Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Space Cadet

Art by RiStarr of Deviant Art
I’ve got amazing powers of observation.

These lyrics floated on waves from my stereo to my teenage soul as I laid on my bed, eyes closed, watching the colors and pictures swirl.

“Yeah, me too.”

Then the plane crashes and machine guns fire as Syd Barret's sanity is locked behind an impenetrable wall, rendering him Comfortably Numb as he begins Waiting for the Worms.

****
As a fourth child, (one natural brother, two step siblings) I was often overlooked and sometimes left out of the older kids' activities, which usually suited me just fine. I had plenty of social time too, but those hours left to my own devices I spent observing my world and the people that inhabited it. I watched them act and react, pondering the impulses that animated them. I watched nature and studied the behavior of domestic animals. While I took it all in, I was unaware of my surroundings, time, hunger—I was anything but lonely and certainly not bored.

I acquired the nickname, “Space Cadet” because it sometimes took more than one attempt to rouse me from such a state.

I hated being called Space Cadet.

****
My world and my kid's worlds are so different. We were called for meals but otherwise left to our own devices from a very young age. In my kids' world, they are shoved into all kinds of prearranged situations in 'safe' play spaces with pre-arranged companions to do pre-arranged activities. No wonder today's kids are so anxious, it's rare for them to make even the simplest decisions for themselves and when life requires them to, they melt down. At least mine do. I digress.

In these pre-arranged activities such as a gymnastics class or a play-and-music class. There are the active go-getter kids, the social kids, and the observers that hang back and prefer to watch everything from a distance. Parents generally want their kids to be go-getter and/or social kids because they think their own child's unwillingness to participate means that he/she isn't benefitting from the activity or perhaps that something is amiss—nothing like having an audience when your kid is behaving weird.

I see the parents worry and try to urge their child to participate. I would tell them not to worry, I was also one such child, but the instructor has already done that. It doesn't help. The parent tries to coax their now recalcitrant child into the fray and sometimes misinterprets their behavior as a problem. If the observer's brain was hooked up to an electrical impulse reader they would be astonished at the level of activity that is happening in there. They are taking in an incredible amount of novel information. They miss nothing, the way the other kids move through, the way they react to each other, how they solve (or not) property disputes, what the parents are doing, what the instructor is saying, the pattern on the carpet... With all this input, it is difficult, if not impossible, to also talk and/or join in the activity.

However, after a period of time the novelty wears off, freeing up enough cognitive processing power to allow the child to join in. Not only will they have learned much about the specific skill they'll need to perform, they also have absorbed intricacies of the social situation from a less threatening third party perspective, and all kinds of other minute bits of data from their surroundings and situation. These kids can often perform a new task on the first or second try. Astounding to all but the child, who has carefully studied the trial and errors of the other children.

My dad took me down the river in his drift boat many times. The first time he let me sit behind the oars during a mellow stretch of water, I found I could quick-turn perfectly, pull to one bank then the other then right back in the middle, dipping my oars in the correct depth for each maneuver. Dad was coaching me, but I didn't need it. He thought me gifted, but I knew it was from the time I spent observing his movements. I have always want to try a full drift behind the oars, but I never got a chance, by the time I was strong enough he had injured his back. Then I moved away from rivers and the people who drifted them. And that was that.

****
Boots is a social kid who jumps right into an activity. She learns by doing, almost exclusively. She has a difficult time seeing from other people's perspective and I mistake that for being self-centered, when really it's lack of experience observing other people. How can she not see that?  I find myself thinking frequently.  She has no interest in learning by watching, even when it's something she's passionate about, like riding horses. We go to the horse fair every year and she quickly tires of watching the other girls ride equitation routes, (we're up so close!). I try to narrate what's happening to help her glean the learning opportunities and gain her interest but, alas, if she's not in the saddle, she could care less.

****
As an introvert, life can be taxing. When the blur of people moving, people talking, and kid meltdowns become too much for me, if I can't cover my ears and close my eyes, I either have a grown-up tantrum or shift into observation mode. I've only discovered this ability as an adult and often forget to employ it. But when I do, I am impenetrable.

My kids hate it.

In observation mode, life becomes a work of art. A toddler-tantrum becomes a charming phase of life that I'll one day miss. A punk kid becomes an artistic embodiment of modern culture— a thing of beauty. A skyscraper becomes the Roman Coliseum—something to be marveled at. The texture in bird feathers, the dynamics of their wings and movements becomes a wonder of evolution and beauty, their song something for which I wish I could capture on paper in measures and notes. My children's faces become animated sculptures of cherubic perfection.

As I pull myself back down, and push my attention outward, I am refreshed.

*******

“Amy, are you O.K.?”

“Amy?? Amy!”

“Huh, wha? Yeah, I’m fine. Go away.”


Saturday, July 19, 2014

Homesick in the Heat

Home.

A little o' noun with galactic meaning. Home is wherever Charley and the girls are at the moment, but occasionally, my childhood home on the McKenzie River creeps into my heart and plays the strings there.

It is these hot, surly days of summer when I miss my river home the most. Summer, for us river kids of eighties, meant playing outside until dusk with the rest of the pack of free roaming kids, huge BBQs, and best of all, entire days spent at one of a dozen different swimming holes.

My dad, a single father who worked too hard, was a tough person to be around some days. But summer days spent at the swimming hole, among friends as close as family, he was happy and light in a way usually wasn't.

The Rope.
Photo courtesy of Patence Winningham
Of all our swimming holes, The Rope was my favorite. It was little more than a wide, deep-ish spot in a small river that drained into the Blue River Reservoir. The water was always very cold and very clear, leaving the colorful rocks and lost keys clearly visible through twenty-five or so feet of water. It was only the bodies hurling from the rope swing that could turn the pristine water opaque.

On top of a high rocky ledge an alder tree grew almost horizontal over the hole to escape the shadows of the canopy.  Tellis Lawson, a half-crazy Vietnam Vet, was the first person I can remember to shimmy the trunk and tie a rope. He tied in a few knots at the end for grip and it dangled just over a shallowly submerged rock shelf. At rest, it took a tall person to wade out on the shelf and, with a stretch, snag the rope. Next you climbed, barefoot and shivering, up the steeply sloped rock face, grabbed onto the highest knot, and swung out over the rock ledge, then at the apex of the swing, which for mid-way up the rock face was about middle of the hole, to drop. Timing was of paramount importance. As a teenager I became adept at diving off the rope; once I didn't angle the swing enough and as I went under, my hands touched the rocks of the opposite bank. I didn't make that mistake again.  Although it was dangerous, in all my years swimming there, none of us were hurt worse than an arm slap from forgetting to tuck in your hands in.

Once the water swirled passed the rocky ledges, the depth tapered off to form a designer little-kids' area. There were half submerged ledges for climbing and jumping, and a sheltered shallow pool, visible to the grown-ups reclining in the shade. Then suddenly the hole ends and creek returns. The whole area is less than half a football field.

Our day was spent swinging off the rope until our hands were raw, jumping off rocks, pretending to drown each other (my brother was especially fond of this game, me—not so much), diving for rocks, and walking across the bottom holding heavy rocks, swimming to the opposite shore, and daring the younger ones to do likewise. And so we played until the grown-ups pulled us out with purple lips and chattering teeth.

While waiting to warm up we raided the red Igloo cooler, stationed in the shade near the lawn chairs held in place by the grown-ups.  I always marveled at how they could spend hours doing nothing but sitting in the shade talking. HOW BORING! Today, I can think of nothing more pleasant.

After eating a PB&J and drinking a cup of red Kool-Aid, we were right back to the water's edge building miniature ponds to hold the minnows we caught. We'd watch them slip through the gaps in the stones, then rush to find smaller rocks and sand to plug the escape routes.

After tiring of that, we'd scale up our construction endeavors and build a dam across the shallow, outflow end of the swimming hole. This would take several kids several hours to span the distance, which was not trivial.

Our lifting muscles tired, our backs sore, it was time to float an air mattress, or an inner tube (the real black rubber ones that would get really hot and give you a contact rash all over), down the “rapids” (is there such a thing as class .1?) sometimes the water was too shallow, or rocks too plentiful, then we'd pick them up hop across the sun warmed rocks and go back in; all the way to reservoir.

Soon, we'd worry that the adults were starting to worry, so back upstream we went, hauling our flotation device, hopping from rock to rock to rock—whoa that one was wobbly! We're back. We check in with the parents—all is good. Warmed by our exertions, it was time to jump back in the water.

At some point during the day, the grown-ups would emerge from the shadows and go in for a swim. My dad, clad in too short cut-off jeans, usually took the trail up to the high rocks, that stood about fifteen feet above the water. He'd pause for a moment, stretch his arms wide, jump lightly, then fold in half, curving his head towards the water while bringing his hands to a point above his head and straightening his legs. He parted the water with a grace and precision that belied his six-foot-four, two-hundred-and-thirty pound frame. Re-emerging, he'd his shake his head and wipe his dripping mustache, and swim, arm over arm, to the rock shelf. A vestige of his privileged Southern California upbringing. All things considered, us kids got a better deal.

The shadows grew long across the water. We drooped with unperceived fatigue. The adults folded up the lawn chairs; my dad hoisted the cooler up to his shoulder. Together, we trekked up the short, steep trail to the hidden parking area. We loaded ourselves into the back of the pickup and broke off branches laden with berries from a ten-foot-tall high wall of red huckleberries. We fought each other to sit on the wheel wells. The pickup rumbled to life and bumped out of the forest on to the paved road.

My hair whipped my face and stung my eyes as I picked my huckleberry branch clean. Getting cold, I nestled into the cab of the truck, lifting my bottom off the truck bed floor when I anticipated big bumps.

At home, I fell into bed and slept more deeply than I will ever again experience.

And so passed the best summer days of my life.

The Rope during the higher waters of winter.
My brother liked to climb that stump and jump off that too.
I climbed up there once, but could never work up the nerve to jump off.
That cliff Nicole is standing on was good enough for me.
Picture courtesy of Calinda Ndoye

Such a great spot.  The cliff to the right is the one my Dad would dive off of.
Picture courtesy of Patence Winningham 

Monday, June 30, 2014

Twelve Terrific Books for Toddlers

A day in the life of a toddler is a busy one. They wake up with the sun and spend their day discovering, experimenting, playing, climbing, i.e. wearing you out. When you have pulled him off the top of table for the zillionth time, and think your head is going to explode if you have to do it again, grab a book. You get to rest while simultaneously bonding, teaching, entertaining, keeping him out of mischief and safe—multitasking at its finest. Below is a list of books and author series my family loved the most. Don't get rid of those baby books just yet, as most kids will stay interested in them until around age four.

Note: Links to Powell's are directed to a new version of each book. Used and sale versions are listed on the right, in a box labeled: More copies of this ISBN. 
If you're a relative or friend of a toddler, books are a fantastic gift, there's no mess, no batteries (usually), they're not noisy (usually), and your thoughtful inscription will be a daily reminder of how much they are loved.


  1. Available at Powell's
    The Berenstain Bears Go to the Doctor  by Stan Berenstain
    This book gets top billing because it helped both my girls through their scared-of-the-doctor phase that set in around the eighteen month mark. It's brilliant simplicity, it walks your child through a check-up and even tackles the scary vaccination issue by quantifying the pain rather than dismissing it. “‘Will it hurt?’ asked Sister Bear. ‘Sure, but not nearly as much as biting your tongue or bumping your shin. There all done.’” I've read this book to them so many times that not only do I have it memorized, sometimes I can hardly stand to look at it. The doctor book—again!? Ug! 
    Pair this book with a toy doctor kit and act out the story as it unfolds. Then watch as they use their newfound understanding of check-ups to perform check-ups on you and their stuffed animals. 

  2. Available at Powell's
    Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed by Eileen Christelow
    My girls loved (and still love) this book. The repetition and rhythm makes it easy to memorize, and it is not long before they'll start saying it along with you or taking over “reading” the story. *Warning: This book reinforces jumping on the bed. Personally I'm a fan of jumping on the bed, but if you're not, you may want to shelve this one...* 

  3. Available at Powell's
    Little Boat by Thomas Docherty
    “The ocean is a big place and I am just a Little Boat.” Little Boat charts his own course and braves the many treacheries of the ocean, “in search of—my friends!” Then he sails over the edge of the world only to find himself righted on the other side. One could write a thesis exploring the oceans of wisdom in this lovely book of a few hundred words. Oh, and it's a favorite of the girls too...

  4. Available at Powell's
    We're Going on a Bear Hunt by Michael Rosen and Helen Oxenbury
    "We're gonna catch a big one. What a beautiful day. We're not scared. Uh Oh…"  Go along with the adorable family as they go out looking for a bear… and find one. This book has lots of repetition your toddler will quickly memorize and start repeating with you. The story is easily adapted into an engaging imagination game; pretend that areas of your house are the different obstacles in the book, then run away from your child's teddy bear, ending up snuggled in your bed, shouting, “We're not going on a bear hunt a-gain!!”

  5. Available at Powell's
    The Story of Ferdinand by Munro Leaf
    O.K., you busted me, I put in a classic book we all remember… But the list felt incomplete without one of my girls' absolute favorites. Ferdinand the Bull, who likes to sit just quietly and smell the flowers has captivated my girls. They laugh when he sits on the poor honey bee and roar when he leaps up with his mouth open and his eyes bugging out.  They ask me why the bullfighters would want to stick spears in a bull, they laugh at the haughty matador when he gets mad, and they are relieved when Ferdinand simply sits on the arena floor and smells the flowers in the hair of all the beautiful ladies. They grin when he is returned to his beloved pasture, where as far as they know he still is to this day, “sitting just quietly smelling the flowers.” My littlest, Berzo, has this book memorized and can be found “reading” it to herself in a basket of teddy bears.

  6. Available at Powell's
    Red Sled by Lita Judge
    The artwork in this wordless book does a wonderful job of telling a story about a curious bear that borrows a little girl's sled for the night.  Each flight down the hill accumulates another passenger on the sled.  The final passenger is the little girl herself.  Berzo can't get enough of this book and the playful animals.  I can see her wishing for a red sled and friendly pile of woodland animals.

  7. Toddler Series
    There were too many books by these particular authors to choose one to the exclusion of the others.  Toddlers have a voracious appetite for fresh material and these authors are happy to oblige.

  8. Leslie Patricelli
    Leslie Patricelli has a wonderful series of hilarious books dealing with typical toddler behavior and milestones. The text is short and sweet and the images are simple and fun. Berzo's favorite was the Potty book that she would act out in every detail when she was potty training, and could be heard shouting “Tinkle, Tinkle, TOOT!” while doing just that.


  9. Mercer Mayer
    Mercer Mayer books have been around since the seventies and they're only getting better. These funny, thoughtful stories are told from Little Critter's perspective. The humor is in the illustrations that often run somewhat contrary to the Little Critter's point of view. It is a humorous take on parenting trials that appeal to the grown-up reader and are a fun story for the kids. I never tire of reading them.

  10. Mo Willems
    Mo Willems writes several series of books the best of which are Knuffle Bunny, Elephant and Piggie, and The Pigeon books. The genius in these stories lies in his ability to caricature normal kid behavior, common parent/child struggles (pigeon books) and relationship issues (Elephant and Piggie), with adorable, expressive animals. The girls and I crack up reading these stories and I don't mind reading them again and again.

  11. The Berenstains
    Berenstain Bears  books isolate life lessons and parent/child struggles in a sweet nurturing way. They speak as much to the parent as the child, we see Mama and Papa struggle with their cubs and seek and find solutions, while simultaneously helping kids cope with normal growing-up troubles. I got tips on managing my daughter's Messy Room, as well as how to deal with The Gimmies when they showed up. They are fun, full of wisdom and good nature.

  12. Jan Brett
    Jan Brett's genius lies in her incredibly detailed and beautiful artwork. Her writing is passable and stories are sometimes a little thin, but her nordic style artwork is a feast for the eyes. The illustrations not only describe the current position in the story, but is also bordered by art that tells what has already happened and forbodes what will happen next. 

  13. Curious George
    Curious George The original series by Margaret and H.A. Rey are not my kids' favorite as the text is too long and story too wandering to hold their attention. Once Boots was old enough to digest them, she was into other types of stories. The newer Curious George books, such as Curious George Goes to the Aquarium are favorites. They love seeing George's curiosity get him into trouble and equally so, they like it when he redeems himself with some act of kindness.  The stories are thoughtful, funny and good hearted. Note: my girls don’t care for the PBS Kids' Curious George stories. They are educational, but lack the fun and mischief of the slightly older series.
The article Raising a Reader has tips for making reading a fun and engaging experience for you and your children.

[1]Note about list selection:
That's it?!?  Where's The Lorax and  Go, Dog, Go! and Where the Wild Things Are?
You're right, these are fantastic books, but I figured you would already know that...  I've omitted the books that we all remember from our own childhood, in favor of more contemporary and specialized titles.