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.

A Good Dose of Fall Creativity

It's been a great fall for sparking the creative. Started with the Cliff Notes Writing Conference/Hogsback Heritage Project with faculty David Lee, Dianne Oberhansly and Gailmarie Pahmeier. Dave was incredible as always. His direction for the Hogsback Heritage Project "Artifacts" got me going on a pretty good poem for the project. Dianne inspired me in so many ways. Gailmarie was new this year to the workshop and had several writing prompts that will keep me writing throughout the winter. I think each of their readings were about as good as you can get. Dave was reading from three new books released this year as well as from a couple of new ones that will be out in the future. Dianne's family piece was funny and encouraged me to think of my own family stories that I might take to written. Gailmarie was amazing as well.

Following our workshop was a six week writing workshop Writing the Rhythms of the Land that was put on by Boulder Community Alliance and Red House Farm with Billy and Grace. I only participated in one of the workshops but was able to attend all but one of the weeks. I picked this one because it included writing but also had elements of movement and sound but mostly because it made me very uncomfortable, especially the sound portion. I learned a lot about my self in my uncomfortableness. How being self conscious can get in the way of some incredible things, especially if you succumb to the compulsion to avoid that which makes you self conscious. These workshops ended on Saturday by bringing all the groups together to share pieces they had created in the workshop. It was open to the community and the pieces were shared in a rebuilt silo that included a circle of chairs around the silo all filled with people and then the floor covered with people sitting until you wondered if this floor could hold such a group. There were kids from age 7 to teenagers to ever age of adult. There were probably 50 people not all having participated in the workshop but it truly was a great event of creativity and community. I enjoyed getting to know Grace in this workshop. She is a great teacher of the creative. Below is one of the pieces I wrote from a prompt of writing what you believe. I read it in a silo located on the property that once belonged to my great grandfather John King.

What I Believe

I believe each of you has value, some of you just don’t know it yet. You must look back to the beginning before you started to believe other people’s words. I believe there are daily opportunities to demonstrate faith throughout your life. Call it what it is. I believe in children, they are always our hope for a better future. I believe in a good night’s sleep to settle and sort the best thoughts and breakfast for implementing them. I believe that each of us will always learn more from something that is challenging than from easy. I think secrets are rarely a good idea but something you must keep for a time until the person who owns the secret realizes that as well. I believe in honesty except for those small things that include judgment. I am against drinking milk from the carton and believe it is best to rinse milk from the cup before putting it in the sink. I believe you should never give up on your parents or your siblings until you have figured out why you got them and resolve the issue. I believe the stories of old people have the power to transform the future if we listen. I believe girlfriends are a necessity for all women and a hot bath can cure most ailments. I believe in eating off the fancy dishes, drinking from stemware, and wearing my most beautiful jewelry. I believe in socks in the winter and comfortable shoes always. I judge men by how much they truly like women and I judge women by how interesting their children, either those they birthed or dreamed, become. I learn most about both men and women by the books on their bookshelves. I believe art is a worthwhile investment even though you will never recoup the money you spent. If a dog likes you, that means something and if cats like you as well, you are truly something special. I believe in the power of touch and also its ability to damage when in the wrong hands. I think preteen girls can show us what incredible means and we could all learn to play from little boys. There is nothing more interesting than the language development of a two year old. Read every chance you get. Sing at least once a week whether you let anyone listen, that is up to you. Dance even when no one knows that’s what you are doing but always dance out loud with someone you love. A smile can change someone’s day but laughter changes everything. Everyone must have some creative outlet or they will explode, find yours. Sit outside often and don’t forget to look while you sit there. Nature calms and cures more than any church but go where you need to find the spirit and never judge someone else’s place. Drink water, eat chocolate, and pay attention to the moon.

Retiring Life

It is amazing all of the things one can become involved in for the retired life. Today's Grandma really isn't going to be sitting in that rocking chair except for a quick break. Election Day brought a new job as Garfield County School Board member. With that there will be a lot of preparation to get up to speed and being able to do it well. I'm excited to find ways to improve education for the students of Garfield County. I'm also working with a group of people here in Boulder to set up an arts council. This will be fun to see how we can get the community involved in creating the council and then putting together great art events as well. I'm also trying to help the Escalante Heritage Center figure out how to raise a couple of million dollars for a new center that spotlights the Hole-in-the-Rock Expedition. Finally, I'm involved in the usual planning for the Boulder Heritage Festival for July, 2011. My personal goal for this year is to write more. That tends to be the thing that gets pushed back a bit more but I'm hoping with more alone time and the quiet of winter coming on that I will get at that goal better. We finished up another incredible creative writing conference last month and that should inspire me way into February.

So retirement is just right with getting to choose the things that I want to do but still having time to visit the kids and the grandkids. Travel is a little more reduced this year from last year, but that's ok too. I do love my life and living it in the most beautiful place in the world.

Telling Your Story

Saturday, we had Meg Brady, a Folk Arts teacher at the University of Utah whose job is collecting and teaching people how to collect stories through Hospice and the Huntsman Cancer Center. She presented the whys and the myths of reminiscing and telling your story. I have understood the one side to the importance of telling our story; so it doesn't go to the grave with you, so our children and grand children get to know what our lives were like, to share what it was like in "the olden days." I didn't understand until this presentation how important telling our story is for the storyteller. She said in England they pay to have people facilitate reminiscing in old folks homes because the residents are more sociable and more connected with the present. So remembering the past doesn't mean that we are living in the past. More importantly, she talked about how by talking about and writing about our past that we begin to see the patterns of our lives, that our lives and the incidents of our lives are not just random occurrences but that they are a part of a life pattern. That makes our lives have meaning and we may not even understand what that meaning was until we write or revisit the events at the end of our lives. We may begin to see the theme of our lives and better understand the importance of why we were here. I had an epiphany today, that this is probably what we have to do when we die. We go to the writing room and begin to write our memoirs. We have to get this done before we can go hang out with God and get on with the next part. So if you've written your own history and thoroughly evaluated your life, you are ready to move on, otherwise you will be hanging out in the writing room for some time first. Do you hear that Dad, Roberta, Aunt Margie, me?

As Mother's Day Continues to Change

The last Mother's Day for me was May, 1988. My Mother was consumed by the cancer that would take her from us in just a couple of weeks. I bought her red sweats that Mother's Day. They may have come from the children's dept. since they were so small to fit her shrinking body. We did have to cut out the waist because of her abdomen that was enlarged from effects of her cancer. She was struggling to eat anything and went from coherent to interacting with that world she was preparing to enter. We were still deluding ourselves with our talk of hope in beating cancer. She knew she wasn't winning the battle but she allowed our talk of hope. Her last words to me were "there's still so much I have to tell you." I will never know what those things might have been. She does present herself now in the most interesting and unusual ways if I choose to believe.

How do you continue to celebrate Mother's Day when your mother is gone? For me it has been a day of sadness, of remembering my loss, of calculating all the places that she is missing. I have gone through the motions, my own children deserve that but I'm sure they felt my sadness and loss as well. I have celebrated my mother-in-law and my stepmom but they have also been short changed by my sadness.

This year something has changed once again. I am selfishly spending this Mother's Day in Boulder, just Steve and I. I received the usual Mother's Day greetings and then I went to the yard to rake and feel the dirt on my hands. I have sat in the sun and let it warm me. I have washed clothes and then felt the breeze as I hang them on the line. I did prepare ahead of time to celebrate my daughter for Mother's Day. She is celebrating that first Mother's Day having chosen motherhood and even though the previous Mother's Days have been well worth celebrating, it was also bittersweet in the way that it changed her life before it was time. She is an wonderful mother and I celebrate her without even a twinge of the sadness except her Grandma Rae would have loved the new girl that possesses her name. I also celebrate my mother-in-law who now speaks directly to her twin sister, dead now for years. I honor the decision to move her to more care as the dementia over takes her. She is more at peace than she has been for some time. I still question the why of this disease and who it is for, what we are all suppose to gain. I celebrate my step mother for her love and kindness through the years. How she decided friendship with my mother was the right step, leading the way to friendship with my sister and I. I celebrate my sister for example of mothering and for always being there for me. She is the one who always understands exactly what this day and so many others feels like and means. I celebrate my Grandma Roundy for teaching me so well about being a grandma. I celebrate the incredible aunts I have, my Aunt Renon for her support at all the events of my life, for my King aunts for inspiring me to write, and read, and think. I celebrate cousins who are great mothers and raise children that are as interesting as they are. I celebrate friends who choose to be a part of my life and allow me to be a part of their lives as well. I celebrate my new daughter-in-law and look forward to many wonderful life events together. Happy Mother's Day to all the incredible women in my life. You have made me so much better than I would have been without you.