I'm Back

You may have noticed that I quit blogging last spring. I thought I was punishing one of the two people that I know read my blog. I actually thought they were the only two reading my blog and I was sure this blogging was taking time away from my actual, real writing. An amazing thing happened in my non-blogging fit throwing, I didn’t write anymore than while I was blogging in fact I probably wrote less and I also had two other people ask me why I wasn’t blogging anymore so there were actually four people out there with enough time in their day to check into my blog on occasion. Of course my usual pleaser personality kicked in immediately and I felt that I had in some way disappointed them. So I’m back, at least for today. I’m hoping I can provide a moment of entertainment or escape for my four fans and that I don’t piss them off too much with what I choose to write. I’m also hoping this act of writing will spill over into the rest of my life. Winter is coming and I’m feeling very compelled to use this winter of my quiet solitude to write something meaningful or at least write enough so it is easier to call me a writer than to call my husband a writer who faithful writes in his journal every day. I should at least try to accomplish an act of writing daily and see what happens.

I was incredibly inspired in the creative generally and the written word specifically at our recent Cliff Notes Writing Conference held each fall here in Boulder. It does something to the soul to just hang around creative people for days. It causes my brain to act in ways I’m not able to direct on my own very well. I begin to see the world from my right brain and feel very compelled to put what I’m observing down and see if the words can in any way match the observation. I wander through my day seeing everything as a writing assignment because there have been so many great ones shared during the conference. So what did I gain from this conference?
1. A writing prompt can be an excellent tool to get the writing going when the left side of my brain is resisting and suggests that I write a grant, clean the house, do something more productive than writing words that will mostly be crap.
2. One of the most important things I learned from Craig Child is I always have time. He gave prompts and then gave us 5 minutes or 2 minutes or 10 minutes. Surely I can find that kind of time in my busy retired life. In fact it seemed that I got to the heart of the writing better with this kind of time limit. Where was this message when I had kids, I could have gotten a lot of writing done with that kind of schedule.
3. I also loved his beautiful journals. I need to figure out how to have journals serve me. I did steal from his journal. I hope I find a good place for the words taken while he was busy teaching.
4. The reading of the written word is incredibly beautiful especially when it is rich in observation and authentic voice. That would include all those who read at the workshop. We need to keep reading our work outloud to one another.
5. I was reminded that I may have some ability to write. Thanks to Dave for proofing my poem and providing feedback which reminded that I can write and maybe someone will notice. From this experience, I am committing to sending a few pieces out this winter and see what happens because of his words and suggestions.
6. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed the photography. I had recently had a discussion with my sister about this creative avenue as well as my pottery. I wondered if photography and pottery were truly creative enough because there isn’t as much wild abandon in these forms of creativity. They seem to just happen, the photo is what you pointed at, the pot is what the clay becomes before I really screw it up. But this workshop helped me to understand that photography is internal and external. How we choose to frame the scene in front of us is the internal creative just as the pot becomes more and more internal with each step of the process.
7. I especially learned a lot about drawing and our landscape at the workshop we set up for the elementary students. I’m ready to try out some of the skills they learned that day in capturing my own landscape.

I recently read Soulcraft by Bill Plotkin, a book I discovered in such an unusual way and then found I had actually met Bill, I just didn’t realize it was this Bill. After reading this book, the search through the creative process to determine the soul seems so much more important. I have even dabbled in sketching and painting since reading the book. I think I always believed I was not very artistic but maybe I have just been a bit afraid of venturing into the realm of my own creativity. I’m probably still afraid but it is time to journey to my own creative. I am dedicating my winter to this journey. It will be interesting to see where it leads me. I’ll keep the four of you posted.

Farewell Aunt Margie

It is much too soon to be blogging another memorial but I do want to acknowledge the passing of my Aunt Margie. The loss of her is painful on many levels. She is the aunt that looks most like my mom and is also a lot like her in their work ethic and business savy. Her passing brought back all the hurt of losing my mom so many years ago. It is also losing a future of really great conversations with my Aunt Margie. Engaging in a conversation with her could take you to a deep discussion in so many areas that are off bounds in most circles. Just last fall at the writing workshop, Steve and I were at the town hall getting coffee ready for the workshop participants at 7am. Between 7 and 7:30, we had quite the discussion about homosexuality, not like who is or isn’t, or is it good or bad but where does it come from, why does it exist and on and on. With Aunt Margie, if you weren’t trying to better understand family members, you were discussing religion, politics, sex, or some other taboo topic. I loved these conversations and the opportunity to think way down deep. Her passing also reminds me that my other aunts are near her age and I may not have them forever. I really have been blessed with incredible women in my life and my aunts have been right there at the top. They have made me think and they have helped me to believe in myself. I can do anything I choose to do because they said so and showed me in so many ways that I could. The loss of Aunt Margie is also tough because I know what her children are now experiencing and I love Camille, Karen, and Gaden like sisters and brother, so it is a sadness at their pain and loss as well.
I have gained so much from Aunt Margie. I thank her for being the strong woman that she has been throughout her life. We are all so blessed that she chose the medical field. She has kept us better informed on our own health. In this regard, I would also thank her for her influence on my daughter, who chose nursing because of Aunt Margie’s influence. I only hope that my daughter will also take some part of her way of nursing to become an even better nurse. I thank Aunt Margie for her directness even when it stung a little, it was always shared for my own good and if I decided not to accept it, that was ok too. I still haven’t bought that new bra yet. So goodbye Aunt Margie, you have lived this life well. Give my mom a hug for me.

Together We Can Help Old People By Colby Rothstein

When I was three, my great grandma lived with me. We played games together like puzzles. Sometimes she would make me mad because she didn’t understand what I was saying and we would fight. I learned she had a disease where she couldn’t remember things. When I moved to Cedar City, she moved to a senior citizens place where they helped take care of her. But I still would visit her every time I came to town. She always had a treat saved for me. When I would see her she was always excited to see me and the other old ladies always were excited too. They would want to give me hugs and kisses. Her memory has gotten worse and worse and now she has to live in a place where they can help her a lot. She doesn’t remember people very well. Sometimes she thinks my grandpa, her son, is her brother. Sometimes she thinks my grandma is her sister. But when I come to visit her, she still gets excited and remembers who I am. Maybe she remembers me because we did a lot of things together when she lived with me. Everyone should still visit old people even if they are sick or have a bad memory. It helps them have a better life and be more happy.

Remembering Fae

I have been neglectful of my blog the last little while but I thought today might be a good time to post so I can memorialize my mother-in-law, Fae Barraclough Wright Cox Stubblefield; the woman with the name almost as tall as she was. Fae was born on November 1, 1924 about 30 minutes after her twin sister Fern. She grew up poor since her father was disabled and there were six kids. She slept with her two sisters Fern and Loraine in a double bed until Loraine got married. She loved telling stories of how her and Fern would trick dates and teachers pretending to be the other one. Fae married early and had two boys. Their father raised them. She then married Steve's Dad. They had and raised Kenny, Geniel, LeeAnn, and Steve. I first met Fae almost 36 years ago at Steve's graduation from college. He introduced me to her as his "friend". I was offended not realizing he had a long term girlfriend that Fae knew much better. In fact she called me that girl's name for the first year of our dating. I didn't get offended at that, she's called all of us by the wrong name over time, including being called a dog's name every now and then.

Fae has always been an important part of our lives. Steve took on the role of caregiver from the time his Dad died and that role never ended. In the meantime, we had lot's of benefits of having her around. She was always very willing to tend our kids and she bailed a working mom and dad out on a regular basis. My kids enjoyed the opportunity of having a grandma around always. She also invited us to Sunday dinner every week and she was a great cook. She would ask where I wanted to go on my birthday for dinner and my request was always her chicken and potatoes with milk gravy. I'll never get the milk gravy right. She was also a pie maker and in recent years as her dementia increased, I had to pick up pie making and that too will always be lacking. Fae never missed one of Geneya and Geoff's events (unless we didn't tell her so we could sneak out without her and that was rare because she loved it too much we would feel guilty). She sat through several versions of "Indian Boogy" at Mrs. Tunbridge's piano recitals. She was their biggest fan at every sporting event. She didn't care much for the referees and there are probably many of them that still remember the fiesty gray-haired lady in the stands. But she thought Geoff could do no wrong. She did worry at each game because the other team was always bigger than our boys and there were always more of them but she didn't plan in their secret weapon, her in the stands. My favorite story, though not at the time, was when we were planning Snow Canyon in basketball when Geoff was a freshman. The gym was fairly empty and Geoff and Brock Sargent were doing their usual wrangling under the basket for the ball. Of course Grandma thought Brock was fouling Geoff so when they finally called a foul on him, she yelled across the gym "They finally caught you, you little jackass." I turned to her in total embarrassment and told her she couldn't call the kids jackasses. She said "I just did." Ohhhh and only about 8 more years of sports to go with Geoff. It was an interesting ride. We always tried to sit behind Nancy Topham at the basketball games because she said she thought Fae was cute. Steve and I would sit on each side of her to protect the rest of the audience and we would try to locate among fans and not too close to parents who she might want to comment on their boys playing ability.

As she got more impaired with dementia, we decided to move her into our house. We already had three generations with us, Geoff, Geneya, and Colby, a 4th couldn't be much more chaotic. And with two dogs, a third wouldn't make much difference. It helped to have so many people to keep her company and safe but the best treat for her was having Colby. They became best friends, playing together and fighting together. You had to keep track just so the fight didn't get too serious for either of them. He got a little frustrated with her because she couldn't remember things but wanted to make him behave. One day his frustration got the best of him and he whack her on the head with a little bat I had brought him from Louisville. I'm not sure he had that bat for more than a day before it was taken away. He did love her and even after she moved to Cliff View, he wanted to go see her and was willing to let the old ladies sitting by her on the couch in the lobby give him a hug. Theirs was a special bond.

She has gone. It's hard to believe that just a little over 3 years ago, Steve had her hiking to Grass Lake, a steep and rocky couple of miles. But then again he had Colby to help :). I'm sure she is having a great reunion with her twin sister, Fern and we all know she has probably already danced a few tunes with Pinky, Steve's Dad who has been gone just a few days short of forty years. That reunion should be incredible. We will all miss her, but she did leave us with incredible memories, lot's of great stories, and the consistency of having her with us for such a long time.

When I was a kid, my Aunt Gerry gave my cousins and I each our own guardian , mine was Rachel from the bible. I never understood why Rachel was my guardian angel until I got Fae and then I understood. I knew that where I was going Fae was going too. I don't think I ever realized until now just how lucky I was to have her. I love you Fae. Give my mom a hug for me.

Blessed Women

I spent my Christmas holiday falling head over heels in love with my granddaughter. She has been my granddaughter for almost a year and I have been quite smitten with her before this holiday but it become that crazy kind of love and I think she loves me back in a similar way. It is also a painful love because it is so much harder to depart from. I miss her before I even walked out the door. I recall in any moment her amazing blue eyes and pouty lips. I think about all I want for her in the future. Tonight at Women’s Council it struck me what I want really for her and for her mother and that is for both of them to have a whole bunch of incredible women in both of their lives. If they do not have sisters (sorry Geneya) then let them have wonderful women friends. Let those friends be the ones they choose but also let them find those friends among their family in their cousins, aunts, and grandmothers. I have been so blessed to have my life be full of the most incredible women you can imagine. It all started with my mother. My every thought went from my lips and through her good thinking and wisdom for the first 30 years of my life. I also had my heart grandmother and my work grandma to love me and to teach me. I now find my aunts have become incredible friends and great models for aging and thinking and creating. I spent last night at Aunt Ann’s sharing a task but also sharing conversations that truly matter. I was truly blessed with the most amazing sister anyone could have. I feel incomplete without my daily phone call. She is like my right arm. When she hurts I still cry just like when were little. I also have cousins that are some of my best friends. I discover regularly how much I enjoy being with them. I also have some really great girl friends. I thought this was what you get and then you nourish these relationships to extend to the end of your life but with my move to Boulder I have found a whole new batch of incredible women. It is such a pleasant surprise to find the opportunity for new friends with new practices and ideas for this next part of my life. So thank you to my women. You are why I am a positive person, why I believe I can accomplish most anything, why I have remained married for these thirty years, why my ideas and thoughts become even better, why I am blessed.

Community Language

In Boulder, we have the opportunity to do the most interesting and unusual things if you have the courage to venture beyond your comfort zone and because my goal since moving here is to go beyond the usual, we venture. Last night we joined the gather of the Men and the Women’s Councils to celebrate the solstice. It was held at the silo at the Red House Farm, formerly owned by my great-grandfather, John King so it always has meaning to be there beyond just a nice place to be. It was a small gathering. The topic was a focus on community and understanding that we all have gifts and wounds. There were many interesting thoughts around the topic but one part that got me thinking beyond the evening was a comment about how each group in a community has its own language. If you possess the language, you are accepted into the group, if you do not it may be more difficult to be a part of the group. I think few of us understand this idea because usually everyone speaks English but it may take having those that do not to help us understand that there is also the language of the group.

Being a part of a group called Educators, this is really evident. We have lists and lists of acronyms we use to talk about almost everything including the students. Then we wonder why parents don’t participate in their student’s educational process. It is a different language and one that can make those without that language feel stupid. Even in this small town there are several different groups who possess their own language. There are the Mormons. You can easily identify them by their language. I was watching a couple on the Today Show whose son had nearly drowned. I knew they were Mormons even before it was confirmed that their home was in Provo. I appreciate knowing how to speak Mormon even if I’m not actively participating. I can connect with members of my own family as well as certain people in the community. There are the Intellectuals here in Boulder. I can usually speak their language fairly well although it’s more work and I’m not as comfortable but I always love the challenge it provides. There are the Laborers. I love their directness, their humor, even their crudeness. It is honest and refreshing. I can speak this language as much as girls are allowed to speak it. I know there is a part of the language that is never open to women but I like hanging out on the edges. There are the New Agers, not sure that is the best label but they find spirit in everything. It is a language I love although I’m far from fluent. I listen more here. You might think there is a language of the Environmentalist in this town but when you live in this town, you love the land. You miss it when you are away or even if you drive it in the dark. You find ways to be outside, to walk across a stretch of sandstone or through a grove of aspen. In Boulder, everyone is an Environmentalist.

All of these many languages I have described are interesting and beautiful. However, the language can also create a barrier keeping everyone else out if you aren’t careful. If you are only comfortable with those that speak your language, life is going to be pretty much the same every single day. You will begin to believe that only people who speak your language are good or worthy. You’ll probably even start looking alike in ways that aren’t very attractive. You’ll never find out that you are very similar to these people who don’t speak your language. You’ll find the more you talk to them that even your language will change. You’ll learn things you never knew about building, sharing, breathing and life. I think the most interesting people in this town are those that speak many languages and travel in and out of the many groups of this town.

So be courageous. Move beyond your comfort zone. You never know what you might find on the other side of some place you've never been. And when you gather with your tribe, listen for that person who doesn’t speak your language and invite them in. Teach them your language or better yet, learn theirs.

Preparing for Christmas

Me going to the Christmas dance in Escalante

Geneya helped me make my blog more festive for Christmas. Since it has always been my favorite holiday, I figured I should get a new post on as well.

My earliest memories of Christmas were at my Grandma and Grandpa Roundy's house, waiting for Santa to arrive. Grandma always had a beautiful Christmas tree placed in front of the big picture window. It was most often a Ponderosa pine with heavy flocking, always full-limbed and balanced since my grandpa could insert limbs as easily as God did. My grandma created the traditions of wassel and sugar cookies. Christmas Eve included a Christmas program at the church and Santa handing out bags of candy. He always stopped at the house before taking off in his sleigh. Chrismas morning started early, usually because Grandpa couldn't wait any longer for us to wake up. After the presents were opened, we spent the morning visiting at Aunt Ruby's, then down to Aunt Fon's and finally, across the street to Evadean's. There was always a Christmas dance on Christmas night and it required a new Christmas dress for the occasion.

The adult Christmas can never match up, so luckily you have kids and grandkids to make it better. I love the Christmas tree, so I have to put one up even if no one will see it but Steve and I, after all I am related to Ott Roundy. I think a lot about the right present for those I love. Being in Boulder makes the shopping a little more challenging but I am learning how to get almost anything off the Internet. It's interesting to see what your adult kids take from the traditions you tried to build about Christmas, what matters to them as well. They both have their trees up already so that Roundy Christmas gene seems to be strong. I need to make a batch of wassel. Steve is trying to get the red lights up on the house. Hopefully we'll get that Christmas cookie contest in sometime over the holidays. We have Steve's Chinese Christmas dinner planned but not on Christmas so we can accommodate all of us. Tomorrow night will bring the yearly Palmer Christmas Party complete with Silly Santa. Colby, Taylee, and I are planning to make it to that party and see what Taylee thinks of that Santa, especially without her mother. Another great holiday season wishing each of you a Happy Holiday as well.
Here's a Christmas poem from a few years ago.

Each Christmas
Christmas 2005

I work harder and harder to make it the same,
the same as last year, the same as when I was seven.
Each Christmas I make gallons of wassel,
just like my Grandma made and her mother.
We sip it with friends, give it as gifts,
wrap fingers warm around those old Santa cups
filled golden with wassel and the reflection
of lights from the Christmas tree.
The tree we searched for once again
on the mountain tops or in pinion forests
depending on the weather and depth of snow.
We walk hillsides, assessing trees; the right size and shape,
Finish the trip with hot chocolate,
heated on the green stove in the back of our truck.

The one time each year I will climb to the top rung of the ladder
to string lights and place those same special ornaments;
“first Christmas” daughter, first son, first grandson,
placed on draping branches with the other special treasures
gathered over a marriage.
Hang stockings on the fireplace, wait empty for the movie, the music, the candy
just the same as last year and the year before.
Bake sugar cookies that never taste as good as Grandma’s
so we spend our time with decorating contests.
Cook Mom’s fudge from the recipe
still on the back of the marshmallow jar,
lasting so many years after she is gone.
Watching another generation open pajamas on Christmas Eve
as his Mother begins her own set of the same traditions.

Each tradition allows us to pretend
this year is the same as the last and the one before that
even though this year we are nursing Raymond back to walking.
Knowing we can never healing his heart
forever damaged in his loss.
Plan the next place we’ll look for Uncle Dean, giving up one day
filled with hope on the next.
Always trying to understand his loss of mind,
how we will deal with the fading of his life
as well as that of our only remaining Mother.

Last year was not the same either or the one before
when we spent our first Christmas with an unexpected grandson.
Never imagining how he would turn our hearts and lives around,
making us all soft and amazed.

No Christmas has ever been the same as the year we spent in the hospital, transfixed by the blue of Grandma’s eyes,
knowing she was leaving us soon and so aware we were not ready.
Or the year after Mom died, leaving Colette and I
broken and extremely gifted, two green boxes of jewelry,
mine the elephant symbolizing her journey to another side.

It’s not the same as my first year as a wife.
Christmas so small and lonely, missing my Grandpa,
who would not have been home that year anyway,
his life lasting only enough years to see me marry this handsome man.
Or the Christmas no one wore new dresses to the dance
and I did. It was maroon velvet with a sparkling empire waist.
I went home early, too beautiful for girls without dresses.

It’s not the same as the first Christmas without my Mother.
Dad bringing a new wife to Grandpa’s that year,
my Mother declining the invitation to still come home for Christmas.
Or that first Christmas after my sister was born
I don’t remember that one because even with two years alone,
I don’t remember anything without her.
Or my first Christmas, when my Grandparents
became changed, their hearts soft and amazed because I was there.

It's not the same as the very first Christmas, Jesus nestled
in the crook of Mary’s arm and Joseph standing watch.
The star lighting the sky so angels could look down and see
all the Christmases to come.