I'm super grateful for all the brilliant, creative, generous,
supportive book-making folks I know.
I just came home from Austin's annual SCBWI holiday shin-dig,
and you wanna talk about a room full of friends?
Seriously.
As Mr. Slinger would say, "Wow."

I'm pretty sure I would've quit this work in misery or hysteria about 20 times by now if it wasn't for this amazing (and amazingly good-humored) community. And I'm grateful for every single one of them…

Two weeks ago, my mom lost a sister.
This week, my husband lost a brother.
It's no wonder that I'm feeling extra-keen gratitude for my own sibling today.

I have a sister, and I'm raising a pair of sisters — lucky me. 

There is nobody else on the planet — besides my sister — who possesses the mutual background, the same nuanced familial understanding and the singular, very funny but unwritten joke book, as me. It's like we've got encoded chips implanted behind our ears that enable us to just plain "get" each other. And really, is anything as satisfying as being "got"?

So, in gratitude for my sister today — and in honor of siblings everywhere — here are a couple of things:

Mona Simpson's eulogy for her brother, Steve Jobs, which is here.

And here's a pretty swell poem by Lucille Clifton.

Love you, Sissy….

Today I made my last school visit of 2011. 
My unscientific accounting says I did about 25 this year —
and that doesn't include book festival readings
and other non-school events. 

Sheesh.

That's a lot of clicks of ye olde Powerpoint, a lot of bottles of water, and a whole lot of kids. 
Thousands of kids, actually. 
Which makes it an overwhelming thrill and daunting honor.

Today, I'm grateful for school visits. 
I truly love the work that I do, all of it, but school visits have become a deep and unexpected pleasure.
I'm grateful for the opportunity to talk to kids about ideas and rhyme and revision and book making.
I'm grateful for devoted librarians, enthusiastic teachers, and school districts and PTAs who still think author visits are a good idea.
I'm grateful for all the kids who say they want to be authors and all the kids who say they are authors.
I'm grateful for all the kids who say writing is hard.
I'm grateful for all the kids who raise their hands to say funny things, curious things, smart things, anything, really.

For example:

“Do you know the author?”
 
“Do you have to take off your slippers and put on shoes when you hand your work into your editor?”
 
“The library is my home.”

"Will you sign my journal?"

"A heart isn't ALWAYS a pocket full of love."

"I'm pretty sure only adults get writers' block."

"You could try to write more like me — fast."

"You could learn to draw."

"You could ask me if you need more ideas."

"Is every book your favorite? Because if I was an author, every book would be my favorite."

Granted, I come home from a day like today hoarse and tired, but really, can you beat all that?
I'm so grateful….

I just spent a couple of hours hosting 15 adolescents at my house —
nine 5th grade girls along with a panel of six middle schoolers, from various schools.

We'd invited the big girls to give the "little" girls the down-low —
on homework, field trips, lockers and what not.
Y'know.
The kind of stuff the principals and magnet directors and headmasters might, um, not mention at all.

And this isn't a very profound way to describe it, but it was really cute. 
Cute and inspiring and funny and thoughtful and enlightening.
It was.

Some of the 5th graders are eager, some are intimidated.
But all of the middle schoolers are articulate and honest and generous.

When I was 10, 11, 12 and 13, we didn't really have choices like this.
We just went to the next school.
And the idea that there are choices can be kind of overwhelming.

So thank goodness for the village. 
For mentors.
For folks one step ahead — in school, in work, in craft, in parenting, in growing old, in life.

If we've got touchstones and advice and support and people we can count on, choice is exciting rather than just overwhelming. And I'm really grateful for that.

(Posting on Monday since Live Journal was finicky all weekend…)

We just got home from hearing Wendell Berry and Wes Jackson speak.
The topic was the sustainable food movement.

(I'll admit I went for the poetry.
I mean, Wendell Berry, people!)

And he did read a poem, and he also said a whole lot of lovely and poetic things:

praising "… the yeastiness of thought…"
claiming to be a member of "… The Society for the Preservation of Tangibility…"
and advocating for "… rules of affection …" when dealing with the land.

How would you like to have phrases like "yeastiness of thought" just roll off your tongue?
Sheesh.

So tonight I am grateful for thinkers or, rather, articulate thinkers, who inspire me to follow through on my own thoughts and put words to them when I'm able…

(Posting on Monday since Live Journal was finicky all weekend…)

On this humid, muggy Saturday I am grateful for curly hair. 
I know. That sounds rather trite and shallow.
But you have no idea what a bold act of self-love it is. 

I hated my hair for 30-some years.
Fought it. Pulled it straight.
Bemoaned both curl and frizz.
Wished for Dorothy Hammill's bob and gloss.

Well, guess what? 
I'm over all that. 

Even on this wet day when things get truly follicly anarchist, I am grateful.
I am grateful that I don't own a hairbrush, that I don't need a cut very often.
I'm even grateful that I don't look all "pulled together."

Pulled together is overrated. 
Acceptance and surrender, though, aren't.
It may be a little birds' nesty today, but it's my birds' nest.
And I'm grateful.

Last week, in between Thanksgiving (the day)
and my beloved aunt's memorial service (another day), I watched this.
(It takes ten minutes to watch, friends, but it is such a lovely ten minutes…)
And I came away from it with a new mantra:

The only appropriate response is gratitude. 
The only appropriate response is gratitude.
The only appropriate response is gratitude. 

This is not easy to feel in every moment of everyday, but that's the point of a mantra, isn't it?
To make something habit.
To make it real.

And now, lo and behold and speaking of habits, here is darling Jote doing her 30 Days of Gratitude, just like she did last December and the December before. I'm joining her, and maybe you want to, too? Because it is when we are busiest, rushed, overwhelmed or grieving that we need gratitude the most. And who isn't busy? Or rushed? Or overwhelmed? Or grieving? Or something???

Today, today I am so grateful for the rain. 
It clapped on our dark roof and deck and I stayed in bed an extra 30 minutes.
It filled the wheelbarrow out back.
It turned to mud to track into school this morning and all the kids and teachers laughed, outright, at that mud.

And in honor of the rain, here's today's poem, which doesn't mention rain except for in the title but oh my mercy it is a poem of levity and gratitude and it makes me smile:

Gee, You’re So Beautiful
   That It’s Starting to Rain

Richard Brautigan

Oh, Marcia,
I want your long blonde beauty
to be taught in high school,
so kids will learn that God
lives like music in the skin…

(Read the rest here…)

(And read other Poetry Friday poems at Carol's Corner.)

Like many of you, my deepest appreciation and most abiding gratitude is for my family. 
And then my friends, my pets, the beautiful wilderness.
Rain, humor, good books.
Music, sunshine, I could go on and on.
But first and always, family.

Which makes a week like this one especially perplexing.
I am heartsick at having lost a beloved auntie on Tuesday — suddenly and way too soon.
And yet, today's Thanksgiving and there really is so much to be grateful for — my husband who is healthy and my daughters, one still sleeping, one out with her dad feeding a neighbor's chickens. The crisp fall air. A good friend on his way over to run The Turkey Trot with me. And the amazing family I'll fly to tomorrow, to honor and grieve and celebrate my aunt. Life is both dark and light, bitter and sweet. It doesn't erase the thankfulness on a day like today — it makes it all the more keen.

A friend shared this stanza of a Wallace Stevens poem with me yesterday and it's just so perfect for this sentiment I'm going to share it with you. (Thank you, Elisa.) Happy, happy Thanksgiving to you all.

From Sunday Morning, by Wallace Stevens

These are the measure destined for her soul.

I have a few dear and beloved people in my heart this morning,
people whose bodies are have been surprised and ravaged by illnesses.
Sometimes these are surmountable and sometimes not.
And life is short, we realize, either way.

BY MARIA HUMMEL

(Read the rest here…)

Poetry Friday is at The Opposite of Indifference today…

Whew.
With just two more school visits before the year's end, I find myself looking back at this very busy season of events, presentations and festivals with a rosy glow. 

The only low points?

My spaciness increased as the weeks wore on (I told my daughter I was in Philadelphia when really I was in Indianapolis… I left critical computer cords in a hotel and an airport… and I threw away my rental car keys). 

And my voice sounded, more often than not, like I was a very hard-partying college student.
Or Lauren Bacall on a bad day.

But the high points far outweighed all that.

I got to hang out with a whole bunch of brilliant and inspiring authors and illustrators in four states and at multiple events. 
I got to eat salted caramels, fancy mashed potatoes out of a martini glass, and the most delicious grilled asparagus.
I got to sell and sign about a zillion books.
I got to talk about picture books day after day, to people who love them — writers, parents, teachers, librarians, kids.
I got to listen to other writers give talks that made me laugh and cry.
I got to see leaves change and snow fall.
I got to see family at times I wouldn't normally see them, teachers from when I was a teen, and dear old friends.

And, most importantly, I got to speak with a few thousand kids about reading, language, creativity, passion, revision, determination, and books. I can honestly say that every hour I spend reading and talking with kids — at schools and libraries, in tents and in gardens — is an eye-opening, heart-exploding pleasure. Their probing and thoughtful questions, their funny comments, and their willingness to bond so quickly and openly over a shared love? I just walk away gob-smacked every time. 

So, as we head into Thanksgiving season, I want to express my gratitude to all the teachers, librarians, PTAs and festival organizers who make these connections possible. Who knew, when I started noodling around with rhymes for kids, that it would lead to this great joy.

I'll leave you with one of the comments I got from a third grader a couple of weeks ago:

"You seem very happy with your job even though they make you work so hard and you're not exactly rich. So that's good."

Yep. That is good.

(A post note: This was the same day a little girl asked me what the meaning of my life was. Ha. And people think you've got to dumb-down to write for kids.)