What's in a name

I was named with a "good Norwegian name." It wasn't until I was 17 that I met someone with the same name (she, on the other hand, had met at least one other by that time!). People mispronounced it more often than not. It didn't lend itself to a cool nickname. My mother made up a knock-knock joke with it, referencing a post-Civil War-era folksong that - to this day - I have never heard sung by anyone other than her.

As an adult, I embrace it and answer to my name, as well as any other pronunciations that might be directed my way. I've met a great many more identi-names, as well as many who pronounce theirs differently (but mine, of course, is the "right" way).

Just a couple of years ago I decided it was time to help the common folk strike the right vowel sound with their first attempt. I consulted a dictionary and added an umlaut to my email signature.

Nobody knows what the umlaut is supposed to do.

As best I can tell, it serves to create a brief pause upon greeting, as my greeter mentally estimates just how far wrong he might be in guessing how to say it. Consequently, after the pause, my name commonly is spoken as a question. Even my husband (in humor, I suppose), draws out the vowel sound in a conglomeration of short-and-long sounds that emulate no known spoken tongue.

My mother, the Norwegian who could be to blame for this in the first place, was incensed to see the umlaut printed upon my business cards.

Təf.

Books read blogs

Books read blogs. At least my latest library check-out seems to.

I browsed New Non-Fiction today and came across Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life, by Amy Krouse Rosenthal, and felt inspired to write, if only in short inspirations reflective of her essays. So inspired was I that I fetched a laptop and brought it to bed (an absolute no-no, as evening screentime has been proven to curse efficient REM's).

And so my nocturnal writing begins (damn the insomniaciousness!).

Today's holds (more library check-outs)

Due to time constraints*, we skipped browsing at the library today and I ran in to grab what was waiting for me on reserve. One in particular had made its way through one-hundred-and-something holds to get into my hands and I wanted to be sure to grab it before the weekend and before anything tragic might happen to it**.

Venetia Kelly's Traveling Show was suggested in another blogger's blog, The Adventures of Jolly Goode Gal. I've had remarkable success with her reads and the title of the book struck my whimsy bone.

Next in the stack is the long-awaited Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake. Beth mentioned it as a possibility at book club and so I jotted it on a random scrap of paper. I came across it later as an Amazon recommends and so I previewed it on my Kindle. Verdict from the crumb: delicious. I immediately got in the virtual line to read the library's copy. (BTW, for those in reader land who have a spare copy, please know that the Tacoma Public Library has particular demand for the title and encourages folks to donate their used editions. Thanks for helping speed books into the hands of other citizens!)

The next book, The Report Card, leapt onto my list just yesterday after my daughter's teacher announced the class' next reading selection. Mwwwaaaaahahahaha.... my daughter suspects NOTHING and now I'll be able to have book discussions with her when she least suspects it!

Finally, I have On Rue Tatin. Katherine recommended this many months ago and I had it on a reading list, but never got around to actually requesting it. Her suggestions have always been top notch (Julie and Julia, My Life in France, Snow Flower and the Secret Fan), and I'm sure I'll wish I'd picked it up soon.

Hmmm... just three weeks? Really? I only have three weeks to read the stack?

*As in, so I could get home and blog about it forthwith.

**Tongue-in-cheek. If a sinkhole develops this weekend and swallows the branch, I had nothing. to. do. with. it.

Today's check-outs

I love the library and have since childhood. I remember begging Mrs. Harris for new selections away from the average picture books at Capital Elementary (now the Terry Miller Legislative Annex). I remember walking from my house, across the playground, and down Main Street to the public library on 4th (now the Juneau City Museum) to thumb the card catalogs, seek out the "hidden" best books, and check items out with my blue index card with the embedded metal identity strip. I remember when the library outgrew its shelving and moved the children's section down to the "Spam Can" annex (now a bank); I spent hours kneeling at the shelves under the street window, intent on making sure I'd read every Oz book. Rosanne Heidersdorf introduced me to the totally-awesome collection of shareware at the State library in the State Office Building (still the SOB!) and we continued to find the *newest* brick-out available.

Now that I'm in adulthood, members of our immediate family visit the public library several times a week. We are currently fortunate to have memberships in two library systems - city and the county. With the technology available, we have a constant rotation of literature held for us at our neighborhood branches.

In addition to the pile our librarian has set aside per our requests, I find recreation in collecting a variety of books I hadn't intended to browse. The "new" books (both fiction and non-fiction) get a once-over, the thematic displays are rounded, and I'll often walk down some Dewey Decimal aisle to see if something catches my eye. Sometimes I'm sure the book will change my life for the better. Others have adventures that will be more entertaining at prime time than the television. I have high hopes for my pile.

By the time I'm home with the loot, I feel as Carrie Bradshaw must after a bonus-check shoe spree; I can't believe I have such treasure at my whim! And it's mine for three entire weeks (and longer if nobody else is waiting)!

And what do I read? I emphasis the description above: VARIETY. I read children's and adult fiction. Cookbooks and foreign travel. Magazines for hobbies I may never try. News journals and black culture periodicals. Political commentary from both sides of the aisle. Narrative histories. Humorous essays. New DVD releases and old BBC shows that sound vaguely familiar. CDs in every genre... it costs me nothing extra to keep trying/reading/listening/looking!

Oh, and library books! Er, to clarify - books about libraries, librarians, and their patrons! To self-reflect on my own literary needs and interests and compare them to the world at large is fascinating! And there's the future of libraries to consider, their funding, their technologies, and their continuing place in society.

Anyway, here's today's haul:

We weren't at our "holds" branch so these selections were pure whim. The book on top is In Tahoma's Shadow, a book of poetry that includes entries and edits from friends. I don't typically care for poetry ("fun to write; awful to read"), but I am nonetheless curious what was submitted from our fair city.

The next, Bitch on a Budget, was too fun of a title to pass. That's right - I do judge a book by its cover! It's not too far from similar reading interests I've had in the past; I'm particularly a fan of Amy Dacyczyin's Tightwad Gazette.

Take a Hike Seattle? I know you don't automatically think of me on a trail, eating granola, and consulting a map. Believe it or not, I *do* own a pair of hiking boots. Some of you might be shocked to learn I spent the better part of a college year in the woods (literally and figuratively) while pursuing a forestry degree. It's amazing what you can learn through a person's blog... Anyway, we're trying to get the most of the outdoors before the weather turns and I thought this might offer some easy family-friendly ideas. Unfortunately, first glance reveals a focus on Seattle. (OK, well, duh - it does have "Seattle" prominently in the title.)

From the jacket, it appears we have a "prince-and-the-pauper" reinvented in modern day Just Like Me Only Better. I classify it as "candy fiction" in which I can find easy amusement for a day or so. I love having these handy!

Did I mention a curiousity for business books? The Google Way is only the latest. Someone had a great idea that somehow worked better than others. I want to know their secrets! (For more secret revelations, I recommend Timothy Ferriss' Four-Hour Work Week, though be prepared for a decent amount of arrogance.) Don't judge me as a complete work nut because the principals in many of these books will apply in all types of organizational situations. Or maybe I'm just a borne leader for seeing it that way! *grin*

At the bottom you can barely make out the spines of a couple of issues of ReadyMade from this year. I couldn't digest the annual cost once my free subscription ran out last year, but the photo layouts inspire me to... think I could create the projects they describe. Perhaps this is just a form of craft voyeurism? (Hey, if you're one of the actual doers, I recommend picking up a copy of the hand-held Make zine during your next library visit.)

By the time I got home, my spouse had made a regular visit to the other library system and picked up my holds. "Just in time," I remarked and took a picture. He's useful that way.

Here we have World Without End, the follow-up to reading club favorite, Pillars of the Earth (BTW, my two cents is that the Starz version doesn't. even. compare.) I'm eager to pick it up, but realize it will take a dedicated stretch of time if it's as involved as its predecessor.

Finally, we have my second business pick of the week, featuring one of my favorite shoesellers, Zappos, in Delivering Happiness. I never used to care much for mail-order apparel, but Zappos, and then Endless, brought my desire for great shoes (honest, I'm not channeling Carrie Bradshaw this time!) into my home and made the shopping experience exponentially better! How did they know me so well? I intend to read and find out.

And now, to quit my writing tonight so I can begin with someone else's!

Original date night

Date nights springs up on occasion and what do we do? Well, if we get off our duffs, we... get ready for it! ...go out to dinner. Sometimes at a place that lets us sit down to order.
Dinner out is very nice, especially with my spouse and twue love (don't worry -, they've met), and without the need for a kiddie menu. However, I feel terribly unoriginal and - depending on the restaurant - like I'm literally feeding an emotional eating habit (time + love = eating, or some algebraic equivalent thereof). However, since the date nights typically happen on or around nighttime (hence the name), and since we do, at some point, need to fuel up, we end up going out to dinner.
So I pose the challenge to my readers: What do YOU do for an original date night? Well, OK, there's an obvious answer, but let's keep this post PG.

Personals

MTCW seeks MWM for romantic dinners at "foodie" restaurants and hole-in-the-walls. Urban and rural walks are nice, strenuous upward hikes are not. Tolerance for crafting, gal-pal-ing, and travel a must. Music tastes should range from 80's rock to Kid Rock. Humor necessary. Lights out at 10 o'clock. Must have interest in raising a family and enduring marriage for more than 11 years.

Valentines from the heart

I'm so proud of my child's writing talents. Here's a sampling of this year's valentines to friends:

Dear J,
You are lively. You almost always speak up. You spout out answers when you can.
You make the world braver.


Dear Carson,
You are playful. When people want to jump up and play, you
just do a few jokes, then they calm down. You always play at recess
if you can plus,you do great in P.E. You inspire athletes.


Dear B,
You have courage. You always speak up. You suggest games, too.
You have the touch.

Traditions in the making

Shortly before holiday break my daughter was busy on a school assignment that seemed to involve research, writing, and assembling odd bits of costume and art projects. When asked, she confirmed it was homework - a presentation she was going to make to her kindergarten buddy (third graders are paired with kindergarteners for cross-grade learning).

The assignment was to present on a family holiday tradition. On Christmas Day it is her job (and honor) to distribute gifts, an occupation Ken calls the "elf." Care is taken not only to deliver presents to open laps, but to allow for time for appreciation, and make best efforts to distribute evenly, so that any one person doesn't feel ungifted. She does these things well.

For her presentation, she took her research further than her father's tradition, and cited internet articles that discussed mythical elves in various countries and the comparison of their work to her own. Drawing on those fairy tales, she assembled illustrative costumes and created ornamentation to accompany the monologue she'd put on index cards.

I find this quite impressive work for an 8-year-old. What I find most impressive is that she recognizes this as a family tradition and that she is honored to perform as her father and his siblings did when they were children. It's a tradition well worth maintaining and I appreciate her appreciation of it.

Checklists

As my high school English teacher can attest, I'm a fan of list-making. I make grocery lists, packing lists, cleaning lists, and music lists. I organize my work life in an online task list. I make lists of books to read as I peruse the reviews. I continually update my Amazon wishlist. Somewhere I have lists of things I want to do in the next 5, 10 and 20 years.

When Helen was a baby and first tasting solids, I strove to offer her a perfectly-balanced diet. I tracked our inventory and her consumption on a kitchen whiteboard. Later, when cholesterol reared its ugly head in my lab results, I met with a nutritionist and created a purse-sized laminated dietary guide to list out the acceptable foods and serving sizes.

I've recently reincarnated a food guide for our current life. For purposes of balanced diet and economy, I pack lunches for all three of us every day. I found I was dreading the task, whether I prepared the night before or morning of. I was attempting to please 3 palates with an unknown array of refrigerator offerings.

Thinking back to Helen's baby days, I found the whiteboard and put it to renewed use. I keep the food column updated as items appear and disappear from our larder. Helen and Ken know to make their selections the night prior. I have less thinking to do and lunches are eaten in their entirety.

My life is easier with lists.

Dream house

I don't believe I've shown off the playhouse yet. How distracted of me!

Several years ago we pulled invasive holly and dying rhododendrons out of an alley corner of our yard. With access to light, a thick growth of seedy weeds took over. To tamp out the blight, I covered the area with an oh-so-attractive black tarp. Well, at least the weeds could no longer multiply.

I kept thinking we'd do something constructive back there. A hidden patio? A shed? A... playhouse?

We have an active alley life, and a neighbor finally broached the subject: "What's going on with that corner?" I told him that maybe, someday, perhaps we'd stick a playhouse there.

And thus began the 12-month journey of playhouse dreams to play-castle reality.

Steve loves to dream and construct. Using imaginative plans of his own, the back corner of our lot, and surplus lumber from another neighbor's project, he designed a two-story play structure, complete with pull-down covered stage, latching doors, summer shading, and safety protections.

I wasn't of much use in the assembly portion; I'm not terribly handy. I was happy to take direction, though, and put my efforts toward priming and painting. As of a couple of weeks ago, the playhouse was finally deemed complete:


I am proud of my recently-discovered mural talents. I projected a castle outline onto the stage cover and then added the scenery and colors. Again with the princess, I projected the image and filled in details. We all enjoy the final product.

Please, by all means, stop by and play with us someday!

Many thanks to:

• Steve, for his enormous contribution of parts and labor
• Wendi, for putting up with Steve's absences while he worked on the project
• John, for his surplus lumber and use of tools
• Patrick, for his lumber runs and spare paint
• Michelle, for her spare paint and painting arms
• Michelle's niece, for her artistic flair with faux stone walls
• Mike & Jerri, for moving their cars and letting us take over their parking spot
• Csilla, for her paint loan
• Mike & Julie, for rocks and truck use
• The neighborhood children, for letting us adults become children again for a time

Secrets of my trade: frozen PB&J

It's time to let you in on a secret of my success as a lunch-packing mother - I don't create my daughter's PB&J's from scratch each morning. *gasp*

A couple of months ago I realized that the best PB&J's were not made on dark rye, and that my daughter was more likely to consume them in their entirety when made on "sandwich bread" (white or wheat). However, we couldn't get through the multiple loaves in the bread drawer before one went moldy.

I finally had the brilliance (yes, brilliance - it's my next best asset after modesty) to put the sandwich loaf in the freezer and pull out the individual slices each morning. The firm bread was a breeze to coat with peanut butter and jelly, and it thawed well before lunchtime.

It then occurred to me that I'd seen Uncrustables in the freezer section of the grocery store. Could I freeze my own sandwiches? I made a prototype, put it in a Ziploc, and put it in the freezer. Two days later it was in my daughter's lunchbag.

Upon her return from school that test-case day, I asked her how her lunch was. "Fine," she replied. She tends only to elaborate when elements of her lunch are not pleasing to her palate, so I decided we'd had a smashing success.

Since that day, I seek out $1.39 loaves from the Oroweat Outlet (unless I can find them in the 99¢ aisle)...


Spread them with peanut butter and jelly from Costco...


Cut off the crusts (indulgent, I know, but I have to admit they're more delectable this way)...


Stack them up in the bread bag...


And stack up the bags to put in the freezer.


And there you have it, one of the better morning time-savers I've discovered in recent months.

All the money in the world

My daughter is currently into fantastical "what if's."

"What if you could have any house in the world?"

"What if you had three magical wishes?"

And, most recently, "What if you could always have millions of dollars?"

It's been awhile since I've had those daydreamy win-the-lottery fantasies. We pondered this together over lunch yesterday. Here's what I decided.

If I had millions of dollars and knew that I would always have millions of dollars, I would not move out of my house an into a mansion (much to my daughter's dismay). I wouldn't leave the house and home we've created, nor would I move away from neighbors that seem like a second family.

I wouldn't look to buy all sorts of things, either. Helen suggested lots of flowers, but I really don't want to burden us with more stuff.

In fact, if I had unlimited funds, I would get rid of more stuff. That's right - I'd use the advantage of my wealth as a safety net to weed out all the stuff we're holding onto "just in case."

All those clothes I hope to fit into (size 8?) or fear I might fit into again (size 16)? Out the door. I'll now be able to buy it if it's needed. Someone else can reap the use of them in the meantime.

That extra egg beater in the cupboard? Send it to a charity reseller. I'll get another one if my current one breaks.

Certainly, I'd increase my support of charities and share the wealth prudently. But, as for personal gain, I'd gain simplicity. Perhaps during my spring cleaning I should pretend I'm an heiress to a royal empire.

For these things, I am thankful

When I saw a therapist (I can admit it – I’m a big girl) in 2006 about anxiety issues, she suggested treating one aspect of my neuroses with self-appreciation and thankfulness, without guilt. While I have a handle on most of my issues (well, at least those I was trying to conquer then; I’m sure I’ve developed new ones now!), I realize I haven’t “counted my blessings” in some time. It seems wise to give thanks more often than during an annual November poultry pig-out.

School. Nearly every day I’m blown away by what I see of my daughter’s educational experience. I’m thankful that she has good aptitude for studies and friend-making, that we have access to such a fine learning institution, and that my husband and I have comfortable friend circles there, and are able to share the good experiences as a family.

Retreats. I am thankful that we have open access to a nearby summer retreat where we can all unwind and enjoy Puget Sound and good summer weather. I’m also lucky to have access to a getaway in my hometown, which we use mileage tickets to access at least once a year, in the summer.

Daughter. Of course I’m thankful for a wonderful little girl, and know I always will be. I never dreamed how proud I’d be of her, for her kindness, respect for other, aptitude for learning, and child’s joy of the world around her.

Bidet-functioning toilet seats. It’s warm when I need it, and the spray of water always leaves me feeling oh-so-fresh. It’s a shame these aren’t more common in this country/culture.

Adjustable beds. When I’m sick, it’s indispensable as a TV-watching aide and as a method to keep me propped up so I can breath well. It’s also a great daily tool to adjust to my aging body’s needs based on the variety of activities I’ve chosen.

Good neighbors. Even if the house wasn’t my dream of nooks and crannies, I’d be hard-pressed to move, given our good relationships with neighbors – a great bunch of people who watch out for each other and enjoy spending time together.

This is just a partial list, of course… I’ll endeavor to pepper my thoughts with further thanksgiving.

Sharing: Invisible moms

It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask me a question. Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on the phone?"

Obviously, not.

No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible. The invisible Mom. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?

Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?" I'm a satellite guide to answer, "What number is the Disney Channel?" I'm a car to order, "Right around 5:30, please." I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going; she's going; she is gone!

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, "I brought you this." It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription:

To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.

In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:

• No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.
• These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.
• They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.
• The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place.

At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride.

I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on.

The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, "My Mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table." That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, "you're gonna love it there."

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right.

And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.

Excerpt from The Invisible Woman, by Nicole Johnson
www.freshbrewedlife.com

Home sick

My daughter is home sick with a cold today. At present, I'm thinking I'll pack her up with a book and some snacks and take her along to a lunch meeting today. I have a twinge of "oh, bad, bad mommy - just stay home so she can stay home and comfy in her own abode." But then, she's young, resilient, and is likely to be just as comfy on a couch in a quiet room. She'll just sit around and read anyway. Right? ... Right??