Thursday, December 24, 2009

These Winter Days

No matter what your belief system dictates about today and tomorrow, things just look different today. Unless you're a kid, you have to take an extra few seconds to figure out what day it is when you wake up. I noticed on my early morning walk that people are up and about doing things in their homes that necessitate different rooms being lit up early and that many have turned on their Christmas lights already. Decorations look fresh and festive but I know that Saturday they will look redundant and out of place as we begin to wane from the Season. This is the next to last day when I can get away with eating a homemade peanut butter chocolate at nine in the morning and won't find bits of ribbon in odd corners. The Santa collection still looks fun and jolly. The drive to my sister's will be magical and lit with reds and greens that suggest the holiday spirit rather than to serve as directionals. The sky will have a special light at times even if it rains all day. We will laugh and smile and feel the warmth of this special day and be grateful for all that we have received today and throughout the last year. Merry Christmas to all and sundry who have in some way visited Owl Grove this year!

Saturday, December 19, 2009

Three Books: Thanks for the books, KW; and thanks for the memories Lee and John

As usual, I am living my life around the books I'm reading. I almost always read more than one book at once and they are much of the time being read while I'm re-reading something or another that I'm teaching. But for now, since we're on Winter Break (what we used to call Christmas Vacation), I can read just exactly what I want to and don't have to drift back to this or that title in The Writer's Presence or spend more time thinking about Hamlet's precise age.
So right now I'm working with three titles: The Help, Generosity: An Enhancement, and The Humbling. The first was a piece of escape reading about African American women powering themselves up in the early 60's. This easy read took me back to my own young days when I didn't much care to discuss Civil Rights with my dad but felt a certain energetic and smug rightness about what I thought and felt. I distinctly remember sitting next to him on the couch, both of us rigidly erect as we watched and listened to Martin Luther King, Jr. The tension between was sparking and zinging like power lines in an extreme wind storm.
There's lots to be said about Generosity-surreal description and endless lists that remind me of Umberto Eco, characters who seem to be existing in stop-time animation, genetics, CNF, reading student journals, and the whole power of creativity. But I don't know enough about Richard Powers to present even a semi-qualified discussion. What I feel compelled to suggest is that the way he presents the writer/narrator is fascinating. Just about the time I had totally forgotten about the first person perspective, Powers reminds us readers of his relationship not only to the narrative, but to the characters themselves. He is especially involved with the character of Thassa. The whole book moves on both a realistic and a science fiction plane at the same time. This book is probably more important than I can even guess.
Then there's Philip Roth's The Humbling. I can't resist Roth. Again, I am taken back to my youth. Portnoy's Complaint was a book I didn't dare let my family even see. But I reveled in it and felt that immediate kinship with it maybe because it became almost a character itself in teacher-student relationships in our English department office at the end of the 60's. It was simply a title that meant enlightened and intellectual rebellion if I would have dared to list it on my then favorite book list.Now I take Roth very seriously. He is a true and real writer and I am really wanting the time to absorb this book.
Today then, I wrapped countless gifts, baked those damned snowball cookies that have so many names and have to be rolled not once but twice in powdered sugar and create a sweetish, white smog in the kitchen and planned an art project all upstaged in my mind by these three books. As a reader, that's how I live my life.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Not Exactly An Owl

Bobbie has a new bird friend and it certainly isn't an owl and she certainly isn't trying to escape its attention for the simple reason that it is actively seeking hers. Each early morning as she makes her first dog trip into the patio urging Baby to do her potty thing QUICKLY, the littlest of hummingbirds is waiting in the rafters for her to bring the warm (that is, unfrozen) nectar for her. (I don't know why we have assigned a female gender status.) As Bobbie holds the feeder at waist or chest height, the bird comes right to her and lights on the perch to get a good, long drink. Bobbie holds it several seconds saying that she barely breathes so she won't interrupt the feeding. Then the little thing hovers as she slowly raises the feeder into place. Then she removes herself to watch the bird get yet another long drink before it buzzes off.
Bobbie says the bird was so close that she could see its eyelids. She reports that she was as enthralled with this encounter as she was with the owl of last spring that sent us into the adventure of the year. But this bird encounter reminds us that maybe sometimes it's okay to interfere with the natural order of things. In this case, the hummingbird actively responded to human presence by taking the food from Bobbie's hands. If it hadn't, it might have been death by starvation for the little thing who had grown dependent on the feeder.
So remember to keep up your feeder food during this bitter cold weather. Remember, too, that the birds need plenty of water while everything is frozen up. Bird food and water could become one of the gifts you give back to nature this holiday season.

Monday, November 30, 2009

Busy

Cleaning, unpacking, unwrapping, dusting;then place, study, move slightly, tilt head, move a little more. Traipsing from room to room, moving boxes to this place then that, repacking with unneeded bric-a-brac then restowing boxes. More cleaning, more lights, more decorating, and then making a tree topper to match the hand made ornaments. Darkness falls and makes everything twinkly and colorful, hiding all the dents and scratches the years have caused. Pleased and excited.

Next day, listing, organizing platters, shopping, unloading, placing, storing. Post the menu with its platters numbered according to what will rest on them. Melt, mix, add flour, refrigerate. Roll out with soup can, cut into stars, bells, trees then bake until golden brown. Stir up white, squeeze in gel color for red and green, cover tightly and stash where grandgirls won't see. Glaze two dozen with white to dry and place on tiered dessert tray. Slice, chop, open cans, find real butter, no dip! oh, well. Assign platter management to others. Cover tightly with plastic wrap. Wander around. Check this. Check that. A-ok. Let the celebration begin.

Rest in front of fire with sister and husband. Ahhhhh. Company late. Good. More rest and warmth. Here they come!

Eating, chatting, laughing, scootering, cookie decorating contest. Cookies with one whole inch of chocolate piled on, three made into an O an S and a U in honor of Thursday, licking, smacking, photo taking, singing, spilling, laughing, tasting. Peppermint ice creamed, cut-out cookied, all full guests returning to warmth of fire. Mary presents awards all made by her. I win! So does everyone else.

Time to go. House quiet. Fire in embers. Vacuum stored. Dishes whirring in dishwasher. We sigh. Our holiday family gathering at our house over. No fights. No tension. No children melting down. Just easy togetherness. Success.

Friday, November 20, 2009

Blue Tarps

One of the many ways to spot a sure Oregonian is by his or her possession of a blue tarp. You see them in lots of places serving lots of uses. I just can't imagine people in Southern California own as many blue tarps as we do. And are all tarps blue?
The word "tarp" is short for "tarpaulin" which refers to a canvas covering that campers used in the old days. They used them for various camping needs such as quick shelters, ground covers and, in some instances, probably to hide shady backwoods activities. They really were made out of canvas and I can remember references to such coverings in either Nancy Drew or Hardy Boys books.
Today's tarps are plastic and come equipped with handy drawstrings. You can hardly miss them when you're out searching for good photo opportunites in the natural world. They cover woodpiles, usually messy ones. Proud Oregonians stack their wood in almost symmetrical stacks that are a wonder to see and are usually uncovered just for the visual appeal. You also see them covering old house trailers. Rusty drips along the sides of them are only barely out of sight. I'm always puzzled by the many blue tarps thrown over blackberry bushes. I don't get that one. Is it the lazy Oregonian's final attempt to hold back the growth of these prickly, pesty vines? You can also use them to cover boats, make a fort, carry out old Christmas trees, or to strap over the whatever load you may have in your pickup.
I remember following our friend Lonny's pickup to Black Butte one year for vacation. Much of our combined stuff was in the back of that gigantic vehicle and pieces of the old blue tarp were flying every which way as we made our way out Highway 22. Needless to say, that tarp didn't make the return trip.
So next time you're in southern California, do me a favor and watch for blue tarps. I bet you won't see many. And if you do, I'll bet they're a lovely shade of sunset orange.

Monday, November 16, 2009

Green Bean Casserole?

It's time to think about holiday food and eating! So start polishing the silverware, shop for the best bird and think about fresh flowers for the table. Wait. That's what my mother and I did. Things are different now. That polishing, shopping and thinking have been relegated to the dusty past along with phones with finger dials, no watching TV during the day and wearing skate keys on dirty strings tied around our necks.
No. Holiday food today means "green bean casserole." People: no matter how modern you are, lose this idea. This "casserole" is nothing but a lot of canned stuff topped with lots of salty stuff. Not good. Speaking of salty, another thing to leave off the menu is Stovetop Stuffing.
This is just another way to process your veins into canals that will soon stop flowing. Make your own stuffing. It's easy. It's sort of like making midget toast pieces with seasonings of your own selection. And go buy fresh vegetables and dress them lightly with some lemon and herbs. And, please, don't put marshmallows on yams/sweet potatoes. That's like trying to trick the kids into eating vegetables. They'll just eat the marshmallows and leave naked yams on their plates.
So you do all that the way I've done in the past with all the happy, smiling relatives drifting in and out of the kitchen. Actually, that is a lie. Those holiday memories are treasured ones that belong to my sister and me as we think about our family holiday meals in the past. The more current memories include scenes not really fit for the likes of this page.
Instead, we will be feasting on good, country food at the Silver Falls Conference Center. We'll just walk in, get in line, and load our plates and then balance them carefully as we make our way to the benched tables where we'll sit with our friends and tell happy tales of Thanksgivings past.

Monday, November 9, 2009

The Owl goes to Alaska

The Owl took us on the road this weekend. We signed books in Oregon City and manned a booth at Lewis Elementary's juried bazaar this weekend. And we did that all at the same time! Well, our "staff" helped us be in two places at once. Pat took the very attractive owl post which he designed from a wooly stuffed owl (unreal) that we've had for a long time, and Bobbie and I took an owlskin remnant to our signing. Just kidding. It's not really owlskin; it's just an acrylic piece of cloth that looks like owl feathers that I leaped over rounders and customers at JoAnn Fabrics to get my hands on. So we were all decked out and turned ourselves into booksellers. We actually sold quite a few.
Next to making the money, the best thing about being in sales is the scope and sequence (old teacher term) of all the people we met and got to talk to. Nearly everyone has an owl story-we heard many. Nearly everyone has a story about kids and books-we heard lots. But only two people said they bought the book to read to their aging parents. One woman has a mother way lost in Alzheimer's who likes to be read to at bed time. She bought the book for her. Another couple has aging parents (dad 96 and mom way up in the 80's!) who bought the book not necessarily for the elders but because they live among owls on 44 acres nearby. So, of course, we got to talking about our own old Mom who passed at the age of 88.
And, by happy chance, my dear friend and ex-student Sarah called from Alaska where she and her husband, also a friend and ex-student, are stationed. We chatted and talked and I told her about the book. She sincerely wanted one, so I posted one north this morning.
Lo and behold, then there was a comment on this blog from yet another ex-student and friend who is in Fairbanks teaching and making music. So he's somehow connected to the bird and the blog. I love it. And how fortunate I am to have connected with the three of them all because and in spite of owls.
And by the way, Steve and whoever else has tried to visit my website, you noticed you couldn't find it. Simple reason: I built it for free and when I ran out of know-how, I let it expire. Another friend promises to help me get that up and running maybe during Winter Break. It's probably the logical way for this blog to morph into a more business-like sort of venue. Who knows? I'll just keep having fun with this until the next best thing comes along.
Thanks for all the interest in the book. We are starting to meet our first and original goal of sharing this remarkable story. If you don't know what the heck I'm talking about, check the first post or two on this blog. That should bring you up to speed.

Monday, November 2, 2009

Nature-alists

The outdoor world is full of all kinds of enthusiasts who relate to nature in a variety of ways-extreme divers, bug collectors, weather watchers, ocean admirers and on and on. I come from a family of mostly indoor folks except for my sister. I like to think of her as an unplugged hiker.


She's the kind of outdoor person who relates to the natural world by walking in it and observing everything around her while absorbing everything through her senses. She's done this for the last 25 years. She has hiked in the Andes Mountains, crossed the country of Switzerland from border to border on foot, and traversed the Pacific Crest Trail from the California border to the Washington border with only her dog for a companion. She has completed literally hundreds of hikes in the Cascades Mountain Range.


I'm a plugged in sort of hiker. For a period of ten years or so, I joined her on some of her jaunts in the Cascades. But I needed to plug into a weather source, determine where and what we would eat and require a nap on a mossy bank beside a stream somewhere. Before I quit smoking on June 16, 1991, I also demanded a number of smoke breaks. She was so tolerate. She'd hand me a topographical map to determine a location while I puffed away and I'd hand it right back to her. I never really could learn to read one. Then she'd make me deposit the cig butt in a litter bag to carry out.


When we returned home, she'd make careful notes in her distinct handwriting about everything she saw, heard, smelled, etc. Today she keeps species specific field observation journals about whatever she might be studying at the moment. (See my first blog about our owl adventure.)


I'd talk with her endlessly for a few days about whatever experience we'd had and then e-mail a friend about it. She wrote journals; I did narratives.


Another variety of nature-alist was my brother Gary. He headed up my large clan of relatives in Washington. He spent as many days of his life as he could in the woods. And at home, he had hanging in his front yard a replica of a spotted owl with an arrow through it. You can't say he didn't feel strongly about the outdoor world. You gotta love that as well. I do.



My other brother, Bill, behaved differently than all the other siblings but was connected to nature in his own way. For example, once he and his best friend since 6th grade Greg spent a day with the goal of fishing six different sites and making it home in time to watch a ball game. They made it. What kind of nature-alist is THAT?! I still don't know if they caught anything.



Go outside for a while today.

Friday, October 30, 2009

Pumpkins and Owls

I hope there is a photo of pumpkins to the left. It is my favorite Fall photo and I want to share it with all of you. It's harvest time, trick-or-treat time, and owl time, too. On quiet stormless nights, listen for owls yourself. They may be resting in your very neighborhood! And what an appropriate sound effect (not an effect but REAL) for the season. You might even consider driving to a closeby place to listen for owls. Just think: if you wanted to hear wolves howling, you'd have to go a long, long way from home. But owls are accessible. Go owl listening!

Monday, October 26, 2009

Webs and Webs

It is so very definitely autumn even though a jaunt to Central Oregon took Kathy and me back to the memory of summer with a few days of good weather and one day of spectacular weather. On the very good weather day, we played putt putt golf under the brilliant blue sky and I watched us hop from shade spot to shade spot as we made our way around the course. Not that it was hot; no, we just liked saving our faces from so much squinting, I think. She (aka Skullmangler) beat me (tpar) most soundly although she denys it. Pat has said more than once that golf is a game of SELF competition. Yeah, right. But Kathy certainly falls into that category. She is thinking of buying her own putter and practicing at home for next year's round. She hopes to improve her scanty 10-15 stroke lead over me. Ha.
At home, rain is sagging all the spider webs down into unattractive, slightly slime laden ropes of insect stringy string. We have webs outside every window which were once bright, fancifully shaped but now turned into the icky stringy stuff mentioned above and are "decorating" our windows.
At the same time, my new and still under construction website is up. If you want to take a peek, see www.owlgrove.moogo.com. It's only sketchy for now but you can see what we'll be up to in the coming weeks.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Season of Sales

Here's the first visual for our Fall promo. And so it begins. Rather it will begin in November as we go on the road to parts north and south to market, to market. We were invited to two book signings, and we will do three big venues that will all keep us hopping. Pat has constructed a large and attractive owl stand that will display our wooly owl that we picked up years and years ago at the coast. We'll use it as a visual and I'll be sure to get some candy that won't be intended for Halloween. Ready or not-here we come. I'll report about our sales experience as they approach and give some word after we finish. Owl Grove will go even more public than it is now and we are gaining fans and buyers weekly. Here's hoping. . . .

Sunday, October 18, 2009

Not an Owl

Doc the Parakeet ended his long days Friday. He spent his last day struggling to breathe and munching a bit of food until he just couldn't hold himself up any longer and succumbed while we were at the park with the girls.
This little bird was a part of our family for at least ten years replacing the original bird named Feathers who was brought into the family by pet loving Amy. So we've always had a bird and sometimes two. We've taken excellent care of them even paying a scary-big vet bill to cure Doc of some kind of fungus that made him look as if he was a thousand year old bird with wrinkly, scaly skin and beak. When he recovered, he looked like a shiny new bird and we all rejoiced and were glad we'd spent the money.
Another owl did come in our lives in a secondary sort of way. Bobbie has been awakened three or four nights by the sound of hooting. She says it is very close and hoots in fours of three shorts and a long. And the owl is answered by another one close by. Imagine her examining the nearby neighbors' trees looking for white bird poop. So far nothing.
Yesterday when she and I returned from shopping at way too many discount stores and taking not enough fall photos at Willamette University, scads of crows were squawking and circling overhead. Bobbie ran around frantically calling, "Maybe they're mobbing the owl! They do that, you know!" She said this two or three different times maybe thinking that I didn't understand. I did but what I didn't understand was what she thought she could do if they were dive bombing the owl. I just sort of watched her as she rushed around shouting about the mobbing. I was both amused and concerned and not just for the owl. When we went out later to check, we spied the crows perched silently on nearby high branches. They seemed to be resting and Bobbie settled down thinking that the invisible owl(s) might be safe for now.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

In Between Days

I try to accomplish a little something every day toward the marketing and sale of the book. Things seem to be simmering down and will probably continue in that vein until we have our big venues next month. But I did get one sold at my Curves and Kelly who works and exudes her bigger than life personality there put it up in an attractive display by simply lining it with a bright red piece of cardstock. The green cover really stands out. The book is also on display in the workroom at my school where it has been hardly touched. That seems strange to me. Why wouldn't English teachers handle a colorful book that doesn't look like a catalog or a journal?

Monday, October 12, 2009

Short enough for Brian

Massage. . .smooth blending of touch and sound that lifts me into the sky and transports my spirit momentarily into the universe. . .first, legs and feet and toes; then, arms, hands and fingers followed by waves of pressure and warmth up and down my back; and, finally, gentle stroking of neck, upper chest, face and ears until the final softest of touches on my shoulder. . .all combining to help me meet my mother's soul and the sparkling energy of my granddaughters in a flashing little dance of twinkle and shine before the gentle return to earth.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

To Market/Birthday Cake

The evolution of the book has moved to the marketing phase. This part isn't quite so much fun but sparks us up when we make sales. I am repeatedly thinking of "Death of a Salesman." Just about the time my brain starts focusing on this tragic play, however, we make some sales and I feel inspired to be in the marketing department again. We have three big venues and a book-signing coming up in November so our fingers get cramped from being perpetually crossed.
I set up a little table at my school's recent Community Fair. I sold a few books and had some interesting conversations with students about owls and other birds with which the speakers had had intimate experiences in one way or another. I really liked that.
But the most interesting part of the experience was learning from the vendors on either side of me. On my right was a young man representing a credit union. I thought, "Oh sure, fella. These are college students. They never have any money. Some can't even afford books for my classes! You are in for one lonely afternoon." Was I ever wrong. First thing after draping his table and setting out promotional materials, he heaped a BIG pile of candy right on to the middle of his table. That drew possible customers like flies. By the end of the day, he had signed up a good handful of customers who flashed cash at him like report cards with all A's on them. It was the candy that did it. Next time, I'll have my own supply of candy. After all, this is a children's book we're marketing, so I would love to draw attention to our booth with food.
And that brings me to my next topic: cake. My mother had a cake recipe that she said came from the historic Comstock family in California. Those folks, you'll recall, made a boat load of money from the gold mines. California history at its finest. Anyway, this particular cake recipe supposedly came to us from a maid in that household to the oldest sister in my mother's household. Every year since I was a kid and on into the years of my own children and now to the grandchildren, we have this cake. First my mother made it and now I make it. It's a chocolate cake made with buttermilk and leavened with vinegar and baking soda fizzed up and quickly stirred in at the last moment. The cake is definitely not a store "boughten" cake because it its crumb is smooth, and its taste is just this side of almost tangy due to the buttermilk and vinegar. It is my favorite dessert and the favorite dessert of other family members as well. But only two of us knows how to make it-my daughter and me. And Amy hates, HATES to cook so I'm left to carry on the tradition. Amy will make one every few years just to satisfy me that she can do it. So we will celebrate the fall family birthdays tomorrow (including mine) with The Cake which I baked and iced with the usual cream cheese frosting and the chocolate drips down the sides and swirled on the top. I will teach my granddaughters how to bake The Cake as soon as is humanly possible.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Other Trees, Other Places

Weather and trees ruled the long weekend in central Oregon. The weather was cold and we watched the skies for sun, rain, wind, hail and even snow. They all happened. A three and a half mile walk around Suttle Lake had us casting our eyes upwards many, many times. The sun was glorious; the rain was minor; the hail and snow were bothersome at the end of the trail. Greg and I brought up the rear with me in the very rear listening to the squeak of his pants and watching the ground in front of him so I could warn him about any obstacles. His trick Achilles tendon was a concern. He didn't seem bothered, though, and we finished the hike not all that far behind the others. We pretended we were lost and snowbound and played the "how will we survive?" game.
We all commented on the trees on the sunny part of the walk where we could see the results of the Sisters fire from a few years ago along with the trees that had been devastated by the beetle infestation. The burnt trees were obvious and they looked like charred ghosts sadly come to rest on the forest floor. It was difficult to tell them from the bug infested ones. At one point Greg wanted me to take a picture across the lake where the sun had cast its shine on a large V of ghost trees that were topped with fog. It was an eerie and fascinating view but seemed sad to me. I didn't want to take the picture.
Everywhere there were signs of growth and rejuvenation. That was heartening. At the midpoint of the trail when the sun was out in an almost summerlike way, I studied the trees. Wouldn't it be something if I could find signs of owls? I looked carefully and then spotted a tree and some nearby bushes covered with white poop but it didn't look like owl poop. I was disappointed but cheered myself with trying to figure out what kind of bird would pause long enough up above to leave so much poop. Whatever it was, I think it was waiting to dive into the lake for a meal. Osprey, maybe. That's all I can be sure of. My sister and I watched an osprey dive from just such a location on the golf course at Widgi Creek last summer. I didn't see a repeat of that but I was proud of myself for stopping long enough to study the little drama of nature presented there on the trail.

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Closed

Owl Grove will be closed until early next week. We will be in
Central Oregon with friends having fun and maybe looking for owls. See you soon!

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

And. . .

. . .I'm not so sure I can do this. I will resist telling you about work, child care, my thoughts on health care and few dozen other things until I figure out to do that with brevity.

Book , Briefly

Amy says my blog posts are too long. So I'll start working on that suggestion right now. The book looks great. We now move from marketing to sales. Let me know if you're interested! If you want one, you can order one at wirthwhilepub@gmail.com.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Work

Pickers can't be choosers. That's what my sister says.

Monday, September 28, 2009

Pick or Choose

I can't talk about the book today because I have to go back to work tomorrow. Real work. The kind where you have to set the alarm and get up and get ready while it's still dark and everyone else in the world is still in bed or maybe just having coffee and working the crossword at the kitchen table.

There are timelines to be met at work. Lots of people will be depending on me to be there at 8:00 SHARP. That makes me feel anxious. What if I fall down the stairs on my way? What if I forget my lesson plans? Told students to buy the wrong book in my syllabus? Fall all over my own words? All this makes me anxious. I think the anxiety is also part of why I'm still working this job at age 63. I'm anxious, yes, but it still feels right to be doing what I'm doing.

Let me review a couple of word usage problems. Bear with me, please, and you'll help ease my anxiety and get me warmed up for my show tomorrow. Many word usages vex me terribly. I'll only present a few here just to get things rolling and I'm sure we'll return to this subject from time to time. Let's begin with pick and choose. I'd really like to research this differentiation but I'll rely on my knowledge for now. You'd freak out if I started in with etymology. I sure did when I learned about it college. Anyway. You pick apples or berries; you choose partners for volleyball or you choose to eat apples or berries. Get it? The difference is a subtle one but it is one that helps your language use seem polished.

Here's another one: Use of me or I. Now this one kind of scares me. Use of standard English calls for us to place reference to ourselves at the end of the phrase, e.g., my sister and I rather than me and my sister. Make reference to other people first. Whether to use I or me gets really tricky but you can train yourself to "hear" the right way. For example, does give the change to I "sound" right? No. It's give the change to me. And if the two of you are splitting the cost of the fabulous lunch you just shared, you say Give the check to her and me. Then when the server returns and asks who gets the check, you say She and I do. The little trick is to always refer to yourself in the singular and see if it sounds right. For example: Give the check to my friend and I. Take out my friend and and you're left with I as in give the check to I. Sounds funny. It should be me.

So now I feel warmed up for tomorrow. I think I better keep working on it, though. The above explanation seems crystal clear to me (not I), but I have this feeling that you're shaking your head. That's okay. Remember: you're letting me practice.

There you are then. I am warming up for tomorrow. I will smooth out my papers a few more times and call it good. I hope I don't have too many teacher dreams tonight.

(We pick up the books tomorrow!)

Friday, September 25, 2009

A Book Is Born


With some word magic (and I always maintain that besides magic, birthing words and getting them to grown into a breathing body takes hard work), we morphed the experience into text. To make the text look booky, we constructed a primitive mock-up by easing the words and photos onto paper with scissors and tape. That done, we talked about what to do next. In fact, we talked and talked and talked. We jumped ahead of ourselves-what to do about arwork, printing and publishing-and behind ourselves by making lots of panicky phone calls to each other second guessing little decisions we'd already made.




Suddenly it was time for the hand of an expert. No question about it, we'd go to my sister-in-law, a successful grapic artist with an at-home business. We felt comfortable and safe having her help us. She contacted the artist, someone SHE felt good about. We let go of our little mock-up


which was difficult and began to allow the book to come to life in the hands of visual experts.




I formed my own business, a publishing business naming it with our mother's maiden name. AND I started sinking some money into the venture. Gulp. No looking back; this adventure was now compelled to seek its own level and I had to be willing to pay for it.




The big day arrived. Sister and I along with my husband Pat went to his sister Sue's house to view the prototype. Jean Germano, the artist, and Sue had finished the artistic part and it was time for us to see the result. The trip in the car seemed very much like the time I was headed to the hospital to give birth to my first child. I am not kidding. The same tight cramps in my gut were there. The same attempt to lose myself in conversation or radio music was there. The same focus on Lamaze breathing was there. What if we didn't like the presentation? How then to avoid an awkward family situation? I could just hear my mother, "Never do business with family members." I really wanted her to be wrong this time.




Sue was casual about our arrival. Why wasn't she dressed up? Where were the party platters of fancy food? No exciting music in the background? Had the rest of her family actually gone off to work and school? We tripped over Kirby the dog as we always did and Sue courteously escorted us into the living area. Then she and Pat began to talk about her PLANTS. I couldn't believe it. I kept sneaking side glances at my sister to measure if her excitement level equalled mine and I noticed that she was watching Sue's hands just the way I was. We were both waiting, waiting and watching for those hands to pick up whatever it was that we'd given birth to.




Finally her hands picked up a folder which began to glide in front of her in slow motion and open in what seemed like many exaggerated minutes. And there was our book. It almost had a halo around it. The cover was done in the best nature sort of green I could imagine and the photo of the baby owl shone as if in 3-D. The text inside was presented in background paper of another subtle and perfect green with the words glimmering quietly and professionally. The photos were appropriately placed and Jean Germano's art work gave just the right sort of visual excitement to the storm and to Sister's early morning wake-up to see the owls. The last words and the back cover ended the book in a satisfying


and tasteful manner.




We had more work ahead with proofing and maybe some changing but at this point we were content with the outcome. We even got to take the prototype home for a time in order to give it our full attention. What a pleasure.




The book will roll off the press next Monday!

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

As For Me

As For Me

Now that I've narrated some of my sister's story, it's time to explain myself. I'm not a naturalist. I like the outdoors in a religious kind of way and spent some time hiking the up and outbacks of the Cascades with my sister during the 90's. She is not what I'd call an extreme hiker but an unplugged one. She hiked the Peruvian Andes before everyone started going to Machu Pichu for their honeymoons. Actually, outdoor folks were still really worried about the Shining Path then and Cuzco was just a spit-bathed village. She has hiked the Swiss Alps on five different occasions and even trekked them from the eastern border of Switzerland to the western border. She even knows German. And then there's the little story of the summer she spent hiking the Pacific Crest Trail from the California border to the Washington border. She took her dog along that time.

I too love to travel. I'll go just about anywhere as long as I can be home for lunch and have some afternoon time to read or grade papers. Those trips into the Cascades were a real leap of faith for me and the faith was in my sister and in the memory I have of fun times at Silver Creek Falls. That was a magic place for all three of us kids and I even wrote a documented paper about falls for a creative non-fiction writing class I once took.

Going into the mountains with my sister presented an experience of heaven for me. She did all the work (plotted the treks, carried all the emergency equipment, pointed out wildlife and unusual plants) while I did nothing but carry my own lunch and water and enjoy the trip. I learned how to really look at the sky, how to look for animal scat, what not to touch, and what good camp sites might look like. I can tell some good stories about heat exhaustion, looking out for bears, and refusing to ride with her on certain mountain roads that make long, sheer drops on both sides.

But I only became expert at learning how to savor an after lunch nap on a bed of springy moss next to a burbling stream. I still can't really read maps unless they are of city streets and I just learned what the word "talus" means (hmm. . .that sounds like part of the male body). I can tell you energizing stories about negative ions and I can really discuss the term "elevation gain" in a way that has high meaning for me. That's about it.

I'm a wordsmith who believes aggressively in the power of language. I'm a reader, a writer and a teacher. I like to cook and I belong to a knitting group of women most of whom work on the psych. ward of a local hospital. They're chillingly smart and their shop talk is really entertaining once you get to understand some of their pet names for c0-workers and patients and which floor is which. And among my most important humans are my grandgirls Mary and Alicia.

Besides being an okay cook, I am a foodie. I like to talk about food, plan menus in groups, read cookbooks and munch on chocolate while doing just about anything. I can't even go hiking without chocolate.

I live in a dinosaur marriage. He and I have been married for nearly 42 years. Sometimes I really REALLY hate him but most of the time we make easy and affectionate companions. His even temper is a good balance for my wild-tangent personality.

So how do I fit in with my sister's owl adventure? Well. I became part of the adventure from the first sighting. She kept me up on all the rest of the sightings and then she took me for a last visit to the grove deep in the summer time. "We won't see them this time," she kept saying. "They are gone from the grove since the baby learned to fly." But, guess what? We DID see them again that time and once more there we were cavorting around the grove.

I told her she needed to write a book about the experience. A children's book. The story needed to be shared with people besides our family and friends. "Yeah, right." She replied. She pretty much shut me down but the next time I saw her she said, "Ya know. I think I should write a book. You should help me." Guess what else? She already had a draft completed. This is where I stepped right beside her on this particular path. This is the part where I could bring my own brand of expertise into place.

At Night's End

At Night's End

And here's one of my sister's best field trips. She set the alarm for 4 a.m. Note the "a.m." part. It's what helps you know how serious she is about how she experiences the natural world. She actually got up at that time of the morning, packed her car with her field gear and drove out into the dark streets, over the bridge and then out into the boondocks to the owl grove. She commented about how deserted and quiet the world was, "Even the homeless people were asleep." She said she could see them rolled into lumps of street beds and could almost see the zzzzz's wafting over them.

My guess is she probably made sure she driving extremely slowly as she approached the shelter to make sure that her hybrid vehicle stayed in the no engine sound mode. She opened the door as noiselessly as humanly possible, unloaded her gear, then shut the doors with the quietest of clicks. This part I know for sure: She shouldered the gear and then tippy toed around the grove looking for owl silhouettes in the trees above as the first glimmer of light began to appear. It almost makes me laugh to envision this. Okay. It does make me laugh. Just picture it yourself. A tall, thin shadow burdened with tripod, camera equipment, and assorted sundries she always keeps in her backpack sneaking soundessly around a just barely beginning to be light fir grove. Her head is back and mouth open as she peers into the high darkness searching for the owl family.

And, by golly, she found them! In a several day search after the giant storm, she learned that the baby had indeed survived and on this trip she was eager to see them settle in to their beds after a night of hunting. Of course, the baby still couldn't fly, so the parents would have spent the night hunting the nearby fields and delivering owl take-out to their ravenous child.

The sky grew a shade lighter. She could see the mother owl and hear the baby owl as he sounded his raspy cry for more food. Mother hooted back soothingly. This exchange continued until Baby figured out that the local food marts must be closed and that it was time to go to sleep.

Click. Click. Click. Some more photos. She knew they were aware of her presence as the action of picture taking didn't seem to bother them. And she spotted the father as well. He was some trees away from the mother and child as if to gain a bigger scope of their home territory and serve as an outpost guard. The quiet, the smell of the late spring morning, the soft air and the sound of fir branches slowly bending in the warm breeze all served, I'm sure, to affirm for my sister why this outside world made so much sense to her.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

What happened next is that my sister went deep into her naturalist role and tracked the baby owl on several occasions taking lots of pictures. She showed them to me on her computer and we started making up names for the baby. We decided the baby was a girl but later on re-decided that she was a boy. I'll explain that later.

Then my sister started sharing all her scientific knowledge about owls with me-feathers and how they grow; relationship with parent owls or guess who's the boss; how owls undanger their worlds; places owls like to call home; owl food shopping and so interestingly on. Her tendency to teach owl stuff grew as she continued to track our own particular owl. And that part is really interesting.

She visited the owl site many times and saw them many times. But the two best visits were during a storm and at night's end. The storm visit was amazing. She was at the grove silently whistling her way through her search and set up gear time when one of those freaky spring thunder and lightning events began to whiz through the area. How would the owls react, she wondered. The parents did what they could to keep baby calm with soothing owl reassurances but couldn't help but freak out so that suddenly they were clinging talon tight to the trunks of the home trees as the wind, noise, flashes and then a monstrous rain began to become the definition of home rather than spring breeze carrying wildflower scents.
The owls were maximally stressed and Sister retreated to the shelter in the meadow next to the grove to squeegie the rain off her own self, pack up her gear and make for her car. She felt strongly that she shouldn't stick around any longer in a small effort to relieve the stress of the owls in the storm. They shouldn't have to worry about her, she thought, as they worked so hard to keep themselves birdbodily together as they tried to fight their way through the storm.

So she left them to it. Driving home, she worried about the effect of the storm on the owls, particularly the baby. Would it survive? Would Sister see them again?

Monday, September 21, 2009

It all began in this grove when the other grovegirl and I found an owl late last spring. We didn't expect to see one but we'd hoped to. She said, "Let's look for owls after lunch." Sure. All those trees and how do you look for owls, anyway? But we heard one and stuffed our lunch sacks and headed for the grove. "Just start at the bottom of each tree and look up slowly and carefully for something that doesn't look like 'tree' but looks like 'owl.'"

Right. I did a 180. No owl in the tree behind me. Back to the spot of origin and up, up, up. What's that? Looks like a teddy bear! "Hey, Sister, look at that! Looks like some sort of teddy bear up there." "OHMYGOD. . .it's (squinted her eyes) an OWL BABY (stretched her neck and squinted as if to project her sight better)! SHHHHHHH. We can't disturb it! And I think its parent is around. . .hear that hooting?
Stay here. Don't lose sight of this tree. I'm going back for my binoculars and camera!!!!" And clomp, swish, clomp, swish-she headed for the car and the gear.

I watched. I waited. My eyes burned and watered from watching, scared that I'd lose sight of this chancy find. I pulled my eyes down to the bottom of the tree to ease the watering and saw lots of bird poop. I knew I wouldn't lose the tree. When she came back, I gestured to the owl poop and she gave me the thumbs up sign. click. a photo. click. another. click and click and click. several more.

Parent owl began warning hoots and drew the baby away. We let them go without following because we needed to dance and jump and cavort out some of our happiness and excitement.

The adventure had begun.