Real resolutions await

It was John Lennon who said “And so this is Christmas, and what have we done.  Another year over, and a new one just begun.”  This week marks that week where we flip over, shaking off last year’s excesses and unwrapping those new blank calendars. 

The most common thing to do around New Year’s—besides one last night of indulgence—is to make a resolution.  Sometimes resolutions are made lightly; lose 10 pounds! Others are made with all seriousness.  Either way, many times in this week leading up to New Year’s when I evaluate the resolution I made the previous year, I can hardly remember it, let alone declare it conquered. 

I find Lennon’s sentiments to define how I usually feel at this time of year.  Another year has passed.  How have I spent it?  What did I do?  For me it’s a natural time to look inward and ask myself some probing questions about my life, my health, my state of mind, my ambitions or whatever it is that feels like it could be better in my life. 

I’ve been to New Year’s Day parties where resolutions are talked about as if we’re discussing what to have for dinner that night.  Sometimes that’s fun.  Sometimes it’s nice to breezily say that I plan on joining a gym, or writing the next great American novel.  But New Year’s Resolutions don’t have to be empty promises.  Last year I made a resolution and not only did I keep it, but as I pursued it the goal evolved into three separate avenues that very quietly and slowly made me more fulfilled at the end of every day.  One affected my health, one affected my creativity and one challenged me to learn a new skill.  I had no idea that making that one off-hand resolution would evolve over the course of the year into something that would add richness and pride to my life. 

Now that I’ve experienced the thrill of achieving one of those lofty New Year’s Day promises, I find that I am eagerly looking forward to this years’ and wondering where it might take me over the course of the year.  I also feel like I owe it to myself to make another reachable resolution that I might actually keep and not one that I know to be vaguely vacant of any true motivation.

I recently came across an article entitled “12 Things Happy People Do Differently” on the website marcandangel.com.  I was already swirling ideas around for this column about the merits of New Year’s Resolutions and I was pleased to see that number 10 on their list was “Commit to your goals.”  If that’s not a reason to stick to a resolution, then I don’t know what is.  Science has proven that people who make a resolution, or goal, and stick to it are happier people!  On the flip side I believe they are telling us that if we put something down in our minds as a goal and don’t stick to it, we will feel defeated with ourselves.  The trick there is to fully believe that you can still accomplish those resolutions, no matter the challenges.  The websites corresponding point is number two, “cultivate optimism;” people who see challenges positively will find an opportunity in every bump in the road.

The official “holiday season” ends on New Year’s Day, but I find myself feeling ready for that much anticipated time of year to be over on the day after Christmas.  We’ve all indulged.  Gifts have been exchanged, family has spent time together and the tree is starting to shed its needles all over the living room floor.  As I take down my Christmas decorations and put my house back into a more natural state of being, I feel like I too am tidying myself up from a holiday season of indulgence.  The tree gets dragged out the door, needles falling behind and like it, so does last year’s problems and challenges.  A whole new year awaits; new resolutions to make and goals to achieve.

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington. December 28, 2011

A Partridge in a Pear Tree? Does it come with free shipping?

Just before Thanksgiving I looked in my post office box and saw it overflowing.  I sighed in resignation; this was a day I had been expecting.  The catalogs had begun to arrive. 

It was like this for weeks.  As they started to pile up around my house, I found myself glancing at them out of the corner of my eye.  In years past I’ve browsed through some of them, but mostly they’ve gone straight from the mailbox to the trashcan.  But this year, in the flurry of getting ready for guests to arrive for Thanksgiving, before I chucked them in the bin I made a concerted effort to look through them.

The more I looked I realized that maybe this year catalog shopping was the way to go.  After all, I can’t just run out to the nearest mall or big box store to get a last minute present.  Many of my presents are going to relatives across the country, and you can’t beat those free shipping deals.  The more I thought about it, the more determined I was that this year I would not just browse through the mound of catalogs for ideas, but for actual purchases.

Thanksgiving passed; Black Friday passed and Cyber Monday arrived.  This is usually a day I ignore, but because of my pre-Thanksgiving organization I pounced.  In fact, I bought most of my Christmas presents that day or in the days that followed.  It appears as if I wasn’t alone either.  Americans everywhere descended upon their computers as Cyber Monday morphed into “Cyber Week.”  According to the digital analytics firm comScore, in the week following Thanksgiving Americans spent $6 billion Christmas shopping on-line (no that’s not a typo, it says billion). 

This is a staggering amount of money, but it seems lavishing your loved ones at Christmas is rooted in history.  Perhaps it can be traced to the Christmas song “The Twelve Days of Christmas.”  This year, if you were to replicate the song you would spend $101,119.84 on your true love.  Who can live up to such expectations?  Does love demand that we buy such rare gifts as a partridge in a pear tree or send your sweetheart 12 lords-a-leaping?  What happened to a simple fruitcake or tin of homemade fudge?  Are we expecting too much out of our Christmas giving?

My shopping, or shall I say buying, is just about completed and I pat myself on the back for being so organized.  But to be completely honest, I feel a slight sense of loss.  I’ve always had an abundance of Christmas spirit, and this is a time of year I look forward to with great anticipation.  I like the baking and the decorating, the cheesy music and the twinkling lights.  I like to stroll through my favorite local shops thinking of my favorite people.  In my flurry of online shopping this year, instead of feeling wrapped in the Christmas spirit, I feel instead as if I were simply checking people off a list.  Is searching for the best deal taking away from the Christmas spirit, or is it that bottom dollar deal that makes it?  Are the presents that we open on Christmas morning the best part about the season, or is it everything that leads up to that moment? 

There is a song that says “we are all children on Christmas Day.”  I’ve always felt this to be true.  There is a special magic that materializes around Christmas that smacks of the unexplained we once believed in as children.  Now that I’m buying and preparing for my own child, I understand that the gifts she opens on Christmas morning will enhance the magic of the season for her.  But I also understand that my thrill for the twinkling lights on our tree, the special once-a-year treats we’re making together, the frenzy of looking for the perfect gift in a crowded mall, and the anticipation of a visit from Santa are just as magical as the latest deal I found online.  And if “we’re all children on Christmas Day,” then I’m not expecting a partridge in a pear tree, but just a small sparkle of that old magic.

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington. December 14, 2011

Combating Leaves

One morning, not long ago, I awoke with a new understanding of an expression I had heard before.  Overnight my rectangular patch of green grass had transformed into an actual “blanket of leaves.”  You can imagine my surprise when I looked out my kitchen window and could not see one speck of green anywhere in my yard.

To be completely fair, there had been some patches of leaves on the grass in the days leading up to this, but nothing to inspire me to go outside and remove them.  Just a few harmless leaves, why disturb them?  But on this one morning, there was no denying it; I had to get rid of them.  I looked up.  It wasn’t readily apparent that my great silver maple had dropped any leaves at all.  This was a tad troublesome, as it looked to me like there were at least 100 trees worth of fallen leaves on my lawn already.  More was coming, of that I could be sure.

As I pondered the new vista out my kitchen window, I realized this was the first year of my life that I have ever been solely responsible for leaf disposal.  In my adolescence my parents owned a blower and had sufficient space to simply blow the leaves off their grass into the adjoining forest.  And while I certainly appreciated the blowers’ efficiency, I am embarrassed to say that for all these years I have viewed raking leaves as quite a romantic pastime.  It’s like a postcard for a picture perfect fall day: colorful autumn leaves drift slowly from the stately trees and a woman wrapped in a woolen sweater and bright knit hat peacefully rakes leaves in front of her white picket fence.  Hot chocolate and perhaps an apple pie await her indoors.  Beautiful, yes?

My husband, who grew up in leafy New England and knows better, happily handed over raking duty to me.  I bundle up my daughter and grab that ancient instrument of leaf removal, the indomitable rake.  There is a certain finesse to raking leaves I hadn’t realized before; a rhythm, a pattern.  At first I am simply enjoying hauling them into a pile to let my two-year-old leap into.  She shrieks with laughter.  I take pictures. 

After only a short time she loses interest, much faster than my own child self imagined.  When I was her age we lived in southern California and although we had one magnificent tree in our small backyard, the ground was mostly a slab of concrete and bounding into piles of fallen leaves never entered our sphere of play.  I’d always imagined that for a child it would be enormously fun.

No matter.  I turn up the intensity with my dear rake.  A wind has picked up and I notice my ever-growing pile of leaves has begun to flitter back across the lawn.  My daughter is banging at the door to go inside.  I do what I can with the piles I have made and go inside to reevaluate.  To my dismay there is no hot chocolate or freshly baked apple pie.  I’m starting to feel a little gypped. 

The next morning I awake to find a brand new “blanket of leaves.”  We repeat the process except this time my daughter loses interest after only a few minutes and I’m left alone, silently cursing this ancient instrument called the rake I had so adored just yesterday.  My arms and back are a little stiff, but they are calling for snowfall tonight.  And although I don’t know what happens to a blanket of leaves when snowfall covers them, I’m pretty sure its not good.  I’m thinking of chucking the rake and asking my neighbor to borrow his leaf blower.

After days of this repeated pattern I look around with satisfaction.  A terrific windstorm has hastened the process and just the last few holdouts cling to the silver maple in my backyard.  Whenever the wind finally loosens the last remnants of a once vibrant fall, I suspect they will be spared the rake for this year. 

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington. November 30, 2011

Traditions to be thankful for

Much of the holiday season is made up of rituals. Each family has their own unique rituals that carry them through the cooking, baking, gift giving and decorating. Yet there is one aspect of the holiday season that is ubiquitous across America, the Thanksgiving dinner. One night of the year all of America sits down to the same meal, with only slight variations. The food has become a nationwide ritual that is the fulcrum to the holiday itself.

Compared to Christmas, or even Halloween, the Thanksgiving we know is a fairly new tradition. Our ancestors brought with them remnants of harvest festivals they surely celebrated in their own country, giving thanks for a good crop of food to last them through the winter. And although we all know the tale of the first Thanksgiving feast between the Pilgrims and the Indians, the modern day holiday that we celebrate in such continuity was only solidified as a national holiday during the Civil War, and settled on its current date in 1941 by President Roosevelt. Regardless of its origins and relative newness, Thanksgiving is ingrained into modern life and many, myself included, find it one of the most enjoyable holidays.

The very word gives us direction into how to celebrate the day. Give thanks. Simple and clear. Find something in your life, no matter the situation, and be glad for it. Most people spend the day celebrating family and nourishment in some form. For family doesn’t always have to be a unit in the traditional sense. At dinner tables across the country people will be sitting down to celebrate the families that they have made in addition to the families they were given. Family can be a loosely defined word. How many people in your life can you be thankful for, blood relative or not? The list may be short, but I bet it is fiercely cherished.

One year, my family decided to chuck the traditional celebration of cooking, football and turkey-induced comas and decided to spend the long weekend in New York City. Although the Thanksgiving Day we celebrated that year was in itself a nontraditional celebration, our ritual activities were in fact the embodiment of the Thanksgiving holiday. We braved the freezing streets and watched the larger-than-life balloons float past during the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. (Infinitely better in person than on TV, I might add.) We saw the Rockettes fling their symmetrically long legs high in the air during their annual Christmas Spectacular. We saw the tree in Rockefeller Center in all its twinkling glory. We didn’t see much football that year, and the turkey and stuffing wasn’t as good in a restaurant as it is in my mother’s kitchen. But every year when I see the parade on TV, I get a little tingle and remember what it was like as a teenager to stand there with my family, and I’m glad for nontraditional celebrations.

There is one ritual that we did observe that year, along with everyone else. At the very end of the Thanksgiving Parade, the marching bands’ music had faded around the next corner, and the balloons had long drifted off into lower Manhattan (or out of the TV screen). Anticipation for what awaited at the end of the parade built. Then finally, at long last, Santa in all his red velvet finery appeared in his magnificent sleigh. And at that, with the appearance of one float, the Christmas season arrived. Something more to be thankful for on this day of giving thanks.

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington. November 16, 2011

The curiosity of greener grass

I’ve always thought that envy and jealousy were learned emotions. Somewhere around the adolescent years it seemed a desire for another’s life or possessions entered into the picture. As you grow up, the wisdom in the statement “The grass is always greener on the other side” makes more sense.

It turns out, I wasn’t quite right. Just about the time my daughter started crawling I noticed that babies seemed to have a fair amount of desire for another’s possessions. The surest way to get a kid crawling across the room was for another kid to have hold of a toy. At that stage I started to wonder at the “grass is always greener” statement. How many squabbles do parents break up in their lives over children fighting over a possession? Do they want it simply because the other one does too?

Could it possibly be that we are born with envy? Toddlers have an especially healthy dose of this trait, although sometimes I wonder if it is simply curiosity in disguise. Lately my daughter has discovered food envy. Anything on my plate inevitably looks better to her. With repeated exposure she would even reach for my raw broccoli, as long as it was on my plate. Try serving it to her on her own plate and its just a little tree to play with. Unsure if this is wise, I fumble on about how good it is that we are learning to share and let her take my food. It appears this is a family trait. My parents confess that when my brother and I were children they took to ordering things at restaurants for us that they wanted to eat, knowing that whatever they had, we would want.

As Thanksgiving approaches, it makes me think about the grass-is-always-greener statement again. In simplified terms, Thanksgiving is a time to take stock of what is already present in our lives and be grateful for it. Our grass is our own, even if our neighbors may seem to be greener. I can’t help but notice that just after we all come to terms with what we have, the next month we turn around and spend an entire month coveting things that we do not have but wish we did. It may be a flat screen TV or wishing for a far off loved one to be with us. But either way, I cannot help but wonder if we would start the year off in a healthier mindset if those mental activities were reversed.

The more I excessively dissect the “grass is always greener” sentiment I have come to the conclusion that I cannot believe an emotion like envy is something we are handed at birth. I’d like to believe that bad habits are something we learn. So perhaps instead what I witnessed as I watched my daughter race across the floor on her chubby knees was simply raging curiosity. And as we grow it is our task to turn that emotion into something healthier. Is our need to have something better, something perhaps our friends already have, what drives us to be smarter, faster, better? This year, should we be grateful for our innate curiosity, sometimes disguised as envy? If it will spur a just-learning baby to propel herself across a room, what else could envy teach us? If our neighbors grass truly is greener than ours, perhaps admiring it and asking what sort of products he uses on it will simply make our own grass that much brighter. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, is it?

 

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington. November 2, 2011

Mysterious joy of Halloween is renewed

As October creeps along there are signs of Halloween everywhere.  Enormous displays of candy deck the aisles of the grocery store, neighborhoods are decorating their houses, the air is getting chillier and the darkness of night is advancing quickly.  I find children all over town giddily anticipating the festive night.  But it’s not just the children of the area that are looking forward to Halloween—it’s adults too. 

What is it exactly that adults love so much about Halloween?  Perhaps it is the chance to revisit a creative and silly side of our own childhoods.  Imagining that a dark autumn night holds something mysterious or scary is thrilling, even to those of us who are all grown up.  Or perhaps it is simply the fun of handing out raw sugar to other people’s children and imagining the good times that follow.  One night a year, children on a sugar high are adorably endearing.

Before we moved to Grand Coulee we lived in a section of our town in New Mexico where everyone had a couple of acres of land; beautiful, but not conducive to small children walking between houses on a dark October night.  The first year we lived there, fresh out of youth, my husband and I excitedly put out the Halloween decorations and filled bowls with candy, eagerly awaiting the first trick-or-treaters.  Sadly, we were sorely disappointed.  Not a single costumed child showed up and we were left alone watching scary movies with far too much candy to split between two adults. 

The delightful mystery of Halloween was lost from our lives for a few years.   Halloween is a holiday seemingly created strictly for children, and until we had one of our own it was too easy to treat the day as a non-event, a day to simply get through on the way to the more monumental holidays of the next few months.

Consequently, after a hiatus of many years, Halloween celebrations have reentered my life as an important date on the yearly calendar.  As a parent, I feel it is my solemn duty to give my daughter the simplistic childhood version of what a holiday may mean.  Therefore, for Halloween I give her pumpkins, costumes, and candy.  Unlike other holidays, the child version of Halloween is not much shallower than the adult version.  What is Halloween other than a guise for a night of fun and indulgence?  All that’s required these days is a costume, however simple or elaborate it may be.  Even the idle threat of the “trick” has long been discarded among most American children who rightfully assume that it is their due, without any sort of song, dance or entertainment, to receive their “treat.” 

I’ve been told that we live in an area of town that gets an enormous amount of trick-or-treating traffic.  So, for the first time in many years, we have pulled out the old decorations and stocked up on massive bags of candy.  They mysterious delight of Halloween has returned, even if I don’t expect any kind of “tricks” to entertain us during the night.  The guise of it all is enough to find the night alluring and special.  Keeping the bulging bag of raw sugar closed until the big day is, alas, a challenge reserved for the adults among us.

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington. October 19, 2011

Activities for all in the fall

With the passing of the Autumnal Equinox and our march into October, fall is officially upon us.  October has always been my favorite month of the year.  Even as a child I looked forward to fall and the fresh back-to-school activities.  Its as if the heavy lid of summer has come off and everyone has more energy and a lighter step.  Now is the time to get things done, finish up any last minute projects that you had slated to finish before the end of the year.  The crisp days of fall beckon me to get off the beach and accomplish something before the frozen days of winter send us indoors.  The promise of a hot cup of cocoa and a good book by the fire entice me to be productive and enjoy the fresh outdoor air before old man winter arrives.

This October marks the one-year anniversary of the first time I saw Grand Coulee.  It’s the first change in weather that my senses recognize.  Last year during this month we spent a long weekend to see what offerings the area had for us.  It was a gorgeous weekend, crisp and clear, and Halloween decorations happily speckled the neighborhoods.  As the weather has turned this year, I remember that weekend and the feel in the air of the same back-to-school freshness that we were to get by moving here. 

Summer in Grand Coulee has a marvelous array of activities that kept us very close to home.  With the coming of fall, the beach towels have been washed and stored away until next summer, but by no means are we headed indoors just yet.  Festivals and fairs dot the landscape of eastern Washington almost every weekend this fall.  Head in any direction from Grand Coulee and you might find a town square filled with vendors and music, parades and food.  A couple weekends ago, I stumbled upon the Autumn Leaf festival in Leavenworth and a routine Saturday drive turned into an unexpected day of merriment.  Heading in the opposite direction is a scenic train day trip along the Pend Oreille River.  The trip takes only an hour and a half and is rumored to be spectacular.  There is also the promise of a number of different Oktoberfest celebrations in various parts of the state for those with Bavarian backgrounds or simply the love of good beer.

New to me this month is the unbelievable bounty of the apple harvest.  Driving near Wenatchee recently I couldn’t help but be overcome by the enormity of the process of picking nearly 60% of the nations apples.  On first glance, to a newcomer, it doesn’t seem like the valley could hold that many apple trees.  But the further I drove and the more I looked, I noticed apple trees growing in every nook and cranny that could possibly support a tree, and even some that seemed unlikely.  There is nothing that says fall like biting into a crisp apple, the smell of a fresh baked apple pie or cool apple cider. 

This fall offers many exciting day trips and new things to uncover for someone spending their first autumn in the area, like myself.  But I suspect that there might also be some new things to see for those who’ve been here a long time.  If long hours spent in a car aren’t appealing, there are numerous trails of every difficulty around the Grand Coulee area.  That crisp fall air is perfect for a short day hike.  With the quantity of fun fall activities to do in the area, there is likely to be something for everyone. 

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington. October 5, 2011

The evolving family dinner table

Each night, families across America sit down to their own version of the family dinner.  I have no doubt that the character of those dinners have shifted as families have expanded, grown up, and moved out.  At our house, the dinner table has changed drastically in the past two years going from spoon-feeding a baby to a chattering, messy toddler. 

When my daughter was about six-months old I, like mothers all over America, busily prepared to start solids.  I saw this moment as one of the firsts in my life as a parent to extend some measure of shaping of her future life.  I was solely in charge of what she would put in her mouth.  Now was the time to present her with the right choices.  My strategy included fresh fruits and vegetables, a variety of whole grains, low-fat proteins and high-fat cheeses and yogurts.  I had grand plans for her culinary life.  Of course, I was not to exclude some fun.  That’s what grandparents are for, to slip her the occasional lollipop or cheese doodle, so I didn’t have to and it would be a special treat.

With the night of the first meal upon us, the organic, all-natural rice cereal was carefully prepared and the camera was at the ready.  At the end of the experience, we had about 40 new pictures to add to the first-year baby book, two, or possibly three bites of mushy rice cereal in her belly, and a heck of a mess to clean up.  I was so proud.  We were off on the right foot.

Of course, nothing goes as planned.  I quickly learned that my grand culinary plans could be chucked, along with the blended, frozen cubes of homemade baby food.  As soon as finger foods entered our life, it was clear I no longer had sole responsibility for what she ate.  She now made her own choices.  It was at this stage in the game, when bowls of spaghetti and plates of afternoon snacks arrived that other preferences became clear.   Perhaps it is simply the stage of childhood we are in, or maybe it is a personality trait, but she now takes almost an hour to fully finish her meal.  Which is not to say she will finish her plate.  Toddlers are graced with the ability to stop eating when they are full, not when their plate is clean. 

Our family dinner table has shifted enormously over the past two years.  We now sit at the table for a long time each night, when before we might sneak in our meal while watching the baseball game on TV.  I apparently have little control over what she eats anymore.  I provide the alternatives, but she ultimately will choose what goes in her mouth.  Mac n’ cheese and chicken fingers are a much larger portion of our overall caloric intake.  But, like each new step in the life of parent, I’m trying to take it all in stride.  What the next two years will bring in the shape of our family dinner table, I have no idea.  But whatever it is, I’m sure it won’t be anything I expected or planned for.

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington.  September 21, 2011

The garden’s main crop: joy

Each spring my family and I faithfully plant our small little patch of yard designated for vegetables. I always find it a hopeful project. Barring floods, droughts, personal injury, relocation or disaster of any kind, I am promising my little patch of earth that I will care for it gently and lovingly until fall, when it will feed me.

Harvest time has arrived, and as usual it has caught me by surprise. I unexpectedly spent the frantic days leading up to a recent vacation turning as many apricots as I could into jam. As suspected, by the time we came home some busy little animal, or animals, had plucked the rest of the ripe fruit off the tree, scattering the bald pits around my lawn. As this is our first spring in Grand Coulee, I was childishly enthusiastic about all the fruit on our inherited apricot tree. It was a lovely surprise, and one that will supply something sweet all winter.

The personal vegetable garden has recently made a comeback with young families across America. Not since our country was urged to plant Victory Gardens during World War II has there been such a surge in locally grown produce. Perhaps it is some combination of both economic and environmental disaster that has inspired us to think locally. Farmers markets dot main streets all across the country, offering easy access to fresh, locally grown produce for those who don’t have the time, space, or inclination to plant a garden of their own. Grand Coulee has recently begun a summer Saturday Market where locals can gather to buy fresh produce, locally made products and catch up with their neighbors.

The key to a successful vegetable garden is to plant only foods that you actually want to eat. The promise of a lush red tomato will not entice you out to weed or fertilize your garden if you don’t like tomatoes and can’t find the time to turn them into tomato sauce. I like to keep it simple. Tomatoes, onions, garlic, basil, and zucchini are always in our garden. Rotating crops have been known to include summer squash, oregano, parsley, carrots, pumpkin, cilantro, peppers (both hot and sweet), and the occasional jalapeno. On any given day in late summer, our kitchen is awash with the potent scents of simmering tomato sauce and spicy pesto, canned or frozen for the winter.

Preserving what you have grown in your garden can seem like a daunting task, but it’s only as big of a project as you’d like it to be. Freezing is often an easier solution than canning, although freezing uses substantially more energy as you have to take up valuable freezer space for your preserved foods. Recipes abound on the Internet for canned tomato sauce and frozen pesto, zucchini bread and jams. Start small. Eat everything you grow the first season. Try planting one tomato plant in a pot and see what it is like to care for. A warning: eating a tomato fresh off the vine will taint your image of store-bought tomatoes for the rest of your life!

This year, my daughter has established an extreme fondness for our cherry tomato plant. We usually just plant one because each cherry tomato plant can reap an enormous amount of tomatoes. But this year, she’s the only one in our family to have sampled any at all. She gets to them first thing in the morning; while my brain is still focused on coffee and breakfast, she’s out the door wondering which “baby tomato” is ready to eat. If I wasn’t committed to a vegetable garden before this summer, I am now. Being able to offer my daughter food right out of our backyard is enormously satisfying.

I take a delightful joy out of preserving the foods we grow in our garden. Opening a jar of tomato sauce made from our tomatoes to sprinkle on spaghetti in the darkness of winter somehow makes this simple meal more enjoyable. As I open the jar I am also reminded of the late summer days of harvesting and preserving and look forward to all the fun we will have planting, tending, and harvesting next year’s garden.

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington. September 7, 2011

A day at the beach brings out our inner child

Beach season.  Hot afternoons, warm evenings and cool, refreshing water.  Since my family and I moved to Grand Coulee last winter, I had been enticed by the promise of lazy, warm days on the beach.  Almost every afternoon since those promised warm days have arrived my daughter and I load on the sunscreen and head to the beach for some fun in the sun.  As the water in Lake Roosevelt rose and pushed the beachgoers into a small crescent of shore, people watching became one of my most interesting summer activities. 

I found as the summer season progressed that people seem to undergo a transformation when they get to the beach.  Except for young children, people of all ages seem to shed some level of conformity when their feet hit the sand.  It seemed to me that the toddlers and younger children were the only ones acting predictably: up to their necks in sand and inquisitively exploring their surroundings.  I saw teenagers building sandcastles and parents playing with their children.  Grown men and women were swaying joyfully on the swings.  We bare our imperfect bodies in bathing suits that in any other setting would be considered scandalously inappropriate.  It was almost as if everyone was so far out of their normal, everyday element that predictable behaviors didn’t apply.

It was the teenagers who first caught my eye.  Rarely do you see a child past the age of 12 simply playing.  Is it the absence of other entertainments that allow them to enjoy the things they used to as younger children?  Combating boredom is an effortless thing these days.  There are cell phones, social networking sites, email, computer games, video games and possibly, if you’re lucky, a book or a school sport.  In the absence of these possibilities, it seems as if the imagination rose from the ashes, and before you know it, there they were: conducting a sand castle competition, swimming out to the dock and swinging on the swings.

As I watched the rest of us join ranks with the young children, it made me wonder what it is about the beach that brings out the child in all of us.  If we were all half as active as we are at the beach, America wouldn’t have such an obesity problem.  If we interacted with our children as much on a daily basis as we do at the beach, perhaps there wouldn’t be as many problems in our schools.  It’s almost as if a day at the beach grants us the same freedom as a vacation does.  On vacation some of our everyday comforts are stripped away, leaving us the time and attention to focus on activities that are simply for pleasure.

I think being at the beach reminds us on a very deep level of being one of those sand covered kids we see at the beach today.  It reminds us that simply getting dirty and playing, then jumping in the cold water to rinse off is a rush of simple joy that is deeply satisfying. 

For much of my childhood I lived in a beach town.  My summer afternoons and weekends were spent in the sand and the sun playing with my parents and little friends I would meet down by the water and then forget the next day.  I grew up hearing stories about my brother and I purposefully throwing our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the sand, picking them up and eating them merrily.  This summer, I watch my daughter eating a sandy nectarine and know that if we were at home and she ate something that dirty, I would be appalled.  But at the beach, there’s much that we do outside of our comfort zone and regular day activities.  And you know, I think I like it.

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington. August 24, 2011

Summer softball satisfies

Like many Americans, summer, for me, is synonymous with baseball.  All my life I’ve been a baseball fan.  Some of my brightest memories as a child are sitting in the stands with my dad at Dodger Stadium.  My brother and I would drag along our mitts with the full expectation that if a foul ball came our way, by golly, we were going to catch it.  We would order a legendary foot-long Dodger dog and let my dad finish most of it as we’d already moved on to the Cracker Jacks and peanuts.  At that age it was mostly about the food and spending a fun night under the bright lights with my dad, but when I think about those magical nights now I know a lifelong love was forming. 

When I moved to Grand Coulee and heard about a summer softball league, I was eager to play.  There is something wholesome and carefree about playing baseball on a hot summer night.  It also takes some guts.  Not everyone played sports in high school and not everyone is blessed with superior hand-eye coordination.  I played sports in high school, but unfortunately the superior hand-eye coordination skipped me over.  One of my biggest lessons of the summer was that just because you love something, doesn’t mean you know how to do it.  Putting theory into practice is a difficult thing.

This year the Grand Coulee summer softball league had over 180 players in the league.  I roundly applaud all teams and all players.  It’s not always an easy thing to make room in a busy schedule to get outside simply for the fun of it.  There are commitments to juggle, mitts to find, injuries to nurse, kids to take care of, lawns to mow and countless other justifications.  Yet still people came out every week to play with their team to have fun, get some exercise, meet new people and possibly win a game or two. 

Based on what I saw on the field this summer, I would say most teams landed somewhere in between “just out to have fun” and “out to win,” but I think all teams had the intention of doing both.  As an athlete most of my life, I’ve always had a healthy competitive spirit.  In fact, I think most people do; everyone likes to win.  With that in mind, was it possible to simply “have fun” playing softball?  If you are competitive, even in the slightest degree, is it possible to have fun if you are losing?   At what point does competitive spirit become a disadvantage to having fun?

I’ve always believed that competitive spirit is a great attribute to have.  It can inspire you to do better than you thought you could, motivate you to push harder and encourage you to continue when you thought you were through.  Perhaps, as with many things, there is simply some give and take.  For the sake of something that is strictly for fun, competitive spirit is great as long as it allows you to be a good sport, lose gracefully, and still enjoy your night. 

I also fervently hope that there is a way to be competitive without seriously injuring ourselves.  This season in the Grand Coulee softball league there were many minor and some major injuries.  Is it necessary to slide into base when we are just out here to have fun?  Even the best slides will probably result in a scrape and some bruising.  And occasionally, a bone is broken. 

It may be the end of the softball season but it doesn’t necessarily mean it has to be the end of getting outside and playing in the sun with our friends and neighbors.  And who knows, maybe that carefully cultivated competitive spirit will come in handy again next year.

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington. August 10, 2011

Early sunrise adds new surprise

About a month or two before midsummer, when each morning brought the sun earlier and earlier to my bedroom window, I started getting up and going running. As a new resident of the area, I was warned about how early the sun would rise and that black-out shades were a must. The black-out shades went up, but the sun still found ways to slip through the cracks and land squarely on my eyelids. One morning I decided to just get up, put on my running shoes and head out the door. I’m up anyway, I thought; I might as well use the time wisely.

To be fair, this isn’t a new habit I just picked up. I was a rower in college in New England and got up well before the sun most days. Probably because of my time on the Connecticut River, or perhaps in spite of it, I find exercising with the dawn to be immensely satisfying. More often than not, you have the streets, or the river, or even the gym to yourself. The workout seems somehow easier, the body still asleep, the mind not fully awake.

As my feet hit the pavement on my first early morning run in Grand Coulee, I couldn’t believe my eyes. I had been living here for months, but that morning everything looked different. The cliffs were sharper, the lake stiller. The soft early sunlight brushed the tops of the trees, somehow making them look taller. It wasn’t exactly quiet. I had a number of dogs that greeted me as I passed their yards, but the town seemed so peaceful as to be almost magical. I think I was surprised because I find this area to be so peaceful anyway. What was really the difference?

A handful of early morning runs went by. Soon, I had a good idea of why I loved seeing our town at this time of day. I believe it comes down to perception. Everything looked different because I saw it in a different situation. I wasn’t driving, I wasn’t on the way to somewhere else; I wasn’t talking to someone or listening to music. It was an entirely different way of experiencing the physical environment in which we live. And because I experience it differently, the perception of that physical environment is totally different. Walking the streets of a busy city at night can have the same effect. It might as well be a different city altogether.

I notice that children have a similar reaction to perception. Moving toys to a different location when they are not around is almost like buying them a brand new toy. In a different spot, it looks totally different and freshly exciting, providing volumes of new exploration.

After my revelation about perception, it made me wonder what else would change if simply viewed at a different time of day or in a different location. Would an angry person in the checkout line look happier if met in the parking lot? Would an argument change dimensions? Would a joke told in one scenario be funnier than if it had been told in another?

How much of what we see and experience is simply the luck of perception? Is it possible that things we either love or hate could have had different outcomes if we’d first experienced them in a different environment? It makes me stop and wonder. After all, what is love or hate besides perception?

Recognizing that it may be just a change in perception that makes me appreciate my early morning runs doesn’t actually lessen the joy one bit. I still love to get outside with the dawn, and as long as the sun is up early, I will be too.

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington. July 27, 2011

Are parents everywhere just winging it?

Watching my daughter draw the other day, I stumbled upon one of the timeless parenting questions that have neither a right nor wrong answer. When your child is doing something the wrong way, do you correct them or let them figure it out for themselves?

She was happy, entertained, undertaking a creative activity … but she was coloring all wrong! She just turned 2 in March, so why I expect her to be able to hold a marker correctly is beyond me, but I felt I had to show her how to hold it so the side of the marker presses into the page instead of the tip. Coloring with just the tip seemed hardly gratifying to me as it just put little scratches on the page. The second I tried to help her, a tantrum arose and that was it for the fun.

I felt perplexed. Was it wrong of me to try and show her how to color? She seemed happy, so why did I feel the need to direct her differently? As a parent, it’s hard to know when you should let your kid figure it out on their own and when to offer guidance. There are some days when I feel all I do is bark orders of one kind or another. If she’s happy, but carrying out some craft incorrectly, shouldn’t I just leave her alone?

A couple days later, I tried a different route. We were drawing again, but this time out in the driveway with the sidewalk chalk tracing each other. We took turns. First she lay down and I traced her outline, a small 2-D child in pink chalk. Then it was my turn. I gamely lay down on the rough concrete. She went to each limb and was very serious and focused. I stood up and looked down and all I could see were some faint scratch marks. There was no shape at all. Nevertheless, I clapped my hands and exclaimed in excitement over such a fine job.

This time it was her turn to look perplexed. Looking down at her outline and then at mine, she clearly could see something was amiss and looked to me for guidance. But did I give it to her? Oh, no. She’s having fun, playing outdoors in the gorgeous sunshine and somewhere in there, she’s learning something all on her own, right?

After two years, I am still unsure of my role as a parent in some regards. Am I there for guidance, or just support? I can envision women with older children wisely telling me we are there for both, some combination of encouragement and direction, but that invisible line is not always clear. It’s times like these that make me wonder if parents anywhere really know what they are doing. Just when you figure out how to do one thing, a child will move onto the next and everyone has to learn a new skill. I imagine this to be true even as your children become adults. Growing up you think your parents have all the answers, but now that I’m a parent myself, I have to wonder, are parents everywhere just winging it?

I know eventually I will figure out when to give gentle instruction and when to just clap my hands enthusiastically. Clearly, there is a balance there somewhere. Simply doing one or the other would almost certainly raise an ill-adjusted adult. In the meantime I’ll align myself with parents everywhere and just wing it.

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington. July 13, 2011

Fun in the sun a welcome change

On a recent touristy afternoon, I took my parents to Dry Falls Dam.  This was their first visit to Grand Coulee and in the weeks leading up to their arrival, I wondered how I would entertain them; Mother Nature had been relentless.  A trip to Dry Falls Dam seemed like a safe activity to plan as we could enjoy it regardless of the weather.

I am new to the area having moved here in early January.  All winter I heard promises of a beautiful spring and summer and all the lazy days on the lake we would have.  I was optimistic, but cautious.  The long cold spring has been scattered with gloriously sunny days, but for the most part, what I’ve seen of the skies above Grand Coulee have been gray. 

But slowly, those gloriously sunny days have become more than just scattered abnormalities and have become the dominant weather pattern.  In the gift shop at Dry Falls with my parents I saw a mug that said “Fun in the Sun, Grand Coulee, Washington.”  I bought it immediately.  Now, I get it!  The first weekend my parents arrived we spent every spare minute at one of the many beaches around town, on the lake in a rented boat, or in my backyard sipping cold, summery drinks.

I am not totally new to a gray winter sky.  I did spend two wet years getting my Master’s degree at Oregon State University but those years are getting increasingly distant faster than I would like to admit.  Since then, my family and I have lived in Santa Fe, New Mexico.  When I tell people who have never lived in the Southwest that Santa Fe has 300 days of sunshine, they usually emit a small desperate sigh.  As if nothing they could imagine could be better than all that sun.  But in reality, there is a part of all of us, or at the very least a part of me, who wishes for a bit of blustery weather during winter.  It’s strange to be so bitterly cold outside, the sun blasting at you and not a cloud in sight.  On a typical cold winter day in Santa Fe you are bundled up to your eyeballs in winter clothes, hop in your car and promptly turn on the air conditioner. 

Since moving to Grand Coulee, I have been reintroduced to that favorite American pastime of wondering about the weather, talking about the weather and trying to plan for the weather.  I have loved every minute of it.  I honestly forgot what it was like to feel the sun on your skin and rejoice in it.  When you have too much of a good thing, even too much sunshine, it’s remarkable how quickly you come to take it for granted.  On the first beautiful day this spring I sat out in my backyard, my daughter playing in the grass beside me.  I am embarrassed to admit that I had tears in my eyes I felt so happy.  How is it possible that simply a sunny day could make me feel so good when six months ago I was wishing for just one gray day so I could cozy down with a book and a roaring fire? 

I read a book once about a scrappy old Scottish broad who never let the weather dampen her outdoor activities.  She persevered in all weather.  I immediately admired and envied this character, but as time has gone on I have realized that she is the exception and not the rule.  Although I think we all would like to have a bit of defiance in us when it comes to the weather, it’s likely that we will all see a bit more of our neighbors now that the sun has returned to Grand Coulee.  So for now, I am taking the slogan on my new mug to heart and am going to have “Fun in the Sun” in Grand Coulee.

Previously published in "The Star", Grand Coulee, Washington. June 29, 2011