Parenthood

I adore the new show Parenthood. I cry every episode. Other than the fact that everyone has amazing houses to live in, the characters are all totally relatable.  The family dramas are very close to home. The sibling rivalries, financial crises, sexual dysfunctions, mental health issues with the kids, competitiveness with the children, etc.  They handle all of it head on and with a sense of humor.  

I gasp every episode at least one time with how "head on" they face some hot button topics.  In the episode entitled "What's going on down there?", they lightly tackle the generation gap between the women who landscape and those who "go all chia pet".   In another episode, the eldest brother and his black sheep sister discuss the integrity of "faking it" after the brother realizes that his wife "fakes it." The sister explains gently that it really is more of an act of compassion than anything else. She explains its like a "Thank you for trying. Come again soon." 

Anyway, check it out on hulu.com. I think you'll find it amusing at the very least. 

Motorcycle Memories

When he called, I was expecting a quick lunch at Puckett’s downtown. That’s feels like our usual place now, even though I think we’ve only been there once together.  But, then at one o’clock, I hear the familiar rumble of his Harley pulling up in front of my house.  I could recognize the sound of Dad’s bike coming from two blocks away. When I realized we’d be taking his bike, my stomach did a quick flip-flop. I hadn’t been on a motorcycle since Ellie was born, 9 years ago.  Not that I had many opportunities to decline a ride, but once I had a baby to take care of, motorcycles made me nervous.

Dad gave me a few options and we decided on the Loveless Café.  I’d never been there, even though it’s like a Nashville hotspot.  I climbed on, worrying that my older, more hefty, middle-aged version of myself would be more than Dad could handle on his bike.  I played the scene of Dad losing his balance and us crashing.  When my brain made the mental check that it seemed unlikely, he revved the motor and we took off.

A smile spread across my face. As we rounded onto 11^thAvenue, the rush of wind against my face was followed by a rush of memories. A flip-book of a dozen childhood scenes flashed through my mind.  I remembered burning my leg on the tailpipe of a neighbor’s motorcycle that my dad forbid me to ride.  I remembered the utter terror of feeling like I was going to slowly vibrate off the back of Dad’s vintage Triumph speeding down the freeway in Atlanta.  I remembered, after taking a huge jump on a dirt track, landing hard on top of the gas cap of my brother’s Yamaha 250, wondering if it was possible to break your vagina. I remembered trying to keep that pain hidden because I was the only girl around and wasn’t sure if anyone had noticed yet.

Now, just like every ride I ever took with him as a small girl, I felt a visceral connection with my dad. His love of story, of adventure, and of me emanated from his back directly into my chest. And my chest was open. I sucked in deep gulps of it as the ride started, relaxing slowly into regulated inhales and exhales as we rode down the Natchez Trace.  The powerful rumble of his huge bike underneath me and the great, open sky above me reminded me of how small, how fragile I am. But, Dad, just like when I was eleven, blocked me from most of it.  His broad back, the gray hair curling out from underneath his helmet, and the soft crease in his neck were all familiar reminders that I was protected from the bigness around me. 

I am looking forward to more Harley rides with my Dad, though I am still a little unnerved by the thought of doing it again.  Adventures and intimacy are always risky business. 

Juniper Tree Book of the Week

Now that I am required to read from a fairly obscure book list (or maybe not so obscure- I've just been had my literary head in the sand), I thought I'd start sharing some of the books with my readers. Vermont College of Fine Arts has some fairly extensive required reading lists for poetry, creative non-fiction and fiction.  I will be studying mostly creative non-fiction, but will be reading from all the lists.

The first book I want to share with you is juvenile fiction.  I have a huge love for that genre ever since I started teaching high school ESL.  We read dozens of books by Lois Lowery, Sandra Cisneros and Gary Paulsen, to name a few of my favorite authors.

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins is an incredibly addictive, fast-paced sci-fi.  It's not as cheesy as Twilight...you won't be as embarrassed for enjoying it.  For those of you who don't normally enjoy science-fiction, I have to say that it doesn't feel like you're reading sci-fi.

You will fall in love with the main characters, the heart-wrenching love-triangle, and the drama of sufferers of a government in the future that is obsessed with fashion and utter indulgence at the expense of its "district" citizens.

Get this book, but be prepared to ignore your family and friends while reading.  Nursing moms: this is one that you won't be sad to wake up in the middle of the night for.  Enjoy!

April Fool's

I was five years old and I walked down the street to the twins' house. It was a bit further walk than I would normally go, but they had invited me over for an official play-date. The twins were red-headed, freckled girls in my kindergarten class in Amherst, Massachusetts, where we lived for a few years. I was excited and nervous. This was a fairly big adventure for me.

Feeling oddly confident, I entered the twins' house and was greeted by their mom and dad. Their dad was seated at a small round kitchen table eating cereal from a bowl — in the middle of the day. This was my first inclination that something wasn't right. My dad was never home in the middle of the day, and if he was, he definitely was NOT going to be eating cereal.

Their dad seemed nice enough, though. He smiled really big and put out his hand to shake mine. He shook it vigorously while the twins giggled at his silliness. Then, he called me over closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Do you wanna see an elephant in the cat's water bowl?" he asked me in a conspiring voice. "Huh?" I articulated. He repeated his question, but with a sense of urgency, "Do you wanna see an elephant in the cat's water bowl?!"

I quickly turned to where he was casting his eyes to see if there was really an elephant in the cat's water bowl. The water bowl and the food bowl, were side by side, pushed up close to the refrigerator. No elephant in sight.

"April Fools!" he shouted. The twins erupted in staccato giggling, one hand over their mouth, one hand pointing at me. "He got you!" they cheered.

I stood there, unsmiling, staring back at them blankly. I had no idea what was happening. I started to cry.

Their dad quickly stood up and said, "I was just joking. It's April Fool's Day. Do you know what that is?" I shook my head and sniffed, stopping the flow of tears.

I don't remember anything after that. No playing in the twins room. No running in their backyard. No snacks. Only the empty kitty bowl.

decided then and there that I hated April Fool's Day. I had never heard of it before and, since I came from a Christian home, I also decided that it must have been a pagan holiday. The Druids probably made it up. That's what my parents had told me to explain why Christmas trees were a part of Jesus' birthday. Maybe those tree worshippers thought it was also funny to tease kids.

That was the last time I visited the twins and their foolish pagan father. Never trust a man who eats cereal in the middle of the day.

What She Was Thinking I Was Thinking...

Click here to read Kristin's inner dialogue.

Girls, girls, girls...By the way, the irony of this: my blog made me think about how much I needed a hair cut. So, I booked one for tomorrow with Kristin. Not only is she a good writer (you should subscribe to her blog), but she is truly a great stylist. Check out her salon Green Pea Salon in the 12 South Neighborhood. Maybe we'll run into each other there and I'll wonder what you're thinking.

What I Was Thinking She Was Thinking

I just finished reading my gal pal Kristen's latest post about how hard it is making girl friends. Even in our thirties, the same insecurities from the junior high locker room still haunt us, they just age. She has bigger boobs than me turns into Her boobs dont sag as much as mine.

Kristin and I just met for lunch last week, in the middle of my Atticus crisis. We just started hanging out recently to talk about writing. She is a writer, mother and uber-cool hair stylist and I wanted to get her input on where she thought I should get my MFA. I was down to two schools (Seattle Pacific U and Vermont College), and was hoping someone would help me figure out where to go since most of my brain power was otherwise depleted. I had to decide by last Friday.

As we were discussing the benefits of each school, I realized there was actually another conversation happening that Kristin had no idea about that exhibits nicely the reason why females struggle so hard to be friends. The two conversations kinda went like this:

ME: What do you know about Seattle Pacific's program? *Oh God. I didn't shower this morning and my hair looks so greasy. Kristin is gonna think I am a total loser. Do you think I am a total loser, Kristin?

KRISTIN: Yes! It's a great school. I don't know much about the program, but their journal IMAGE is really top-notch. You could definitely benefit from the connections you'd make there.

ME: But, don't you think I have opportunities in Nashville for those same connections? Do you think I should break out of the box and be in a place where my framework is challenged?

*You think I need my bangs cut, don't you? You are totally mocking my hair right now, arent you? You and your edgy 80's punk rock hair-do are judging my greasy, no hair-do hair-do, arent you?

KRISTIN: Yeah! Definitely. That would be a really great experience. You really can't go wrong either place. I'm really excited for you. That's gonna be awesome.

ME: Thanks, Kristin. I'm really excited. Thanks for getting together with me. I'd love to do this again. *You can't wait til I get my nasty-assed hair away from you cause I'm lowering your stock. I know you are embarrassed to be seen with me in Jackson's. You are hoping people don't notice your dorky, uncool friend with her stupid necklace. How do you know how to dress so freaking cute? Bohemian, yet still clean? Whenever I try that I just look dirty. Why do I always look so dirty? Dammit! I hate my hair.

KRISTIN: Me, too!

So, Kristin wonders why it's so hard to make girl friends. Exhibit A should help explain. We are shallow, caddy, critical, competitive comparers who can't just enjoy a simple conversation. I wish I were a boy who just wanted to show off how he could get a wad of paper into that hole other there. Life would just be so much easier...

The Latest

Atticus is the same. Happy boy by day, angsty child by night.

After his EEG, the latest neurologist (the third in one week) relieved us slightly with his take on Atticus' situation. With the EEG being clear, his thoughts were that there was not enough evidence that pointed to Atti's hallucinations being seizures. He also said, contrary to what the other neurologist claimed, that the things he is seeing are unlikely to be related to the "spot" on his MRI and that the spot is most likely an enlarged blood vessel (a highly common occurrence). He recommended that we see an ophthalmologist next.

It's interesting how many people are coming out of the wood-work with their own hallucination stories. You'd be surprised at how many people have had them (non-drug induced at that).

In fact, tonight I just heard another story: when my friend was a child, he experienced hallucinations in the form of his Mork from Ork poster talking to him. Dave, my husband, had auditory hallucinations and is convinced he suffered from a disorder called Micropsia (otherwise known as Alice in Wonderland Syndrome), where perception is distorted and things grow or shrink in size.

I've been given horror stories (several, in fact) of friends who have been diagnosed with Celiac's disease after years of being undiagnosed with symptoms including hallucinations, paranoia, anorexia, and more! Really, I could write a book with the stories people are sharing with me...though, I think I already saw it at a store the other day. The book was titled: A Comprehensive List of all the Illnesses that I could Have: For the Hypochondriac.

At times, I have been grateful for the stories that help me know in which direction to look for answers, but at other times I have felt overwhelmed beyond belief. Believe me, if a dozen doctors can't figure out what is wrong with Atticus, it's a shame if he has to depend on me to figure it out. I'm just not that kind of person. You know the kind, the kind that is so devoted to one system of belief that he or she can heal someone just by virtue of their total commitment to researching and strictly abiding by an alternative way of treatment. I've never strictly abided by anything. I don't even shower daily. Or every three days. Seriously, I have to believe in God, cause I certainly don't believe in my own powers of healing.

The stories from adults about when they were kids help, though. We survived childhood. It was traumatizing, but we survived it. I always hate it when people say in response to all their worries, "Oh, to have the worries of a child..." Do they not remember how overwhelming their worries felt? The insecurities of not having friends, the fear of their parents divorcing, death, eternity, the boogie monster?? Its awful stuff. And yet, we made it. We survived it.

I think maybe this is one of those things Atticus is surviving. Maybe one day, if he remembers, he'll tell the story about these crazy light flashes he saw and how they lasted one month and then never came back. He'll say, "The doctors never figured it out, but now (in the year 2025) they call it Growth Spurt Psychosis. There is very little treatment, just comforting the patient that this too shall pass. It was so weird and totally terrifying. But, then it just stopped. My parents were so freaked out. They prayed a lot and a bunch of their friends from Facebook told them how much they were praying for me...can you believe there was Facebook back then?? Anyway, I learned a lot about how to comfort myself. I still like singing the song from Psalm 121 to myself—I lift my eyes up, up to the mountains, where does my help come from..."

Keeping Green by Recycling My Posts

This one is an oldie, but thought I'd bring it back for my newer blog followers. Classic Ellie. And, since she hasn't gotten a lot of air time lately...

New Year, Carrots and Good Eye-sight

My New Year's Eve in Philadelphia? Oh. I was just laying in my bed, watching the Penn's Landing fireworks out my window and relaxing to the sound of gun shots a block away. Of course, I only assumed that what I was hearing was gun shots until I heard the news this morning that there were multiple arrests made for illegal use of hand guns, as well as news of several critically injured from stray bullets! I guess my first question is always: How then should I live? In light of guns being fired in celebration in my neighborhood, how am I as a follower of Jesus Christ with little children supposed to live?

It reminds me of an Ellie story...

This time last year, Ellie, Atticus (my 3 year old) and I were on our way down Girard Avenue on the coldest day of the winter. We were stopped at a red light. Up ahead, I noticed a woman walking toward us down the sidewalk. Now, because I was talking on my cell phone, my brain was slow to compute. This was no ordinary woman, but an obese woman without a stitch of clothing. My thoughts slowing disengaged from my conversation to this surreal sight. This naked woman looked like she was out for a Sunday stroll. "What in the world??" I said out loud.

Ellie, on-point as always, quickly sits up to get a look out the front window. "Ellie, cover your eyes!" She immediately obeyed. (Hmm.)

I then watch as a police cruiser slowly pulls up to the sidewalk and an officer gets out. He approaches the woman with one arm behind her back, gently shepherding her into his vehicle. She gets in and they drive away. The light turned green and it was my turn to go.

I look in the review window and note that Ellie is still covering her face with her hands. I tell her its okay to look. I asked her if she saw anything. She answers, "That police man?" I sighed in relief. She didn't see anything. But, I decided to double-check. "Did you see what that police man was doing, Ellie?"

You mean, putting that naked woman in his car?

Nothing gets by this girl. So, I then launch into a discussion about why on earth that woman, on the coldest day of the year, was walking down Girard in absolutely no clothes. However, Ellie, true to form, had to disagree with me on those details.Mom, she was not totally naked. She had panties on. I reassured her that she was entirely nude.

Again, I am called to ask the question: How then should I live? WWJD?? Even though I felt pretty much alone in my struggles, I prayed for wisdom and began to connect the sight we had just witnessed to our most recent family devotional. "Ellie, do you remember when we talked about how Adam and Eve disobeyed God and then, from that point on, sin and yuckiness entered the world? Well, that woman is not supposed to be cold and naked walking down the street. It makes God sad. We don't know why she is alone without any clothes, but we do know that God does not want that for that woman. She is made in his image and he wants only good things for her. And, one day, He will heal the world so that will never happen again. Do you understand?"

Yes, Mama. But if she was naked, what was that black stuff in her bottom?

Ellie, WHAT were you doing looking that closely at her bottom??

I eat carrots, babe.

Wisdom from a Saudi Student

I opened my work email this morning and found this beautifully wise words of comfort from one of my 18 year-old Saudi students. I am sharing it with you in the hopes that you will find his wisdom applicable for your situation today. Truth is global.

hi Sarah, today you reminded me of my little brother.. when you told us about  your son sick..  because before I left Saudi Arabia for America my brother a few of his face burned by acid, our maid put it on his face. The police take her to prison ,, but my brother needed plastic surgery and he did it but he is still under treatment.  

The most important thing I learned of that case is (((don’t be sad!))) never ever. In fact when I was seeing my brother I was sad and sometimes I was crying but with time I thought why did I do that? I lose my happy and my life but nothing change.. today I believe that ((we can’t change the life , but we can change ourselves)) whatever happen we must learn how can we settle it without sad.. our sad don’t change anything .. do your best and leave the rest to the god  

Sarah, don’t lose your smile because you have beautiful smile (without courtesy) I’ll pray for him and I believe everything well getting better when we close to the god   I’m sorry about my grammar and my writing but I was writing my feeling  please let me know when his case getting better Sincerely Messo

I love that I get the privilege to know these students from the other side of the world. To see more about the program I coordinate at Vanderbilt, click on the link below.  

www.vanderbilt.edu/elc/FoundationProgram

Remember the Ouzel

Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better. - Albert Einstein.

This torrent you are facing

It's smaller than hers.

And she, she is smaller than you.

And still, she flies in.

The current is fierce

The gorges are dark

The spray beats angry against her back

And still, she flies in.

She is only given sticks and air.

Alone she walks submerged

Hearing only threatening waters.

And still, she flies in.

She knows there is life there.

She knew this before she hatched.

She sings her water-songs

She sings and flies in.

The Ouzel alone of all birds, dares to enter a white torrent. -John Muir