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Meeting a New Old Friend

By / January 21, 2014

Long ago in Livermore, California I went to junior high and high school. Last weekend I went to ConFusion in Michigan and participated in a panel on strong female characters. I did not expect these two facts to be in any way relevant to each other, but after the panel Rae Carson turned to me and said “Where did you go to high school?” She asked, because long ago she knew a girl named Sandra who wrote stories. She recognized me even though I had failed to recognize her. (In my defense, she went by a different version of her name when I knew her previously.) We attended the same junior high and high school. At least once we were at the same slumber party. It took me far longer to find the memories because I really did not expect them to be relevant at a Sci Fi convention in Michigan. Also because I think I dumped a lot of memories from that era in my life the same way that I dumped the yearbooks. It was more than I wanted to carry around constantly. This left me sitting next to Rae Carson, talking about people we used to know and that neither of us has kept in touch with.

“Do you remember Mrs. Bell?” I asked.
“Of course I remember Mrs. Bell!” Rae answered. Then we spent several minutes discussing the junior high librarian who took us both in and loved us. That library was a haven, a place for us to go when the lunchroom felt awkward. I spent hours and hours there. So did Rae. We must have been there together often. I wish I remembered more of Rae and less of the various awkward interactions with the geeky boys who absorbed so much of my early teen attention. But we both remember Mrs. Bell and we both credit her with some of our love of writing and reading. Truly there is no substitute for a full-time school librarian. Sadly, the high school did not have a Mrs. Bell, if it had, perhaps Rae and I would have reconnected in high school.

Rae Carson is the author of a trilogy of books that begins with Girl of Fire and Thorns. It is a book about which I’ve heard many good things and which I’ve been planning to read. Rae is friends with many of my writer friends and so I was aware of her that way too. Even before the panel, I’d seen her name and thought it would be nice to have a chance to meet her. Then I discovered I already had, long ago. While I was doing my teenage best to be stylish and not-a-geek she was doing her teenage best to please her parents and fit with the cheerleader crowd. Somehow we failed to solidify a friendship which would have meant we didn’t feel so alone while scribbling away at our stories in our separate houses. Rae remembers me showing her drawings and telling her about my imaginary world. I wonder what eddy of teenage angst swirled me off in a different direction and why I failed to see the potential in our friendship. I think most teenagers are a little bit lost as they try to define themselves. I’m not going to regret the separate paths we took, because obviously Rae has arrived in a very good place with her writing and I certainly wouldn’t want to give up my journey.

It makes me wonder what potential friendships I am missing now. I know it is not possible for me to be friends with all the people, but being more attentive to those around me can only be a good thing. People hide in plain sight sometimes. At one moment while Rae and I were comparing memories and telling about our current lives, I looked over at her, seeking for the face that I used to know but had nearly forgotten. She is there. I was put in mind of the old rhyme
Make new friends, but keep the old,
One is silver, and the other gold.
I’ve felt that before. There is a security and emotional strength in friendships with a really long timeline. They are the friends who didn’t leave, or who came back. They know the old stories and places even if both have been left behind. Rae is both a new friend and an old one, and I’m really glad that she recognized me and gave us the chance to start over at being friends.

Friendships

By / December 23, 2013

I’ve been thinking about friendship today and loneliness. I have many people that I consider friends. The would, and have, dropped everything to come help me in a time of need. I would, and have, dropped everything to help them. I am richly blessed to know so many good people. Yet most weeks I don’t see or speak to any of my friends who don’t live in my house. I tweet, comment, and generally interact online with all sorts of lovely people on a daily basis, but that is not the same. I attend church every week, but often I sit by myself and only engage in a few sentences here and there with my neighbors. I used to have a group of friends who gathered every other week for a girl’s night, but then half of them moved further away and the rest of us had our lives shift. We don’t meet anymore. For several years I had regular handwritten correspondence with some of my friends, but that dried up this year too. I stopped having the energy to reply.

I didn’t notice as all of this was happening. I’ve been turned inward this year; very focused on family, business, and emotions here in my house. But somehow I’ve come to a place where my in-person interactions with friends have dwindled to scattered lunch appointments. I did it to myself. Some of it was necessary because I had to conserve my resources of energy. But I’d like next year to be different. I’d like to be around friends more often. I just need to remember how that works and how I make it happen.

Thinking About Cultural Heritage

By / December 19, 2013 / 3 Comments

I am an American citizen with fairly standard-issue Northern European mixed heritage. This means that sometimes I feel boring, or like I don’t really have a culture to call my own. That is an illusion created by the fact that my culture is everywhere. I am represented in every book I read, every show I watch. I spend the vast majority of my days swimming in my traditions and culture. They are as pervasive as the air and I pay them about as much attention. This means that I do not truly understand when someone else has a driving need to connect with their heritage and a vital need to protect it from absorption and dilution. I can intellectually comprehend, but I’ve never been alienated or separated from my culture of birth. I don’t have that emotional experience, which means I should listen carefully when those who do have it, choose to speak in a forum where I can listen.

I do have one aspect of my life that is non-standard. I’m a born and raised member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, commonly known as Mormons. On my mother’s side I am steeped in pioneer heritage, stories of people who trekked across the wilderness in order to build a place where they could practice their beliefs freely. That heritage is praised and used to shape modern LDS culture. On my Dad’s side is a conversion story, which is also a strong part of LDS culture. We love stories of people changing their lives in response to personal spiritual experiences and exercises of faith. My childhood is steeped in this culture and my adulthood continues to be, because I choose it, even though there are aspects of modern LDS culture that trouble or annoy me. Note that there is a difference between the doctrines of the religion and the culture that forms around them.

Any time there is a news article or media event that throws general attention on the LDS faith, I feel anxious. Often the attention is neutral or positive, but I still feel cautious anyway, as when I heard about Book of Mormon the Musical. I did not know whether that play would accurately represent my faith or culture as I experience it. Logically, I knew that a misrepresentation would not do me any harm, but I paid attention anyway. I pay similar attention to any other news stories relating to Mormonism. I worry that people will make assumptions about who I am based on what they think they know about my faith and culture. I know that there are some people who will automatically be antagonistic toward me because of it. Yet I skip most of that negative attention, because my sub-culture does not show on first glance.

Then I think about what it would be like if my Mormonism were written on my face. What if, like the Jewish people in Nazi Germany, I had to display my cultural alignment for all to react to every time I went out in public. When I imagine that, I begin to understand what it is like to be a person of color in the United States. Then I begin to understand why the “It’s a culture not a costume” campaigns matter. Some people are not given the option to blend in. They have no choice but to stand out wherever they go and that makes them a walking target, not just for hateful things, but also for people like me, who mean well, but are still fumbling around trying to understand. I don’t understand. I haven’t lived it. This means that I should listen on these issues more than I should speak. I should give my attention to when people tweet about Being Black on University of Michigan campus (#BBUM) and the twitter hashtag #IAmNotYourAsianSidekick. And if I’m tempted to think the issues are being blown out of proportion, I should remember to do a comparison of the google image searches for Caucasian and Asian. Then I should think about how I would feel to have my heritage represented by such a search.

We are all products of our cultures, and one of the aspects of white American culture is to assume that our experience of life is what everyone gets. It is not true. Life is not fair. We all have different difficulty settings and if we’re aware of that, then we have a chance to see all the people around us as equals who are shaped and made interesting by their cultural heritages.

Contemplation in the Christmas Season

By / December 14, 2013

We have reached that point in December where life has slowed down enough for me to contemplate all the things I would like to do as celebrations of the season, but which I’m not likely to actually accomplish. I love the idea of a daily quiet contemplation where I light a candle and spend some time just sitting with the Christmas tree. I feel peace in those moments, that peace is the point of Christmas for me, connection to a natal event long past, connection to loved ones in the present, and expressing appreciation for all of it. I dearly want to carefully contemplate and select gifts for all the people in my life. I want to write handwritten notes. I want to give out tokens of appreciation. The reality of my holiday is that I might have a contemplative moment once or twice per week during the first part of December.

Only ten days remain between now and Christmas. In order to give gifts to everyone who matters to me, I’d need to sit down and make massive lists. I’d have to live by those lists and scramble to assemble and deliver everything. That effort would completely obliterate my attempts to find peace and contemplation during the holiday season. The two desires for Christmas celebration are mutually exclusive at this point. So I am going to do what I always end up doing, I’ll muddle my way down a compromise path. I’ll give some gifts, but not others. I’ll write some notes, I’ll give some tokens. Then I’ll hope that my neighbors will not feel slighted when I don’t make plates of treats to give away. I’ll look at the few Christmas cards on my wall, remember the years when the wall was covered, and know that this is the natural result of me being too busy to send cards out any time in the past five years. I still love both sending and receiving cards, but something has to go.

Our church Christmas party was tonight. It was a lovely event, good food, good company. The program was brief, but heart warming. It was a good balance of all the things a Christmas party needs to be. Howard, Link, and Kiki left early because they wanted to get back to the game they were playing together. Gleek and Patch played running games with all the other kids. I visited with a few friends, had one really important conversation, and then stood off to the side and observed. There have been times when I was fully invested in my community of neighbors, when I had important things to talk about with all of them. Lately I drift through, touching down in the community only lightly. I feel bad about that, because I know that it is my choices that keep me adrift. I would be more connected if I did things like making plates of treats for neighbors, or went out of my way to have conversations with people I have not spoken to lately. I have not given very much to my neighborhood community in this past year, all of my energy went into family, business, and keeping promises made to backers and customers. At some point in the future, maybe next year, I’ll connect with my neighborhood again. I do what I can and what I feel inspired is most important at the time. I did not spend this year wrongly.

We have one more week of school. During that week I need to help my two youngest kids select and acquire presents for their siblings. There are other holiday essentials to be planned and brought to fruition. And of course there are piles of homework that I get to guide my youngest into completing. It is plenty to track, but tonight I have a Christmas tree in the dark and a quiet hour to feel calm. It is well.

Strength of Wild Horses Links

By / November 18, 2013

The Strength of Wild Horses Kickstarter is 62% funded. That’s a good place to be with two weeks to go. Please pass the word around if you have the chance. One of the reasons I chose Kickstarter to fund this book was because I saw it as the best opportunity to spread the word about these books to families who might need them.

I’ve been out and about the internet working on spreading the word. The lovely Mary Robinette Kowal gave me a chance to tell her blog readers about My Favorite Bit of Strength of Wild Horses. I had to do quite a bit of thinking to narrow it down to my favorite-most part, which I discovered is a moment of transformation.

Then Lou Anders of Pyr Books and the Thrones and Bones series asked me why picture books matter. We both were certain that they do, but he wanted my take on why. I loved digging into my thoughts to find the answer to that question. The result can be read over on Lou’s blog. Why Picture Books Matter.

Doing interviews and writing guest posts has been one of the most enjoyable parts of this Kickstarter process. I’m stretching my thoughts in new directions and it is fun.

Learning Conversation

By / November 20, 2013 / 2 Comments

Today I had the chance to sit down with my 16 year old son, Link, and talk about how conversations work. For a long time he’s felt like talking to people is something he is not good at, but he’s feeling an increased desire to connect with others through talking. This came to a crisis this week and resulted in us sitting down today to discuss how conversations work. Being good at talking to people is a set of skills that anyone can learn. We broke out some discrete skills that can be practiced, because practice in small chunks is the best way to learn skills. As a potentially useful reminder to Link and I, also because someone else may find this useful, I’m going to list the skills here. We have no intention of Link learning all of these things at once. Instead he’ll pick one and work on it for awhile before working on a different one.

Learn Names: When you know someone’s name, it indicates to them that you think they are important enough to remember. It is a small kindness you can offer to everyone from classmates to the grocery store clerk. You don’t have to remember names forever, but retaining it for an evening is doable. Link has a particular challenge here because he’s surrounded by classmates that he’s known for years, but whose names he’s never learned. I recommended that he ask someone else “hey, what’s that guy’s name?” This gives him a question to ask someone and it helps him start learning the names of people he’s going to see over and over again.

Ask Questions: Questions are the secret weapon of conversations. If you ask about someone else, you have to talk less. Also people like to hang around with people who are willing to listen to them and who are interested in what they have to say.

Your next question is hidden in their answer: When people answer your question, they usually provide you information that you can use for a follow up question. If they answer the question “How are you today?” with “Really stressed I’m going to fail my math test” you could ask: why does math stress you? How soon is the test? Do you need help studying? Which math teacher do you have? When is your test? Etc. Questions about unusual items of clothing are also good, because these items often have stories attached. You can also find questions in your shared context. A school friend can always be asked questions about classes, teachers, or homework.

Give compliments: It doesn’t take much to say “I like your shoes.” It doesn’t necessarily give you a long conversation, but it is a brief positive interaction you can have with another person. Also it is a kind gift to give other people.

Look people in the face and smile: You don’t have to look them in the face during the whole conversation. That gets uncomfortable. It is common for people to look away while they’re talking and then look directly at someone while they’re listening. But looking at someone’s face indicates interest in what they have to say. Smiling makes everyone feel happier.

When you’re invited to join a group at lunch or for group work, start by saying yes instead of looking for excuses to say no. The fact that they tendered the invitation means that you are welcome. Once you’re in the group, it is fine to only speak occasionally as you participate in the work. You’re still part of the group.

The more people there are in a group, the less you should talk. It is perfectly acceptable to be part of a group conversation by actively listening and only speaking very occasionally with a question or observation.

Some people dominate group conversations. This can be wonderful if the dominating person is entertaining and gracious. It can be seriously annoying if the dominating person is not attentive to the other people. If you’re in a big group and talking more than anyone else, particularly if you’re talking about yourself, try to turn the conversation over to someone else for awhile. Ask questions and then listen.(This is not going to be Link’s challenge, but it is good to know anyway.)

Group conversations tend to fracture and drift, this is normal and expected. Let them do it, even if you are sad that the conversation abandons a topic that interests you. If you try to control the conversation, you’ll likely end up with a dead conversation. Often group conversations will turn into three or four smaller conversations and back again. This is also normal. Let that happen.

When you reach a high level of conversational skill it is possible to lead and steer group conversations, but while learning these skills it is best to observe and learn how conversations go.

If there is a particular person you want to get to know better, try having many small conversations at different times rather than attempting to learn everything in one sitting. This is more pleasant for everyone.

Answering someone’s statement with “I know” is a conversation ender. If someone tells you a thing and you answer “I know,” there really isn’t anything else for them to say. Instead you need to indicate your prior knowledge while giving the conversation a path to continue “I’d heard that, but did you know…” or “I know, however…”

Ending a conversation is as important as beginning it. It is okay to keep conversations short, because they can be exhausting while you’re learning the skills. The key is to depart the conversation in a way that lets the other person know that you’d like to talk again sometime. The format is usually an excuse for ending the conversation followed by an indication that conversation was fun or that you’d like to talk again. “I’ve got to go study for my math quiz now, it was nice talking to you.” or “I’ve got to go now, see you tomorrow?”

Prayer can help you find the words. It never hurts to send a two second prayer heavenward that you’ll be able to find the words to mean what you want to say. We are promised in scripture that God can give us the exact right words in the moment that we need them.

I can testify to the truth of that last one, because my entire conversation with Link was full of moments where I had exactly the right words. It was wonderful to see my son listening and absorbing these concepts about conversation. I hope that this next week will be better for him than the last months have been. I think it will, because he has some clear small steps to take instead of feeling like all conversation is this huge, complex, insoluble problem.

Halloween Costumes

By / October 30, 2013 / 1 Comment

When I was little, Halloween was magical. Around the time my age hit double digits it started to be…complicated. I believe this is a common experience as children begin to be self conscious. In my case I was frustrated because no one ever knew what my costumes were, and I found them hard to explain. This is because I never chose to be a commonly known character. Instead I would create a character based on half a dozen worlds that I’d read and synthesized. Why could no one see that my long blue dress and cloak obviously meant that I was an empath who rode a winged horse? They would ask “what are you?” in a confused tone of voice and I wouldn’t know how to summarize, but I knew they didn’t want to hear the whole back story. When I was a kid among other kids, they understood that costumes had stories. But by junior high, they stood there in a yellow crayon outfit and stared at me like I was the weirdo. That was a difficult year and it put me off costumes for the rest of junior high.

Halloween became a big deal again after I met Howard and got married. It started small with just some stage make-up. But the seeds of the next year’s costume were planted until the pinnacle years when we had a group of six people and our toddler all dressed up like post-apocalyptic cyborg survivors. And then like medieval warriors with a preschool dragon and a baby dragon. We got professional photographs that year and had a great time. Then our Halloween loving friends moved away and somehow our Halloween efforts dwindled. The creative energy that we used to spend on costumes got spent on other things instead. I’m not going to complain because I like Schlock and I’m not sure it would have begun if we’d had a full-blown costuming hobby in place.

Today I went to our church Halloween carnival and for the I-don’t-know-how-many-th year in a row, I was boring. I didn’t wear a costume at all. I think I started being Halloween boring when Gleek was a toddler. I had three kids and it was challenging enough to keep track of them without adding complicated clothing. I always ended up toting their discarded props and trying to juggle all of their things plus a heavy cloak or a long dress stopped being any kind of fun at all. I used to make jokes about being dressed up as the storage closet because of all the things I ended up carrying around. Not only that, but there was never time to think up something to wear when I was so completely occupied with supplying four outfits to the exacting specifications of my children. I still enjoyed Halloween, but from a spectator role.

A few weeks ago I ready this Hyperbole and Half piece about a dinosaur costume. Not only was it really funny, but it made me think about identity. I have come full circle to a place where I am again friends with people who love costuming. I admire their brilliance at conventions and yet have never planned to don a costume “That’s not me” I thought. “I’m not a costume person. I am a writer person.” Yet I used to be a costume person. I used to be willing to put on a different identity for the span of a day just so that I could play. True, I was always a little awkward with it, unwilling to fully own an outfit, but at least I put the outfit on. The tale of a little girl and her dinosaur costume made me re-consider the power of costume and how being something else for a while might teach me something about who I am when I’m wearing my regular clothes.

Also, I’m tired of feeling boring on Halloween. I can’t guarantee I’ll follow through on anything. My life is full of projects and any costuming project is pretty far down the list, but when Howard dons his steampunk clothes I’d kind of like to have an outfit that matches. Perhaps this next year I’ll learn how to play dress up again. And maybe I’ll learn a better answer to the question “who are you?” or perhaps I’ll be the beneficiary of a world that is more open to adults in creative costumes.

School Culture Matters

By / October 11, 2013

“I really thought I would be bullied more.” Patch told me as we were curled up for his bedtime snuggle one night. “Being in the A.L.L. program for smart kids, I thought I would get bullied, but I haven’t. I wonder why that is.” Patch’s voice was mildly puzzled as he mused on this topic. I curled my arm around him a little tighter and thought how grateful I am that this has been his experience. I could have said that, and it would probably have been the end of the conversation, but I’ve been trying to do a better job of helping Patch pull his thoughts and emotions out where we can both see them, so instead I asked.
“What do you think it could be?”
“Well, It could be that my school is a good school and doesn’t have bullies. Or it could be that all the bullies have other people they pick on that are not me. Or maybe I just don’t act like a smart kid.” Patch paused a moment for thinking. “I think my school is a good one.”
I nodded my head in the dark. “I agree. What do you think makes your school be a good one?”
“I don’t know.” Patch answered.
It was important for Patch to see the whys of how his school has few troubles with bullying. It all has to do with the culture that has been consciously created at his school.

The importance of school culture became apparent to me when Patch and Gleek attended a previous school. It was a good school, close to home, and full of caring and attentive staff. Then the long-time principal left and took half a dozen of the best teachers with him. The new principal meant well, I could tell that he did, but over time it became apparent that he did not understand behavior modification and sociology. Every policy change and every letter sent home pounded out the importance of safety, rules, and good citizenship. He instituted reward programs for good behavior which then necessitated clearly defining “good behavior” in a series of rules lectures. His policies also emphasized the consequences for those who were not being good citizens of his school. The net effect was to teach the kids to police each other and to watch for infractions. All of this occurred at a time when Gleek was struggling with impulsive behaviors. She knew the rules, she wanted to follow the rules and be rewarded with good citizen slips, but in a fraction of a second she would choose wrong and suddenly discover that she was in trouble. As the new culture solidified, I could tell that it was increasingly hostile to Gleek.

Fortunately we had the option to test our kids for a gifted program, A.L.L, that would transfer them to a new school. Gifted programs have problems of their own. Many times the culture in such a program is one of high expectation and pressure to perform adequately. I approached cautiously, but then I did some research into the school where my kids would attend. I looked at a letter to parents from each of the principals. The old school principal’s letter outlined some new rules and clarified programs designed to manage problem behaviors. The letter from the new school talked about a reading program and was focused on learning. The new school hosted not just a gifted program, but also several classes for autistic kids. The “Life Skills” classes were as integrated into the school activities as possible. This meant that the teachers and staff were teaching tolerance of differences on a daily basis. Older classes had weekly reading buddy sessions with younger classes. We decided to make the switch, not realizing what a godsend it would prove to be.

In Gleek’s sixth grade year, anxiety overcame her. Her impulsive behavior turned inward, to be a constant fear she would do things wrong. It is probable that the high intensity of the academic program was a contributing factor, but the largest reason for it was the hormonal surges of puberty. She began having panic attacks at school, to the point where she would curl up into a non-responsive ball on her classroom floor. Sixth grade is a rough age, kids are changing and generally react by ridicule and avoidance of things that make them uncomfortable. But Gleek’s class was reading buddies with severely autistic kids. They had been taught how to understand and deal with odd behavior. I still remember walking with Gleek to her classroom after she had been out for several days due to anxiety. We were greeted, by kids, with smiles and statements like “we miss you Gleek, when will you be back?” Because of that accepting classroom full of peers, Gleek was able to come back instead of feeling like her anxiety had destroyed all hope of social connection.

The culture of a school matters. It permeates classrooms and the lives of children in them. We were very fortunate that we were able to switch from an (unintentionally) hostile atmosphere to one that was exactly what we needed. We survived the year before I was able to switch by paying close attention to what the school culture was teaching my kids and acting to alleviate it. I’m afraid we deliberately undermined the citizen slip program, teaching our kids that we cared about them being good people, not about them bringing home prizes. I made private deals with teachers about how to handle Gleek’s impulsive behaviors. Even in the much better culture of the second school, I still paid attention. Many of the lessons of public school are taught in the hallways, lunchrooms, and on the playgrounds. How the staff handles those situations makes a world of difference. Thus my panic attack girl was not ostracized, and my gifted program son has not experienced bullying in his elementary school. I wish more school administrators had a full comprehension of how to build such healthy school cultures.

(Also relevant to this post Strategies for dealing with a bully

Jay Wake

By / July 29, 2013 / 2 Comments

Jay walked in and there was applause. I heard from where I stood in the reception area despite the fact that Jay had entered at up a flight of stairs and across a lounge area. I was among the bustle of those who were setting up tables and arraying the t-shirts on them. There was an hour until the official beginning of the event, but with Jay’s arrival the show had already begun. All of us turned, aware of the arrival of Jay.

People began to accumulate as the start hour approached. Friends greeted each other and clustered in little groups, none of us quite sure how we were supposed to be feeling about this event. A wake is a strange thing when the object of it has just smiled and hugged you. We were there to celebrate and to grieve, yet the largest portion of the grief is still incoming, we all know this. We hear it like the whistle of a WWII bomb that we know will cause damage, but we’re not sure yet where or when it will land. The urge is to duck and cover, instead these friends of Jay gathered, smiled, laughed, and admitted to each other that this thing we were doing was kind of weird. None of us doubted that it was right. Jay needed a party and that was borne out as he ended the evening as energetic as he’d arrived.

Food makes many things better. After we all sat in the banquet room, after six friends bore Jay into the room in a casket to tumultuous laughter and applause, after Jay jumped out and made us laugh again, then we all filed through the buffet lines. Just the act of selecting seats had settled some uncertainty, the food resolved more. We all know how dinners go. It was familiar and we knew our roles. I watched everyone settle in to conversations. Some of them were about Jay or about the event, but mostly people spoke of other things. Various groups broke out into laughter. We did a fair amount of laughing and storytelling ourselves.

Most of the people were unfamiliar to me with the exception of a few people I’ve met at other events. Then there were the other familiar faces, people I’ve never met, but whom I’ve seen in photographs while assembling the Jay Wake Book. I sometimes tracked their progress through the crowd, wondering how they are doing, because I know that Jay means much to them. I’ve read their stories. After most of the dinner was gone, there were announcements. I stood in front of the crowd of strangers and friends. I explained the Jay Wake Book and expressed hope that everyone would send me something. (Please do. jaylakememory@gmail.com) I’m sure I didn’t say it right, that some other arrangement of words would have been better. Howard tells me that I said what was necessary, but I can’t even remember what words I used. This frustrates the part of my brain that would like to analyze and figure out what they ought to have been. I did not rehearse them ahead of time as is my usual habit. I wonder why I did not. I was distracted perhaps.

When my plea for submissions was finished, I presented the first iteration book to Jay. It is a proof of concept, incomplete and imperfect. Each submission is there in full, but I know which stories are waiting in email, and I have list of people who have told me they want to send something. I will do better on the final version, make sure that the cover is better placed and centered. Jay thanked me and I handed the microphone to the master of ceremonies. Howard waited for me and we sat together to listen to the next portion of the program. There were other gifts, many of them cause for laughter.

I understand how a good roast can be wonderful and cathartic. Laughter is healing. Yet they are uncomfortable for me. As the evening started switching gears into the roast of Jay, Howard and I quietly exited. We visited with some friends in the reception area to the occasional sound of uproarious laughter that came from behind the doors of the banquet hall. The speakers were doing their jobs well. I think Jay laughed loudest.

It was late when the doors opened and the crowds emerged. They all smiled, some looked a little teary. A part of me regrets that I did not stay to hear all the words, but I know my limits. This event was an emotional ride for everyone involved, probably most especially for Jay. In fact many of Jay’s nearest and dearest did not attend at all or left early. Grief is complicated and individualized. Two people may have the same cause for grief, but they travel very different paths through the landscape it creates. What heals and enlivens one person can be wounding knives to another. One of the wonderful things about Jay is that he understands this. Most of his close friends do too, because Jay draws amazing people to him. Or maybe he teaches it to them.

I wandered the banquet hall as groups of people paused in their departure. I perused the tables to see if anyone had filled out submission forms that I needed to pick up. A few had been delivered to me. Mostly they were pocketed and people would likely email me later. I hope. I want the Jay Wake Book to be quite thick. I collected the “Things I Learned from Jay” notes off of the wall and folded them to be put in the book later. There is much work for me to do in the weeks to come in order to follow through on that project. But for the evening my job was complete.

Howard and I wandered the reception area. Often at Howard and I circulate separately during public events, but we stayed together for this. It was not a part of a plan, just what happened, perhaps because Howard did not need additional space to wear his public event face. Or maybe we wanted to stay close. We were sitting together when Jay came to say goodnight. He thanked us for all we did for the event. Jay was not the first, nor the last, to thank us. These thanks felt strange, because Howard and I feel like we did not do that much, not compared to others. We just did a few things that obviously needed skills we have. We feel honored that we could be of use on this occasion.

We lingered as the crowds dispersed, the individual participants in this event scattered out into the night and Jay Wake was completed. Yet each person carried a piece of the event with them, so perhaps it has not ended, but rather become diffused and will spread like a meme. We went to bed tired both physically and emotionally.

We sat with Jay and Lisa as they ate breakfast the next morning. It was the first chance I’ve ever had to visit with Lisa. I am now quite certain that Jay’s heart and health are in excellent hands. Howard and I were glad to have that quiet hour to visit without interruption. We felt a little selfish in taking it, because there are many others who would like an hour with Jay. Yet the hour was there and we did not waste it. The conversation was likely the same sort of conversation that Jay has often, we talked much about the current state of Jay. I suspect these conversations can be wearying. Though I hope we traded some good company and laughter for the life review.

Then we collected our things, tucked our memories of Jay Wake into our hearts, and departed for the airport. This was a wonderful difficult trip and I’m so very glad we were able to go.

Doing the Job that Needs to be Done

By / June 15, 2013 / 2 Comments

When Brandon, Dan, Mary, and Howard first started talking about doing a Writing Excuses retreat, I loved the idea. I wanted to be an integral part of all the planning. I wanted to be useful and essential. But much of the retreat discussion took place during recording sessions when I was not there. Task after task was handled and there was little for me to do other than to listen to the plans and make suggestions about implementation. I was of great help during the crazy days of registration and customer support. I’m good at answering emails and helping people. So I did that.

Then I figured that I would be most useful during the actual week of the retreat. I would arrive early and help with the hundred preparatory tasks both expected and not expected. I would stay late and help evaluate how everything went. Everyone thought this was a fantastic plan. But then responsible parenting required me to choose. It was no longer a matter of just finding someone to care for the kids in my absence, that someone would have to coordinate sending a girl off to camp and then dealing with her coming home. I checked and all the people in my life who I felt would handle that without being too stressed were unavailable. So the plan changed. I would come late to the retreat and I would leave early. This made me sad, because I’d wanted to be useful and essential. Instead they would arrange it without me and I would be a visitor at the retreat instead of integral.

I expected to arrive and be at loose ends. I expected to fill the odd task. Instead I got there and all the staff breathed relief. I spent most of my days working, helping, arranging, facilitating. It was obvious that I was needed. There were a hundred invisible jobs, the kind of thing that I do at home without thinking, but which enable all the other things. I did far more dish washing than writing and I’m okay with that because I was helping create something larger. I was doing the jobs that needed to be done so that the retreat could exist. Thins like retreats are always a group creation and my role was quiet but critical. Then, before I was done, my time was up. My early departure arrived.

I wanted to stay, so very much. There were needs at home and needs at the retreat. I pondered changing my ticket and figuring out child care via long distance. I weighed my choices. And I didn’t know the right answer. Perhaps there was no right answer, nor wrong one. I conferred with Howard and with the kids at home. Brandon, Dan, and Mary all understood and supported whatever choice I made. I left. I am sad that I had to choose between these things, that there was not some way to rearrange and allow me to be the professional, reliable, helper that I wanted to be. I’m even sadder because it seems like I always have to choose because things land on top of each other. It feels arbitrary and unfair, because everything would fit just fine if only they would land in different weeks.

So my role this past week both was and was not what I had hoped for. The retreat was excellent and exhausting. I was just beginning to feel part of it when I had to leave. Most of it can be summed up by me doing the job that was in front of me because it was the job that needed doing, even if there was a different job I would have preferred.

I’ll be home soon doing more of the same, only different.