Last Monday at 3:30 in the morning, the phone rang in my friend Marla Frazee’s kitchen.
Usually you don’t want a phone call at 3:30 in the morning because:
1. You’re trying to sleep and 2. Phone calls at 3:30 in the morning tend to bear bad news.
But this particular Monday was my Dad’s Birthday aka Caldecott Day (more formally known as the American Library Association’s Youth Media Awards). In which case phone calls at 3:30 in the morning are most welcome.
While Marla was congratulated on her 2nd-year-in-a-row Caldecott Honor for our book All the World, I lay sound asleep in a Murphy bed in Montana. It was a couple of hours later, in fact, that I sat up all bleary eyed and limped to my laptop (with slightly sore shins because I’d just skied for the first time in about 15 years).
I wanted to watch the live webcast of the awards but I was having trouble with the advanced math required to figure out what time it was in Boston. As I sat there counting, my email inbox downloaded a few messages, including one from my editor, Allyn Johnston, with the subject line, “Caldecott.” When I clicked it open, it said, “Honor!!!”
And then my phone started to ring. My agent, first. My Austin friends gathered at Vermont College, next. My husband who’d been trying to get through, third. Then came the emails. And the facebook posts.
My nerves started getting a little jangley right about then, and they stayed that way through most of the day. I was with my sister, which helped. And there was the big hot pool at the condominium, which helped, too. The latté. The long talk with Marla. The herd of bighorn sheep we passed as we drove back into town.
But it was really my visit to my niece’s classroom that afternoon that made me feel firmly planted for the first time all day. Granted, they gave me a standing ovation (something that’s never happened at any of my other events) but after that it was a straight-up, regulation school visit (i.e., very cute and very funny).
There was the little girl who asked me if I knew her uncle (he lives in Texas) and the little boy who asked me if I’d sign his Spongebob Squarepants books. And, just to ensure that my ego was truly and goodly in check, the student who wondered, “When they deny your books, do you bring them home, add a little and change a little and then send them back, hoping they won’t notice they’re the same books they denied?”
Um. You mean, like, revision? Yes. Sort of.
But at the very end of the visit, looking over the very last page of the book (which says “All the world is all of us”), a couple of kids observed that that’s kinda what Martin Luther King had been trying to say. Which was a pretty sweet point, especially on that Monday, which was my Dad’s Birthday aka Caldecott Day aka Martin Luther King Day, 2010.
And there I was – a far cry from Boston and the shiny silver stickers they’d be putting on our book – feeling like I was really in the right place. At the right time. It was one fine day.
(Congratulations flowers from my editor at Beach Lane Books and the folks at Simon & Schuster)
(Congratulations flowers from my mom and dad)
(Congratulations banner from our friends Nathaniel and Lucia)
Oh, and everything I said last week? About being humbled, blessed, swoony, weak-kneed and grateful? That all still applies. Thank you, all, for your amazing love and support. It’s really something. Namaste…
This was partly inspired, I’m sure, by a good friend who recently had a baby named Rainer. But also, I wanted to see what it felt like to read a little bit of somebody, everyday, all year long. And what if that someone was Rilke?
I’m a person who really needs a practice — yoga, writing — to keep from spinning myself into the air like a top or into the ground like an ice auger. And sure enough, this book seems to be a steadying force — anticentrifugal, if you will — before bed each night.
Poetry Friday is like that, I think, on a weekly basis. Each Friday we meet at someone’s house, saying very little but exchanging poems to read while we drink our morning coffee or our afternoon tea. By the end of the exchange I, for one, am breathing differently. More deeply and with greater ease. I’ve never hosted Poetry Friday before and I’m so happy to today. Pull up a chair or a cushion. There are hot drinks on the counter and half-and-half in the fridge. Read all you’d like and let yourself out when you’re finished. Brighten. Wallow. Enjoy.
(Those of you who know me know that something as newfangled as Mr. Linky is waaaaay beyond me, so we’ll be doing this the old-fashioned way today: Leave your link in the comments and I’ll gather them together a few times throughout the day, amending this post as needed. Thanks for coming by…)
And, to kick things off, a line or two from Rilke:
As you unfold as an artist, just keep on, quietly and earnestly, growing through all that happens to you. You cannot disrupt this process more violently than by looking outside yourself for answers that may only be found by attending to your innermost feeling. — Rainer Maria Rilke Paris, February 17, 1903 Letters to a Young Poet
Then my own sister-of-sorts, the dear and lovely Sara Lewis Holmes, pops in with a breakfast surprise. No, not pumpkin bread with chocolate chips, but almost! She has done a serious blush-worthy post about (seriously, you guys, I’m kind of embarrassed) Me! And she includes a poem I posted quite awhile back. She will be hugged and severely chastised when I see her next week at a conference here in Austin. Squee!!
Poet Kristy Dempsey adds a pot of soup to our lunch buffet — her own wonderful and simple soup. Have some — I did, and I feel better already.
Elaine Magliaro is a constant on Fridays — lucky for all of us! Today she brings us poems about eating (how appropriate, at lunchtime!) and more books to look forward to, at Wild Rose Reader, and a poem about writing (how appropriate, on Poetry Friday!) at Blue Rose Girls.
You guys didn’t think we’d have a whole day of poetry and not invite William Shakespeare, did you? Pour yourself another glass of lemonade and welcome Becky who has come with The Bard himself — Manga Style! (Seriously!) (Another one in the "who knew?!?!" category!)
And Jennie at Biblio File, welcome to you, too! Jennie gets us back in bookclub mode with some dust bowl reviews — including Karen Hesse’s Out of the Dust. And she mulls over whether its award-winning status transcends time. I gotta say, I think it does. But then I’m a huge fan of the verse novel.
I think I may go read one (Love that Dog, maybe?) until this afternoon’s tea time update. Must tidy up the lunch dishes, now. Ta-ta!
I get to go away this weekend, but don’t let the palm trees fool you.
I’m going to Montana.
I don’t even know if I own enough clothes to go to Montana in the winter.
But I’m going… to spend the weekend with my sister without spouses or children. This is pretty much unprecedented and is such a treat as to seem almost preposterous.
So, I’m signing off for a few days. I go with the Haitians in my heart… with Martin Luther King on my mind… and with immense gratitude for all that is good and fine. Happy weekend, friends, and namaste…
THIS IS A MORNING THAT IS GOOD By Bill Snyder, For Lynda
On the Green Concourse, around the corner from the news-clerk who said "just around the corner" as if I lived there– a Starbucks, and the African woman behind the counter who asks if I like ice in my water and smiles and smiles again when I say yes, a smile for no reason but to smile–she’s happy– or because I am and she can tell…
So yesterday, at the grocery store, I found myself in front of the little reading glasses kiosk — because I was having a hard time reading the nutritional low-down on the falafel mix.
(I’m aware this makes me sound both nerdy and exceedingly crunchy.)
While spinning the rack and slipping on a cute pair of red +1.50s, I was joined by a guy who looked to be about my age. Or maybe I’m just saying that because we met in front of the reading glasses.
Anyway, he said, "You know it’s bad when you can’t even read your own texts." And he proceeded to grab a pair and stand there with his iPhone, corresponding.
I laughed and we bantered a bit about font size and denial.
I’ve got a pair of readers at home, though truth be told, my husband’s co-opted them so I usually go it on my own. I think I’ve felt younger without them.
But straining over the falafel mix isn’t young, it’s just silly. Tools are to be used. Mortar, pestle, thesaurus, reading glasses.
You know how we feel about reading aloud over at our house.
If it weren’t for the pesky realities that some of us need to make money and some of us need to learn our times tables, we’d all just as soon sit around and read to each other most of the time.
(This, despite the fact that we’re all capable of reading to ourselves, silently, in our own heads.)
On Monday nights, my Small One and I have our own special book club while Tall One and her dad are off making music. Last night it was time to start a new book. But oh, the drama. The weight of the choice on our little shoulders. The groaning bookshelf, vibrating with siren songs of "read me, read me…"
Finally, after much angsty eenie-meenieing, we cuddled under the quilt and cracked open The Wind in the Willows.
Now, I haven’t spent any good time with the little mole since I was my daughter’s age but I’ve gotta tell you, he had me at "Hang spring cleaning!" And then here come Rat and Otter and Badger — mercy, all these critters and their funny wisdom:
"Such a good fellow… but no stability — especially in a boat!" (Otter talking about Toad)
"What’s a litle wet to a Water Rat?" (Rat, after Mole tipped them in the drink)
And, my Small One’s favorite, "Onion-sauce! Onion-sauce!" (Mole to the rabbits in the hedge)
She nearly sang it the whole way to school this morning. To the neighbors pulling their trashcans to the curb: Onion-sauce! To the couple walking their St. Bernard: Onion-sauce! To the family running even later to school than we were: Onion-sauce, onion-sauce, onion-sauce!
We locked up the bikes, the girls grabbed their backpacks and I sent them off, chattering, "a babbling procession of the best stories in the word, sent from the heart of the earth to be told at last to the insatiable sea."
It is Science Fair season and we’ve got a busy January, so we were all in agreement: time to get cracking.
Tall One partnered with a friend and launched a labor-heavy experiment comparing the rising capacity of various bread flours (white, wheat, spelt). Small One created a scientific template for comparing key characteristics of potential pets (habitat requirements, food needs, cuddliness, etc.). Needless to say, our house was all yeast, scissors and glue sticks, from Friday afternoon ’til last night.
There were hiccups — Papa Bear had to make a panicky run to Whole Foods when the scientists ran out of spelt flour… cats were continually banished from the poster boards… Google somehow lost "the perfect Red-Slider Turtle site."
But all in all, it was productive and pretty jolly — musical soundtracks on the stereo, quite a few ah-haa moments, and some really good fresh toast on Sunday morning. By last night, both girls had nearly complete presentation boards with facts, photos and fun fonts. Science Fair 2010 — pretty much in the bag.
Still, I did not expect what I heard this morning — that this weekend felt "like a mini spring break".
"It was so much fun doing our projects," said Tall One. "It’s almost like we went on adventures," echoed her sister.
Seriously. You could have knocked me over with a baby corn snake. Science Fair Projects=Spring Break??? Dang. I want some of that kool-aid.
But, really, there are work days that feel not just gratifying but exhilarating. I’ve had them and now, so have my girls.
So the question is, how to bring them on with some degree of regularity? How to make work feel a little bit more like an adventure every day?
I’ve got no controlled methods, objective deductions or hard data, but my hypothesis goes something this:
Do the work you love… Believe it can be joyful… Go all-in…
Spring Breakish feeling will follow.
I’m on my way to test it out now. Peer reviews of this study are welcome.
Sometimes when I’m a little cold and a little blue, I just like to open all the windows and get colder and bluer. Well, I mean, not literally. It’s freezing here and I’ve got the heat cranked. But I do love a good wallow now and again.
So this morning I decided to read a bunch of Edward Hirsch — I thought I’d start with The Night Parade because it’s very midwestern and a little desolate, but also nostalgic, which fit the bill for where I wanted to be. But one thing led to another and before long I was here, with this poem, feeling different. Lighter. A little warmer. And on my way to the library…
Branch Library
by Edward Hirsch
I wish I could find that skinny, long-beaked boy
who perched in the branches of the old branch library.
He spent the Sabbath flying between the wobbly stacks
and the flimsy wooden tables on the second floor,
(Read the rest here and you can listen to it here, too…)
I’m his auntie, so I think this is just mega-cool for a bunch of reasons.
1. Living in a few different states and halfway around the world has apparently paid off for the little guy in terms of global awareness.
2. He’s an awesome, thoughtful kid with a mind like a Masterlock and that’s clearly paying off, too.
3. Winning something — be it a game of Go Fish, the GeoBee or the lottery — always feels mighty fine.
Best of all, though, is that this comes at a time when he needed a bit of a lift.
Lately, he’s been struggling with what most of us struggle with now and again — carving out a comfortable spot for himself among his peers where he can both be himself and be adored. He’s been feeling a little wobbly about that, even though those of us who know him can see about 10,000 things to love and think there ought to be a line around the block of kids signing up for playdates and sleepovers with the kid.
But the thing is, most everyone feels a little wobbly about their own self in the context of everyone else sometimes. There are so many talents and beauties and big personalities out there, it can be darn hard to keep your rudder in the water and realize that you are your own fine boat.
One of the best ways to right oneself, I think, is to put your best self out there occasionally — scary though it may be. To put your best self out there and really shine. In front of people. What they see gets reflected back at you and the shine becomes downright dazzling. And dazzle is mighty powerful. Honestly, I can see my nephew’s from here.
My Tall One (who is now truly living up to that moniker, towering above most of the 5th graders and sharing my shoes) will go to middle school next year.
Only it’s not that easy.
She has "choices and opportunities" — magnet schools and leadership academies and such.
Nevermind that she’s eleven.
Working on essay applications.
Makes you almost yearn for the good old days when we just stepped blindly into our next school like good little sheep into a paddock.
Except not really, of course.
Because an interesting thing happens when we have choices about schools or jobs or relationships — we assess them.
A decision becomes a process rather than a event.
And afterwards, we know something more about who we are, what we like and what we want.
Which, I’ve got to admit, is better than just ending up somewhere.
Nothing against sheep.
So here I am, getting to know my girl ever better as she gets to know herself.
I hope she likes what she’s seeing as much as I do…
