snippets and glimpses

A few months ago I started walking with a friend, trying hard to carve out some time to get back in shape.  It’s not a daily habit yet, but I’m working on it!  I realized last weekend that I depended on my friend to walk…probably related to the fact that I love talking with her when we do… and decided that I was perfectly capable to go alone too.  I drove over to a popular walking path around a little lake (a large duck pond really), and took off at a brisk clip.  With no one to talk to, I let my mind wander as I breathed in the late afternoon autumn air that was almost summer-like in its balminess.   I suddenly found myself hearing ‘snippets’ of conversation as people walked past.  Sometimes it was just a few words, or a sentence (depending how loud someone was speaking), but the words got me thinking about the stories behind them.  And the lives tied to those stories.  It was fascinating.

As one man and woman approached me, I heard the younger man say to her, “So your goal in six months is to be walking straighter.”   As I glanced at them, I thought that he might be her rehab coach, and noticed that she was walking a bit tilted, limping slightly.   As I continued by, I couldn’t help but be struck by the fact that I could walk, and walk perfectly, everyday if I wanted to, but often had excuses not to.  But this woman wanted to walk every day, had to walk every day, so that one day, six months from now, she’d be able to walk perfectly straight.   Such a simple thing, walking, that I took for granted.

Looking ahead, I had to smile as an elderly lady drew closer.  Several people were zipping by her since she was pretty slow, but what made me almost chuckle was that she figured she was moving pretty fast with her cross-country ski poles.  I’m sure they helped her with balance, and as we passed each other, her lively, cheerful “hello!”  simply broadened  my grin.  Her enthusiasm and energy were contagious.

I picked up my pace, and passed by an older lady and man.   They seemed like longtime, dear friends, though the man’s shoulders slumped as he walked slowly along.  But the lady seemed so bright and optimistic as I heard her say to him, “Well, I believe that there are some things you should just put in the Lord’s hands.”  And he replied in a gentle drawl, “I was thinking that too.”   I wondered what burdens he needed the Lord to carry for him, and got a little misty-eyed and thankful that he had a friend to remind him to just let go.  So many of my worries seemed miniscule, as I glanced at the man who looked like he was bearing the weight of the world on those weary shoulders.

I rounded the curve and watched an old man and his old dog approach.  The old gentleman was dressed for a promenade, with his small fedora and checked jacket, looking dapper.   He and his dog were both gray around the muzzle, his with a trim moustache.   As they drew near, his weathered face lit up with a smile I can only describe as beatific, then he actually tipped his hat as he said “hello”.    They seemed like such comfortable companions, this old man and old dog.  I hoped he’d have his dog for a while yet, to keep the loneliness at bay, and to bring him outside to enjoy many more lovely afternoons.

There were a few more snippets that I scribbled down when I got back to my car, but I’ll save those for another reflection.   I was glad that I had this time to myself, to hear and wonder about other lives, and stop focusing on my own for a while.   And to be ever thankful for the abundant blessings in my life…big ones like my healthy family, and small ones like this day.  It brought to mind a recent favorite Sherlock Holmes quote, “You see, but you do not observe.”   I thought that this was one of the first times I had observed, and was richly rewarded by a day of surprising insight.

Do you observe and listen, and wonder about others’ stories?

YG aka T

Hmmm, you’re wondering if I’m texting in some teen code…close.  I’m actually referring to Young Adult also known as Teen, literature.  A fiction genre that I’ve finally realized is not just for young adults, but “older” adults like me too.  Last year at book club, a friend and I were discussing the books our boys liked, and simultaneously said their favorite series was The Ranger’s Apprentice by John Flanagan. She said they had just pre-ordered the next book and they all couldn’t wait.  “All of you?” I asked.  “You’ve read them too?”  She said that she had and loved them.  She asked if I ever read the books my son liked?  When I admitted no, I hadn’t thought to, she exclaimed that I didn’t know what I was missing.  That these books were particularly well written and original, with great plots and memorable characters.  So that week I checked out several in the series.  After the first, I was hooked and read the next nine in a couple of weeks.  Seriously, I couldn’t put them down.  When my son and I finished the final book (10), we both confessed that when we turned the last page, we were rather depressed that it was over.   But to our delight, the author began another spinoff series, The Brotherband Chronicles.  My son just received book three for his birthday, and my mom and I (did I mention I got my mom into them as well?) are both waiting impatiently for him to finish so we can have our turn. 

Even though I’d read other YA fiction to my boys when they were younger  (we started the Harry Potter series when they were about eight), in the past year my eyes were suddenly opened to a new category of literature that I should continue to read, and often.   Years ago, I loved reading some of the classic YA novels to them aloud, like The Hobbit and The Chronicles of Narnia, as much as they loved listening.   It’s probably because these books blur the lines between YA and Adult fiction, and they have distinctive characteristics that appeal to both groups.  The Hunger Games was avidly read in my book club and my son’s middle school.   In September 2012, Publisher’s Weekly shared rather surprising statistics in a new study:  55% of YA books are bought and read by adults over the age of 18, with the largest segment aged 30-44. 

Such a relief to know that I’m not in an eccentric minority!   Good thing, because this week I went beyond reading my son’s favorites, and selected one on my own:  The Paladin Prophecy by Mark Frost.  I’ll join the ranks of book reviews giving it 4-stars.   It epitomized the reason YA authors have to be at the top of their game, to capture, and keep, the attention of teenagers…no small feat!   While adults may stick with a book that has some slow parts, teens absolutely will not.  If they don’t like it, they’ll put it down and never go back.   The Paladin Prophecy fulfilled the requirements of a successful YA novel:  fast-paced action, a lonely but likeable and talented teen protagonist with a secretive past, snarky humor, and good vs. evil in a suspenseful other-worldly tale.  Also the first in a trilogy.  Of course.   The life lessons that the main character’s father gives him to memorize and live by are really quite good, and some I’d like to remember as well.  It was definitely the kind of book I didn’t want to put down.  

Where I think YA books excel are in the messages they can deliver about values and character, through classic literary situations, journeys and adventures. 

I highly recommend an adventure into YA literature.  Be part of the 55%.  Not only will you find the good ones thought-provoking and inspiring, with interesting, complex characters and plots that grab your attention, but some will give you a glimpse into what teens like, and their feelings.   If you’re a parent of a teenager, that could be priceless. 

Do you like reading YA books?   What are your favorites?

seasons

 

It seems appropriate to talk about the seasons as we apparently went from fall to winter in a single weekend.    I thought I’d look for a couple of images that reflected how the earthly seasons mirrored my own life’s seasons.   Sometimes I feel like I moved from one distinct season to the next, with some overlap.  I went from daughter to sister to girl to woman to wife to mother.  However, it’s a journey that’s a continuing cycle because I am still all of those.   Yet some days I really don’t want to be all of them at once…I’m just too tired!  It’s as though I’m expected to be every season in one tree.

And my tree was feeling increasingly like winter.  That my season for achieving my dream, my goal to leave a legacy, had passed into a frozen state forever.  Somehow in all my busy procrastination, I hadn’t done what I was most passionate about.  Write.  Oh I wrote for family, friends, the boys’ elementary school, work.  A little inspiring or industry piece here, a bit of poetry there.   But not a book.  Not yet anyway.  It just seems too big to handle right now.  So I thought I’d start a blog.  Small steps first.  I’m still figuring it all out, wondering if I am finally on the right path, but worried that I’m getting in the game too late.   Then the other day…

I was in one of my favorite stores, TJ Maxx, because frankly I love a good deal and one-stop shopping for everyone.   I saw this little plaque, and it seemed to say just what I needed to hear at this moment in my life.  I had to put it up on a wall in our bedroom as soon as I got home, directly in my line of sight when I wake up in the morning.    Here it is, with two lines that specifically caught my eye:

LIVE FULLY

Challenge yourself

BE KIND & GENEROUS

Inspire someone

BE GRATEFUL

Take the road less traveled

IT’S NEVER TOO LATE

You can probably guess what they are.  The reason I started this blog was to not only inspire others, but also myself.   Is that a little nutty?   I thought it would get me writing…writing regularly…with deadlines to post every week.   And do the same for others if they wanted, with a place to showcase their talent, especially the bright young stars in my universe.   But the most important line:   it’s never too late.  Sometimes I feel like it is and then I read some amazing facts about other authors’ success.  Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote her Little House series when she was in her 60’s.  Sue Monk Kidd published The Secret Life of Bees when she was 54.  Claire Cook walked the red carpet at the Hollywood premier of her second novel, Must Love Dogs, at age 50. And there are so many more!  I was delighted to read that the average age of writers who topped the fiction section of the New York Times Bestseller List from 1955-2004 was 50.5 years.   So actually, aging and life experience may well be necessary in order to write something of substance.  But fulfilling any lifelong passion, whether it be writing, acting, traveling, playing an instrument, taking up a new activity, starting a business, at 40, 50, 60 or beyond is just as sweet, if not sweeter, than it is at 25.

What were your big dreams?  They’re still there, you know.  Are you living them?   I’m trying.   In the meantime, I’m learning how to follow a path without knowing what’s around the bend.   What I do know however, is that I’ll be changed for the better in the pursuit.

“I do not understand the mystery of grace—only that it meets us where we are, but does not leave us where it found us. “   –Anne Lamott

empty boxes

I’ve decided that while the man and boys in my house are smart, talented, and loveable, they are definitely responsible for a baffling phenomenon going on almost daily in my pantry.  Empty boxes.  I’ve given up hoping that one day they’ll actually write something down on the shopping list that hangs at eye level on the frig  (I thought they would notice it when they open the door, but it must be invisible to them),  so I usually do a quick scan of the pantry before I head out to the grocery store.    Seems like a reasonable idea.   But NO, I soon learned that while it LOOKED like the boxes of cereal or crackers or granola bars in the pantry had something in them, alas,  there was not.  Empty.  Crumbs maybe.  Apparently, the habits I finally instilled in them after years of nagging to put things back applies to everything, regardless of any actual content.  No one seems to give a second thought when they use the last of whatever…the box just goes back in the pantry.   Inevitably, I come home from the grocery store, and one of them will ask if I got more Cheerios.  Naively I reply that  “there’s a big box in the pantry”, and as I grab it to demonstrate with a shake, I hear nothing.  No rattle of little toasted O’s.   Mere oat dust in the bottom of the box.   I always ask the same rhetorical question:  “who put an empty box back in the panty?!”  There’s never an answer.   I now know, after this irritating topic came up recently with a few friends, that this practice is not unique to my house.  Any home with men or boys APPEAR to have well-stocked pantries, but it’s just not true…every shelf holds at least a couple of empty boxes!   I suppose it’s just another one of those quirky guy things.    Like loading the dishwasher….