My 3-Year-Old Could Have Painted That

In college I wrote a reader-response criticism of a Jackson Pollock painting. If you know reader-response, and if you know Jackson Pollock, you can imagine what a circus act that paper was. I think I got a B (probably inflated). I was never very good at papers that couldn’t be fudged with creative writing, but I remember the experience of researching Pollock very vividly. The thing that caught my interest was Pollock’s description of creating his paintings. (If you don’t know, his are the ones that look like paint spattered all over the canvas.) Pollack—or his reviewer (I forget which)—said that the creation of the canvas didn’t involve much artistic skill (the spattering of the paint) but that, once the canvas was covered, then the artist was necessary, because it was the artist who selected which part of the canvas to frame. It was the selecting of what to point out, emphasize and frame that was dependent on artistic skill (more than the actual creation of the work).

I’m seeing that this philosophy of what an artist does applies to writing as well.

I’ve been reading The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros this week. It’s a delightful book. When I set it down, I think, “I could have written this.” And I could. The little character studies and vignettes are very much my style (which is why I’ve been switching to poetry lately—I’m more interested in freeze-frame scenes and character studies than over-arching plots). But I’m not stupid enough to miss the fact that it’s the selection and arrangement of material that makes Cisneros so successful. And I’m not sure I am skilled enough to pull off something similar. (It’s nice to know it can be done, though.)

So I guess I’m saying that I think that “seeing” is a major part of being an artist. There’s doubtless a place for technical skill, but without that artistic vision there is really nothing to say.
And artistic vision is the one thing I doubt about myself. I think that too often I am too left-brained. I control. I over-analyze. My poetry is often overwrought, uptight. Once in a while I’ll catch a little artistic view, but never as often as I’d like.

I think that probably I could nourish this sensitivity to things and improve it. I can’t deny that the month I spent writing a poem a day taught me that I can be more welcoming to the muse and see more poems around me when I have to. But I wish there were other things I could do (aside from smoking pot or something). Maybe listening to more music, taking more walks. Mindfulness training might help, too, which I’m doing through my meditation. I wonder sometimes if taking a break would help or hinder—that is, if I took a month (or year!) off of writing and dedicated it to just living mindfully. Would I open myself to more inspiration? And would limiting or eliminating my writing help me live more fully?

Or is the reverse true—that knowing I’ll be writing a poem soon make me more aware of what’s going on around me?

Whaddya think?

The polls are open. You get to affect history. I'm looking for votes, people. At our house, there is an ongoing debate about whether short hair is better (for me) than long. So here are the choices:

This is my hair short. Notice the lovely scarf I knitted this month. It looks especially nice over my pajamas, doesn't it?

. . . and here it is long, taken sometime last year.

So, be honest. Which do you like better? And you don't have to like one of these in particular. You could say, "I like it better short, but not that style." Or ditto for long. Please vote. I need your help.

Things I've learned while sick

Things I've Learned While Sick

1. Deep down, my heart really is in what I'm doing. When I think about being sick for years and years, or not ever getting well, the things I feel a sense of loss about have to do with time with my kids and family. The regrets I have are about my roles as wife, mother and Christian. I don't care about my writing, getting back to school or the other things that I sometimes think I'm living for. I know what's most important and it's what I want most to be doing.

2. There is definitely a connection between spirit and body. Think of the blessings promised in the temple: how many have to do with our bodies, their function and health? There's a mystery here that I feel I haven't even begun to understand. And even the sacrament prayer talks about our souls, not just our spirits. It's hard to understand the connection, especially when I am doing all I can to live righteously, be a good steward of my body, and still it is sick.

3. Sometimes things are just hard. Sometimes they are just hard for a long time. There is no answer that helps it be easier, or cuts the time down. I have been promised I will heal. But it could be sooner or later, and nothing I can do will change that.

4. It doesn't matter how skinny I am when I feel wretched. I have lost 10 pounds so far. My "skinny" jeans are falling down on me. I couldn't care less! I'd gladly take 20 pounds back if I could feel fully healthy. (Of course, I would immediately start taking care of myself so that the extra weight would probably come off—but not because I want to be skinny. Just because I want to feel well.)

5. In the end, the ONLY thing you have is how you feel—how you feel about God is most important, and then how you feel about the people you love, how you feel emotionally, how you feel spiritually. If you can figure out how to keep things things as healthy as possible, you are living the best and highest you can expect to live. Nothing else (accomplishments, acquirements) matters.

6. (Stolen from meditation teachers.) You have just moments to live. Always, there is only now. Live it the best you can, and everything else falls into place. Being mindful of each moment leads to greater health in all areas of your life. Wherever you go is an important place to be. Be there for all you're worth.

7. Healing, both spiritual and physical, is a mystery and often happens in spite of the things we do as much as because of it. It is a difficult thing to trust in God and yourself and time when you don't understand what is going on, and yet these things are working for your good all the same.

8. No one who has never had a long, undiagnosed illness can ever possibly understand how emotionally devastating it is. No one who has will ever take feeling well for granted.

9. Breathing helps everything.

10. Knowing people are praying for you helps, too.

Re-reads

Continuing my lists of favorite things, today we have Books Part II. (I'm not sure yet how many chapters we'll have in this book section. How can I condense a lifetime of reading joy into one list? Or two?)

Anyway, here's a list of books that I re-read. It doesn't mean that these are my only favorites, but just that these are the ones I return to every year or two or five. Now, I have heard some people say with amazement, "Why do you re-read? I would never re-read. There's too much good stuff out there!" And my answer to this is, "Do you ever go back to a favorite restaurant? Play a favorite cd more than once? Return to a favorite vacation destination?" There's something to be said for familiarity, for the warm feelings you get when you revisit a place that you've been happy in. That's one reason I re-read. Another is that of course my appreciation for a work deepens every time I re-encounter it. It frees me to pick up on things I missed, makes the experience richer.

So here are some of my old friends, in no particular order (and leaving out the LDS ones I re-read because I mentioned them earlier):

The Book of Mormon
The Great Divorce (and Narnia books) by C. S. Lewis
Selected Journals of L. M. Montgomery
Lying Awake by Mark Saltzman
Bring Me a Unicorn and other journals of Anne Morrow Lindbergh (can't stand Gifts of the Sea, though. Too self-conscious. I don't mind it in the journals.)
Pride and Prejudice and Persuasion by Jane Austen
Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard
The Chosen, My Name is Asher Lev, and The Gift of Asher Lev by Chaim Potok
A Room With a View by E. M. Forster
Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro
The Romantic Obsessions and Humiliations of Annie Selmeier by Louise Plummer
The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom
Death Comes for the Archbishop by Willa Cather
Cry the Beloved Country by Alan Paton
Daddy Long-Legs by Jean Webster
The All Creatures Great and Small series by James Herriot
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn and Joy in the Morning by Betty Green
Cold Sassy Tree by Olive Ann Burns
The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton



Books that I haven't re-read yet but plan to, and regularly:

Poisonwood Bible by Barbra Kingsolver
Angle of Repose by Wallace Stegner
I Heard the Owl Call My Name
Travelling Mercies by Anne LaMottGilead by Marilynne Robinson

2006

2006 was a year of high adventure for our family. Here's a little recap:

1. Doctors. We visited many. We paid many. We got the church to pay some, because Roger's accident happened during a church activity. Roger, as I mentioned here, got a softball in the eye and proceeded to have oculoplastic surgery. Miserable as the whole thing was, I think he's kind of proud of it. He likes to show off the pictures of his face when it was at its worst, especially to his fellow eye-care professionals.

I myself got to ride the medical merry-go-round when more than one doctor diagnosed what turned out to be mononucleosis as "anxiety disorder" and sent me home with zoloft prescriptions.

Then, since we had met our deductible--why not?--I went ahead with sinus surgery at the end of the year. Much fun was had by all.

2. Segullah. I discovered this journal in 2005 but didn't write for them until 2006. They printed my poems "Alex, 9" and "Ben, 6." What's even better is the great friendships I made through agreeing to get involved (I'm on the poetry editorial board now). We had a retreat here at the house when we couldn't get to the cabin because of snow (thanks to superhero Roger). We were in the hot tub after midnight! (What a wild and crazy group of chics.)

3. Kathy S., my dear friend, who, although she arrived in my life in conjunction with Segullah, deserves her own entry in my list. You can read some of her wisdom here.

4. My calling. Early in the new year I was called to my first primary calling ever (not counting nursery): leading the singing. It was a challenge for me, but from the beginning I felt a strong (the strongest I've ever felt) feeling that the calling was inspired and that I belonged there. I got the kids prepared for their big performance in the fall and fell in love with them in the process.

Fifteen minutes before church started on the last day of the year I was released unexpectedly. I am still in deep mourning about that.

5. Hair. I chopped mine pretty short, and then even shorter after it caught on fire.

6. Writing. I did a lot of it. I attended the BYU Writing for Children conference in June. I took a challenge from Dr. Micahel Collings and produced a poem a day for thirty days. I was published in Segullah, Popcorn Popping, and Dialogue. I sold five stories to The Friend.

7. Vacations. Besides the Segullah retreat, a bookgroup retreat to the cabin, and a "career mothers" retreat to another cabin, I went with Roger to Cedar City for the Shakespearean Festival, we took the kids camping near Cedar City and took them to a play, I took the boys to Las Vegas to see Grandpa and Grandman, and we all went camping to Bear Lake.

8. Milestones. Ben was baptized, Jon started kindergarten, and Alex began to babysit! I would say that Peter was potty-trained, but that line is still fuzzy.

9. Discoveries. I read a lot of good books (deserves another post), resumed knitting with a passion, read the Lord of the Rings series to the kids, discovered meditation and yoga, and discovered the India House restaurant.

10. Though it has been a hard year physically, I have never felt better emotionally. I am so much happier as a mom now that the kids are a little older. I'm having so much more fun with them. I have lots of plans for the future and have begun on some of them. I hope to continue yoga and meditation this year. I hope to take the Praxis II test this year or early next year. I hope to be less anxious about the future and more present in the present. I plan to pay more attention to nourishing my body; more attention on how I feel than on how I look. I have a fantastic life!

Dad

I want to talk about my dad for a few minutes today. I've been reading a parenting book by the same guy who wrote the meditation book that has helped me this past month, Jon Kabat-Zin. One of his paragraphs stood out to me in which he talks about how the best thing we can do for our children is to strive to become non-needy parents, parents who have learned to become whole in themselves and are therefore not dependent on their children to make them feel of worth in any way. I really feel the truth of this. And I think my father is a good example of someone who does this.

From the time I left home, my father began treating me like a friend instead of a dependent. Early on, I was still dependent in many ways, but he always respected my feelings of independence. For example, he would slip me money while I was at college, but when he did I knew it would never be mentioned, never have any strings of accountability or gratitude attached.

In fact, he has always been especially good at giving gifts, because he can totally let go once he has given something. If he gives something to me, or to my children, once it leaves his hands he will never mention it again. He owns it no more in his mind or heart; he has truly given it away. I think this is so utterly cool and respectful. It is true giving.

As I became an adult, my father showed respect for my decisions about my life (some of which turned out to be wrong, and I think he knew it at the time), and spoke to me respectfully, the way I think he would have spoken to another adult. He began to show interest in getting to know me as an adult, questioning me about my interests and my worldview. He made me feel very free to be myself. I like how he asks me about my writing, and about other things going on with me. I feel like he sees me as a friend. It has become one of my greatest joys just to sit and talk with him, because I feel his interest in me and the ways I have become myself.

There are still times when I need him as my father. But when I do, it is up to me to ask for what I need (a blessing, counsel). And then, after giving it freely, he never mentions it again. He doesn't even ask if I followed his counsel, for example, because like his gifts, once given, it is not his any more and he continues to respect my agency, my individuality, my choices. I think this is a really amazing thing. I hope that I can become this kind of parent—there for my kids, interested in my kids, but not requiring anything from them. Because I think it is the only way to really foster a friendship between us once they are grown.

(Oh, and one more thing that makes my dad so cool: he married the coolest, sweetest, giving-est, loving-est woman ever to be my stepmother and my children's grandmother. Way to go, Dad.)

Noteworthy

One of our favorite Christmas presents was a cd of our new favorite group, Noteworthy Ladies, which is a female a cappella group at BYU. If you're looking for a disc to pick up, this is the one, folks. You can hear a sample at their website, www.noteworthyladies.com. The only thing I don't like about this disc is how sad it makes me that I am no longer singing with a ladies' group. I miss it so desperately!!!!! I wish I could find some people to sing with now that I'm a little better.

Oh, yes, I should mention that I am on the mend! I'm taking it slow, but I'm back to full duties as mother and homemaker right now, doing yoga and meditating every day as well. Thank you so much for your prayers and nice e-mails. I have needed them.

Happy Anniversary!

Fifteen years ago yesterday I woke up in the morning (the first moment after I wake up is always a time of lucidness for me, a time when I am most connected to my gut instincts and, I believe, to the Spirit) and thought about the day ahead. It was New Year's Eve, and I had not made any solid plans yet. I lay there and visualized all of the possibilities for me that night, thought about the people I knew that I could hang out with, tried each potential activity on to see how it felt. And what I realized was this: I wanted more than anything to be with Roger Young that night.

So I called him up and made sure he knew he was invited to a certain party going on that night.

He had already made plans with some other guy friends, but said he might drop in. I went to the party hoping to see him, and, sure enough, he showed up there. For more info about what happened when he did, read this. Once he left the party (at the urgings of his friends who had another party to visit), I went home and went to bed. I knew I would be seeing this guy again soon.

Sure enough, on New Year's Day he called. We went out. We kept going out, and have been together ever since.

(Of course, the whole Deciding To Get Married was not that easy, but that's another story for another day.)

The thing is, for fifteen years, now, this guy has been in my life. And I feel so unbelievably blessed about that. Almost a guilty feeling, as if I have gotten away with something sneaky, because it shouldn't be this easy, should it? (Also because both my family and his believe that I married up. I admit that I did.) Roger has always been a quiet presence of warmth, sweetness and wholesomeness in my life. I shudder to think what I'd be without him.

So today I give thanks for my guy, and for my own ability to listen to my heart one New Year's Eve. Here's to another year together, sweetheart. I adore you.