A Think Full of Dishes

A Think Full of Dishes

Behold, the beauty of a sink full of dishes. Are you the one in the home who gets stuck washing the most dishes?
     Most households have a dish washing machine, but it is still possible to have a sink full AND a dish washing machine full of dirty dishes. There are well meaning spouses and family members among us who love to cook and eat the delicious meals cranked out in the kitchen on a daily basis but won't get involved with the clean-up process.
     I don't mind hand washing dishes. Don't get me wrong. I adore my dish washing machine and use it often but from time to time when I've had a particularly busy week, I have allowed the dishes to pile up for two reasons.
     One, it's my passive aggressive way of protesting the lack of helpers in the house.
     "I need a fork," one family member will eventually say. "Where can I find a fork?"
     "Tons of them in the sink," I'll reply. "Help yourself. I have to go for an errand. Be right back."
     Eventually someone gets the idea, pops in a dish detergent gel pack in the little compartment of the dish washing machine and hits the start button. When I return from my errand, I might see some dirty dishes missing from the sink.
     Two, I use washing dishes by hand as my part of my creative writing or strategy planning process.
     First, I'll look for my preferred channel on Pandora Internet Radio usually instrumental nouveau flamenco or new age, sometimes alternative rock. Next, I'll pump up the volume. I then assess the dish pile-up and generate my plan of attack.
     Of course. There are glasses buried under haphazard piles of bowls and dishes, thankfully still intact. There are stray spoons and forks in between the dishes and bowls, making the piles unstable and inviting breakage and a couple are peering out of the garbage disposal. I immediately sort like items. I pull all the cutlery and place them in the largest dirty bowl or pot on the counter. I neatly stack all the bowls and dishes and place all the glasses on the counter.
     If the dishwasher is not full, I fill it up quickly with cutlery, glasses and dishes. This maximizes the space used in the dishwasher and significantly cuts down the amount needed to be hand washed. Then, I set aside the plastic containers, larger casserole servers, bowls, pots and pans and super fragile items for hand washing. Once I've hit the start button on the dish washing machine, that's my green light to start hand washing each neat dirty pile I've created. That's when the magic begins.
     There's something calming about having put some kind of order in the dirty dish madness before tackling the chore. It feels like I'm halfway done because I can see the bottom of the sink. Finally, my mind's gateway is able to open.  I robotically wash and set the now clean dishes upside down on a towel on the counter to air dry. I am no longer thinking, "what a mess" or "I can't believe I'm stuck with this again."
     My thoughts instead have turned to the possibilities of the story idea that presented itself in my dream from the night before. I wonder about the man walking his Irish Wolfhound that is so huge that the dog's head towers over his when they are in a standing embrace. I start designing in my head the next promotional flyer I will create to support a non-profit fundraiser I am planning. I decide I'm tired of buying the same ingredients and cooking the same old tired family dishes each week. Once I'm done with the dishes, I run to the kitchen book shelf and flip to a recipe I admired weeks ago from the Flat Belly Diet Book. Grilled scallops with kiwi asparagus salsa. Mmmm. That is appetizing. The dirty dish stress has evaporated from my forehead and shoulders. I'm ready to create.
     I believe dirty dishes are a metaphor for the anecdotes, the ideas and inspirations that come and go in our minds every day. Sometimes we don't allow ourselves time to dump or process some of these thoughts through some kind of meditative activity, be it walking, running or, say it with me, washing dishes. We sometimes let them pile up and overwhelm us.  It's actually the best time to organize our thoughts, just like we do with the dishes.
     So the next time you are looking at a disaster in your sink or other areas of the house for that matter, think about the meditative opportunity that has just presented itself to you. Turn sink time into think time!

Welcome Back, Rested?

Family shadow portrait at Rocky Neck Beach

Family footprints in the sand...

Whether you visited the French Riviera or enjoyed your own backyard all week, the point is, are your body's batteries recharged?
     Some delight in planning the ultimate family vacation months in advance.  That's what Spring Break is for, isn't it?  Flying to some far away resort where someone cooks for you all week and all you have to do is show up, ready to climb aboard the thrill ride of the day. 
     "It's our first trip to Disney World," said one parent I spoke to before break.  "We're going to do it all.  Breakfast with the Princesses, the all-you-can-eat buffet, the shows, the roller coasters."
     There's something magical about experiencing things that we may or may not have enjoyed as a child with our own children.  It certainly gives us an excuse to enjoy the cotton candy and ice cream sundaes that come with the package too!  So we pack our bags and the children's bags and willingly stand on all the lines.  Lines at the airport, at the hotel check-out counter, at the rides (despite the LCD displays warning a 45-minute wait), at the gift shop and sometimes even the bathrooms (oh, the horror)! 
     Oh I've been there.  We waited until my youngest could appreciate the experience and remember it well.  Otherwise, a day trip to Six Flags or the Big E would suffice.  I must say that it was worth every penny to see my daughter's mouth-opened gaze at the "Wishes" extravaganza fireworks display at the Magic Kingdom.  It was equally satisfying to watch my son bouncing like Tigger after each ride; the faster and higher, the better. 
     "Again, again, again!  Please, can we ride it again?" he begged. 
     We did not regret the lines or the literal price we paid for the memories.  It was an ideal family escape from the mundane. 
     More recently, during Winter Break, our family traveled across the country to visit with extended family on the West Coast.  Minus the hotel experience, it was a similar type of vacation.  We ate a lot, stood on lines at Sea World and Hollywood Universal, went swimming, and more importantly, had a chance to catch up.  We only see each other for short visits a couple of times per year, so it was wonderful getting to know my nephews, who now towered over me as teenagers.
     After each of these types of family getaways, as fun-filled as they are, there were always lingering side effects.  It was now time to reckon with the unpacked piles of laundry, a backlog of mail and e-mail, officework and housework and to make up with the family dog who needed extra TLC after being kenneled for so long.  It was soon going to be time for another vacation due to the vacation!
     So during this Spring Break we opted for a more low-key and restful week.  I cooked so much during the holiday weekend that there were enough meals to heat up for the family.  When the food ran out, we enjoyed steak and fish at local restaurants and went out for Italian ices and frozen custard.  We hit baseballs and softballs at the cages and golf balls at the driving range. 
     "What fun stuff are we going to do today?" said the kids with anticipation.  I was flattered that they looked forward to spending time with us.
     With no agenda for the earlier part of the day, we all slept in late.  We dillydallied every morning away, eating only two meals, brunch and early dinner every day.  We said yes to TV and X-Box.  I learned that playing Just Dance 3 with my daughter could be fun and calorie burning.  Surprisingly, the kids didn't want screen time for too long.

      We rode our bikes for miles and miles around the neighborhood and at Harkness and Rocky Neck State Parks for a change of scenery.  We walked the vacant beach, enjoying the breath-taking views of the windsurfed aqua waves, making family sneaker prints in the sand and picking up crab shells along the way.  The kids enjoyed staying up late to watch "special" movies with us; movies we parents enjoyed watching as kids over 20 years ago like Princess Bride and Twins.  It was like traveling with them to our past.  We had to explain some societal and technological differences.  We gathered with families who also opted for a stay-cation to have dinner together and play games.  The kids visited friends' homes while we adults sneaked in a round of nine-hole golf at the par three course.  As a novice golfer, I appreciated the deserted fairways which made for stress free tee offs.  We hosted the kids' friends, giving us a chance to catch up on some home and yard work.  The garden is now cleared and mulched, ready to soon bear new annual blooms and vegetable seeds.
     "I have anxiety about tomorrow," said my oldest before bed on Sunday night.
     "I know vacation's over.  But I'm ready to work again.  Aren't you?" I said.  "It beats getting bored of doing nothing after a while." 
     "I guess," he said, shrugging and shifting on his side to go to sleep.
     It was just the right amount of rest to be re-energized once again.  The best part?  No bags to unpack.

Family Mosh with Our PEEPs

Master of PEEPpets!

I saw the call for submissions on the Waterford Patch site two weeks ago. Someone submitted a very simple composition of three PEEPs. A momma, a poppa and a newborn peep peering out of a cracked egg. That sparked in me a desire to mention the fun contest to my kids and the wheels started turning in our heads. What clever scene could we design? What humorous take on a title of a movie, a song or situation could we weave the word PEEP in? This became a fun family topic at dinner at first. Five days went by and every now and then I peeked at the latest submissions. People were delighting in having the opportunity to let their craft work and creativity shine in the limelight.
      The truth is that I was never interested in winning necessarily. The prize was a $100 gift card to Michaels. I am not a hobbyist or crafter. I really don't frequent the store. The lure was just in the opportunity to express our family's sense of humor and fun. We talked again for a few days as the submission deadline drew near. Now the pressure was on. First, we had to acquire some PEEPS, in a variety of colors. Then we had to find time to set up the diorama and upload it, name it and officially submit it. The day finally arrived the night before the deadline.
      "Mommy, you promised we would buy some PEEPs for the contest," said my daughter after her dentist appointment. She also reminded me that the night before during her gymnastics team's egg hunt at the gym, she had received some unmarked tart candies which I had not allowed her to ingest. For years she had been responsible and cautious, automatically asking how she could substitute them for something we were certain were food allergy safe.
     "You know better than to even consider eating that, Sweetheart," I said.
     "I've had them before."
     "Oh yeah? How do you know? What are they?"
     "I think they're Gobstoppers."
     "You think?" She looked down in disappointment and tears started to well up.
     "Remember what you get to do at Halloween? I'll let you trade them for something better."
     This was a fair offer. So after her dentist appointment, we set out to pick up four packages of PEEPs. She was pleased to remember that they contained safe ingredients and they would also be fun to work with for the PEEP contest, which we had never done before. We settled on blue, green and yellow bunnies. They only had chicks in pink. I must admit that when I looked at the submissions that were already posted earlier in the day, I thought about whether the designer had put much thought or effort into them. Then there was the artistry of the photograph execution itself. I decided once we all agreed to stick with our first impulse to do something that had to do with rock bands that we would keep it simple and just get it in before the deadline.
     "What are some hit songs that Metallica produced?" I said to my husband after dinner. He started naming them.
     "In what song name could we fit in the word PEEP?"
     "Master of Puppets!"
     "Yes, perfect! Master of PEEPpets it is!"
     At this point it was beyond the kids' bedtimes so they were upstairs brushing their teeth and getting their pajamas on. I assured them I would beat the deadline and execute one of the ideas we had discussed. I went into action, digging up the Metallica rock band figure collectible set from the basement that I had given him two jobs ago for his office. I set up all the music equipment pieces. It was so adorable. There was the snare drum, the base drum, high hat cymbals, all the other cymbals and other drums. There was a mic stand and the four band members, whose limbs resembled lego pieces but the heads of long crazy hair and faces intricately mimicked the real band members. They even wore the black T-shirts and jeans and headbands they were known to wear in concert. I set aside the band member figures as the PEEPS would have to represent them. The drummer was the easiest to work with. I simply stuck the drumsticks through the pink chick's gut and positioned the sticks such that they seemed to be about to strike a set of cymbals and one of the drums. The pink chick also made the most sense to serve as drummer since it was already in a seated position, so I set it on top of an overturned martini shaker cap. Cool, it worked. Next were the bass, rhythm and solo guitarists. I broke off the front tips of toothpicks and balanced the guitars at the right angle. I then positioned the stand alone mic in front of the lead singer.
     For those Christians familiar with Metallica's Master of Puppets lyrics, it probably was not the best choice of songs to portray during Holy Week, but we were not trying to send any propaganda or other cryptic messages to the public. We simply wanted to place our PEEPs in a cool rock scene, particularly because we are a musical family. So, I used the rock song's bold Metallica artwork behind the black stage, making sure I covered the lower half of the rendering, which contained symbols which might be misconstrued as irreverent. We truly apologize to those who might have wrongly reached that conclusion.

Moshing in the PEEP pit!

     Daddy is most familiar with Metallica and their genre of music. He introduced the kids and I to some of their more popular hits and ballads and while we don't listen to the band frequently, we know he likes it and we appreciate the head banging rhythm in the car.  Otherwise, we're more of a classic rock, jazz, pop and alternative rock kind of family in general.  I personally prefer nouveau flamenco and new age music when I write, but I digress.  My point is that we borrowed Dad's Metallica set for the PEEPs contest and our only motivation was family fun!
     I took several shots from many angles.  After I was satisfied with the perspective of the shot, I posted our Master of PEEPpets submission.
     "It's done!" I declared and the kids couldn't help running back downstairs to have a look.
     "Ooooh, it looks really good Mommy!  They look so cute!" said my daughter.  We were all satisfied and went to sleep.  The next morning, my husband had a wonderful suggestion.
     "You know, if you really want to get crazy, you could use the rest of the PEEPs and put them in the audience so the band is playing for PEEPle."
     "You're right.  But I just wanted to get it in.  It's done."
     I decided to leave the display on the kitchen island for the kids to enjoy during breakfast.  But once they left for school and I walked the dog, there was the PEEP metal band, just posing with their instruments, ever so sweetly on the black stage.  Something was definitely missing.  There was no movement.  I could not hear the screeching guitars or feel rhythm, so I got back to work.  I did as my husband suggested.  I emptied the rest of the PEEPs packages and set them up as a crowd of fans.  And then, the Metallica band members called.
     "Come on!  Throw us in the PEEP pit!  We wanna mosh, Baby!"

The Second Straw (House)

One hour and forty minutes east of the first pioneer in the state of Connecticut, a second straw house is now in construction, making history in Eastern Connecticut.

     Two weeks ago, I received an e-mail from a friend, an invitation to attend a straw bale raising at the site of her young family's future home in Lisbon, CT. It was going to take place over the weekend. Children were welcome. We could drop by any time of day; we could stay for as short or as long as we desired. We could raise one or two bales or simply come to check it out. There would be a tent with food. Whatever the activity was, the upbeat invitation sounded like a fun time with families. More importantly, it offered me and my family a chance to experience something unique.

     Originally from New York City and a resident of Waterford for the past ten years, I was naturally curious and welcomed new experiences. My mind was filled with many questions. I wondered if straw bale raising had something to do with those giant marshmallow-like white masses that periodically appeared on the field near the north-bound Interstate 95 ramp in Waterford. Was it a gathering of people who will do heavy work together to make it lighter work and socialize at the same time? I did not want to appear clueless by asking, so before responding to the invitation, I did a quick Google search on straw bale raising. My search led me to words like "environmental building," "people stacking bales like building blocks" and "new material for modern construction."

     This past weekend, my family experienced the joy of community and the courage of green living at our first straw bale raising party. We brought along another family we knew who were also into nature and the outdoors. More people meant more efficiency and multiplied cheer. We were blessed with perfect weather, bright skies and radiating warmth, so it was easy to convince the kids and our friends to spend time outdoors learning about something new together.

     The first thing that struck me when we arrived at the site on Saturday morning was the many cars parked at the foot of the property. There weren't any pick-up trucks or contractor vans. These were family sedans. The wood frame and roof of a one and a half story home currently under construction was alive with activity. To the left of the structure, there was a long truck filled with two-string bales of straw. One person's job was to toss the bales from deep inside the truck to someone waiting on the ground, whose job it was to stack them neatly for the next person, who was operating a chainsaw to trim the bales until the edges were smooth and firm like brick. Once trimmed, these bales were then raised above the cement foundation and passed to the person waiting in the frame of a doorway to the house who then stacked them neatly in the middle of the structure. Two people, who clearly knew what they were doing, were stacking bales against the wall, between two window openings. They aligned and secured them to the wall. Other people were gathering loose straw and placing them into jumbo trash bags; these would be used to make straw plaster later on.

     "How can we help?" I said, ready to plunge into the activity.

     My husband and the other couple we brought along were also all ears, ready to pitch in. The kids were already exploring the early stage construction, mesmerized by the sight of a house's skeletal joints and ribs. They had never before had the ability to see through a floor or through walls to the outside of a home from inside. They climbed the open steps up to the loft to admire the view of the landscape behind the house and then down into the dark basement space.

     "I'm really beat," said Benjamin Shiling, one of the homeowners and leaders of the project onsite.

     It was Day Two of the straw bale raising. He and his wife Jennifer, their friends and family had been working non-stop since the day before.

     "Now is a good time to take a break. Let me give you a quick tour."

     He showed us where their architect had planned the living room, the dining area, the bathroom, the two bedrooms and loft. The house will be insulated by tightly compacted straw bales and the interior as well as exterior walls would later be constructed from plastered straw walls.

     "We purchased the land over four years ago and attended a straw bale building workshop in Vermont for several days," said Jennifer Shiling.

     I was under the impression that Ben built homes for a living. But his day job was supervising technical support at a community center and she was busy homeschooling her preschoolers and caring for her infant. They hired an architect to design and contractors to build their new home. Their contractors paused work on the house to give Ben and Jenn the opportunity to install their straw bale insulation into the home. They were coached further onsite before the straw bale raising project's start by one of their straw bale workshop mentors.

     "What made you decide to use straw bales for your home?" I inquired.

     "The material is natural so it's non-toxic and it is more energy-efficient for heating and cooling than typical insulation material," she said.

     According to Andrew Morrison, founder of Straw Bale Innovations, LLC and designer and builder of both conventional and straw bale homes, a typical straw bale wall is roughly three times as efficient as conventional framing.

     "Over the life of a typical thirty year mortgage, this superior insulation can reduce energy costs by up to 75%, saving money and vital natural resources," states his company's website at www.strawbale.com.

     His website also states that straw bale homes are fire-resistant because "due to their tight compaction, bales contain very little oxygen and thus resist combustion."

     I was very impressed. Not only because the Shilings had given great thought to the use of safer, more energy-efficient and sustainable material for their home, but because they committed themselves to researching and learning how to lead and implement such a massive, time-consuming undertaking.

     "What can I do to help?" I said, ready to exert effort.

     For the next couple of hours, my family and I became part of the community that had come to help move, trim, stack and secure straw bales. My husband moved straw bales out of the truck to the stacks waiting to be trimmed. My son and I moved the fifty-pound trimmed bales that were sitting in the middle of the house to what would eventually become a bedroom. Jenn felt that this room's straw bale walls needed to be completed before moving on to other areas of the house.

     We took a lunch break and then it was time for my family to move on to our next agenda item that day. If we weren't expecting visitors from out of town that day, I would have liked to stay for the rest of the day to help the Shilings some more. I felt like I was more of a tourist and did not accomplish enough to help them out.

    "When we first brought it up everyone thought we were crazy," said Jenn to me as we said our good-byes. "Now it's really happening. Thanks for coming...for the moral support."

The Shiling's home is the second straw bale home to be constructed in the state of Connecticut, according to http://sbregistry.greenbuilder.com. For more information about straw bale houses, check out www.strawbale.com.

Leapfrogging Spring

Ah, how positively inspiring the sun's rays are when their warmth penetrates our eager souls.  Weary of the non-existent winter, folks around town have embraced what's next, as moody Mother Nature gives us a taste of spring and summer this week in Southeastern CT.  It is so bazaar to be enjoying the same weather in New England that my sister has in San Diego, CA!

Last Thursday was the first sign that true change was in the air.  As I rounded the neighborhood with my dog that morning, I was struck by the warmth of the sun on my face.  I had to pause and just stand there to face directly at the sun, soaking in the rising degrees.  As we continued our walk, I realized I was clearly the most over-dressed person on the road.  I had on my long down coat and my knit ski cap and gloves and thought nothing of it at first, attributing my lack for warmth as a daily thing.  After all, I'm originally from the tropics, so even if the weather forecasters say that the high will be in the 60's, I pack on the layers out of habit. There have been enough days when the morning started off in the 30's, much to my chagrin.

There were many signs in the environment that we were clearly beyond the big thaw.  First, I noticed my neighbor's tulip and crocus sprouts, green and purple tips poking through the hard ground at the edge of their lawn beds.  Next, I saw a runner in shorts and a T-shirt.  Alright, I thought to myself, the ski cap has to go.  It's just embarrassing now.  And put away the gloves too.  I shoved them all in my pockets.  Next, I heard new bird songs tweeting in the air.  It was time to refill the bird feeders again.  I noticed a red blob sitting in the heart of a bare bush.  I checked for any movement or sign of life.  Was it a red cardinal just sitting there, mocking me as well?  Yes, it too, was enjoying the sun and his impulse was to stay put, to soak in the rays.

Over the past few days, more signs of the next season have emerged.  My dog interrupted his own play to look around in response to very loud squawking overhead; it was a flock of over 70 seagulls flying in V formation, announcing their return from the South.  In Waterford, it's nice to see groups of dogs being walked by their pet parents and friends not only in the morning now, but in the late afternoon as well.  These doggy parades take place around the neighborhood and at special destinations like Harkness State Park.  Kids are outside at the playgrounds again, riding their bikes and playing basketball at the end of their driveways.

Outdoor establishments are also taking advantage of the next season's earlier arrival this year.  Bobby's Place, a cute little lobster roll and clam shack in Niantic, was serving customers outdoors last week.  Apparently Frosty Treats, also in Niantic, has already opened for business.  DQ's website says they will open for their 60th season this Saturday, March 17th.  In New London, Fred's Shanty and Captain Scott's Lobster Dock are already open as well, taking advantage of Lent observers looking for a good fish lunch.  My favorite sign, of course, was spotting several convertible cars zipping around town with their tops down, in March!  Very entertaining.  What a coup, to enjoy the double whammy of warmth and a light breeze lifting your hair in the wind.  I couldn't help but wave to them in cheer.    

One more clear sign Spring is here; when my daughter got off the bus the other day, she begged, 

“Please, Mommy, can I do my work outside on the deck?  I just have to be outside.  It's so beautiful out.”       

She sat on a deck chair, with a folder on her lap.  She closed her eyes, crossed her legs, placed her clasped hands on her lap and held her face high toward the sun's rays, sighing in satisfaction.  Now that's a true picture of Spring.

Good bye shovel, hello rake!

Little Hands Make Fun Work

Do you remember how old you were when you first physically felt the effects of real work?  I couldn't wait to get my working papers when I turned fourteen.  I woke up that morning, excited to open my presents from Mom and Dad.  I blew my candles.  Later that day, I was on a train to Brooklyn to fill out an application from the Department of Labor.  I was finally old enough to earn my own income.  Even if I knew that part time hours at minimum wage would only amount to enough money for the movies, I felt enormous pride that day.

I was following in the footsteps of my older brother, who had at that point already worked as a restaurant busboy, pizza delivery boy and McDonald's cashier.  Money was tight for our immigrant family, so it was important for us to develop our own streams of pocket money.

I also remember talking at length with my father about the value of having strong typewriting skills.  This is how he paved a career for himself in government accounting in the Philippines.  He typed and entered data at tremendous speed, with pinpoint accuracy.  He inspired me to start learning how to type on my own at nine-years-old.  I set a newspaper article beside my typewriter and typed what I read, fumbling around the keyboard.  As a result, my semester in junior high school typing class went very smoothly.  I was quickly placed on many short-term clerical assignments during my college summers.  And that helped me to fill in my resume and gather recommendations.

My oldest is now twelve years old; my youngest is eight.  I worry about their generation not having the same kind of impetus and appreciation for work.  It is important to me that they understand where all their stuff comes from; that everything is paid for through hard work, whether the work is done through a complex corporate job or through the physical and emotional labor required in running a household and nurturing a family.

One day, I found myself asking my kids a rhetorical question.

"Everyone in this family has a job," I said.  "Do you know what your job is?"

"Going to school and doing my homework?" said my oldest.

"Putting away my toys?" said my youngest.

I was very happy to see that they were able to discern on their own that they had responsibilities as members of our household.  Over time, they understood the important role they played in the family each time they set or cleared a table or took the dog out for a little play in the yard.  But they could contribute more.

On New Year's Day, we made it a family mission to organize the garage.  It seems that every six months we need to purge family clutter as our busy lives sometimes prevent us from putting things where they belong.  Enough was enough.  We wanted to start the new year with clear minds and unblocked paths.  It worked wonders for all of us.  Every time we opened the garage door, it was so satisfying to see everything in its place.  What I found even more moving about this simple family activity was that we were together all day, evaluating whether or not we still needed something, whether it could be recycled or donated and more importantly, that their little hands made a difference.

Today my youngest accompanied me to work a pancake fundraiser at her school.  Weeks ago, when I read on a school flyer that they were still in need of volunteers, I thought this might be a good opportunity for me to teach her about volunteer work.  When I reminded her last night that we needed to be up early to report at 7:30 a.m., she responded with groans and moans.

"But remember, you committed to this.  Your school is counting on our help," I said.  "There's a lot to do to run a pancake fundraiser and if you don't go, they'll be short one person."

"But I didn't know it was going to be so early!" she whined.

She was dressed and on time, ready to work, but not thrilled about it.  In the car we had a chat.

"Do you know what the word volunteer means?" I said to her.

"Yeah, it means you work for free."

"You're right.  But it also means other things.  You are giving your time and energy."

"To help people!" She finished my sentenced, beginning to perk up.

"Yes, today's pancake fundraiser will raise money to pay for after-school programs and enrichment activities at your school."

"Like basketball, Spanish club and Spirit Days?"

"Yes.  Exactly!"

When we arrived at the school, she was pleasantly surprised to see one of her classmates and recognized other fellow students and their siblings who were also there to work.  These were children of parents who were regular volunteers at school functions.  It was a natural extension of what they do as involved families.  While I poured batter and flipped pancakes and chatted with other volunteer parents, I caught a glimpse of her having fun while she worked.  I heard her busily shuffling around the cafeteria and hallways with her young co-workers, wiping down tables as families finished their pancake breakfasts to prep for new families.  I watched her laugh and smile as she inspected the little red buckets of candies that served as treat bowls and table centerpieces, ready to refill them.  At the end, she helped put away decorations that were hanging on the wall and on the tables.

"Mom, when are we going home?" she finally said to me, dragging her feet and looking utterly exhausted.  Her smiles and energy had been depleted.  Her body now understood the true meaning of work.

"Welcome to volunteer work!" I said to her, embracing her as a matriculated member of our volunteer team.

This brought back some warmth to her face.  As other parents helping with clean-up also commended her on a job well done, her spark came back.  She, too, beamed with pride in the spirit of hard work.

Soul Matters

Soul matters.  What is burning deep inside us as a want, is important.  We are all born with an imprint of what makes us special.  Like flower buds, we each have the potential to bloom with the right nurturing.  It just takes a long time for some of us to recognize who we are and what it takes to make us sing from within.  Hopefully once we honor our souls, our flower petals can open wide in the full sun.
    I have always known since I was a little girl that I wanted to write.  I took every opportunity to write outside of school.  Sometimes it would be a journal entry.  Sometimes it was a letter to the electric company on behalf of my immigrant parents.  Sometimes it was an attempt to write a story.  Other times it was just to share with the world what was going on in my head and in my heart, knowing that the world was never actually going to read it.  I always wrote the truth.  The pen and paper were my best friends.  I usually felt a lot better after writing.
    I was somewhat still on track for a future in writing during high school, even if I was attending a science and math magnet high school.  It was an honor to be accepted into this selective program.  I had taken an entrance examination and my parents and I had prayed for the opportunity to go there.  And it worked.  I got in.  I happily attended Experimental Physics, Mechanical Drawing and Calculus classes along with Literature and Creative Writing classes.  The problem was not during high school when I was aiming to be accepted into a good university liberal arts program.  After freshman year I realized in time that I was following the wrong path toward an unwanted future in engineering.  The following year I declared my major in Literature and Rhetoric but it still all became rather confusing for the next 2 decades.
    After graduation, my absolute, positive certainty about being a writer someday instead became a dream with many questions.  During the early 1990s there was a recession.  People were lucky to have a job offer at all.  Maybe I could write a book on the side, someday, but in what practical profession could I apply my degree?  Would I teach?  Would that be enough to pay rent?  How about law or business instead?
    So I took a fork in the road that led to the business side of advertising, the media department, where my job was to buy print or outdoor space and radio or television broadcast air time.  It's ironic that I did that professionally for 8 years on behalf of my high visibility million dollar advertising clients, and yet every day now that I am free to write, I am battling to carve the right space and time to do what I was always meant to do: write!
    The problem is that what we do for a living is directly attached to our ego and our exterior fashion.  People judge us when we say what we do for a living.  Does it fit us?  Are we providing for ourselves and our families adequately?  Are we making our folks proud?  At some point we all submit to these very revealing questions.  The true question is, are we listening to our inner voice?  What's it saying because that knows more about us than everyone we think knows us inside and out. 
    The old adage is that we don't mind working when we are doing something we genuinely want to do.  There is no question that if I was already a writer when my children were born that I would have found a way to balance my all my loves in my life correctly.  Instead, I found myself writing media plans, press releases, copy for websites and brochures, introductory sales letters, pitch letters, leader speeches, feature articles, news articles, newsletter blurbs...the list goes on. 
    I kept thinking, this isn't me.  My family comes first.  I need to get back on track with my original goal to write.  Books.  Children's books.  Books for women.  Books that inform about something I've learned.  Books that absorb women, make them care and laugh or cry.  So I walked away from promising tracks in advertising, market research, journalism, communications.  I kept getting promoted because I was a hard worker.  I had good business sense.  I learned fast and I was efficient.  They never would have guessed that I was so unhappy.  They figured me for a "lifer."  Well I fooled them all, especially myself. 
    But I do not regret anything I've ever written.  Because I realize that I would not have this perspective or steadfastness now had I not experienced other kinds of writing.  Perhaps that is why I am now able to be direct in my writing and softer when the occasion calls for it.  Perhaps every single person I have met, likeable and grossly unappreciated, will somehow work their way into my books as characters.
    I certainly have met my fare share of pleasant and repulsive types.  Some led hateful, pushy, lazy, smarmy, manipulative and whiney lives while others were sincere, saintly, cheerful, hard-working, earnest and truly inspiring against the odds.  I have worked in such crazy environments that it's a miracle I ever survived them.  I have worked with stoic and robotic workhorses who must also have a soul somewhere in their bodies, screaming to be noticed or to express their true selves. 
    Yes, there are many stories to tell.