Cookies! (And Other Baking)

I get a little more elaborate with Christmas cookies every year. For the first few years of our marriage, I would only make a few, because Carl doesn't have much of a sweet tooth, and if I made a bunch, I would eat them all (or send them into Carl's office). Plus, back then I was still nervous about baking anything besides biscuits or bread (weird, right? Cookies scared me, but bread was so easy).

I eventually started doing a few more batches to take with us when we would visit family, and then when we had kids I started doing a few more, and then last year I went NUTS. I made so, so many cookies, muffins, and sweetbreads. By the time I was done, I didn't want to see my kitchen for a month.

I want to cut back this year, but argh, how to choose which ones to keep and what to cut from the list?

Grandma's honey cookies for frosting are on there every year, that's a given. Molasses cookies are also a yearly tradition, especially if I manage to set some aside to give to my dad (he LOVES them). The girls and I love peanut butter blossoms, but Carl hates peanut butter with a passion, so those are iffy. The chocolate cappuccino crinkles, though? He would cry if I didn't make those.

My big thing this year is trying to incorporate something in my baking from each of our ethnic heritages. Cardamom braided bread (Sweden) is head of the list. I've been making that for several years now, even before I found out it was a Christmas tradition in Carl's family growing up! I made Russian tea cakes last year and everyone loved them, so that takes care of his Lithuanian side.

We all enjoy shortbread, which makes our English heritage easy to cover. I might cheat a little and make maple shortbread this year, though. Mmm ...

That left French (mais oui!) and Dutch. One of my friends suggested a buche de Noel, which I promptly googled and decided was perfect (partially because the other option was macarons, which TERRIFY me), and I wavered between boterkoek (Dutch butter cake) and kerstkransjes (Christmas cookie wreaths) for ages before I finally decided to try the kerstkransjes. I'm so excited to start building some ethnic-food-related traditions with the wee ones!

Come to think of it, I don't seem to have simplified my baking list at all. Oh well. Christmas comes but once a year!

Last year's cookie decorating fest - I think they were all sneaking bites of dough in this shot.

The proud cookie makers and the finished product!

My Joy

Ten years ago, if you'd asked me where my life was headed, I would have told you a fabulous tale of living and writing abroad, traveling all over the place for my stories, coming home when necessary to either work at a steady job for a while or just recharge my batteries. There might have been orphanage work mentioned in that saga, too.

Eight years ago, I almost sheepishly got married and accepted that my life was flowing in a different direction from what I had planned.

Five years ago ... well, five years ago, this happened:

My life has turned out so different from what I thought it would be, and so much more fulfilling than I could have imagined (even if at times it seems absolutely numbing and stultifying - even at those times, I KNOW that it is all worth it.

Happy fifth birthday, my darling Joy. Your life is the very best story I could ever have a hand in writing, and I am so thankful for the privilege of being a co-author in your living epistle.

One year

Two years

Three years

Four years

Last month. We haven't had a chance to do her five-year photo shoot yet. Later today!

I am a writer. I am a mom. It's taken almost five years, but I'm finally learning the two are not incompatible.

My priorities have shifted since becoming a mom, but who I am at the core has not. Motherhood just stripped away the nonessentials.

These last five years have been a wild ride. I can't even fathom what the next five will bring, but I'm excited to live it, and watch it unfold.

It may be Joy's birthday today, but I'm the one receiving the gift. Every day for five years.

Grandma

Breaking my post-once-a-week pattern for a particular reason ...

One year ago today, my grandmother ended her battle with Alzheimer's after twelve years. She had spent almost the entire previous week in the hospital with pneumonia, and all her family was told form the beginning that this was it; she wasn't going to be leaving. After many days spent by her bedside, in laughter and tears, she died surrounded by her children and grandchildren, gone but never forgotten, though her own memory went so many years ago.

I've been thinking this week about Grandma's legacy, about how her love, her faith, her hope, and her humor have passed down now to three generations, with who knows how many more to come. Whenever I am tempted to think that my sphere of influence is too small to make a difference, that my presence in this world doesn't really matter, I remember this wonderful women who lived in a tiny corner of the world, raising her children and planting her gardens, and whose life touched so many and continues to do so even now. No person is too small or too insignificant to make a difference. We never know how far the ripples of our life may travel.

I'm including here in this post the tribute I wrote to Grandma last year, the day after her death. And at some point today, I will sit down with my girls, show them some pictures on their uncle's Facebook wall of their grandmother, and tell them some of the stories I remember best.

She is gone, but her love and her humor live on.

She went out accompanied by a blaze of northern lights, some of the most brilliant seen around here in ages. Heaven welcoming a gallant soul home with fanfare.

Even after her breathing had slowed drastically, her heart remained strong until the end. We always knew her heart was bigger and stronger than most.

Her humor was one of the last things to go when the Alzheimer's took over. Even when she was in the nursing home and couldn't even recognize Grandpa, she would try to tease the nurses and aids. They all loved her.

They were married for sixty years. Two days before she finally died, I sat and watched him hold her hand as he told us the only reason he underwent chemo and fought so hard for life through the blood clots last year was so that he could take care of her, make sure her ending was peaceful and dignified, so that he could take care of her to the end. None of his kids could speak at that point, so I managed to choke out that he had done a wonderful job of it. They were an example to us all.

Of eight kids, six managed to make it home to say goodbye, only the one in Australia and the one in Arizona not able to get back. Fully half of the grandkids were able to come. No one fought, no one argued, no one tried to make things difficult for anyone else. Everyone acted as selflessly as human beings can act. Another testimony to the love and respect everyone had for her.

The hospital nurses teared up when their weekend shift ended, knowing they wouldn't see her again alive.

There was as much laughter as tears around her bedside, as stories were shared and memories were dredged up and old jokes revived. Her fifteen-year-old grandson played his guitar, everyone sang, and her last days were filled with the music and laughter she loved so well.

She has been gone for a long time. Twelve years ago was when she was finally diagnosed with Alzheimer's, at that point too far advanced to do anything but watch and pray as it slowly disintegrated the woman we all knew. The pneumonia that took her tonight was a release from that living death (twelve years is phenomenally long for Alzheimer's sufferers - most don't live more than five years), and our tears were as much joy for her as sorrow.

She is whole again now. She is free. She is rejoicing and laughing with her Lord.

It hurts, still, but this is a clean hurt, one that will heal. The pain of the Alzheimer's never went away; it would lie dormant for a time, but it was always there lurking in the background. This - already there is a peace growing from the sorrow.

We will miss her. We have missed her for years. But her legacy - the love, the laughter, the strength and faith and joy - she passed that on, not only to her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, but to all who knew her. I am proud to call myself her granddaughter, and you can be sure my girls will grow up knowing about what an amazing woman their great-grandmother was.

Rest in Peace? Maybe. Personally, I suspect she is singing and dancing right now.

And laughing.

Grandma as a girl                                                                        Senior portrait

Grandma and Grandpa's wedding day

Take a Hike!

We went on a family hike this past weekend - one of our favorite activities, but one that, between swelteringly hot weather and long hours at Carl's job, we haven't been able to indulge in at all this summer. It was the perfect day for it - sunny and warm, but the air was crisp enough that we wanted sweatshirts at first. 

Carl showing the girls how to read the map and follow the trail markers

Can you spot the toad?

Two happy hikers!

I saw this stump and thought: "It looks like the gaping jaws of some giant mythological beast!" Then I thought: "I'm not even going to mention that to my family; they'll think I'm crazy." THEN I thought: "Well, I'll at least take a picture of it for my blog; my readers get my kind of craziness."

Sisters!

Feeling like a big shot because she hiked the entire thing (this was her first major hike having outgrown her backpack carrier)

I LOVE that Joy is photo-bombing this shot of Grace and Carl

Tired little chickie, snuggling with Dad

"Hey, maybe we'll end up in Narnia if we walk through this arch!" (We didn't)

Not only was it an awesome day just as a family, I felt creativity bubbling up in me like crazy. Nothing specific, no great story plots or characters, just general creativeness. It was so, so needed. Even though we all came home exhausted and sore (my legs are still aching today - scrambling up and down steep, rocky mountains while helping a small child requires some serious muscle work), we were laughing and chattering and just absolutely refreshed.

Where do you go to get revitalized?

Lists, Part the Third

Thoughts from this week:

1. Math really is useful for real life, especially when, say, one is calculating how much flour, baking powder, salt, shortening, and milk one needs to bake a dozen batches of biscuits for strawberry shortcake for one's mother-in-law's wedding reception. Sorry I accused you of lying to me about that back when I was a kid, Mom.
2. (Incidentally, it was cooking and baking that taught me how to add, subtract, multiply, and divide fractions. They never made sense to me on paper, but when I was doubling or halving a recipe, it started to click. Thanks, Mom!)
3. Reading through the Little House series and the Harry Potter series at the same time will make for some weird dreams.
4. Trying to write short story outlines will cause a great abundance of Doing Other Things, such as reading the aforementioned books, painting with kids, sewing bags for toys, making peach lavender ice cream, and even occasionally doing your husband's chores. Remarkable.
5. If you want to see your almost-five-year-old light up, buy this book and tell her it's hers (even adding that she has to share it with her sister won't diminish her joy).
6. When planning a Saturday hike, make sure there is NO RAIN AT ALL forecasted not just for where your house is, but for where you're planning to hike. Even if it's only twenty minutes away.
7. In a more serious vein, if you've found the news coming out of Colorado as horrifying as I have, you might find this site helpful - a list of ways and places to help.

A rather bland-ish list this week, but I've no time for more - I'm making syrup for lavender lemonade for the wedding, packing, frantically double-checking that I have everything I need for my camera (they've asked me to do the photos, and even though it's an extremely casual wedding - more of a backyard picnic than anything else - I'm still immensely nervous. I am a very rank amateur photographer!), making sure everything in the house is fit to be left, and still helping Grace dress and undress her baby doll a dozen times a day. Whew!

Have a wonderful weekend, friends! (And to all my Canadian friends out there - Happy Canada Day on Sunday! I will try to wear red in honor of you!)

Making Bread

I often say that there is only one thing that comes naturally to me (aside from sleeping), and that is writing. Everything else that I attempt in my life I have to work hard at if I want to gain any kind of accomplishment at/with it. Not that I don't work hard with writing, too, but it is an instinctive kind of hard work - it flows pretty naturally from me.

I have learned in the last few years, however, that the above statement isn't entirely accurate. Cooking and baking is something else that is fairly natural for me. Again, I have to work at it - I'm a much better cook now than I was seven and a half years ago, just ask my husband - but there is an instinct underneath the work that helps it smoothly along. In fact, most of my cooking failures in the last few years have come from going against my instinct to follow the recipe more exactly. Much of what I've learned in the last almost-decade has been to trust my gut when it comes to cooking, not to second-guess myself and doubt myself so much. I am by nature a pretty reserved and cautious person, especially when it comes to my own abilities, so it's been a long, slow process to come to a place of trusting myself when it comes to anything besides writing!

I love trying new recipes, changing things and adapting them, making them my own. I love discovering food blogs and seeing how the preparation of creation of food entwines in others' daily lives. Most of all, I love making bread.

Yeast after it has proofed. Watching this process never ceases to amaze me.

My mother made bread. My grandmother made bread. One of my uncles even wrote a song about my grandmother's bread. Bread-making is one of those things that connects me back to past generations. I don't know that I'll ever get over missing my grandmother, but every time I knead a batch of bread dough, I remember her as she was when I was a kid, making bread and setting aside the small loaves as "breadies" just for the kids.

All kneaded, ready for the first rising.

My breadie pans, four little loaves ready for the oven.

We eat homemade bread almost exclusively, except for those weeks when I'm too tired or too busy to make it. It's not a quick process, certainly, not with two risings at the very least. It's not for the faint of heart, with the muscles and patience required for kneading the dough. But the rewards are so worth it.

Fresh out of the oven, ready for immediate nomming.

The recipe for the pictured batch of bread (which included two full-size loaves as well as the breadies) is here; the only change I made was to replace two cups of bread flour with two cups of wheat, just because I prefer a greater wheat-to-white ratio. I've also, in the past, replaced 1/3 c. of honey with an equal amount of maple syrup, but we're running low on syrup right now and I don't want to run out before we make it to a sugarhouse, so I did all honey this time. It makes the most delicious and soft bread ever; a household favorite!

Thanksgiving Update

I wasn't going to post on Thanksgiving, but ...

In between making pie crust and preparing the pie filling, I sat down for a bit (Carl was slicing the apples for me, so I wasn't just slacking), and ended up finishing the final revisions to my picture book MS. The final draft has been sent to the illustrator, who will start work on it after Christmas.

I am so excited!

And now I get to go put together an apple pie. Yesterday I made my first-ever french silk pie and a dutch apple pie, so this is my last one for the holiday. My baby is napping, and the bigger one is helping her Oma in the kitchen. Snowy landscape outside, peaceful house inside.

I hope you, in America, are having a wonderful Thanksgiving, and you, in other countries, are simply having a marvelous Thursday.

Much joy to you all!

No Balance

Outside, the air is full of mist. A few stubborn leaves float through the air, the ground is carpeted still with reds and golds and browns. The sun is just starting to burn through the silvery sky.

It's a beautiful morning.

And all I can think, as I look out my window, tea mug in hand, is,

"How many other tiny BRINGERS OF DEATH are lurking out there?"

Monday, the littles and I spent much of the day playing outside (I even brought their small table and chairs out so Joy could do school outside). We jumped in leaf piles, chased each other around, and altogether had a glorious time.

Then yesterday, as those of you who read my Twitter account know, I felt an odd bump on my back where I couldn't see very well, asked Carl to take a look at it, and the next thing I knew, he was grabbing for the tweezers and ordering me to hold still so he could get the tick out.

Thank God for my husband's steady hands.

As soon as it was out (intact, thankfully), I slid to my knees, and thence to the floor, passing out quite neatly with my forehead pressed to the linoleum. Haven't done that since I had a few issues with anemia as a teenager.

However, the point of this post is not, despite all appearances, to gross you out with my tick horror story (though you have to admit, it's a pretty good story). No, this is all just a prelude.

The result of passing out was a massive, unshakeable headache for the rest of the day, the kind that makes it impossible to get anything accomplished. I did manage to make cookies with the littles, as an apology for not taking them outside again (NO WAY were we setting foot in the death trap known as OUR BACKYARD). And in the evening, after the littles were in bed, I did get a few more rosebuds sewn on the blanket I'm making for Joy's new baby doll. And ... that's about it.

As a result, I'm behind in writing, in cooking, in cleaning, in laundry ... you name it, I'm behind. Missing one unplanned day due to a headache makes for more massive headaches trying to scramble to catch up for the rest of the week. Some weeks might not be a big deal, but Carl's mom and sister are coming out this weekend to celebrate birthdays (Joy's and Grandma's), which means at the very least, I need food in the house for them to eat, and to get the piles of clean laundry out of the guest room and clean sheets on the bed. Sweeping the floors and cleaning the toilet might be a nice touch, too.

Which means that, again, writing gets pushed to the back burner.

It's not that writing isn't important to me, or that Carl doesn't think it worth spending my time on. It's just that there are so many other things that have to get done. My family has to eat. We have to have clean clothes. The littles have to take top priority. Joy has to do school (well, ok, it was our choice to do homeschooling instead of public school, and my choice to do preschool with her, but those were both important decisions to us that have to be followed through with now).

I can't just ignore all of those in favor for writing, as much as I'd like to with some of them. And the other projects, the sewing and quilting stuff ... well, those aren't necessary, which is why they also often get pushed to the back burner, but they do help to satisfy my creative needs, and I get pretty cranky when those are left unsatisfied.

I'm not really asking for advice here - I know that most other people have the same problems trying to balance everything. I'm mostly just trying to keep it real here. A few people have mentioned how impressive they think it is that I manage to "do it all."

I don't. The plain truth? In order to do one thing, something else doesn't get done. Just the way it is. About the only two things I can do at the same time are make bread and wash laundry, because there's enough pauses between both to balance it out. Everything else? Every day I have to pick and choose which is most important. And, sadly, most days, writing is squeezed into the cracks or left out entirely. Not because it's not important, but because things like eating food are things we literally can't live without, therefore food has to be made.

And all this with a supportive husband who helps out around the house without even being asked (as I found this morning when I saw that he had emptied the dishwasher last night without me even asking - thanks, babe)! I can't imagine trying to do this without him.

I don't have anything catchy to end this with, any pithy sentence to sum it up or words of wisdom. Just a heartfelt hope that someday, maybe, things will get easier to balance.

And an even more heartfelt hope that we get snow soon and bury all those ticks six feet under.

(Hey, I found my pithy ending sentence after all!)

Welcome November

Back home. It is so very weird to be back in my own house (oh, my bed never felt so good as it did last night), and not have family all around. My girls are missing their aunt and uncle, not to mention Oma and Grandpa (and GG next door), but I think they are happy to be back home. I miss everyone, too, but I do confess to a sneaking satisfaction at being chatelaine of my own establishment once more.

Although I would have been just as happy to pawn cleaning up the kitchen from mouse surprises last night off onto someone else! Thank goodness for my wonderful husband, who helped me without complaining about my finicky insistence on everything being cleaned twice over. I hate mice in the house.

Today is a day for cuddling, tea, Babar stories and Beatrix Potter DVDs, baking (in my mouse-free kitchen - we caught two last night), sewing one final birthday present for Joy (four on Saturday!) and WRITING. Oh, how I need to write. I am parched for it.

I am not doing NaNoWriMo, but I am taking November, a hopefully quieter month than October, to set myself the goal of finishing one of my mss, if not two. I slacked off a bit after writing the picture book, and then everything happened with my grandmother, and now I'm going crazy for lack of writing. Time to get cracking!

I'm not always the biggest fan of November, but I'm happy to see it this year. I'm ready for a month when the world itself is settling down and preparing to rest, when everything is calm for a few weeks. I'm ready to turn a little bit inward, to not run around so much and be so busy, but to settle in at home with my husband and my babies and my books (and notebooks) and be calm.

And now that I've said all this, of course, November will be crazy-busy in a way to make October look calm. Of course.

What are your plans for this month?

Libraries and Death Traps

Thank you all, again, for your kind words on my last post. You brought a lump to my throat more than once.

We're still at my parents' until Tuesday morning; Grandma's memorial service is Monday. We're looking forward to having much of the clan gathered together for it. Even though funerals are sad, we always manage to have something of a good time just because we're together. Some of the aunts and uncles have only met my littles once or twice, so I'm happy (and slightly nervous) to introduce my small people to the larger family.

We also had Joy's fourth birthday party today; I can't wait to put pictures up on here from it. It was a woodland butterfly fairy tea party (originally, it was going to be a bird and flower and butterfly theme, but it evolved. These things happen), and even the three men involved (my husband, father, and brother-in-law) wore butterfly wings. O yes, they did. They all love Joy very much. They are also all very secure in their masculinity.

And my sister and I made sure to get them blue wings. Pink might have been carrying things a little too far.

And for a first, Joy only got one book for her birthday (and that from Carl and me). Usually books make up the bulk of her gifts. I'm sure she will get more once she receives her package from Carl's aunt, a librarian in Maine. She always sends lots of book for birthdays and holidays. We are always very happy to see presents from G-Auntie.

This is the book we got for Joy:

No, wait. Wrong one. This one:

thanks to a recommendation from Rockin Librarian (thank you!). I'm excited to see what stories Joy concocts from the illustrations.

Meanwhile, my mom, sister and I are all sick (watching the two of them trying to tack up sheets and white lights while simultaneously hacking and blowing their noses would have been funny if I weren't trying to slice vegetables without sneezing into them), and I am starting to go a little bit crazy from not writing at all in the last week plus - not since coming up here last Thursday. Family is more important, hands down, no questions asked and no regrets ... but writing is such a part of me that I'm starting to feel starved for it.

And my characters are starting to haunt my dreams. Plus last night I dreamed that I had to scale a rickety ladder and swing from a rope to get into a library's second story, not to mention crawling along the outside of the roof and breaking through a window (and was I ever pissed when I got inside and saw an escalator that led to main lobby, and I realized the librarian at the desk had sent me up the death trap way for, apparently, a lark, and then the escalators shut down because the library closed and I had to come down the same way and I DIDN'T EVEN GET TO CHECK OUT MY BOOKS), which I think is indication that my subconscious is telling me to not neglect books so much.

Or, you know, it could have been the rum in the tea last night. Whatever.

(Almost worse than the horrific ladder (I have a good head for heights, but I have always always hated ladders, and swinging from a frail rope to try to reach a roof window is not my idea of fun) was that I had found a brand-new, just-discovered Lloyd Alexander book in the children section (downstairs) and when I didn't get to check my books out, I had to leave it behind. LLOYD ALEXANDER, newly-discovered book!)

I am working on the MG rewrite, but of today, Maia of the 1920s fantasy-adventure has been chatting to me, reminding me, impatiently, that I left her in Grave Danger and she needs a chance to Prove Her Worth. She is most definitely not a helpless heroine, and she doesn't like being left a victim without a chance to take on the villain herself. So I think I need to get back to her soon. She gets very crabby when left alone for too long.

And now if you'll excuse me, I have some rum-and-tea and a box of tissues calling my name.

And some pictures of three men in butterfly wings to upload onto my computer.

We Will See You Again

She went out accompanied by a blaze of northern lights, some of the most brilliant seen around here in ages. Heaven welcoming a gallant soul home with fanfare.

Even after her breathing had slowed drastically, her heart remained strong until the end. We always knew her heart was bigger and stronger than most.

Her humor was one of the last things to go when the Alzheimer's took over. Even when she was in the nursing home and couldn't even recognize Grandpa, she would try to tease the nurses and aids. They all loved her.

They were married for sixty years. Two days before she finally died, I sat and watched him hold her hand as he told us the only reason he underwent chemo and fought so hard for life through the blood clots last year was so that he could take care of her, make sure her ending was peaceful and dignified, so that he could take care of her to the end. None of his kids could speak at that point, so I managed to choke out that he had done a wonderful job of it. They were an example to us all.

Of eight kids, six managed to make it home to say goodbye, only the one in Australia and the one in Arizona not able to get back. Fully half of the grandkids were able to come. No one fought, no one argued, no one tried to make things difficult for anyone else. Everyone acted as selflessly as human beings can act. Another testimony to the love and respect everyone had for her.

The hospital nurses teared up when their weekend shift ended, knowing they wouldn't see her again alive.

There was as much laughter as tears around her bedside, as stories were shared and memories were dredged up and old jokes revived. Her fifteen-year-old grandson played his guitar, everyone sang, and her last days were filled with the music and laughter she loved so well.

She has been gone for a long time. Twelve years ago was when she was finally diagnosed with Alzheimer's, at that point too far advanced to do anything but watch and pray as it slowly disintegrated the woman we all knew. The pneumonia that took her tonight was a release from that living death (twelve years is phenomenally long for Alzheimer's sufferers - most don't live more than five years), and our tears were as much joy for her as sorrow.

She is whole again now. She is free. She is rejoicing and laughing with her Lord.

It hurts, still, but this is a clean hurt, one that will heal. The pain of the Alzheimer's never went away; it would lie dormant for a time, but it was always there lurking in the background. This - already there is a peace growing from the sorrow.

We will miss her. We have missed her for years. But her legacy - the love, the laughter, the strength and faith and joy - she passed that on, not only to her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, but to all who knew her. I am proud to call myself her granddaughter, and you can be sure my girls will grow up knowing about what an amazing woman their great-grandmother was.

Rest in Peace? Maybe. Personally, I suspect she is singing and dancing right now.

And laughing.

Lois Elnina Bates, May 20, 1929 (I think, but I can't get a solid year out of anyone right now) - October 24, 2011

Grandma

I know I've been MIA here on the blog for a while. I had great plans to write a bunch of posts this past weekend and schedule them to be published for the next couple of weeks.

Until I got the phone call Thursday that my grandmother was in the hospital with pneumonia. My sister and I spent most of that morning on the phone, with the result that she and I got up to my parents' house Thursday night, while Carl took the littles to his mom's for the weekend.

I've spent the weekend cooking and cleaning so that the aunts and uncles at the hospital have home-cooked food and a place to sleep if they need a break. In between, I've been at the hospital myself, or with Grandpa at the nursing home, or making sure my father sleeps and eats (Mom and my sister had to go to a wedding in Vermont this weekend, already planned). And occasionally (FOUR times in two days) being mistaken for my father's wife. The ones that just mistook me for Mom weren't so bad; I already knew we looked alike. The one that didn't even know Mom, and just asked Dad if I was his wife? SO NOT COOL.

Ahem. Irrelevant.

Anyway, Grandma is still in the hospital, but at this point we are just waiting for the end. She was diagnosed with Alzheimer's twelve years ago; her body is fading as her mind did, only in a matter of days instead of years. I'm still at my parents' house, with the littles here with me now, and Mom and Lis back from VT, just still doing what we can for the rest of the family, and praying for Grandma.

Someday soon I'll have a post on just what a tremendous legacy she is leaving behind. But I think I'll need more sleep before that happens. Someday soon also I hope to go back to more writing-related posts.

For now, though, blogging is rather obviously low on my priority list. I love all of my friends and readers, but family is coming first right now. Of course!

I'll be back soon. I've not abandoned the blog, or all of you.

Right now though, I'm exactly where I need to be.

Grandma's senior portrait.

Influences: Elizabeth Enright

Another one of the few non-fantasy authors who have been an enormous influence on my writing and my life, Elizabeth Enright doesn't get anywhere near the appreciation she deserves, in my opinion. Which sounds odd, considering she won a Newberry Medal for Thimble Summer. It's been my experience, however, that most people get a blank look on their faces when you mention Enright's name, and then only vague recognition comes with the mention of Thimble Summer.

I thoroughly enjoy Thimble Summer, but it can't hold a candle to my favorites of hers - the Gone-Away books. Whether it is the close relationship between a boy cousin and a girl cousin, reminding me so happily of the friendship between my cousin Zach and me, or the idea of a hidden, old-fashioned community, or (in the second book) all the fun of renovating an old house (which, having lived through, is Not Really Fun At All, but Enright made it seem fun), and moving to the country after having lived in the city ... whatever it was, the books were a delight. I especially like that, unlike so many YA and MG books, the adults are present and involved, while the children still have freedom to explore and be brave and get themselves in and out of trouble. We need to see more of that in books for young people!

Then there's the Melendy Quartet. I've written in my favorites posts about this family - Randy and Rush and the family overall. I love them. I want them to be my next-door neighbors. I want to have had Randy and Rush to adventure with as a kid, and I want them all to be my kids' friends. They are real, and delightful, and funny, and brave (and occasionally not), and ambitious, and loyal and loving.

I think what I like best about Enright's books, and her characters, is that perfect blend of realism and idealism. While the Melendy gang have marvelous adventures and impossible luck, they also feel like real people, people you could meet any day walking down the road. Same with Portia and Julian and the rest of the Gone-Away crew. As for Garnet of the wheat-colored braids, despite living in the hardest of times in American recollection, the Great Depression (a farmer's daughter, no less), there is no grimness in her; she still exudes the natural joy of childhood, mixed with a very real worry for her parents' livelihood.

Another factor that has always personally influenced my delight in Enright is the friendship that exists between boys and girls, without any romance or foolishness, just very easy and natural. Garnet and Jay and Rush and Randy are, true, brother and sister, and Portia and Julian cousins, so romance would be quite ick in their cases, but so many writers only seem to capture the squabbling side of boy-girl family relationships, or the exasperation each feels for the other. There is some of that in Enright's books, as there is in life, but there is also the deep and meaningful friendship that only comes when boys and girls are friends with each other, instead of boys only being friends with boys, and girls only being friends with girls. I love that Enright shows those sorts of friendships are possible, instead of assuming there must always be this unfathomable chasm between the two. Ugh! No wonder we have such problems with gender discrimination; it is so ubiquitous, even in children's literature!

Whenever I want to capture some of the sense of my childhood, I re-read an Enright book. And in my writing, I try to keep in mind how natural and fun her characters all are, regardless of the book's setting. When children who were created sixty, seventy, eighty years ago feel more real than children written about today, you know something has been done right!

Are you familiar with Elizabeth Enright? If so, which is your favorite book? What are some books you can think of that feature really excellent boy-girl friendships, without any hints of romance?

Move, Completed (Mostly)

Moving is hard work.

Family is awesome.

Someday I need to write a story featuring a heroine who always is there to help her children, even when they are grown and have kids of their own, and are moving into their FIFTH place in seven years, and she's helped with every move but one (because she was in the middle of finals at the time of that one, and her daughter only had three weeks notice of the move anyway), and can organize her kids' house way better than they can, and refuses to complain, take credit, or even act like it's a big deal at all.

Oh, and a hero who, while he can't get out of his job to come help in person, calls his kids every day to see how the move is going, and sends his wife off with dire threats if she doesn't come home having spent their money on things that the kids need, want, or haven't even thought of yet.

My house (new house) is livable now, thanks to my mom. In some ways, it's even really nice, and we only moved in on Saturday. My new study is still a mess of boxes and empty bookshelves, but my kitchen is all organized, and my girls have a playroom, and my dining room table even has a tablecloth on it.

I can't imagine I'll be doing much posting in the new couple of weeks, even with all of this, but I'll at least try to get back into reading and commenting on all your blogs, and hopefully once in a while my brain will emerge from its fog of "what box did I pack that in?" and come up with a fairly reasonable topic.

My new washer and dryer come tomorrow, though, so I imagine that the next few days, at least, will be spent in doing laundry.

What's been new with you this week?

Reading at Breakfast

As I got up from the table this morning to carry my plate into the kitchen, I glanced back over my shoulder. Both of the littles are sitting at the table, their breakfasts half-eaten, absorbed in Little Golden Books. I'm not thrilled that they keep forgetting to eat, but I love, love, love the fact that my almost-four-year-old and two-year-old find books so delightful that they lose track of everything else.

(Apologies for the blurriness. The lighting in my dining room isn't the best, and if I use the flash they both squinch up their eyes.)

These books I picked up at the Borders liquidation sale on Saturday. The girls had been so good about staying close to us through the crowds, and waiting for us to go through the rows of books in which there was little or no order, and besides, if Mamma and Papa are coming out with armfuls of books, shouldn't they, too?

(Admittedly, most of the books I bought were preschool workbooks to use with Joy this fall, but I did pick up a couple for myself.)

Joy helped me pick the books out, because Grace was assisting Carl with all his philosophy books. Joy chose "Baby Farm Animals" and "The Jolly Barnyard," and I snagged "The Color Kittens" because I remember reading that at my grandparents' house and I want them to delight in it, too (Hush and Brush!).

My parents used to buy my sister and me Little Golden Books at the grocery store. Not every time, but frequently as a "just because" purchase. Our grandparents and aunts and uncles helped fill our shelves with more. So far, my littles have only gotten board book versions or some of my smaller ones that I've passed to them, so these were their first picked-off-the-shelf, carry-to-the-register, read-in-the-car-on-the-way-home Little Golden Books.

And I thrill to see them, even though they can't read the words yet, already finding such happiness in these classic tales. I hope, in five to ten years, to have shelves full of Little Golden Books, just as I did when I was a girl. And maybe someday, they'll have the delight of putting one of these very same books in the hands of their child and saying,

"I loved this one when I was little."

Did you grow up on Little Golden Books? Which one was your favorite? I always love anything with illustrations by Eloise Wilkins. Does it give you a thrill to pass books that you loved as a child down to children now? Have you gone to Borders recently, and if so, did you find it as sad as I did?

A New Story

Today, the story I want to write is about a mother. A mother who is also a writer. Or a writer who is also a mother? I'm not sure which it has been, but lately, this woman has been realizing that her priorities need to shift, so that she is, in fact, a mother first and a writer second.

This is a hard shift. Writing has always been this woman's passion, ever since she was a very little girl. Her family always recognized that, and worked around it. But somehow, in getting her own family, she has slowly started to realize that children can't recognize that.

She isn't giving up writing. Never that! She's just shifting her priorities around a bit, so that more of her time is spent interacting with her children, and less is spent pursuing her own dreams. Because one's dreams have to change once one has children, don't they? These children are given to us, those of us who are gifted with them, for such a short time, and these early years especially are laying the foundation of who and what they will be as they grow into adults and venture out into the world. That is an awesome responsibility.

So, this story. I'm not sure how it ends. I know how I hope it will end: with the woman becoming both a better mother and a better writer, with the children growing up knowing their parents loved them enough to set aside their own dreams for a time, and with the stories this woman writes becoming richer through her life experiences and sacrifices. (I also hope there might be a theme running through of the husband and wife sacrificing for each other - wife taking on extra so husband can study at times, husband taking on extra so the wife can get some uninterrupted writing time when she needs it.)

The ending? It's murky, but I'm certain it's a happy one. The story? I'm writing it as I live it.

I might not be around the blogosphere/Twitterverse/whatever else as much in these next few months, maybe years. I'll still be here, writing, commenting, posting, just more infrequently, so that it takes less time away from my family. I was starting to turn increasingly to these things as a way to try to get away from my other responsibilities, and it has been made exceedingly plain to me recently that I need to shift my thinking. So I'm trying.


And my question for you today is, if you have a family, how do you balance following your passion and putting your spouse & children first? I'm genuinely curious, because balance is always something I've had a hard time maintaining! I either get sucked dry sacrificing for my family, or I just "put in my time" with them and devote my full attention to my own interests. So any experience you want to share would be greatly appreciated!

A Non-Post Post

I'm finding it very hard to concentrate on writing a post on writing at the moment. I'm sitting at my parents' kitchen table with my wickedly strong coffee (I can't for the life of me figure out their coffee maker - every time I make a pot, it's either dishwater-weak or undrinkabley-strong), watching my littlest make faces at me while she blows her nose on her third tissue in thirty seconds. A fresh breeze is blowing through the open windows, scented with lilacs, apple blossoms, and a faint hint of cow from the neighbor's pasture (Grace is now on her fifth tissue. I'm moving the box). Joy is still sound asleep in her little bed upstairs, worn out from a full day yesterday of playing, running, splashing in the kiddie pool, and helping on the remodel of GG's (short for Great-Gram - my grandmother) house next door.

Coming back to my old house always inspires me to write. Unfortunately, there's always so much else to do that writing tends to take a backseat. Family, house demolition, weddings, lots of space for running and playing and laughing ... sometimes real life actually IS more fun (not often, mind, but once in a while). And that's okay, too.

With that in mind, I wrap this non-post up with a quote from Kathy Tyers that I have always appreciated:

"Don't make writing your top priority. This advice runs counter to what most people will tell you -- you'll read in many places that you MUST write EVERY day -- but I'm saying that there are more important things in life. Your relationship with God comes first. The time you must spend with your family, and your attention to their needs, is also more important than any job or hobby you take up."

-Kathy Tyers

What are some ways you prioritize your time? Do you agree that sometimes writing, as necessary as it is for we writers, has to take a back burner? Do you forgive me for going without much of a post this week? Has Blogger still been acting up with allowing people to comment, or is it fixed now?

Jo March and Sundries

This was going to be a post on Jo and Laurie, and why I don't think they would have been a good couple, but I've been ranting about Amy various places lately, and realized that this post needed to mostly be about Jo, with everyone else tossed in as they relate to her.

First of all:

Even though Josephine "Jo" March did not make it to my list of favorite literary heroines, she only missed it by a hair, and only because I already had twelve and couldn't justify making it any longer. And also because Louisa May Alcott's moralizing-on-the-brink-of-preachiness style of writing has such a tendency to get under my skin that my irritation with her can bleed into my feelings toward Jo.

But Jo is still an old friend, and someone I admire. Her growth through "Little Women," and then as she is seen in "Little Men" and "Jo's Boys," is both realistic and beautiful - she becomes a gracious and responsible woman without losing any of her strength, her independence, or her individuality. Watching her learn, with the help of her mother, how to control her temper has always been a favorite theme of mine throughout the first book. Watching her as a mother to her two boys, and pseudo-mother to a whole host of other children in the later books, is almost as delightful. Her struggles to accept Beth's mortality, and the strength that she lends her family during that time; her fierce rebellion against growing up before deciding to turn it to her advantage; her hatred of society's meaningless conventions ... she is a dear, our Jo.

And, of course, her friendship with Laurie. O, that controversial topic. Let me state my position right off the bat:

I do not think Jo and Laurie should have been married.

There. I said it.

Now, hold off on the pitchforks for just a moment and let me explain (then you can all come charging at me again, if you like).

I don't think Laurie ever really respected Jo enough as a person. He didn't take her seriously. He was in love with her, that much is true, but emotion alone is not enough to build a strong and lasting relationship. As Jo herself said, he would have resented her writing after a while, because it took her away from him. He would have been embarrassed by her oddities and how awkward she was in society - or worse, he would have been amused by her, and treated her like an exotic possession, to be brought out to startle polite company.

And Jo didn't take Laurie seriously, either. She never would have believed he truly meant anything he set out to do, and would have treated him with a calm condescension that would have infuriated and deflated his ambitions. She would have sensed that he relied on her as his conscience, and would have resented that. She would try to fit into what she thought he wanted her to be, and hated every minute of it, and ended by hating him.

At least, that's how I see it. They were the best of friends, but not all best friends should marry. I suppose it made more sense to me as a kid, because, you see, my best friend was a boy, and almost everyone around us assumed that we would fall in love as we got older and get married. We knew, though, that such a relationship would never, ever work, that our temperaments were too alike in crucial areas and too different in others, that the very things that made our friendship so strong would destroy us if we were ever so stupid to fall in love.

And life proved us right, as we are both happily married to other people now, and still very good friends. Ethan was, in fact, the one that introduced me to my husband, and he was best man at our wedding.

Having said all that, I still cannot forgive Amy for marrying Laurie. Or for existing, for that matter. I have never been able to get over the way she destroyed Jo's book. And I know she almost drowned/froze in the river afterward, but all that did was turn it around so that Jo was the bad guy and Amy the suffering victim. If she had killed a living pet of Jo's nobody would have let her off so easily. Jo's book was as alive to her and important as any pet could have been!

And then Europe. If she really was a good person by that point, instead of simply having all the outward appearances of goodness, she could have said to Aunt Carrol, "Thank you so much for your offer, Aunt, but Aunt March did always promise to take Jo and it isn't right that she should lose this chance just because she was having a bad day due to me forcing her to do something she didn't like and isn't good at; please take her with you instead of me." I hate how she was portrayed so sweet and good, and yet took everything Jo ought to have had, and calmly accepted it as her due. She knew that Laurie loved Jo, and had no way of knowing that Jo didn't love him, but she fell for him anyway, never once thinking of her sister bearing all the family burdens at home. Selfish beast!

I've also never really liked Professor Bhaer, though I can accept him better in the latter two books. Still, though, I get the impression that LMA tossed him in because she knew her readers would never allow her to leave Jo unmarried. Not that I wanted Jo to be alone and single all her days (UNLESS SHE WANTED TO), but the professor was just ... bland. There was nothing to him. Jo should have married someone strong, to match her, but gentle where she was sharp, and calm where she was excitable, and vice-versa. Someone with a rich sense of humor and a good view of the world. Someone - and this is very important - practical and fun, who could help her regain some of the spirit she lost during those hard years nursing Beth and after Beth died (while Amy was off in Europe stealing Laurie). Someone who viewed life as an adventure, not a philosophical treatise. Basically, she married her father, and I never liked Mr. March.

Poor Jo. She got cheated by LMA in so many ways. I can understand why so many people wanted her to marry Laurie, because of how gypped she was of a proper happy ending, but I still veer away there. Not Laurie, not a character LMA ever wrote (perhaps because she never met a man like that), but someone, somewhere, had to be a match for our beloved Jo.

And maybe he would have been able to squelch Amy, as nobody else was ever able to do!

What are your thoughts on the Jo-Laurie relationship? Did you like Professor Bhaer? Is boiling in oil too kind for Amy?

Favorite Literary Families

The Blythes (Meredith children) (LM Montgomery):

These were the very first families to come to mind when it came to best literary families. Anne and Gilbert are completely impossible always-loving, always-patient, always-kind, -understanding, -wise, -funny, etc, etc, parents. Of course, maybe that's not impossible when you have a Susan Baker to do all your dirty work - the disciplining, the maintaining the household, the practical day-to-day details. Heck, I want a Susan Baker! Maybe then I can finally be the fun mom I've always wanted to be.

Be that as it may, Gilbert and Anne are awesome parents, and the children are just as winsome and lovable as their parents. I confess to a special fondness for Shirley, the poor unmentioned child through the latter books, who merits only a few sentences in Rainbow Valley, and one or two lines in Rilla of Ingleside.

The Merediths are not so lucky as the Blythe children - in Rainbow Valley their mother is dead and their father is neglectful. Things have looked up for them in Rilla, but through it all they have forged a funny, kind, loving friendship between themselves that is charming. Whenever I think of great sibling friendships, I think of these two families first.

The Seven-Day Magic families (Edward Eager):

I enjoy all of Eager's families, but these two sets of siblings (and their families) especially touch me. John and Susan and their eccentric Grannie (who is AWESOME, by the way), and Barnaby, Abbie, and Fredericka with their funny and warm parents. I like that their parents/guardians are neither stupid nor unkind nor dead/otherwise absent, and that much of the magic revolves around them. Grannie gets her own adventure, with the children coming along but very definitely playing a side part; and Abbie's entire wish has to do with her father. Very, very fun families.

The Melendys (Gone-Away Lake cousins) (Elizabeth Enright):

After listing Rush and Randy among my favorite heroes/heroines, you didn't think I'd leave the rest of the family out, did you? The Melendys are such a delightful family - they bicker, make up, support each other, tease each other, and above all, enjoy each other's company - even Father and Cuffy. And when a new member of the family joins them in "Then There Were Five," it just gets even better.

As for the Gone-Away cousins ... Julian and Portia always reminded me of my cousin Zachary and me. We were inseparable as kids, getting into trouble and out of it, always finding adventures everywhere we went, even occasionally including the younger ones in our mischief. I love finding literary relationships that mirror those in my own life! Alas, Zach and I never discovered anything so wonderful as Gone-Away Lake and Aunt Minnehaha and Uncle Pin, but we had some pretty marvelous adventures of our own.

The Stanton family (Susan Cooper):

My dad is one of eight children, and reading about Will's large, loving, normal family always reminded me of Dad and my aunts and uncles. I especially appreciate how each of them has their own distinct personality, from artistic Max to motherly Barbara to vain Mary - and especially, of course, the musical genius Paul, among the others. The friendship between Stephen and Will, eldest and youngest, is beautiful, and the poignancy as it changes when Will comes more fully into his own as an Old One makes me catch my breath every time.

The Wimsey family (Dorothy L Sayers):

We don't actually see much of the Wimseys after marriage and children, but what we do is delightful. The views on parenting and individuality in children expressed in the short story Tallboys has shaped much of my own views - and this only in a few lines! But that is part of Sayers' genius, that she wraps truths up in such simple phrases and presents it so clearly that one doesn't need more words than a few (something I obviously have yet to attain, given the length of these posts). And the relationship between Lord Peter and his wife (working very hard here not to spoil the outcome of the series for those who haven't read it yet by giving away her name) is just perfect.

The Beresfords (Agatha Christie):

The marriage between Tommy and Tuppence was always described as a "joint venture," and the way that they shared in everything, from government work to parenting to running a detective agency, has always charmed me. Carl and I have taken occasionally to describing our marriage as a "joint venture" (okay, that's how I describe it, but he always agrees), and we too try to share in everything as an equal team - each with our own strengths, but always working together.

The Pevensies (CS Lewis):

Others have described the friendship between the Four far better than I could - if you really want to see why I love them so much, go read Andi Horton's Valley Verdant or Kingdoms Come ... or any of her works, really. I will content myself with saying that they each have a very special bond with each other, and it is precious to see.

The Rays (Willards) (Maud Hart Lovelace):

The Rays, with the exception of Margaret (since we had only two sisters), always reminded me of what my family might have been like had we lived back in that era and been just a little bit wealthier. Julia and Betsy bicker as children and grow up to be the firmest of friends. Their parents love them and guide them but also trust them to make their own decisions and own mistakes, and are always there to help them pick up the pieces and move along. Mr. Ray even allows the girls to join a different church when they are able to tell him why, telling them he is prouder of them for thinking it through and wanting to be part of a church than he is sad that they want to leave the church they grew up attending. In that same scene, he gives them one of the best pieces of parental advice ever: "You might as well learn right now, you two, that the poorest guide you can have in life is what people will say."

As for the Willards, as seen in "Betsy's Wedding," they are just fun and real, and I love, love, love reading about Betsy's trials and triumphs as a young bride!

The Marches (Bhaers) (Louisa May Alcott):

There are many things people could criticize Mr. and Mrs. March for in their parenting, but they always loved their children unconditionally and did their best to raise them according to their principles. I have always appreciated Marmee's work with Jo in learning self-control. I do not like how they always coddled Amy - but then I've never been able to forgive Amy for destroying Jo's book AND for getting to go to Europe just because Jo was having one bad day, so I would have liked to see her thoroughly squelched by her parents once or twice throughout the book. Ahem.

As for the Bhaers, the love they showered on even the most unlovable of children through "Little Men" and "Jo's Boys" is a lovely example of unconditional love. And the fact that they go about life in their own way, regardless of what society thought, is also delightful. The brotherly love between Teddy and Rob is so sweet, too.

The Fairchilds (Tuttle cousins) (Rebecca Caudill):

Not many people, I find, are familiar with the delightful books about the Fairchilds, or "Saturday Cousins," which introduces us to the Tuttles. And it really is a shame, because both families are charming. Quaint, of course, hearkening back to that "simpler era" so many nostalgically yearn toward, but with everything that still makes a good family today - loyalty, friendship, love, trust, and guidance.

That same thread, in fact, weaves through all of the families on my list here. The same traits that my family always strove toward, and that I now strive to accomplish with my own family. In many ways, I look toward parts of these families for guidance in my own journey through these difficult waters of raising children. I am so thankful that literature, through heroes, heroines, and families, has given us all something to look up to, and something to strive for.

I may never be an Eilonwy, or a mother like Anne Blythe, or a brilliant and sensitive detective like Lord Peter, but they all can provide me with guideposts along my own journey. And really, what more can we ask of these fictional friends?

And the end of my "Favorite Literary ..." series (unless you all can think of another list of "favorites" I ought to write)! Did your favorite literary family make it to my list? Who would you have added? Who would you have left off? Does anyone in the entire world actually like Amy March?