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
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!)
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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