A Tribute To My Aunt Jean

It's hard to put into words how I feel about Aunt Jean's passing. Of course the natural emotions of loss and nostalgia pure over me, but there's something else. A strange sense of frustration as I try to bring to mind her facial expressions, her voice and most of all her personality. We were robbed of all or most of that years ago as multiple sclerosis ravaged her body. How can we not feel a sense of unfairness? The utter waste, as each year more of Jean disappeared.

I can't help wondering why it is that some are snapped up in an instant. They're here one moment and then their gone. Why others linger, trapped in a body that no longer serves their soul, and we mourn each lost faculty, one heartbreaking moment at a time. 

You won't hear me reciting familiar, age old Psalms about comfort and peace. I won't justify it all with a simple, God works in mysterious ways or she's in a better place. Not because I don't feel those things, I do. As a matter of fact I envision Jean painting, moving her brush across the canvas of the sky, tilting the light between the leaves just right. I feel her warmth in the sun on my face, the squeeze of her hand as I caress my grandchild as he sleeps. 

I don't have any answers. Any more than I understand the suffering around the world and how a loving God could stand by, let alone watch. I'm saddened by the greed and pride that wreak havoc on our world. It's easy to feel despondent, lost upon the sea, as others yell their judgements, calling unbelievers sinners and puff themselves with pride that they have all the answers. 

But I don't need any simple answers. I don't need to understand all the mysteries of why some are born with sight and others never see. I'm content with what I know. Which isn't very much. 

When I think of my Aunt Jean, I think of light. How her life, however stifled it appeared, still brought joy to those around her. She may not have been famous or discovered something new, but her energy of spirit drove all that's right about this world. 

So when I'm sad or frustrated I can think of my Aunt Jean who always made me feel so special, like a little princess in her care. I remember sitting still in a chair as she gently brushed my hair and pinned it up. She whispered in my ear how fun it was to have a girl since my cousins were all boys. Once or twice while attending USU, I popped into their church service and surprised them with a visit. She introduced me proudly, beaming ear to ear. I've never forgotten her artist eyes, always bright and open wide as if she didn't want to miss a moment of the beauty of this world. There was an energy within her, a light that never wained. She gifted that to us, to all of us that knew her. I'm proud to carry a small part within my heart.

Jean's been on my mind for the last few months and I regret not reaching out, there was something I was sensing, a kind of soul connection. I hope someday, when I feel those tugs of spiritual communion, I'll be more inclined to act. I want so badly for her to know how much her life meant to me. 

There is something I can do. I'll bring more joy to those around me, help them see the beauty that she saw. Because when all this earth has passed away—all we really have are our connections to each other—they're what matter in the end. 

What Star Wars and Seseme Street Can Teach Us About Story Structure

   The other day I was looking at an article on Cracked.com entitled "17 Images That Will Ruin Your Childhood". I'll warn you, if you love nostalgia this will definitely crush some memories. 

So, it got me thinking about what I have been learning about story structure and plot. What made our childhood images so powerful was the effort that writers, artists and directors took to "suspend disbelief".  

Wait...isn't that what we are trying to do in our writing? 

Catherine Brady in her book Story Logic and the Craft of Fiction states," to think like an artist is to understand that story structure depends not on baldly advancing a literal conflict but on constructing a plot that articulates the exact parameters at the stories heart."  

Wow! That is a mouthful but think about it. What stories have you read that leave you changed and hungry for more? Why?

When I read a story, I don't want the author to come out and tell me what to think, just like a child I want to discover it myself.  It's how many of us are wired. Would the parables in the New Testament have as much impact if the true message was blatantly laid out?

Think about Faulkner and Munroe, their ability to use literal action to build the tension of the bigger story is epic! There are, of course many more that use this artistic scaffolding, invisible to the reader. It is only at the climax of the story do the questions that the tension aroused make sense. It's magic, a sleight of the hand.

What magic have you read lately?

So When Do They Talk Grandma?

Tweet  We have often heard the sentiment, "from the mouths of babes." Bill Cosby even capitalized on the funny things that kids say with his television show, Kids Say The Darndest Things. 

   The other day I was looking at some old pictures and remembered some of the great lines my kids have said over the years.

What makes them so great? They're honest, children call them how they see them.


Here are a few of my favorites:


My daughter looking into my grandmothers face, "Grandma why do you have so many lines on your face?"


My granddaughter at her first time seeing the Nutcracker Ballet, "So when do they start talking, Grandma?"

My grandson when he jumps real high he says, "Grandma, look I can jump up sky." or "Look at the bird, up sky." 

 

When I was little our neighbor asked why our mom didn't drink coffee, my brother said, "'Cause it turns her bottom brown." 


What are some of your favorite lines? 

The Winners Are...and What I Forgot!

My Little Santa Baby!

     In between rocking my grandson, changing his diaper, making a bottle, feeding, burping, diapering, playing and gazing upon his precious sleeping face...I realized that there are a few things I have forgotten about my experience as a mother. (It has been 18 years since my youngest was a baby.)

1) Little boys often pee when released from the confines of a tight diaper.

2)  Two-month-old babies need constant attention, they cat nap, 40 minutes max, during the day.

3) The energy it takes to be needed every minute.

4) Scheduling anything is usually a big mistake, writing, research, errands...yeah, not happening.

5) By the end of the day, if you don't smell like spit up, then you cheated and changed your shirt. 

    I'm sure there are more, like what a poopy diaper smells like, etc. The point being, when you are in the midst of the first-year-baby-coma, it feels like you will never, ever sleep again. The dirty diapers, and later, the scraped knees, endless questions and the constant lack of privacy seem to drag on. Suddenly, you turn around and they're gone and you honestly wonder where all the time went. Take it from me, mother of six, that it is possible to live through motherhood and there is a new life waiting for you at the other end. Enjoy each moment, even the ones that aren't so happy, because you will miss them. I certainly do!

Congratulations to the winners of  Elana Johnson's Possession!
*drum roll*  Whoops! I just tried to draw names out of my cup of tea.*quickly dries hands*
OK, *drum roll*   gabi and Laura Pauling  *wild applause*  Congrats!
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