Celebrate good times - c'mon

Earlier this week, I posted this picture on facebook and said this:
"2nd revision. 2 day deadline on Saturday. So, I'm giving myself a little time to cry and I'll eat something really bad for me then I guess I'll get to work. There's a lot more red than black on these pages. I'm just sayin'.... "

It's the 2nd revision from my editor at Segullah. (That's still thrilling to say... My Editor. I'm learning to own it, Jen.) My deadline was in 2 days and I was feeling the crunch on top of children's homework, a family wedding and cousins visiting from California with whom I really wanted to spend time.

So I sat at the computer, said a prayer and started to revise. A little later a friend came to the door bearing a gift. A cold, chocolately ice cream gift. A little later in the day, another friend stopped by with a bag of goodies, some of my favorite goodies, involving chocolate and peanut butter.

They both relayed sentiments similar to the many amazing comments on facebook. Beautiful validation and support.

My heart swelled like a sponge soaking in the outpouring of love and friendship I felt from those reaching out to offer encouragement and support, through their words, well wishes and thoughtful gifts. Who am I to deserve any of this?

As I've reflected on this over the weekend, I've learned two things.

#1. I want to be that kind of friend to others. Because it's a big deal and goes a long way to feel so much love. I want to support and encourage friends as they achieve goals and work toward their dreams. I want to be aware of and involved in what my friends, family, spouse and children are doing so I can offer the same love and strength to them with which I have been so blessed. 

The problem is I'm sort of a blockhead and I'm just not that aware. Too often I'm not paying attention, I'm wrapped up in myself or just plain distracted. It happens, doesn't it? We want to do something. We're ready and willing, we just don't know who or how. That leads me to #2.

#2. Say Something. Let your friends and family know what you're working on, dreaming about, struggling with. We want to know! (And you may get yummy treats and amazing words of affirmation.) I'm reminded of the book "Mutant Message Down Under" by Marlo Morgan. She writes about the lessons she learned on a walk-about with an aboriginal tribe. At one point, she is trying to describe birthday parties to the tribe and they are clueless. They don't celebrate birthdays.

"If you don't celebrate getting older," I said, "what do you celebrate?"
"Getting better," was the reply. "We celebrate if we are a better, wiser person this year than last. Only you would know, so it is you who tells the others when it is time to have the party."
And later in the book -
"...it is in recognition of the uniqueness and contribution to life. They believe that the purpose for the passage of time is to allow a person to become better, wiser, to express more and more of one's beingness. So if you are a better person this year than last, and only you know that for certain, then you call for the party. Whe you say you are ready, everyone honors that."

I LOVE this concept. Hence, one of the reasons I posted on facebook in the first place. And I'm so grateful to the friends who are joining me in my journey and my celebration. 

And for the rest of us knuckleheads, let's all celebrate with each other more often. Just remember, YOU can be the one to tell us when it is time to have the party!

Red Forest: Prologue v1.0

The branches seemed to leap in front of her deliberately and swallow her deeper into the dark, empty voids of the forest, grasping angrily at her pale brown cape, like the sticky tendrils of a blind, hungry monster. The trees seemed to shift before her in a tangled and ominous dance, forming an endless maze of shadow and fear. The young girl stumbled to a stop and leaned her hand against a tree, gasping for breath. Her fingers were dirty and scratched from reaching for branches and dirt to steady herself as she raced through the forest. At almost every turn she lost her footing, fell and scrambled to stand and keep running. Her fingers told the story. Her blond hair had fallen loose from her bun, matted with leaves and dirt, and hung dirty and ragged around her young, pale face. She turned and leaned her back against the tree, resting her head against the rough bark. Her breath came out in heavy, wheezing gasps. Hot tears fell from her closed eyes, creating dirty brown rivers down her cheeks. She clenched her eyes tightly shut and willed herself to wake up, but all she saw was the vicious face of the predator hunting her.

The afternoon began with an innocent hide-and-seek game at the edge of the forest with her 5-year-old little sister before dinner. While the younger sister found her way back to the village on her own, the older sister wandered deeper into the forest, responding to the reckless craving of youth to explore and experience the mysteries of the unknown. She was fifteen and more bold than she should have been, believing the dangerous rumors of wolves in the forest were cautions only for the faint of heart. The setting of the sun had mercilessly and sufficiently demolished her naïve confidence in the invincibility of youth and launched her into a terrifying nightmare.

She heard the snap of a twig and jumped, stifling her scream with her shaking hand, eyes wide open. Her heart struggled to race faster than it already was. The force of adrenaline and blood through her body was almost unbearable. She scanned the shadows surrounding her, blue eyes wide with paralyzing fear. A snarl a few yards behind her shot enough adrenaline through her to start moving again. She clutched the front of her torn, yellow dress in her trembling hands and started running frantically, as the prey before the predator. She looked behind her and couldn’t see any movement but the horrible sound of pursuit pounded in her brain and seemed to echo all around her. The snarling pant of the wolf behind her, ever-present in her mind, screamed at her, “run!”

The wolf pursued his marked prey. The trail she left was like a brilliant streak of light through the forest. Though he could have taken his time and given her a lead, he was anxious. It had been many long years since anyone had been foolish enough to venture this far into the woods. He plowed through the trees with agility and enthusiasm. He saw a flash of yellow fabric dash behind a trunk. It was tattered and dirty. The sight of it thrilled him. He slowed his speed slightly and quieted his padded feet, veering to the left. His surprise attack would come swiftly from another direction. He was minutes away from his target.

Frantically, the young girl raced on, pushing aside the underbrush that seemed to grow taller with every step. The snarl so close behind urged her on. Each breath hurt as she sucked air into her aching lungs. It was never enough and she began to feel light headed and confused for the lack of oxygen. Panting and faint, her body involuntarily began to slow down. Her head dropped and she stumbled over a protruding root. She knew she was defeated when she hit the forest floor. It was eerily quiet and the trees seemed to spin in a slow circle around her. In a daze, she raised her eyes and saw a path in front of her.

She scrambled to her wobbling knees. She recognized this path. It was well-used by those coming into the forest to hunt, trap, harvest roots and herbs, or to find a place of solitude. She felt a flicker of hope burn through her exhaustion and despair. Somebody might see or hear her and come to her aid. In her focus on getting to the path, she never heard the wolf attack from the side. The wolf tore into her without reserve and relished the victory of the chase. He pulled her back into the forest and shared her with his pack. After his appetite was satisfied, the wolf searched the area for the young girl’s cape. With her scared scent all over it, it was not hard to find. He left it near the path, as a reminder and marker of his territory.

The same night, the villagers sent out a search party. Walking the path, they quickly came upon the cape. It was tattered and torn but easily recognizable as hers. It was no longer brown, but red, stained with her own blood. The somber news of the young girl’s horrible death spread like wildfire through the village. So did the new name of the forest, Red Forest.

Book Review: The Getaway Car

The full title is thus:
"The Getaway Car: A Practical Memoir About Writing and Life" by Ann Patchett

I cannot honestly remember where I heard about this book. I think it was on this blog by a bunch of guys, really funny guys. One of them had written a post about kindle singles that they liked. So I purchased three of them. Two of them had the "f" word, a lot. Yeah, I'm pretty sure that was where I got the recommendation. I was disappointed in the first two and never read "The Getaway Car" until now. After writing my novel for NaNoWriMo, I decided it was time to read Patchett's short and sweet 'memoir."

On a sidenote, I quite enjoy the concept of kindle singles. I just need to find a better way of finding stories I like before I fork out the 2 or 3 dollars for singles I later find I need to delete.

Well, it turns out that "The Getaway Car" was a great read. It's short, thus being a 'kindle single' and it was inspiring for an amateur novelist. Patchett briefly goes through her early life as a student of writing and the first time she sequesters herself to focus on writing. I loved reading about the feelings she had and her advice to new novelists. 

I finished feeling optimistic and somewhat enlightened. If you want to write or enjoy reading about the creative process, this is an interesting book/single.

Book Review: Several short reviews

The Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler by E. L. Konigsburg
I remember reading this book as a young girl and just loving it. The premise is a young girl who feels overlooked and underappreciated at home, so she decides to run away. She takes her younger brother with her because he has money. They run away to a museum and stay there, spending the nights behind the roped off areas, in a grandiose bed. It seemed like such an adventure to me, to spend the nights in a museum. Reading this as an adult, it is simple and obviously written for children although it wasn't as disappointing as "A Wrinkle in Time." I would recommend this for 4-6 graders, especially girls. And it is a Newberry Award Winner, which is saying something.

Heaven is Here by Stephanie Nielson. This is the memoir of Stephanie Nielson, a popular blogger who focuses on family and the joys of being a mother. In one frightening moment, she is involved in a horrific plane crash with her husband and a flight instructor. She was burned over 80% of her body and in a coma for 4 or 5 months. She is a devoted mother of 4, in the book. Her family has now grown to 5 children. She sets the story up by writing about her life before the crash. This part kind of dragged for me. It seemed too picture perfect and I've never been one for sappy lovestories. She then details the terrible crash and the difficulties in recovery. It is a really heart-wrenching story. I was touched, even by the Spirit, several times while reading the book. I didn't think I would like it but I really did. I came away feeling optimism and hope and renewed enthusiasm for family and being a mother. Its worth your time if you read it. Sterling just finished it and really enjoyed it as well.

The Beginning of Better Days by Sheri L. Dew and Virginia H Pearce
This book is subtitled, "Divine Instruction to Women from the Prophet Joseph Smith." That part of the book was a little dry for me. It is actually just the notes taken by Eliza R. Snow and are choppy and a little hard to follow. I'm sure I just wasn't in the right frame of mind and lacking focus because it seems really small minded of me to judge it as dry. Anyway, Snow's notes are preceeded by two essays, written by Sheri Dew and Viriginia Pearce. These are both very engaging and I enjoyed them very much. 


Daughters in My Kingdom by Church Distribution
It is always nice to know where you come from. Its also nice to know the history of organizations you are involved in. So this short book is nicely organized and inspiring in the presentation of the history of the Relief Society. I enjoyed learning about the previous leaders of the Relief Society and the difficulties they faced in their time and place in history and how they rose up in strength and unity to meet those challenges. It inspires me to rise up and to take action and be a force for good within this great Relief Society organization.

Raven's Gate by Anthony Horowitz
Sydney is reading this as a class. I don't know why. I can think of a lot better books with an actual message and greater discussion topics. As a school read, I have my doubts. As a fun read, this book was great. The story follows the typical confused hero blueprint. The protagonist, Matt, is a hero, who makes a poor decision and ends up in a situation where things are not as they seem and he has no one to trust. Those who he does trust end up dying. I was surprised at the speed that the body count added up. Myself, I was wondering what the author was thinking, killing off so many characters. And there is something strange, mystical and magically going on in the city. The writing keeps you at the edge of your seat as you try to figure out, with Matt, what is going on and how to get out of the sinister situation. It is clearly a set up for more books. It will be interesting to see where this book goes. I like it. But I'm still going to follow up on the classroom reading list.

Blessed

“Don’t leave me,” Claire pleaded. The fire reflected off her sweat drenched brow as she lay on a bed of blankets on the wood floor. Mary winced as Claire’s fingernails dug into her wrist.  Claire’s labor pains were long and hard now, and the two young friends clung to each other in the otherwise empty cabin.

“Even if I wanted to, I can’t now,” said Mary, forcing herself to sound calm and unconcerned. She shuddered as the winter storm blew a draft under the door and across the floor. “The wind would push me right back through the door and back to you before the snow even had a chance to touch me.” 

She wiped Claire’s brow with a damp rag and stared deeply into her frightened eyes. “Everything will be fine, Claire,” Mary asserted. “This pain is but a moment and shortly you will be holding your beautiful baby.  You’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.” She repeated the words, hoping to convince herself.

Neither woman had expected Claire’s labor to start that day. They had planned on finishing the last baby quilt together, while their husbands worked on securing the barn at Mary’s cabin, just a mile away, before the first big storm of the winter arrived. The baby wasn’t expected for another couple of weeks, but the storm arrived early, before the men were able to make their way home.

 When the pains of labor began, the friends stoked the fire and chattered in excitement and anticipation, contemplating the glory and wonder of new life. The labor grew more intense as the snow continued to whirl outside, blowing more and more fiercely as the contractions raced on. The earlier emotions gradually morphed from anticipation to anxiety as the women realized, they were on their own and neither the storm nor the baby were holding back.

When Claire closed her eyes for a small moment of respite between pains, Mary also closed her eyes. She had assisted other births with her mother, a gifted midwife. She knew to expect intermittent pain and relief. She knew how to tell when the baby was close and had witnessed her mother help many babies take their first breath before laying them in their mothers’ arms. Claire’s labor was different somehow. The pain seemed longer and deeper with hardly a chance to catch a breath. Mary whispered a prayer. Please dear Father in Heaven, make me equal to the task. Help me be what she needs.

Claire twisted and pulled at the blankets beneath her. She grasped Mary’s hand, this time with such force that Mary bit her tongue.  “Robert. Where’s Robert?” Mary glanced at the window and the drifts of snow rushing like angry fists against the glass.

“He’s on his way, Claire,” Mary lied.  “He’s coming.” She wiped Claire’s brow again and tried to loosen Claire’s grip on her hand.

“He said he’d give me a blessing. I need a priesthood blessing,” Claire pleaded. Her eyes shut fiercely as another pain ravaged her body. The pain was long and deep, low in her back. It felt as though the pain would rip her limbs from her body. She opened her eyes as the pain faintly diminished and stared up at the blank ceiling.

“I can’t do this,” she sobbed, in short, staggered breaths. “I don’t know how. Please God, please help…” With a guttural yell, she pulled her head toward her knees.

Mary knew this was a sign that birth was near. She wrenched her hand free of Claire’s grip. Claire rested her head back on her shoulders and cried, both hands now grasping the edge of the blankets at her side.

Mary knelt at her friend’s feet, ready for the next contraction. She could see no progress as Claire screamed and clenched her fists again. Claire trembled and frantically looked for Mary but couldn’t find her. Mary seemed so far away. Everything seemed far away and dim. Mary saw Claire’s glazed eyes and was frightened for her. Something wasn’t right, she could feel it. She could feel it deep in her heart, in a way that spoke truth. Something wasn’t right.

Mary wished her husband were here with her. She longed for his confidence and capabilities. She yearned for the priesthood authority he held and for the blessing he could offer poor Claire in her time of need. She covered her head with her hands and let out a helpless sob. What could she do, a young, inexperienced woman, alone in this solitary cabin, with the storm raging outside and her friend failing by her side?

In that instance, staring into the fading eyes of her friend, Mary rose onto her knees. She had to do something, she decided. She wasn’t about to sit by and wait for her friend to die. Mary knew God exercised His power on this earth and she knew He answered prayers. She had seen it before, when the priesthood was exercised on behalf of others who were ill. She didn’t hold the priesthood, but she believed in its power. She placed her hands on Mary’s fevered head. Her hands shook as she began a fervent and sacred prayer with all the power of her faith. She vocally and reverently began to plead for the life and safety of Claire and her, as of yet, unborn baby.

Mary wouldn’t allow room for doubt in her mind. She searched her heart for feelings of the spirit and the will of God. She moved her hands to cradle Mary’s face and continued to pray for guidance, for knowledge, for a miracle. Claire writhed and groaned as another contraction enveloped her mind and body in unending pain. “I don’t know what to do, Father,” Mary submitted. “Please guide my hands.”

Mary laid her hands on Claire’s stomach and paused. Claire’s breathing was irregular and shallow. Her stomach was tight, yet Mary could feel the slight contours of the baby in the womb.  She continued her plea to heaven. She felt to bless Claire in her pleading, with strength and power and the will to live. Suddenly her hands felt warm and her sense of touch acutely perceptive. In her mind, she could see the form of the baby and knew it needed to be turned. Following the impressions she felt in her mind and her hands, she pressed firmly on the hidden limbs of the baby and gently nudged them to a new position. She cradled the form of the baby in her hands and prayed a blessing on her. Yes, somehow she knew this baby to be a girl.

Mary was suddenly aware of Claire shifting on the blankets. Feeling like she had woken from a dream or trance, Mary reached up and grabbed Claire’s outstretched hands and helped her brace herself with her knees. Mary lowered her hands again while Claire endured the final anguish and freeing emptiness of childbirth.

When Claire finally fell back in exhaustion, Mary held in her hands a baby girl and helped her take her first breath. Hardly moving, she reached for a clean cloth, tenderly wiped the residue of birth from the baby and wrapped her tightly in a soft blanket Claire had prepared just that morning.  She shuffled, still on her knees, to Claire, who laid quiet yet still trembling from the effort of the birth. Claire tried to pull herself to a sitting position as Mary pulled a nearby chair behind Claire as a backrest.

“She’s beautiful,” Mary said, placing the baby in Claire’s arms, marveling at the miracle that had taken place. Claire cradled the baby close to her chest. The fire flickered and flamed brighter for an instant, casting warmth and light around the two women and the newborn. The muffled wind continued to blow around the cabin like a sentinel guarding a valued possession. 

Claire’s eyes sparkled and shone in the firelight, filled with well-earned tears. She looked to Mary, whose tears matched her own. Mary wrapped her arms around Claire and her baby and held them both.

“I thought I wouldn’t make it,” Claire said quietly, almost to herself. She looked at Mary, then back at the baby and stroked her daughter’s cheek. “I didn’t think I would make it and now I’m holding this beautiful baby. My baby.” Words failed her and she laid her head on Mary’s shoulder.

The reverence of the experience settled in the room and the spirit grew thick around them. “We are blessed,” Mary acknowledged. “So very blessed.

Book Review: Where the Mountain Meets the Moon

The Newberry Honor book, Where the Mountain Meets the Moon," Grace Lin, is a great read.  The story focuses on Minli, an only child in a small Chinese village. In order to help make her mother happy and bring fortune to her family, she leaves on an adventure to find the Old Man on the Moon, who can answer any question. On her way she meets many friends and discovers that most answers lie in the heart.

Minli's story is facilitated by Chinese folklore. I loved reading the folk stories inside the larger story. It really felt authentic, until I read the author explain that they weren't.  It took a little of the depth and oomph out of the experience for me but the story still remained a great story. Minli is a strong little girl with a good heart. Her traveling companions are stalwart and true. Her discovery at the end of journey, although predictable, is welcome and satisfying. 

Young readers may be a little put off at first with the folklore and becoming accustomed to how the folklore relates to the overall story. But I think it is a great cultural experience and would encourage any and all to read this book. It won't take long and it will be worth your time.

Book Review; One Crazy Summer

I absolutely loved "One Crazy Summer" by Rita Williams-Garcia. As you can see from the cover, this book has won a lot of awards and it deserves them. 

Delphine has taken care of her sisters ever since her mother left them alone with their dad. It was still a good life, living with her dad and grandma, but her mom was a completely absent person. Until the summer of 1968her dad decides to send them from their home in Brooklyn, New York, to visit their mother, Cecile, in Oakland, California.

The problem is, Cecile doesn't really want them. The children are then left in the care of a woman who forbids them to enter the kitchen and sends them off to the Black Panther summer program down the street to fend for themselves.

I just fell in love with Delpine and all her oldest sibling characteristics. She had to grow up much to quickly and it shows. She and her sisters have several adventures of their own. They travel the city, they learn about the Black Panthers and their mission, which is vastly different from what they had learned from the tv and their grandma. It's the story of an important time in our history and an inside, child's view into the black panthers. It's a story of growth and understanding. It's not a nice and tidy ending but it is satisfying and complete. I would love for all of my children to read this book. I highly recommend it for all ages.