The Children Are Listening

Careful the spell you cast

Not just on children

Sometimes a spell may last

Past what you can see

And turn against you

Careful the tale you tell

That is the spell

Children will listen*

I know families who try to cross the border illegally from one country to another usually have compelling reasons for leaving their homes for the unknown. Often these reasons are a matter of life and death. Often there are no laws to protect them. 

I also know immigration is a complex issue. Countries have borders and those borders have laws to protect them.

Reports of our current response to breaches in our southern border are reprehensible. If reports are accurate, it is not the first time our actions have been vile. We have a long imperfect history mingling heroism and horror. Running a country is messy.

But I fear our most current heavy-handedness could prove to be a major downfall.

For when parents seek sanctuary with their children, and then that sanctuary uses isolationism and imperialism as a mandate to wage a crusade, to imprison the parents and abduct the children, the sanctuary finds itself transformed into the new enemy. 

Children have a way of growing up. Even in the worst of circumstances. And these frightened, disenfranchised, traumatized children will no longer be children. They will ripen quickly into mature and malignant fruit, poisoned by hatred, hardened into resolve, and potentially bent on revenge. 

Because they are listening. And they won’t forget. 

We have seen this before the world over. We have experienced the long-term effects of bad policies generations later. But in a decade or two, instead of being an ocean away, the new generation of US haters will come from right next door. 

After all our braggadocio and big stick wielding and pandering to mammon under the guise of gospel.... Who, oh who, will save us? Who will save our children? And will our own children even deem us worthy of saving? 

After all, they are listening, too. 

*Children Will Listen - Into The Woods - Stephen Sondheim 

Do Overs

Hello, it's been a while... not much.... how 'bout you?

(If you now have a song by England Dan & John Ford Coley playing in your head, you're welcome.)

Like most people, I started the new year with intentions to do certain things. Exercise. Eat better. Finish my book. Write new things. And especially I intended to start writing on my blog again. Really, I did. And so, here we are, on the 31st....better late than never. And that is the moral for today. Right up front.

Ever wonder why there is such emphasis in January on resolutions and fresh starts?

Long ago, January was tacked onto the beginning of our calendar and named for the Roman god Janus. He is the god of new beginnings. Since Roman times, January has been seen as a door to the new year, a chance to put the past behind us, to start fresh, get healthy, meet goals, and make the most out of life.

January is usually an awesome month for me. But I struggled with January this year. I didn't start exercising. I didn't start eating right. I was snowed in. I had the flu. I hadn't finished my book. In fact, despite being confined to bed for days, I wasn't writing at all. Things were not going well.

Power of Story: The Man Who Invented Christmas

What makes a story come alive?

Think about your favorite stories, whether in books or movies. What is it about them that moves you? That intrigues you? That causes you to see the people in them, relate to them, care about them? That affects your heart, your mind, down to the marrow of your bones?

Because without that, there really is no story. There's just a text book.

And truly, how does a writer or director or actor do this? How do we engage the reader, listener, viewer, draw them into the story and make them part of it? Even the most famous writers have had to address this.

Even Charles Dickens.

Wednesday Poetry: The Storm

With Hurricane Irma bearing down on us and a new State of Emergency being declared for our state (SC), my mind for Wednesday Poetry ran to another strong woman - Emily Dickinson. In this poem she captures the eerie feel of an approaching storm yet manages to remind us that - no matter what happens - "yet abide(s) the world."

Be safe, all

XXVI. THE STORM.

There came a wind like a bugle; It quivered through the grass, And a green chill upon the heat So ominous did pass We barred the windows and the doors As from an emerald ghost; The doom's electric moccason That very instant passed. On a strange mob of panting trees, And fences fled away, And rivers where the houses ran The living looked that day. The bell within the steeple wild The flying tidings whirled. How much can come And much can go, And yet abide the world!                     - Emily Dickinson

Wednesday Poetry: Wild Geese

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

                                                      -  Mary Oliver

Change is a Marathon not a Cakewalk

It's been a long time since I've eaten cake. I don't eat flour or sugar anymore, which are pretty much the hallmarks of all things cakey.  Since I gave up starch/sugar, I feel better, lighter, clearer minded. So the idea of eating cake is counter productive for me.

However, there are times when the world stresses me out and I really think eating the hell out of some cake might make me feel better:

Ok, I probably will not join the Sheet Caking Movement. (Kinda hate to use the word "sheet" when countering people known for hiding behind them.....) But I can't help but think Tina tossed out a useful idea when it comes to dealing with rallies by former-sheet-wearing types with white polo shirts and large weapons and small minds:

Don't show up. 

Wednesday Poetry: Sonnet 55 - Love and Poetry outlast Stuff

It's time to reclaim my blog space. Far too much time has passed, far too many things have flowed under the bridge since I have written last. Time is fleeting, life is short, and I am not getting any younger. So, the time is now....

In resurrecting my blog, I have decided to start by posting poetry every Wednesday. Because... well.... poetry is beautiful. And transcendent. And my daughter is becoming a poet. I will do anything to encourage her in her craft.

I write poetry. I wouldn't say my poetry is beautiful, or even very good. But poetry is sneaky, its form and brevity belying a hidden strength. And an underestimated staying power. As true in our time as in the time Willy wrote this sonnet and every time before and since, when the monuments of wasteful war are overturned, love and verse shall remain.

Gian Paolo Panini, Figures Conversing Among the Ruins, oil on canvas, ca. 1760. 

Sonnet 055: Not Marble, Nor The Gilded Monuments

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments

Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme,

But you shall shine more bright in these contents

Than unswept stone besmeared with sluttish time.

When wasteful war shall statues overturn,

And broils root out the work of masonry,

Nor Mars his sword, nor war’s quick fire shall burn

The living record of your memory.

‘Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity

Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room

Even in the eyes of all posterity

That wear this world out to the ending doom.

    So, till the judgment that yourself arise,

    You live in this, and dwell in lovers’ eyes.

- William Shakespeare

newspaper subscription hell complete with daemons

Have you ever been so frustrated by something so petty that you're almost ashamed, except the thing frustrating you is something you really want to get resolved and you make a hundred good-faith efforts that get you nowhere except more frustrated and you just want to raise the window like in the movie Network and yell "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take this anymore"?

If not, I envy you but I'm not sure I understand you. We obviously don't even live in the same universe. How do you even know me....?

If so, hello old friend, welcome to my petty party, climb aboard.

Here's my gripe. (And it's not about the election. So relax...)

We have one real local honest-to-goodness traditional newspaper in this town. We have subscribed to this paper for years and years and years. Until recently. Not because we decided to un-subscribe. But because apparently they have "new subscription software" that is causing issues. And their issues are causing me issues.

wholehearted parenting

Lately I've been reading work by Dr. Brené Brown. If you aren't familiar with her, she is an author, speaker, and research professor who has spent the past thirteen years studying vulnerability, courage, worthiness, and shame. You want to improve your life? Listen to her talk about those four topics (like in the audiobook The Power of Vulnerability) and I promise you will hear yourself growing!

I think I like Brené so much because I am a touchy-feeley-empathic person who appreciates evidence, where she a sociologist-sciencey-research person who appreciates empathy and provides evidence in a language I can understand. Because I feel so strongly about the importance of her work, I will probably write more about particular topics that resonate with me. Today I am writing specifically about parenting.

politics, musicals, and compromise

"You can't always get what you want."

A true statement and a great Rolling Stones song that was oddly used by one of the political conventions. Which is weirdly appropriate, because it is a GIANT understatement when it comes to politics. Especially this election year.

"You can't always get what you want."

Anyone who has lived past kindergarten has figured this out the hard way.

At some point most of us learn that to move forward in life, we have to compromise. Sometimes it's not that hard, like choosing between hamburgers and hot dogs at a cookout when you'd hoped there would be steak. Sometimes it's only a matter of giving up some minor standard or even choosing "none of the above", like refusing cake at a party because it's commercial cake from a grocery store bakery and we prefer only scratch cake made with pastured butter, free-range eggs and gluten-free locally-milled einkorn flour.

But sometimes we have to choose between A and B when we don't like either option and a choice HAS to be made. Maybe A and B are actually totally appalling to us and we'd really like to choose C or D but they aren't that great either and actually don't stand a chance in hell of happening. Sound familiar?

moon landings, birthday cake, and hope

Today is a special day - my brother's birthday. Ray and I are more than siblings. We're friends, confidantes, partners-in-crime, each other's best audience, best critic, best support, best humorist, best ear, best shoulder. In his honor, I am posting a story from my book "Leaving The Shallows", a story I wrote about his 2nd birthday. Happy Birthday bubba - I love you to the moon. And back.

----------------------------------------

It was the summer of ‘69. July 20th to be exact.

I was 5 years old. I lived in a small, safe town in a small, safe house, with my little brother Ray and with our parents, who loved and cared for us, who loved and cared for each other.

I was unaware of the tumultuous world outside, of Kennedys and assassinations and Chappaquiddick, of presidential elections and Zodiac killers, of Vietnam and civil rights, of sit-ins and bed-ins, of oil spills and invasions, of midnight cowboys or that Dorothy was dead.

I didn’t know people with darker skin were treated different from me.

I didn’t know people hurt each other. Especially not people in families.

But I did know two things: It was my brother’s second birthday. And it was a night when the world was going to change forever.

stories and gems and cake

I wrote something new.

That shouldn't be monumental news. I write every day. After all, I'm a professional writer.

But I don't write for myself enough. Don't write enough about the things that move me, that move you, that matter at a heart level.

I decided the only way to change that is to put myself in situations where I have no choice, commit myself to a deadline and either sink or swim.

Apparently passion and ability and the whooshing of time flying by are not great motivators for me. But embarrassment at not fulfilling a commitment? That will motivate me every time.

I had great success with the piece I wrote about my experience with postpartum depression. I read this at the Sottile Theater in May as part of Listen To Your Mother Charleston.

But I haven't written anything since. Not really.

So when I heard about a reading sponsored by Truth Is and set at a brilliant dessert place in West Ashley, I didn't even stop to think it through. I contacted fellow writer and organizer Karen Mae Black and said "count me in!"

weird as me: friends, stories, and David Sedaris

I wrote a story for David Sedaris.

Let me clarify.

David Sedaris is a pretty good writer of stories. If you haven't heard of him, he's sold a few books (9 books, >7 million copies), traveled a bit (lives in North Carolina, England and France and shops for culottes in Tokyo), shares his humorous tales with a few audiences (sold out houses), speaks regularly on a few radio stations (NPR and BBC ring a bell?), and has been featured in a few local magazines (local if you live in Manhattan or, you know, the world).

So David Sedaris does not need my story. But when I had the chance to meet him in person a few weeks ago, I had one ready for him, just in case. Because he collects stories like some people collect, I don't know, whatever collector type people collect. And I like to be prepared.

creativity, fear and the dream deferred

Is it ever too late to be what you might have been? To take your dream out of the box and put it back in motion?

Sometimes, unfortunately, it is.

If you dreamed of playing for the NBA but you are now 43 years old and overweight, then yeah, that ship has sailed. Sorry...

But what about the other things we aspire to, desires we've long held, dreams that aren't limited by age or weight or time?

In A Dream Deferred, poet Langston Hughes speculates about what happens to dreams and desires that are put aside for later.

What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore-- And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over-- like a syrupy sweet? Maybe it just sags like a heavy load. Or does it explode?

When I first read this poem in high school, I assumed Mr. Hughes had covered all the options. When a dream is deferred, it is somehow destroyed, ruined, kaput. Get it, got it, good.

But now that I have lived longer, I think maybe there are other possibilities.

a post about flags

I hate politics. I hate confrontation. I hate divulging my innermost thoughts because that means I might get hated on.

But there are times when I have to take a deep breath and dive into the frey. Because sometimes taking a stand is more important than protecting your own feelings.

I have two thoughts on flags right now. As much as I care about other people, these thoughts have to do with me.

THOUGHT #ONE -  South Carolina has one of the most beautiful flags to fly over a state capital. It is a beautiful flag for a beautiful state full of beautiful people. We have our problems, sure. Not everyone or everything is beautiful all the time. But there is no denying that, just as our flag represents, we are hopefully resilient and always looking up.

In the aftermath of the horrific shooting at Emmanuel AME Church, Charleston artist and friend Gil Shuler​ did a brilliant job of interpreting our flag in a way that helps us all visualize our feelings. Which is why we need art (and brilliant artists) in our state. Keep it up, dude.

    Art Credit: Gil Shuler Graphic Design Inc.

THOUGHT #TWO -  South Carolina flies another flag on its capital grounds that does not belong.

I do not give one freaking fig whether CEOs of companies who come to SC from-off like or dislike it. Companies are not people, regardless of what the tax laws say.

I, however, am a tax-paying citizen of this state. I am a Carolina girl born and bred. I am a white woman with a rainbow coalition of friends and family. And I have the blood of CSA soldiers running through my veins.

The flag my ancestors fought and fell under is part of my heritage. They did what they thought was right.

Now it is my turn.

Take it down.

the high price of cell phones, Russian style

In life, there are givers and there are takers. I usually pride myself on being a giver. Except for today. I was an unwitting giver. And I would like to punch the takers in the throat.

I'm a long-time Verizon customer. Like, "since they were 360 Communications and I had a bag phone" long-time customer. I'm not sharing that because I'm proud of it or because I own Verizon stock or think they hung the moon. I'm just one of those "ain't broke don't fix" kind of people.

Lately I've been a little torqued about the amount I pay monthly for two smart phones. The signal is good, the phones are good, the service is good. But I seriously was thinking about going to one of those pay-as-you-go deals you see at Target. Because I really hate paying this much money for freaking cell phones. 

Well, I wondered if Verizon had figured out my ploy because lately I've been getting a lot of calls from them. I don't usually have my cell phone with me during the day, so the calls went unanswered. There were no voice messages just "missed call from Verizon" on my screen. Whatever.. let 'em call.

Today I just happened to be working where I could have my cell phone nearby. Around 11:30 am, it rings. Verizon. Ok, I thought, I'm game, so I answered. They were calling to do a brief survey about the quality of the service, and by completing it I would receive a $20 credit per line on my account in the next billing cycle.

Ah, a credit? From Verizon? Love it! Now we were talking.

That One Time When Something Amazing Happened...

Last year this time, I was preparing to audition for a show called, provocatively, "Listen To Your Mother." The movement that started with blogger and humorist Ann Imig in Wisconsin in 2010 had quickly worked its way across the country and was debuting in Charleston in May 2014.

And I wanted to be a part of it.

Looking for a warm Christmas message? Then don't read this

It's Christmas eve and I'm exhausted.

I have decorated inside and out. 

I have shopped and shopped and then wondered if I forgot anyone. 

I have spent too much money. I have shrugged when my husband said it wasn't enough and then laughed when he blanched at the resulting register receipt. (What can I say, he's a generous guy :) 

I have wrapped and wrapped. And wrapped some more. 

I have vacuumed needles. I have hosted dinner. I have washed dishes.  

I have arranged sitters for the dogs and had them groomed (the dogs, not the sitters) so they won't stink up my in-law's house. 

I have negotiated schedules and commiserated with others who also have too many places to be in too little time. 

And I still feel like I haven't done enough.

The Fight for a Wonder-full Life

Today is Friday. It's Advent, the time leading up to Christmas. A time of waiting. Anticipation.

This is a lovely time of year. Carols. Christmas lights. Parties. Gifts. Food. Time with friends and family. Timeless movies like It's a Wonderful Life.

The "most wonderful time of the year," right?

Christmas can be a wonderful time of joy, of giving and receiving good things. But, sometimes, it is not so wonderful. Sometimes, it is a time of sadness, of loss.

Dear Mom - Halloween is fun, don't be a jerk

There are a bunch of people out there who want to suck the fun out of everything. Especially Halloween.

Some people want to ignore Halloween all together, or maybe worse, hand out religious tracts instead of candy. I'm not sure what they're trying to prove, but if they're trying to show love, that really isn't the way to do it.

Other people suck  the fun out of Halloween by being uber obsessive about it. They start months in advance planning complicated and expensive costumes for the whole family, and get whacked out if everyone isn't onboard because they might not win the contest.

Both of those are kind of scary and the opposite of fun.

Back in my day, (here I go sounding old) my religiously conservative family saw no problem dressing up for Halloween and going Trick or Treating. My parents didn't lecture us about Druids or create some faux alternative holiday.They also never told us what to wear or obsessed about winning any contests. We didn't plan much or spend much money. They just let my brother and me enjoy it for what it was:

An opportunity to dress up and have fun.