Declaring Independence

Next week marks one of my favorite holidays of the calendar year—Independence Day.  I love this holiday because it is typically a day filled with simple good cheer.  I find it an easy holiday to celebrate.  The weather is usually warm and pleasant.  Friends and family gather around barbeques, lakes, and pools to laugh and simply be together.  It is an uncomplicated day filled with little family drama or outsized expectations, like many holidays can be.  On the surface, the 4^th of July is purely a day to have fun, watch some fireworks, eat, drink, and be merry.

In years past I’ve spent the morning of the 4^th with 60,000 of my closest friends, running the largest 10K road race in the world.  With 150,000 spectators cheering on the runners, the Peachtree Road Race in Atlanta has always been a festive way to kick off the holiday.  This year family will be traveling across the country to spend the day with us, and we’ll enjoy a far more peaceful day lazing on the lake instead of running the streets with a mob.

As Independence Day draws closer, I watch my 3-year old daughter discover her own independence.  In fact, as I watch her, the term “independence” has taken on a whole new meaning.  Before I was a parent, independence was a clear definition, one I always associated with fighting the British and declaring a self-ruling republic.  But being a parent forces one to look at life through a different lens.  I can see that to a child, independence is something they covet from their parents.  My daughter’s first strung-together sentence was, “I do it myself!”  A clear sign that she needed some independence from me.   The need is so strong that if she is not following my directions, all I have to do is the time-proven method of counting to three.  I always assumed parents did this with the threat of some punishment.  But for my own child, the threat is simply that if she doesn’t comply by the time I reach three, I will do the task—whatever that may—for her.  She almost always complies before I reach three, the need for independence far outpacing her need to ignore my instructions.  I’m sure that as she grows older, her need for independence will become even clearer.

To be independent is not only something children in our society strive for.  Independence means something different at each age in our lives, for each person, each religion and nationality.  Independence and the freedom it offers means something different for Jewish Americans, African Americans, Native Americans and countless others.  Independence means something different to a 10-year old than it does to an 80-year old.  Some are just learning to stretch their wings and declare their independence, while on the opposite spectrum our elderly are clutching their independence tightly, unwilling to have their wings clipped.

Each Independence Day I’m always slightly surprised by how proud we are as a nation to be independent, even if it is so casually celebrated at a barbeque and fireworks show.  It shouldn’t surprise me, but 236 years later, I find that becoming, and maintaining, an independent nation is still something worth celebrating.  These freedoms trickle all the way down to my 3-year old, able to find and define her own independence.  There are many freedoms to celebrate this 4^th of July, large and small, and finding and appreciating each one of those is our privilege.

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, WA.  June 27, 2012

A moment to stand still

Next week is the summer solstice, denoting the longest day of the year and the official start of summer.  For some cultures this is a day of marked celebration.  In our own country it seems that many years this day can be passed by with a casual nod from the local weatherman mentioning the peak of daylight hours for the year.

When I was in my 20’s I spent a summer working as an environmental researcher in Sweden.  Before that time, celebrating the summer solstice was not something on my mental list of noteworthy holidays, but in Sweden it is a national holiday and one with supreme cultural importance.  For a country that is very dark much of the year, the general populace tends to transform into a sun-worshiping frenzy for the brief summer months.  As the sun doesn’t ever quite disappear except for an extended period of hazy twilight, this makes some sense.  For a transient visitor like myself, I enjoyed watching people bask so thoroughly in something that I had typically taken for granted.  Their simple joy was infectious.  When the solstice came I joined in the masses and made my way out to the countryside to stay up through the sun-soaked night, weave a crown of wildflowers on my head and dance around the Maypole. 

Since that time, I have always noted the summer solstice with fondness and an interest I didn’t have before.  It seems to me that such a day deserves some attention.  After all, we owe much to the sun. 

The term “solstice” is a Latin term that literally means the sun “stands still” and traditionally was used as a term to define an exact moment in time.  Today we use it to define the day that has the longest period of daylight. 

Ancient cultures used the summer solstice as a moment to pause and celebrate life in between the busy times of planting and harvest.  Most societies tended to focus on celebrating the sign of fertility in the earth and the immense power the sun held over their livelihoods.  They rejoiced with feasts and yearly rituals, such as leaping over bonfires to determine how high the crops would grow.  The Druids celebrated the solstice as the day of the wedding of Heaven and Earth and even today the summer solstice is considered a “lucky” wedding day.  Most celebrations of the summer solstice tend to pre-date Christianity but aren’t wholly pagan in nature.  Christians placed the feast day of St. John the Baptist on the day of his birth, a few days after the solstice, instead of the more typical feast day celebration for saints on the day of his death. 

In modern times, countries around the world have varied celebrations.  In Austria a flotilla of ships sail down the Danube, large bonfires are lighted all around Quebec, Denmark, Hungary, Germany and Estonia, while Italy and Ireland celebrate with fireworks.  In our own country, celebrations tend to congregate in cities with large populations of immigrants from Northern European countries such as New York, Minneapolis, Chicago and Santa Barbara.

Perhaps the largest celebration takes place at the great monument of Stonehenge in England.  British subjects are allowed access onto the site, which is normally roped off, on the days of the summer and winter solstice.  Perfectly aligned towards both the rising and setting sun on the solstice, the site has enormous religious, astrological, and spiritual significance in both modern and ancient times.

Another ancient structure constructed to highlight the interaction between earth and sun is the Mayan Temple of Kukulcan, which signals the precise moment where the sun “stands still.”  At that moment, if viewed from above, one would be able to see the south and west sides cast in shadow and the north and east sides blazing in the sun.

This year, the sun will “stand still” on June 20^th at 4:09pm PST.  If you find yourself aware of the time next week, take a moment to stand still and be thankful for the bountiful gifts the sun provides us before the earth’s axis tilts again, sending us back towards shorter days and longer nights.
Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington. June 13, 2012

The power of words

If I had a penny for how many times I’ve used the phrase “Use your words,” over the last two years, I’d be, as they say, rich.  My house at this time is like an intensive English-language boot camp.  My three-year-old daughter is at that stage all children pass through where her emotions far outpace her command of the English language.  Although perhaps this is a stage not restricted to childhood.  As adults putting emotions, wishes, fears, and angers into the right words is sometimes equally elusive.

So it’s no wonder that adults and precocious toddlers butt heads when communication barriers prohibit real understanding of oversized emotions.  It’s also no wonder that they pick up on the bad language that we let slip as much as the good language we so ferociously try to teach.  And as funny as it is when a pint-sized little creature lets slip a well placed four-letter word, it’s also alarming.

We are not totally to blame, children pick up bad language from everywhere and there is really no sheltering them from it.  The parenting guru’s tell us that we are supposed to simply ignore the use of a bad word and they will stop using it, otherwise we end up demonstrating just how much power a certain word can carry. 

I understand that thought in practice—ignore bad words, reward good words—but in reality I find it slightly contradictory.  I’m constantly telling my daughter just how powerful her words actually are.  “Use your words,” is the mantra, but beneath it lies the meaning: your words have incredible value and are powerful, I will listen to you and most likely grant your request if you speak nicely.  So isn’t that what we are trying to teach them, that words have power?

The powers that be also tell us to teach our children to simply ignore it if another child is mean to them on the playground.   But, if we are teaching our children to ignore both actions and words, where does that get them? 

A playground taunt frequently heard says, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”  Most likely this ageless chant came from an attempt to ignore a bully, but I wonder if it is teaching our children that their words don’t have power over others?  Perhaps a better quote to teach them would be that of Pearl Strachan: “Handle them carefully, for words have more power than atom bombs.” 

As I try to find a way to impress upon my young daughter that words and actions have a breadth of power and influence over others, I try to gain some understanding myself.

Are we, as parents, really teaching our children our own moral code, or are we teaching them what we wish our moral code would be?  At any given hour there is a stream of commands directed at children: say please, pick up your toys, brush your teeth, eat your peas.  How often do we phrase our commands to our children with as much respect as we’d like our children to speak to others?  In this case, are they learning by listening to our words or our actions?

I understand that what I say to my daughter is important and that she does hear me, even if I have to repeat myself a hundred times.  I understand that I should ignore the bad—bad words, bad behavior, bad manners, and reward the good—good words, good behavior, good manners.  As I watch what she is actually internalizing, I get the feeling that what I say matters so much less than what I do. 

I don’t know if they actually say the “sticks and stones” chant on the playground anymore, but as my daughter grows up, I will try to rise to the challenge of teaching her to be aware of both her words and actions, and maybe to develop a thick skin for those words that aren’t directed with such care.

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, WA. May 30, 2012

An oldie but goody

As the days have lengthened, the sun has once again become our constant companion.  And although I am still shocked every day at just how early that sun makes its appearance, I am warmed, literally and figuratively, by its presence.  With the sun has come warmer days, bright, fragrant blossoms and the promise of those long-remembered days at the lake.  Colorama has rung in the unofficial start of the Grand Coulee summer, and Memorial Day is almost upon us, signaling that the rest of the country is ready to start summer too, officially or not.

Now that spring has firmly taken hold and summer is peaking at us from around the corner, I have found the urge to plant my garden overpowering.  In years past, I have taken into account things like long-range forecast and the last frost date, and many years my guideline has simply been when my dog sheds his winter fur.  Inexplicably, and perhaps foolishly, I have total faith that my dog is clued in to some larger cosmic weather data than I am.  This year, I was delighted to see that my large black mutt has shed his winter coat long before I remember him doing so last year.  Predictably, I was anxious to plant way too early.  So instead of just blindly trusting my canine, I decided to try a different route and check out The Old Farmer’s Almanac.

Like many people of my generation, the cover is familiar, even if the exact contents are not.  Wrongly, I have assumed that the information this little book contained was out of date and anything that was worthwhile I could find online.  Contradictorily, I also knew that this book I never found worth my time holds some sound truths that likely align with the same cosmic mystery my dog is clued in to.

I was surprised by a number of things as I thumbed through it, not the least of which was how pertinent the information was.  I was blown away to read that this is the 220^th consecutive edition of The Old Farmer’s Almanac, the first one having been printed in 1792.  I find that remarkable, especially since they have been predicting the weather with 90% accuracy using a secret formula derived by the books’ founder, with only slight additions to accommodate new technology.

I did find out some basics such as the first and last frost dates, specific 7-day forecasts for our region for the entire year, planting tips for gardens of all types, and advice on lawn care.  I also learned some quirky tidbits.  I should have planted above ground crops, such as tomatoes and peppers, when the moon was waxing and below ground crops, such as carrots and onions, when the moon was waning.  I read engrossing articles on what recent, and historical, volcanic eruptions have done to the global climate, soil quality and worldwide crop production.  I learned how to determine the precise length of our extensive twilight zone.  I learned about all the various eclipses that will take place this year all over the world (we should be able to see a partial solar eclipse on May 20th), how to predict earthquakes, and helpful hints for various outdoor calamities from snake bites to bear attacks. 

All in all, it was like taking a short, very interesting class on earth science, history, astrology, astronomy, home economics and meteorology. 

Did I find what I was looking for?  I suppose my original aim of flipping through the weather section was to find some assurance that my tiny tomato seedlings and fledgling garden was going to survive to harvest time, since my own pull for summer far outweighed any practical advice I received about planting times.  So in that regard yes, I was reassured that warm days are upon us, and will likely stretch through September.  But I also got so much more than I would have found elsewhere.  Perhaps they were on to something, back in 1792, that really does stand the test of time.

Facing my tech hesitation

A while ago, I wrote a column about how heartwarming it is to see children using their imagination in a world where most of their toys involve some sort of technology. When I think of the changes technology brings, I tend to focus on children because their world will undoubtedly be very different from the one that I grew up with. But lately I have been thinking about adults and my own feelings towards technology. What will the future bring for those of us who have come to expect the world in the way we know it?

I confess that I tend to be hesitant towards technological advancement. You might even say I have a love-hate relationship with it. I choose the facets of it that I love, and reject those that I find disruptive to my own little world.

The advent of computers and communication by email were fun and easy, but I was the last person I knew to get a cell phone, and only then because I found myself alone with a broken down car on a deserted highway in the middle of the night in the rain. A nightmare for a young woman, and one that would have been far less scary if I’d had a cell phone. Needless to say, I bought one the next day and have been happy with it ever since.

When smartphones and tablets entered our world, I became a little distrustful of the new technology. It took me some time to admit that I dislike them simply because I’m afraid of the changes it has brought.

Smartphones can be incredibly wonderful. In a debate, it is useful to know what Luke Skywalker’s haircut really did look like providing instantaneous clarification to who’s right and who’s wrong. It’s nice to know the score of the game or what the weather for tomorrow will be. But I find that these little devices seem to be taking something away from the conversational flow between people. Eye contact is less, attention spans seem to be shorter, and as time goes on I fear these little screens are becoming more of a reality than the people who surround us. In our quest to be connected all the time, have we instead denied ourselves the ability to be disconnected?

That said, I am not completely oblivious to the otherwise impossible connections this technology has brought us. Skype allows me to see my family on the other side of the country. My young daughter can get face time with family members she only sees a couple times a year. Finding a good restaurant or the nearest tourist attraction is achieved with a touch of a button. It’s almost impossible to get lost when you are holding a GPS device in your hands.

When the Kindle was announced, Amazon CEO Jeff Bezos declared, “It’s important to embrace new technologies instead of to fight them.” His statement made me feel a bit sheepish, as that is sometimes just how I feel. And while I initially resisted getting an e-reader, saying that I preferred the feel of a real book in my hands, once I actually got a Kindle I was delighted with the technology that gave me an endless library of books at my fingertips.

I never used to consider myself old-fashioned, and even now I bristle at being characterized as someone who doesn’t like technology. I applaud what technology has done for science and medicine and even entertainment. I love the ability to have my family and friends an easy phone call away. My hesitation, like many others, is rooted in a sort of fear of the unknown. I fear that the advancements will irrevocably alter the importance of some of the things I grew up with.

I know that eventually, each new technology that comes around will at some point probably become indispensable to me like the cell phone did, and I will undoubtedly love it and wonder how I ever got on without it. Perhaps my glacial pace for accepting these seemingly radical changes to my way of life will somehow prepare me better for when I finally do jump on the technological bandwagon.

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington. May 2, 2012

Kids will be kids… if we let them

On a playground recently I watched a little boy pick up an acorn and impressively chuck it clear across the swing set.  He was a little kid, but his throw had major-league heft.  A couple of the dads chuckled.  “Hey,” said one, “nice arm.  He’ll probably be a baseball player.”

In my observation, this kind of statement was not an isolated comment.  I’ve heard parents everywhere attribute some current action or personality trait to some fantastic arc for their child’s future.  My niece is tall, so she’ll probably end up being a basketball player.  My friends’ child shows an aptitude for tending the hurt, prompting us all to tell her she’ll probably make a great nurse (or doctor!) someday.  My daughter loves to dance, so, predictably, she’ll be a ballerina.  My nephew likes to play video games so he’ll probably be a whiz at computers.

As I listen to parents assign adult characteristics and dispense life pathways for children everywhere from the classroom to the crib, it makes me wonder why we feel the need?  What may just be a passing interest in blood, or a new muscle figuring out how exactly it moves, we adults assign life goals to our unsuspecting children.  No wonder kids are always asking adults, “What should I be when I grow up?”  Apparently, we have the answers all laid out for them.

What exactly is this fixation we have on assigning life-long adult characteristics to little humans, just discovering themselves and the world?  Is it our own unrealized dreams transferring onto our children?  Is it our own specific wishes for their precious, yet-unlived lives?  Is it some deep-seeded competition between adults over whose child will be more successful?  Or are we, as adults, simply incapable of appreciating a moment as children do, admiring and enjoying a skill as it waxes and wanes?

As parents, perhaps it is our role to nurture passions, but not assign them a specific purpose.  My brother started cooking us family meals at age 8, prompting many to believe he would grow up to be a chef.  Instead, he has chosen to make cooking simply a wonderful part of his life, and not a career.  Sometimes passions are simply there to enrich our lives and not make us a living.

My best friend recently attended her 4-year-old’s pre-K parent-teacher conference.  The teacher spouted off all his wonderful personality traits.  At the end of his speech, my friend leaned forward eagerly and asked, “So, based on these qualities, what do you think he’ll be when he grows up?”

I had a good laugh when I heard this story.  When I asked her why we feel the need to constantly wonder what our children will grow up to be, who will they become, she answered unequivocally, “As parents, we will just always worry about our children and wonder if they will be all right.”

There is real truth to her statement.  I wonder if my daughter ate all her chicken fingers on the rare night I am not there to give them to her myself.  When it is finally time for me to set her free upon the world, I am sure I will be fraught with anxieties. 

The boy I saw on the playground didn’t fawn over the fathers’ attention at his amazingly strong arm, nor do any of the other children I know crow about their outsized abilities and passions.  Usually, after doing something extraordinary, they smile widely at the cheering adults and move on to the next activity, usually accomplishing that with just as much spirit and grit, if not aptitude. 

I think adults could take a lesson in humility from children at the very least and certainly a lesson in living for the moment.  Appreciate a job well done, a game well played, a dance that garnered a joyous moment, and move on.  Life is too unpredictable to assign pathways that are undoubtedly far out of our hands anyway.

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington. April 18, 2012

A cookie -- or two -- for a century

The month of March marked two important American anniversaries that are seemingly disconnected, but that I find to be united in their achievements. You don’t have to be a cookie lover to pay tribute to the Oreo’s 100th anniversary, nor do you have to be former troop member to mark the Girl Scouts’ 100th anniversary, but we can all be thankful for March 1912 when both organizations debuted.

On March 6, 1912 the first Oreo was sold in New Jersey, and that happy little cookie has been finding its way into homes across America ever since, selling 345 billion cookies since its debut. This classic sandwich cookie is unique in its ability to perplex the eater. How do you eat an Oreo? Some like to dunk it in milk, some to twist it open and lick the frosting out, and still others like to pop the entire thing in their mouths. How you eat an Oreo may define you from your neighbor, but my guess is that however you eat it, everyone appreciates it all the same. To think that people have been figuring out just how to eat this exact same cookie for 100 years is remarkable in an age where most products disappear off the shelves faster than we can buy them.

Kraft Foods, the parent company of the great cookie, staged flash mobs across America to celebrate its 100th anniversary, proving that the Oreo’s purpose, as well as its appearance and flavor, has changed very little in the 100 years since its debut. The Oreo, as a cookie, is here to remind us to have a little fun every now and then, indulge in a delicious cookie, and if you feel like dancing in the streets with a flash mob, the kid in you that just licked frosting off a cookie won’t protest.

The Girls Scouts of America also celebrated their 100th anniversary this month and while the cookies they sell didn’t show up until a little later, the monumental achievement of this organization makes its anniversary too hard to pass up without notice.

The first troops of girls to sell homemade cookies to finance their local organizations began selling cookies just a few years after its foundation. The cookies as we know them today began to show up in troops across America in the mid-1930s. Save for a slight break during World War II -- when most troops resorted to selling calendars due to butter, flour, and sugar shortages -- Girl Scouts have been using their burgeoning entrepreneur skills to sell these cookies for more than 80 years.

Today, there are 60 million living alumnae of the organization (myself included) and 3.2 million active members worldwide. And while the Girl Scouts only show up on the national map once a year when they sell their cookies, in actuality they are serving a much broader and nobler purpose than stocking our cupboards with dessert.

From its conception by a 45-year-old widow in Savannah, Georgia, the Girl Scouts of America have aimed to help girls of all backgrounds, at a time when this was a radical view. It has always been an organization that would form itself to each specific girl. Each girl could identify a skill they wished to achieve and work towards winning a merit badge, be it an outdoor skill, leadership skill, business skill or homemaking skill.
These activities bring vital skills to girls in a world where the woman’s place is no longer simply in her home but is an evolving location. Recognizing the need for multiple skills, even in 1912, the original organizers placed equal emphasis on homemaking skills and teaching women to be independent and acquire abilities to support themselves.

This month I have happily bought my share of cookies and celebrated not simply the advent of two different cookies, two different entrepreneurships and two different goals. I’d like to celebrate the idea that in our world of change and upward mobility, we can still find quality in something that has been around for a century. Here’s to another one, may millions of taste buds everywhere be thankful.

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington. March 28, 2012

Technology vs. Imagination

Recently, I spent some time at my childhood home in Georgia. One day my mother surprised my daughter and her cousins with boxes of toys we had packed away together when I was a pre-teen. I was delighted to have a small peek into my childhood, and I’m sure my face mirrored that of my daughter as we opened the lids. While I didn’t remember saving these particular toys, I can remember my mindset at the time. I understood I was too old to play with toys anymore, but too young to realize that the charm of plastic playthings fades with time.

The first things to catch my daughter and her cousin’s eye were the Barbie dolls. In my memory of my childhood self, I rarely ever played with dolls and only had a few. In actuality, I had boxes of Barbies accompanied by all her many and varied accessories. As each item was unearthed, it was clear that none of the three little girls gathered around the box had ever seen such a toy. In their world where almost every toy requires batteries, I couldn’t help but smile that they would be so elated by old plastic dolls. Watching them made me wonder: in our emerging world of technological dominance, is simple imaginative play losing ground?

I understand that my child will grow up in a world vastly different than the one I grew up in, and even more different than the one her grandparents inhabited. This is a truth that is impossible to ignore. When cursive is taken out of the school curriculum and Morse code is no longer taught to our military, it is clear that the children of today will have a vastly different toolbox than the one I was taught.

I also am keenly aware that these are new skills that are vital to learn. Learning cursive is a time-consuming process and one that they are unlikely to use in a world where any personal and professional correspondence is done with a keyboard. Clearly, there are more relevant things to be taught in the classroom. But a part of me can’t help but be nostalgic for some of the old learning that will be lost to future generations. As these skills are eradicated, I wonder if the new skills they are acquiring still teach our children to use their imagination? In their new world of graphics and 3-D imaging, are we sparking their clever minds or inhibiting them?

As I watched my daughter and my nieces play with a simple doll, it was easy to see that at least one thing has not changed since I was a child. For all the new skills they will learn over the coming years — ones that even now we can only imagine — I was happy to see that the world of imaginative play is not something that has to be taught, or even learned. Open a box of dolls, even one with decidedly out-of-date clothing and plastic that has become too fragile, and an entire imaginary world comes out with it. The imaginative world is one that will inhabit and grow only in the minds of the players, incomprehensible to any adult who may be watching.

Sometimes, to the grown ups among us, it seems that the children of today are different. They mature faster, are interested in different things than we were as children, and have an aptitude for technology that outpaces their elders. But with all the joys that technology brings to us, adults and children alike, when I see a group of children using simply their imagination to create an alternative world, I am heartened to see that children really haven’t changed all that much.

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington.  March 14, 2012

Spring comes early inside

Somewhere in humanity’s past, spring cleaning became some sort of tradition. I imagine this probably originated when we all lived in one-room cabins. When fresher weather arrived, the necessity to cart everything outside and beat it clean with a broom was essential after months of living together in a small space without much (if any) bathing and little (if any) outdoor activity except the daily trip to the barn.

I don’t know how many people still partake of the full meaning of spring cleaning. I certainly don’t haul my couch outside every spring, nor do I even take the rugs outside to beat accumulated dust out of them. Some wonderful entrepreneur invented the vacuum for that purpose. But there is still enough of the ritual ingrained in taking care of a house that when I do catch that first scent of spring, I want to throw open the windows and make everything in my house as fresh as the world outside.

Unfortunately, by the time this sensation has registered I no longer have any desire to actually be in my house. With that fresher air, warmer days and outdoor pursuits pull me away with much higher frequency. Spending the day with my nose in my closet, rooting around for accumulated dust is not how I imagine spending a fresh spring day. I want to be out of doors with my hands in the soil or my face to the long-hidden sun.

Therefore, many years I find myself on a “spring cleaning” rampage in late winter. Spring is close enough to arriving that it feels as if it is time to give the house a fresh start, but still far enough away that I find myself indoors for most days.

I find spring cleaning to not just be a good time to get rid of accumulated dust but also to get rid of accumulated stuff. It’s remarkable what can pile up around the house in the space of a year. So while I don’t exactly take every item of clothing out of my closet and beat it clean with a broom, I do find myself flipping through the rack, culling out items that are too threadbare to wear anymore, or putting toys in the donation pile that my daughter has outgrown.

Recently, a friend was remarking that her 10-year-old daughter is a pack rat and has trouble throwing anything away. I was reminded that I used to be this way too. I clearly remember boxing up stuffed animals and toys when I was a teenager, telling my mother that I wanted to save them for my children to play with and under no circumstances were we to give them away. Either that was serious foresight, or an inability to let go of items that I had outgrown.

When we are young, throwing away something that was once special is terrifying. Like insinuating that by discarding it, we are discarding something that defined our young lives. We wonder that if we throw it away we won’t remember what it was like to curl around that soft teddy bear or win that three-legged race or read that favorite book.

It is not until we are older that we realize that possessions can sometimes simply become clutter and an excess weight to carry around in our already heavy lives.

Having just moved across the country a year ago, I executed a fantastic purge of superfluous belongings. Moving is even better than the yearly clean out and clean up of the house. With that in mind, I find my spring cleaning to be a little light this year. Regardless, it’s still remarkable just what can accumulate in the corners of the house, everything from dust bunnies to worn out shoes and outgrown toys still need to be purged.

And although the official start of spring is still a month away, I suppose as long as we are still cooped up inside, I might as well tackle those dust bunnies.

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington, Februrary 22, 2012.

In Awe of a Winter Wonderland

If I could wave a magic wand and change something about myself, topping the list would be how affected I am by the weather.  I am nearly always too cold.  Occasionally I am too hot; it’s either too sunny, or too cloudy, or too wet or too dry.  Rarely am I perfectly content with the temperature or my reaction to it.

I used to think this was simply a personality glitch, but then I got frostbite—first in April and then in August—and I knew my body was clearly unhappy about the weather too.

There is one exception to this litany of complaints, and that’s when the sky opens up and dumps out a snowstorm.  I absolutely love snow.  If it’s very cold, I don’t want to go outside, but if it’s very cold with snow, then I’m the first one out the door.  The child in me emerges and my feelings about the weather run towards giddy.  Having spent most of my childhood in warmer, southern states, it still feels exceptionally magical when it snows, however juvenile that may sound.

I suspect I am not the only adult who professes a childlike love of a good snowfall.  A few weeks ago, the Grand Coulee area got a wonderful snowstorm.  Friday night saw crowds of families at North Dam Park careening down the local sledding hill.  It didn’t seem to matter that the mercury didn’t even top 20 degrees.  Kids from toddlers to teenagers were bundled up, shoving the powdery snow in their mouths and flopping down in the soft white fluff to make snow angels.  Adults were scattered across the rim of the hill, content to watch their happy children cavort in the snow.  Some of them, myself included, catapulted down the hill with them, laughing in equal delight.  Someone even put their muscles to work and built a questionable jump off the concrete benches for the downhill racers. 

Regardless of the temperature, after a few trips up and down that hill toting a sled and a toddler, cold is the farthest thing from my mind.  The simplistic wonder of frozen precipitation apparently can bring out the best in me—I wasn’t cold one bit.

The anticipation and activity of the holiday season has passed us, but that doesn’t necessarily mean we have to cocoon ourselves in our houses until spring.  With only four seasons to the year, it seems a shame to waste one of them simply waiting for it to be over. 

So, we go ice-skating in Wenatchee, skiing in Idaho, snowshoeing in Northrup Canyon, and sledding wherever we can find a suitable hill.  People seem to be extra friendly when they are outdoors in a winter wonderland, like everyone is sharing in a small gift.  Smiles are wide; conversations with genderless strangers, bundled head to toe in unidentifiable gear are friendly and swift as you ride the chairlift or console a crying child who flipped their sled.

Like when I was a kid, snow seems to bring out the best in outdoor fun.  There has been a lull of some months where playing outdoors was top on our list of daily activities.  It has been cold and dark.  But somehow, when it’s cold and dark and snowy, the effect is softer, more inviting. 

I know that snow offers a substantial amount of inconvenience to most people.  Shoveling a driveway is serious work.  Roads are icy and dangerous, boots are muddy, and the parking lots are slippery.  As I write this, the rain is washing away much of our accumulated snow and the feeble sun is melting the rest.  I know most people around town will be happy about this, but I can’t help but hope the weatherman will tell me another big storm is on its way before our next season is upon us.

Previously published in "The Star," Grand Coulee, Washington.  February 8, 2012