Story Telling

I'm trying to pull together thoughts that have been floating around in my head about the importance of "Story." I feel like this is a really big deal, but every time I try to verbalize it, the concepts become trivialized. But also, it is the subject of so many books, I don't think I could do it justice in a short paragraph.

But stories are important. They live at the crossroads of our minds and our hearts, meeting us at perhaps our most vulnerable point. But instead of disconnecting our hearts from our minds, as a rational argument or a emotional plea might, stories unite our reason and our compassion, enabling us to think clearer and emote more honestly.

Stories themselves are important, but it is the telling that gives them power. Getting the flow and rhythm right, hitting the marks at just the right moment, building suspense that keeps interest but doesn't cause despair, using words that communicate just the right nuance... story telling is important too.

It brings me great joy to begin, "Once there was..." and watch children's faces look up and their bodies tighten ever so slightly. Then to watch them process the story, how some loose all connection with the physical world and immerse themselves into the world of the story, but others hold the story at arms length, examining it, not letting themselves get drawn in until they know it is safe. Then ask if you will tell it again.

Words written on a screen are too slow and too distant to express the life and depth of a good story. Philosophic explanations or quick summaries miss the point. Could it be that stories must be experienced to be appreciated?

October Update

October is almost over. The season is changing. So is life... constantly. Currently, I am subbing at ICS whenever a sub is needed, as well as monitoring recess Wednesdays and Fridays. On Tuesdays, cello lessons interrupt the flow of the day, but Thursdays are my stay at home days, and I watch my nephew as his mother tutors. But the subbing can turn that schedule on its head.

While I am at school, Malcolm goes to Pre-K, and loves it. Something funny happened this summer. At the beginning of the summer, he was still hanging on me and if he was away from me too much, he would have bad nights. But then, something happened on the day my brother got married. Malcolm played with other kids or by himself the entire day and it was completely fine and normal. Ever since, he thrives with cuddle time or one-on-one attention, but even when he doesn't get it, he is ok. Now, whenever he goes to Pre-K, he asks if he can go back the next day. When I substitute, and he is there the whole day, he cannot wait for the next time he can stay. He loves his teacher and had new friends to play with.

Eamon is a full time first grader. He loves school too, except for the "yacker tracker" that makes a siren sound if the lunch room gets too noisy. He tries to read everything now, and if he can't, he asks what the special sounds are, so he can read it next time. Math is still his favorite subject though, and he loves figuring out addition and subtraction problems. It is fun to watch him making connections and asking questions. He is the most outgoing of the family, ready to make a new friend wherever he plays, but tends to gravitate toward the underdog.

Together the boys fight, play, argue, wrestle, try to be better than each other, and don't listen to mom or dad when they have each other to listen to. Whenever the two are together, there is either crazy or trouble, usually both, but only occasionally is it just nasty. They build grand stories and games and pictures together, feeding off each other's creativity, but definitely making there own thing. They are currently more interested in their characters beating things up, and there are no moral grey areas. I am getting used to it, though I still regularly ask, "Can't they figure out some way to solve this problem other than hitting each other?" And they regularly answer, "No, because he is a bad guy."

Thomas and I have been thinking about the contemplative life and leading a bookish life, developing times of quiet and creativity and reading. Because of that, I finished four books this month. I finally finished "Good to Great" by Jim Collins, "One Beautiful Dream" by Jenifer Fulwiler, and the first two books in the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series. I will be happy if I can keep this rate up, because my book list is getting rather long. And I have been trying to write more frequently. Working on fiction helps my creative brain, and the things that I am processing flow into those stories, but I was realizing that I also need to write to help process things. So I have a journal for processing, stories for telling, and the blog for recording life.

Working on a World

Iona was a desert planet. Although there were waterways, the ground did not hold moisture. Nor did the air. The native ruling species, the Catoonal, cared for the other life-forms on the planet, ruling and subduing them, using the Busha for food, the Menarki for pets, and fighting the fierce Fiol who would try to devour any other life-form. The Catoonal males were fishers, catching the eels that lived in the rivers, or herders, gathering the Busha and moving them along the rivers where they ate the algae and rushes. The females cultivated succulents which thrived absorbing the water from the Catoonal urine. They also created and fashioned the tools and weapons that the male’s used. They were led by a lead family. The female leading all the other females, the male the best of the males. When there proved to be a better male, either the leading female would take the new male as her mate, or step down to remain with the previous leading male. A new leading female would be chosen by the women, taking the new best male as her mate.

The Busha were bulky herd creatures. The females gave milk that the Catoonal children could digest, but adult Catoonal despised. The Menarki were agile, wiry, little beasts that loved the Catoonal’s long claws scratching their belly’s and in turn were faithful scavengers. The Fiol’s predation was feared by all the other animals. It’s teeth breaking through the lower jaws were the source of Catoonal nightmares. A group of Menarki might be able to overtake a lone Fiol, but usually Fiols lived and hunted in small packs.

There were other creatures, birds and insects, but these four species were the ones that most interested the human colonizers. At first, the Catoonal were delighted to find and raise food for the humans, in exchange for protection from Fiols and the elements, and because the humans gave them autonomy. They lived in separate communities, but were mutually dependent on each other.

Fiction: Figuring things out

She had ranted. It hadn't been intentional; it had just kind of happened. It started as trying to figure out plans, but something had switched in her brain and the flood gates opened. And yet, even after talking for an hour without taking a breath, she was not less stressed. She just stopped talking. It had switched off as suddenly as it had come. She sat on the couch, trying desperately to verbalize that one thing that was bothering her. But that issue eluded her masked in situations and frustrations, stereotypes and expectations.

"What's your problem?" Her inner critic taunted her. "You're making a mountain out of a molehill, over analyzing everything. Just relax, enjoy what you have, take each moment as it comes." And so on, and so on.

"But something is wrong!" the analyze retorted. "And I've got to figure it out. And once I've figured it out, I will be able to solve everybody's problems!"

"As if anyone would listen to you," the critic sneered. "Anyway, why bother? Why not let them suffer for the choices they make?"

"I love them," the analyst whimpered. "When they are unhappy, I am unhappy."

"Not much different from your son's fit, 'You aren't doing stuff to make me happy!' Did you just throw a grown-up fit?"

"I'm still sure there is something wrong. I need to figure it out, then figure out how to share it, and with whom."

"Why?"

A frenzied silence descended at the Critic's question. Perhaps it was too analytical, and the Analyst didn't know how to handle it. Perhaps the Analyst was distracted by the disorder in the playroom. Perhaps exhaustion was setting in. In the silence, and new voice spoke, "Be still and know that I am God."

Her mind was walking with that voice, like a bunch of puppies on leashes, rushing down the sidewalk. There were no words, just a jumbled mess of feelings and energy. The Voice laughed, "Be still."

With incredible effort she calmed the competing, tangled voices into a solo toddler constant noise. "Am I still enough, look at me being still. Oh, I'm not being still. Well, now I am. Are we going somewhere? Do you want to show me something? Are we almost there? See how still I am being?"

Again the Voice laughed, "Be still, and know."

She focused on her breathing. Breath in - be still; breath out - and know; Breath in - be still; breath out - and know. She was afraid to stop. She could feel the frenzy building, and sympathized with her child who couldn't sit still during church. Breath in - be still; breath out - and know.

"That I am God." The Voice was deep and rich. It was the same voice that Shasta heard on his trip over the mountain. It had asked him, "Tell me your sorrows?" but to her, it had said "Be still." Would she get a chance to tell her sorrows? When could she talk again? How much longer would she have to wait.

Again the picture of her child squirming in the pew, flipping around, falling down, forgetting to whisper, came to mind. What was she always saying? "We are here to listen to God. Listen for what God is telling you. He is telling you that he loves you just the way you are, but that He wants to help you be more like Him." Her own words came rushing back. And for a moment, all was still.

In that moment, she knew that the words she told her son were true. Like a spark that would set alight the Sacred Flames that showed all people who passed through real, the stillness ceased to be silence, but burst into flames of peace. The thoughts came flooding back, not as puppies or toddlers, or even yoga breathing, but as their true selves. Frustration became passion. Selfishness burnt and became compassion. Frenzy turned into living energy.

There stood the Critic and the Analyst. Were they welcome here? Who would they become if they stepped through the Flames? She knew that the Voice was on the other side of those flames. She saw the others enjoying their reality. But she doubted these two. They were always getting her in trouble. Could they be redeemed? Could they become beautiful? Or would they burn completely?

"Oh Lamb of God, I come. All of me, I come."

Words

Words surround my life.

I have a child who talks non-stop most of the time. I have a constant narrative in my head that I have to consciously turn off to focus on the child who talks non-stop. I write emails, talk on the phone, do interviews, get other people to talk. Then in the silence that I try to create for myself, I find my brain filling with questions, stories, ponderings, and so on.

Words, words, words.

It is fun to try to define oneself. It is why personality quizzes are so enjoyable. To find a box that we fit in, and to discover that we aren't alone in that box can actually be freeing. To find a label for ourselves, understand ourselves, create ourselves gives us a sense of control over our lives and the interpretation of our world. So we use words to find where we fit and who we are and what we want to be.

Are those words, or are they just noise?

But in the noise of words, there are other sounds, sometimes drowning out the words: fans that create auditory phantoms of children crying in the night, music providing a soundtrack for my life, and sometimes the words are so constant they become noise, not words.

In all the noise, I must stop talking. I must find silence. And I must let that silence fill me.

And in that silence words change. Instead of noise, the words have layers of meanings. The silence frees me to listen, and listening brings life.  They paint pictures of the people on the inside of the people I see. They tell stories of people who have roots in reality even though the live in a fictional realm. They sing songs of joy, sorrow, praise, and worship. The seeds of thoughts can become blooms of understanding.

No more words. Just silence. Listen.

Prayer

I really want to pray against people sometimes. I want to pray the imprecatory psalms against people who are intentionally cruel, those who hurt people I love, and sometimes those who hold different positions from those I hold and are nasty about it.

As Thomas reminded me, that probably isn't the best idea. We have other prayers for our enemies than the imprecatory psalms. And Jesus called us to love our enemies and pray for those who hurt us. So what should I pray when I get mad, frustrated, angry, bitter, and vengeful?

Let's start with the Jesus Prayer. "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner." This reminds me that the biggest problem that I face is my own sin. My attitude toward sinners that I see needs to be the same a Jesus, one of mercy. I must first deal with the anger and bitterness in my own heart before I can be a light for Jesus in a dark world.

Then I can move on to the Lord's Prayer. I especially love the phrase, "Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven." It is his will that none should perish. He loves sinners. He doesn't want to see his children suffer without him. He draws near to the brokenhearted. It is his will, not that we are comfortable, but that we seek him in our discomfort.

There is so much more in the Lord's Prayer. Give us... our daily bread. Contentment with what is on hand, not longing for something I can't have. Lead us not into temptation (maybe I should avoid Facebook for a while).

And forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us.

When I get mad and vengeful, is that the way I want God to forgive me? Am I only willing for the grace of God to extend to people who are nice? or those who think like I do? When I rant and rail about the evils in the world, is that the way I want God to view us? Then flip the idea on its head, how did God forgive me? Can I not forgive others in the same way? Why not? Am I better than God?

Now I have prayed. I have prayed for myself, for those in pain and suffering, and those causing the pain, without praying against them at all. Could it be that prayers with compassion are the most effective, because in praying them, our hearts are melded with God's?

Let us pray as the Lord taught us. Amen.

In Celebration of Valentine Chocolates

Is there a right way to eat chocolate? While there is some chocolate that is designed to be eaten quickly, the chocolate I prefer can be savored for as long as it takes to melt.

For M&M's, perhaps the best way is to crunch them, three at a time. But if you are trying to stay awake, it is better to concentrate on sucking off the outer coating of individual pieces, until the center melts cracking through the last bit of the shell.

Candy Kisses need their pointy tops bitten off first, then nestled on the roof of the mouth until they melt into its surface, taking on its shapes and indentations, until it finally slips away.

Chocolates filled with gooey substances should be turned upside down, the bottom nibbled off, and all the gooey goodness dumped into the mouth before sticking the empty shell over the tongue letting the flavors meld in the mouth.

However for maximum enjoyment of those with more solid fillings, cut into fourths, then chew each fourth, savoring the flavor as much as possible, by keeping the inside of the mouth as small as possible.

Snickers are to be eaten with a glass of milk. Peppermint patties go well with vanilla icecream, and are especially delicious 15 minutes to half an hour after a meal.

Truffles, at least really good ones, should be nibbled with the tiniest bites to make them last as long as possible.

Solid chocolates, not unlike Kisses, but so much better, should rest on the tongue, pressed gently into the roof of the mouth, and let melt, filling the mouth with sweet warm chocolate.

Imagination!

Aviators back from a dangerous mission

A box
Toilet paper tubes
Use some tape and markers

And something curious
Most amazing
Truly wondrous happens
    An airplane takes off.






I have been amazed at my son's imaginations the past few days. We kept Eamon home from school because he had a fever and cough, so they have had only each other, and each other all the time to play, annoy, and play some more. There have been moments of all out fights between them, but most often they have played amazingly together.

Overheard bits of conversation:

Peso and Pinto, Octonaut medics

"We're lost! Dear Lord, Help us. (Zap sound) We are at the beach!"

This is an airplane or a race car (it changed) made out of blocks.

A folding chair is in front of a tool bench. Eamon in the folding chair, driving. Malcolm and Baby Jack-Jack sitting on the tool bench back seat, "We are on a vacation!"

Wall Crawler

Spiderman runs into the kitchen. "Eamon, you need to finish your handwriting." Spiderman runs out of the kitchen; Eamon returns. "OK, Mom. By the way, did you see Spiderman? Isn't he amazing?"

Superheroes to the rescue!

Malcolm needed help putting on his superhero gloves, "But, Mom, you don't see anything. You don't know my real name; you just call me Peter."

He wanted a soul patch.

Just watching a video on Mom's computer...

Explosive imagination.
Created in the image of our Creator.
Considering the wide diversity of creation, I suppose I should be surprised by the things they come up with!

Mommy Cello

I'm babysitting a cello.

The poor thing. When we got it home, I couldn't pay any attention to it for hours, but when I finally finished morning chores, I got it out. Its strings were loose. Its bridge fell right off. Two strings completely loosened and slipped out of the fine-tuners. I have a feeling that the temperature and humidity changes of the past few weeks didn't do it any favors.

But I put the strings back on, placed the bridge, and began tuning it. It took about three tunings to get the pegs to stick, but it finally held a tune long enough to play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and a few scales.

As I was putting it away, I noticed the bridge had slid crooked while I was tuning it, so I will have to re-loosen things to put it back in its proper place.

Eamon and I have been playing his little cello, sometimes separately, sometimes at the same time, so I have a hope that it will come back quickly, but he will pass me rapidly, I am sure. I hope that by attending classes with him, I can keep up at least enough to play a few duets in the future.

Malcolm is excited about our string family: mommy cello, little boy cello, little boy guitar, and daddy piano. Currently mommy and the boys are resting in the corner, waiting to be practiced tomorrow.

Snow Days

We have had a week of snow days. I love snow days at 7:00 in the morning. They mean a few more minutes of sleep or quiet, a cup of coffee that can be savored instead of gulped before leaving for school,  and not having to argue with boys over what they can or must wear. But by 11:30, the pleasure of the snow day has melted into arguments and tears. Lunch gives me the recharge to fight for a quiet alone time, and we have hours more of play time, story time, et cetera until everything culminates in the usual yelling/injuring/fighting-about-every-little-thing time waiting for supper to finish cooking.

For most of the day, the boys play nicely. There are the fighting times, when they are hungry or tired of each other or both, but that is understandable. However, they have this delightfully frustrating habit of interrupting me every 5-15 minutes. That means anything that requires a more extended attention span or takes longer to do will get interrupted multiple times. And this is what I haven't quite figured out what to do with.

Their arms are resting on Isabelle's shoulders.

One day, I told them that I was having a quiet time. They were not allowed to come into the room I was until they heard my timer go off. I set it for 15 minutes, let them interrupt me, set it for another 15 minutes to finish the task at hand. It worked pretty well for getting the laundry folded and put away. But when I tried it while I wrote emails, I couldn't think straight because they were so loud. Even now, they are playing together, in another room, but they are talking so loudly, it is hard to concentrate.

Another day, an imaginary friend Isabelle came to play. She kept them occupied all day long. I was able to do all sorts of things, even emailing, because one of her favorite games was to hide quietly. They also enjoyed chasing her, and they said she kept hitting them (they would fall over suddenly), but they had so much fun that she stayed for supper, but she could eat imaginary food because she was an imaginary friend.




These days, the Lego table has also been a wonderful diversion. Sometimes it is something we do together - build and play and put away the scattered Legos. Sometimes it is something they do while I sew, and sometimes I send them up there so that I can wash the dishes in peace, only to be interrupted multiple times because they can't find the specific piece they are looking for.




I think the sun is trying to break through the clouds now. Soon the boys will want to go outside and play, while Thomas will probably go out to shovel the walks and make sure the cars have a way out for tomorrow. Maybe I will be able to finish moving and organizing my arts and crafts cupboard.

The snow holiday will soon be over. It looks like there will be school tomorrow.

Books that we got for Christmas

We received many wonderful books for Christmas this year. The Three Jovial Huntsman, Tops and Bottoms, John Rowland's Dragons, and many others. We couldn't pick our favorites, but these are three that we have read almost every day since pulling off their wrapping paper.

The Amazing Adventures of Bathman by Andrew T. Pelletier, illustrated by Peter Elwell

This book tells the story of the silent and swift Bathman, "friend to all clean living creatures, defender of the great unwashed." Written in a style that encourages epic voices and illustrated with references to comic books, our two super heros giggle about it and quote it regularly.

Anatole by Eve Titus, illustrated by Paul Galdone

We are familiar with Anatole, but were delighted to get a copy of our own. This brave, French mouse's honor cannot stand the thought that people consider mice dirty thieves, so he gets a job doing one thing that a mouse can do better than humans, taste cheese. Tri-color illustrations and phraseology show Anatole's dedication to France, to cheese, and to his family.

The Bravest Ever Bear by Allan Ahlberg, illustrated by Paul Howard

This book introduced a new type of storytelling to the boys, rather it was written in the sort of storytelling they do all day long. "Once upon a time there was a bear. The end." But insert all sorts of commentary and the characters taking control of their stories. The illustrations have kept them occupied for quite some time as they look for Puss in Boots taking pictures or other storybook characters.