasted by John Updike)

This is where my (other) favorite kind of humor comes from– for those times when there’s just not enough brain to be witty, but there’s certainly enough heart to play.

Education as Savior

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Here is an attitude pervasive through our society, and unless you are looking for it, there’s no natural reason to be wary of it.

But it isn’t Biblical.

It was most clearly brought to my attention within the last month, as I was reading Wilson’s The Case for Classical Christian Education.

Modern society does not want to recognize the existence of and problem that does not admit of a human-engineered solution. This solution invariably comes down to some form of education.

I saw the perfect example of this when reading the introduction to a popular education book on the way back from Anchorage this weekend. It was clear the author sincerely believed that if only we could get this education thing *right* we’d finally have everything we’ve hoped for.

That idea might have struck me as vaguely creepy before, but it hardly seems fair to argue against. After all, what other means do we have to even attempt pursuing this high goal?

It was after reading that paragraph from Wilson’s book that a number of things I’ve been struggling with began to come into clearer focus.

I must say, writing a novel while living my life has the tremendous effect of forcing me to see innumerable parallels. Wasn’t I just talking about seeing things more clearly? Things I sort of knew already, but couldn’t quit get at because they weren’t quite… clear.

Anyway, having something before my eyes always makes a tremendous difference for me.

I’m not saying self-education is a bad thing (I live on a steady diet of that); I’m asking, Where is the first place I turn?

If we were not so dependent on the Holy Spirit we could claim our own efforts (frequently to self-educate– some of us) were our solution, our salvation.

In the same way that I can hardly complain of not understanding everything about God (3-in-1? Jesus incarnate = 200%?), I’m beginning to think I should not be surprised when my own efforts or *will* is insufficient to accomplish something.

And I’m beginning to wonder if this is so often the reason why a project may fail, even with with the best of intentions and planning: We really can’t do anything on our own; Jesus himself promised that.

It seems to me we must take that dependence as the most essential starting place, and throw ourselves on the mercies of God if we expect to get anything significant accomplished.

But don’t you dare take that as a suggestion to do nothing. I affirm the “folksy” saying (with my own observations):

Pray as if everything depends on God (because,of course, you know it does). Work as if everything depends on you (because you don’t know how much of it does).

Salvation, of course, is by faith. But blessings (and I would include success here), the Scriptures tell us, are measured out by obedience.

But to finish what I started:

Education is the solution only as much as ignorance is the problem. That is, for “defects of character” or manifestations of Original Sin, education has no relief to offer.

But Jesus does.  We’ll be much more effective when we start there.

Of Roundabouts and Red lights

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The number of roundabouts in the United States is growing, despite, apparently, a vehement dislike of them by many Americans.

The arguments in their favor explain their increased use: primarily safety and efficiency of movement as compared to a traditional four-way intersection.

A segment on NPR last month described the main objections as a feeling of being less-safe, this primarily because the *when* to go is dependent on each driver, and varying levels of insecurity will make some drivers more hesitant to enter the circle.

The author in this segment discussing traffic argued that this hesitancy was exactly what made roundabouts more safe than traditional intersections, as everyone has to pay more attention.

A traffic light is nice because we can just go when we’re told.  If we get creamed we know it was the other guy’s fault and everybody agrees with us.  If we get creamed on a roundabout (fairly rare as speeds and angles all inhibit the possibility) it’s invariably our own fault.  And that’s harder to live with.

~

The topics of vaccinations and antibiotics (among others) have become hot topics of debate among modern mothers.  Some decry these artificial interventions as unnecessary and setting their children up for greater problems down the road.

Other mothers cling to them as “life-savers” in both the literal and hyperbolic meanings of the phrase.

Regardless of their leanings, most parents bemoan the sometimes arbitrary guidelines and murky information swirling about these topics, and regret together the lack of consensus.

I suggest that here is a classic application of the roundabout versus stop-light mentality.

Life would be so much simpler if we could just feel safe to trust the green light, but that view of reality assumes that the rest of life will flow according to best-case-scenario.

I do use both debatable examples given here, but I try to use them thoughtfully: antibotics under advisement after waiting, and some vaccinations later than scheduled because my children were under the curve for weight.

I’m one of those “life-saver” moms who has seen too many benefits outweighing the risks, but I have met moms from the other side, and their experiences are no less valid.  This is why we all need to learn to think for ourselves.

I believe some things– maybe most things, though we get tired of the work– are better when they require individual weighing of each situation.  Bad choices (in my experience) are regretted less if they were well-reasoned and seemed sensible ahead of time.  There is at least a small consolation that I didn’t stumble stupid into something.  I earned it.

And where I seek the rest of my consolation is in looking to learn enough from each latest mistake that I won’t repeat it.

More about light

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In honor of Winter Solstice today.  Life only gets brighter from here!

I have realized that that I am truly an adapted Alaskan.  While sunlight affects me artificial light is at least as important to me, if not more so, because I expect more of it.

~

When I was in Bermuda I watched the light fade each evening, marveling at the unusual experience of warm darkness.  I was in an alternate reality that didn’t feel much different from exploring under the ocean.

I walked along the beach without my flashlight.  I had the way-cool experience of swimming after dark with only the pool lights from under the water to illuminate things.

And, btw, chlorinated saltwater is just about the worst thing I’ve ever tasted.

I was not the least bit fazed or unnerved by the darkness outside.  What disturbed me was returning to my hotel room, and feeling I was in a perpetual twilight.

Attempting to work late one night I tried turning on both lamps beside my work table.  Their light barely escaped the lampshades and did little for my keyboard.  I could hardly stand it; a feeling like claustrophobia fingered its way up my back.

And it was this way every night.

Add discovering bedbugs to that experience

~

Jay has more than once said, “I wonder what I’d be doing if I lived 1,000 years ago…”  And I feel the same way.  I could still be a mother and a storyteller, but I wonder if I’d be as stable as I am now with the (God-be-Praised) blessing of artificial light.

When we moved into our home six years ago, the kitchen was the only room we felt was sufficiently lit: two fixtures with two florescent tubes each.  Jay added another pair in the living room and replaced the 60-watt incandescents in the bedrooms and hallway with much brighter florescent bulbs.

Jay’s ideal alarm is a slider increasing the light.  My ideal morning is lit by both the kitchen and joining living room.  Darkness– a light simply left off and the drapes closed– was enough to keep any of my babies out of a room, no gate required.  We are a family of light lovers. Praise God he provided for us to live in this age.  With all its confusions we know he has equipped us for it, and the simple comfort of light is a reminder of His provision.

I am thankful beyond words for all the kinds of  light God provides, and today I rejoice at the turning of this corner and the returning of the sun.

Happy Solstice everyone!

The best argument I’ve yet met for “old-earth” creationism:

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Bedbugs.

And maybe mosquitoes.

Not being a “providentialist” (or whatever they call themselves– the Calvinist-leaning types, which is most of my church, so I don’t mean that as a slam) I don’t believe that God plans or ordains evil, so I can’t really imagine the little vampires as part of day six.

~ ~ ~

I’m ready to give a detailed account of how unhelpful and misinforming was the staff at the Grotto Bay Beach Resort in Bermuda, but I can’t expect my little blog to get enough hits to change much.  (Feel free to leave now, total gripe to follow.)

Continue reading »

Random

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You ever injure some random part of your body, then become involuntarily and intensely aware of how much you use that part in daily living?

I creamed my forehead last night.  Stood up into the corner of a shelf on the wall.  Normally there’s a couch there, so I’ve never trained myself to be careful of that sadistic space.

It slammed my teeth together, and for a while that hurt as much as the obvious injury (thank God my tongue wasn’t in the way).  But now it’s just the forehead.

I joked with Jay that the red stripe is a nouveau bindi.

The Joy of Being Defended

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I’m really not into “girl power” and all that “I don’t need a man” jazz.

But I do operate a bit under similar assumptions, I’ve noticed.

On one level this is simple practicality: I’m away from Jay most of our waking hours.  I was 19 before I met him.  I can handle myself just-fine-thank-you.

When I imagine someone being defended when s/he doesn’t need it, it seems either comical (“thanks anyway”) or a new threat (“What exactly is your motivation here?”).

This happens in my novel, which could be why I’ve thought about it as much as I have

I didn’t think of “being defended” as actually useful until it sort of happened to me.

~

This summer I was in an informal class about the cannon of Scripture (how it was established, etc.), and at one point we were discussing something and I brought up the idea of time as a filter.  I was going to use my beloved folktales as my example, but realized the inappropriateness in this context and clammed up.

The teacher encouraged me to finish and I began again with the disclaimer that “this isn’t going to sound very spiritual, but” here you go.

Most of the small class seemed to understand and accept my point, but one fellow (we have a history of confrontation, so maybe we pick on each other more?) began to attack my use of fairy tales in a discussion about the validity of scripture.

Never at a loss for words with this man, I was ready to defend myself as soon as he stopped to breathe, but it proved unnecessary.  The teacher himself stepped into the debate and killed it, pointing out I’d acknowledged the inequality before launching my comparison.

The argumentative guy yielded graciously to the teacher’s authority and class moved on.

I don’t know if the teacher even would have thought of that as defending me (it could just as easily been an experienced teacher redirecting the class so we could stay on-topic).

But the fact that I was both absolved and didn’t have to expend my emotional energy (on someone not likely to listen) was surprisingly delightful.

This kind of defense, I’ve found, is what my parents and Jay have been so good at with/for me.

They don’t fight my battles, but they give me insightful counsel and frequently help me get around the troubling issue entirely.

One example related to my last post:

The second week of August (!) I went to a thrift store’s $1 tag day and rolled my eyes at all the Halloween stuff already being brought in.  We brushed it off with an anatomy review (what’s the longest bone in the body?  What do you call this one at the top?).

In a week I’d forgotten and we went back for the next sale.  More stuff out.  Grosser stuff.  The kids were beginning to act a little creeped.  While checking out I told them we wouldn’t be back until after Halloween.

Later Jay asked me why I hadn’t just left when I saw what was there.  I replied that it honestly hadn’t occurred to me; I was “on a mission.”  I told him now that he’d planted the idea I’d probably remember better to use it.

Later, before snow-fall, I drove the kids to a park to eat and play.  It was empty except for a man who, in Melody’s words, was “acting so silly.“

I guessed he was drunk and my mind raced through implications and scenarios.  We had just arrived and acknowledged him politely.  I hated the idea that he’d think we were leaving because we were judging (what other word can you use?) something about him.

Then Jay’s line of Just leave. rang in my mind.  This wasn’t about him.  It was about me being a mom and listening to my own intuition and being prudent.

So we left.

And it made for some interesting (and awkward) conversation in the car, but I still think we did the right thing.