Pass It On

Last weekend we went to the art festival in our downtown. Lots of beautiful crafts, paintings, photography, wood turnings, etc. and music and food from everywhere around the world. It is always a good time and this year it was even better because for the first time since we moved here it wasn't a hundred degrees. This year it was overcast and cooler than years past and so we were able to walk around and breathe and not sweat. My husband ate food from Samoa, I ate Greek food and Little Man ate a hotdog. After lunch, and a little more walking around, we experienced potty training in a port-o-potty.

When we left, we strolled downtown and ducked into several antique stores. My husband was looking at the furniture for ideas and joinery techniques. I just browsed around looking at old books, and knick-knacks. In one of these stores, upstairs and tucked away into a back corner, I noticed several pillows. They had some wear and tear and needed a little love to restore them but even in their discarded state they were beautiful.

These pillows were needlepoint and embroidery. They were intricate, graceful, feminine, and meticulous. The number of hours it must have taken to embroider the small flowers makes me gasp. The even stitches that were patiently and lovingly laid with each pull of the thread. Even the design was unique, well, certainly nothing I've seen before.

I touched them and felt their delicateness. The still silky feel of the embroidery floss and the durability of the tapestry wool. The once vivid colors were fading and the seams were splitting in spots. There were stains of use and living. I found myself standing still and staring at them for a few minutes with thoughts and emotions racing through my mind.

Who had made these? Who were they made for? What happened to the creator and the owner? How many people had rested upon them? Questions with no answers. I was sad that these pillows, which represented care and love and talent and practice and patience and planning, had ended up in the dark, dusty corner of this antique store. No one to know their history and no one to carry it on.

I felt sad for these pillows, or rather for what they represented - lost history and perhaps the last in a family line. More so, I felt sad for those who gave them up. They have no appreciation for those that came before them. No knowledge of their history or care to look beyond their own world.

I have things like this that have been passed down in the family - furniture, needlepoint, lace, jewelry, books, etc. I love it. To me, these are the tangibles of our DNA. "Your great-great-grandperson made this." Well, they also made me. Isn't it a responsibility to pass these things, this history down to the next generation? What do you think?

Amazing!

So last week I talked about my pet peeves (and I have discovered more) so this time I thought I'd write about things that amaze me. Not amaze in that Twilight Zone sort of way, but in a happy way. Everyday, there is at least one thing that will catch me off guard and make me smile.

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First, Little Man is absolutely amazing. Everything about him is amazing. Parents, you know what I mean. Not a day goes by when he doesn't say or do something that just takes me off guard and sweeps me off my feet. By far, however, the most amazing thing he does is something he hasn't changed all that much since he could reach out his little hand. In the morning, he reaches out his hands and places them on my cheeks and says, "Good morning, Mama." Then he puts his nose to my nose and gives me an Eskimo kiss and says, "nose, nose, nose," with each rub. This has varied over the few years of his life. At first he'd put his hand on my face and I'd say good morning and rub his nose. This made him smile. It evolved to two hands and his pulling my face to his so we could rub noses. That made him giggle. When "mama" and "dada" were his only words he'd just say "mama" and then we'd nose rub. Of course, now he can climb up in my lap and initiate the whole ritual. I love this more than anything and the day it stops I will secretly weep.

The second amazing thing is my husband. He is after all math-science guy and therefore very analytical. Yet he has taken up the hobby of woodworking and has demonstrated a hidden creative streak. He has designed and built several beautiful things. His current project is making a Federal-style table for our foyer that will match an antique piece we have. I am amazed at the vision he has for it and how he is carefully executing it in such detail.

So, my advice is to look for the things that are amazing!

I Do It And I Do It

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I used to teach 7th grade (I know, right?). Actually, I enjoyed the teaching part and the kids part (I know, right?) but the rest of it was just... not so much. One of the things I found humorous and annoying and worthy of an eye roll, was the response "I don't know." Former students, you know who you are. Now, don't get me wrong, "I don't know" is a perfectly reasonable response to some questions.

Teacher (me): Which word is the subject of this sentence?
Student: I don't know.

I was okay with that. It let me know that A) I had not yet reached that student and B) the student had not been paying attention.

Where the answer "I don't know" bothers me is in a completely different context.

Teacher (me): Why did you break your friend's pencil?
Student: I don't know.



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See to me, that is unacceptable, and I'd tell them so. If you have performed an action, then you should have had some reason for doing it. I found most of the time, the boys would reply with "I don't know" more often than the girls. It's even more bothersome when it comes from an adult - like my husband. He does it to pick on me and it is usually followed by a look (and a smile and wink).

Me: Honey, why did you stop mowing the lawn?
Hubby (dripping with sweat gulping Gatorade): I don't know (look).

My husband tells me it is a common young male response because most boys are so engrossed in what they are doing they aren't paying attention to what they are thinking, and visa versa. I
didn't believe him until the other day.

We are in the process of potty training the Little Man. (GEEZ!) We've made progress, but for every 2 steps forward, there seems to be 1 step back. I'm comforted by the fact that there are no 4-year-olds I know who wear diapers and Little Man will be 4 in 11 months. Anyway, after a day of wonderful progress and cooperation, I left my Little Man watching TV while I went to cook dinner. A few minutes later I returned to check on him only to find him staring at the TV, standing in a puddle.



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Me: What's this?
Little Man: Peepee.
Me: Where does peepee go?
Little Man: In the potty.
Me: Why did you put the peepee on the floor?
Little Man (with a shrug!): I do it and I do it.

That has been his newest phrase for EVERYTHING! Why did you pour your juice on the table? I do it and I do it. Why did you throw your toy down the stairs? I do it and I do it. The precursor for "I don't know." Sigh, eye roll.

So, I wondered if there were things that I do just because I do. I really can't think of anything I do that doesn't have an underlying motivation or reason. Even though the answer is "because it makes me happy" that is still better than "I don't know." Writing is one of those things for me. What things do you do just because "I do it and I do it?"

Breath of Life

Inspiration n. 1. Stimulation of the faculties to a high level of feeling or activity. 2. The condition of being so stimulated. 3. An agency, such as a person or a work of art, that moves the intellect or emotions. 4. Something that is inspired, as an idea or action. 5. Theology. Divine guidance or influence exerted directly upon the mind and soul of man. 6. The act of breathing in; inhalation. *

*American Heritage Dictionary 1980

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 Inspiration is something we all experience whether you’re an artist or a writer or a chef or an ordinary person. We may wake up with a GREAT IDEA for a new project or story or recipe or way to organized your closet and be eager to get started on it. It’s a great feeling. It’s a joyous feeling! It makes us gasp *gasp* with that aha moment.

What I wonder is where does inspiration come from? I can be reading a non-fiction historical novel and a paragraph will ring in my head as something I must save as an idea or jumping-off point for a fictional, futuristic novel I will write (it’s currently number 4 on my list). Or I can be wandering through the grocery store and spy an ingredient that will suddenly make it onto my grocery list and become the main entrée for dinner that night. Still, where does this inspiration come from? What makes that passage ring or that ingredient become necessary?

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Because I have a strong faith, I’m going to suggest that inspiration is indeed Divine guidance, the breathing in of God’s breath. Inspired comes from the Latin origin of in spiritu. For you Catholics, you know this; you hear this every Sunday mass – in spiritu Sancti – the Holy Spirit. Perhaps our inspiration is God speaking to us, giving us joy, leading us to our purpose, filling us with His Holy Spirit. If you are a non-believer, then perhaps inspiration is an intellectual spark of connectivity – firing neurons. A spark that makes us say, “I get it!” or “that would work great!”

 Wherever inspiration comes from it is something we cannot ignore. It must be answered and fulfilled. It is our driving force, the impetus for us to get moving. The artist must break out the paints or clay searching for the correct medium, the writer must stare at that blank page forming the opening sentence, the chef must begin chopping.

For me, some days I stare at the blank page inspired but struggling with a beginning. Other days I’m inspired to do laundry or finger paint with my Little Man. What is your inspiration? What is your breath of life?