The Scuba Diva

Just to please my wonderful husband of 37 years, I looked for three hours to find my scuba diving card (the tiny thing was in the attic buried in a huge Rubbermaid of papers and things) and then, filled with reckless overconfidence, took off to accompany him on a little scuba diving outing he's been wanting to go on for ages.

We drove about an hour to Midway, Utah, to the lovely Homestead Resort which sports The Crater, a natural hot springs underground pool inside a mass of hollowed-out limestone rock which is all set up for this activity. After signing a lot of papers promising we wouldn't sue anybody if we drowned or had a heart attack or burst our blood vessels and died, we donned our swim suits, fins, and masks.

I could see right away it was going to be bad. Yes, I had certified (lots of lessons, a written test, and some dives) and once swam 60 feet down with 8-foot Caribbean reef sharks, but that was Then. We hadn't been scuba diving in over 10 years and I forgot how insanely complicated and unwieldy and heavy the equipment is, and how insanely crazy the whole idea of humans going dozens of feet under water while breathing is.

The guy there was nice and infinitely patient and gave us a refresher course. But he made us do everything, including checking and finagling with our own personal equipment. Ha-ha, I thought, good joke. For one thing I didn't have my glasses on. What was supposed to be scuba stuff looked vaguely like a dangerous cold metal octopus (what natives call a devil fish) with all kinds of unrecognizable nobs and eyes and suctions and screws and long wiggly arm things hanging off of it in wild abandon.

This refresher course also included the dreaded mask-clear wherein you purposely fill your mask up with water and then position it a certain way while blowing out with your nose which is supposed to make all the water go back out, and the sharing-of-secondary-regulators drill, all of which happens while you are underwater. It also went without saying that we remember and participate in underwater sign language because when you are scuba diving you are underwater where people can't understand anything you may attempt to say and anyway you can't mouth a single word because your lips are grotesquely distorted, plugged up with the end of the hose that is your only hope of receiving essential life-giving oxygen. (Tip: thumbs up does NOT mean I'm okay, you're okay.) This sort of thing is not so difficult one foot under in the little baby pool--I did okay there--but the idea of repeating these drills and skills 20 feet down can begin to freak a rusty diver out. With these dark doubts secretly forming inside my wet head, it was without further ado that we started our descent into the serious depths.

Well, sometimes I forgot that when you are scuba diving you have to remember to purposely BREATHE through your regulator which requires some effort and is really noisy and bubbly, but our instructor reminded me. Also, there was the ear thing. If you breathe underwater, rather than the usual holding your breath, the pressure from the water starts pushing on your eardrums. A few feet down I found that my ears were hurting more than I remembered they were supposed to. Still, down I went, fist over fist, hanging onto the rope, into the murk and gloom. (Besides my eyesight being a bit blurry from not wearing my glasses, it was nighttime and even with the lights the water is a bit murky.) The thing I suddenly recalled was that you have to keep pinching your nose and popping your ears to equalize this pressure, all the while remaining very calm and remembering to breathe both in and out along with signing that you are okay to the instructor. It seemed like I was stopping and doing this every inch, and there was Steve below me waiting, kneeling placidly on the platform as if he scuba dove every day of his life. Although I maintained a calm demeanor, I seemed to be getting more and more stressed out the closer I got to my lowly destination. This was perhaps because I was more afraid than I realized about all those drills regarding my essential airways I was going to have to repeat as soon as I got there. My mouth and throat went as dry as if I were not sinking underwater but crawling across a desert.

And then there's the buoyancy compensator, or BC. This is the vest you wear attached to your humongous, heavy, and unwieldy oxygen tank. It is controlled by a funny-looking inflater you hold in your left hand that has two button-things. One blows air in your vest and the other lets air out. If you can get the air in your BC balanced just exactly right, you won't float up or sink down but remain stationary. In this weightless sort of heaven you can effortlessly swim horizontally along at your chosen underwater latitude which is probably the neatest thing about scuba diving and the closest I have ever come to flying.

The problem was, when I finally got to the platform and let go of the rope I immediately began to sink off the edge and into the abyss. I couldn't seem to get my BC inflated with just the right amount of air. This takes a bit of finesse and, to be honest, I was getting the buttons mixed up. Inflate? Deflate? Whoops, too little! Now too much! I felt like I was jump-roping in a crator of transparent pudding. Our instructor saved me by reaching out, grabbing my arm, and plopping (if you can plop anyone 20 feet underwater) me on the platform. No one seemed surprised that directly after this incident I made the sign that says hey man, enough of this, I'm going up. (Tip: this is thumbs up.)

As anxious as you may be. To get to the surface. And back to your natural habitat. You have to do this slowly. With pauses. Up the rope. Fist over fist. So as not to get bubbles. Of nitrogen in your bloodstream. Which causes painful cramps. And could burst your blood vessels. Which you can die from. Unless you get yourself into a hyperbaric chamber like they showed the guy writhing and screaming in on the old TV show with Lloyd Bridges called Sea Hunt. Needless to say, I accounted for all of this and was prepared to move up oh-so-slowly despite my nervousness.

Of course the others had to come up too and we all breathed a room-air sigh of relief. After we did some debriefing our guy said in a very charitable way that maybe we should just swim around a few feet down from the surface this time out. Steve was a good sport about it and we stayed in the oversized bathwater-warm rock tub another hour floating and twirling and somersaulting like a couple of happy but very complicatedly-outfitted otters.

Relaxing as it may sound, I was totally exhausted afterward. I changed, downed two whole bottles of water, and zonked out.

Happy anniversary, honey!

The Magic E

I was a visitor at Emily and Elise's book group the other night. Since I hadn't read the book I kept quiet during the discussion. But when the person who was deciding on the next book to read asked for suggestions, I piped up. They had been on a streak of serious, disaster-type novels and wanted something uplifting, especially at Christmastime. I couldn't help suggesting the magical world of E. Nesbit I've been snuggled up in. None of them had ever heard of her.

When I was ten or so I loved perusing the tall shelves of my elementary school library (maybe they didn't realize kids needed shorter shelves back then). There was also the Oakland library and a little house in nearby Montclaire that was charmingly converted into a library (which did have short shelves). My mom made sure we visited these regularly. I learned to look for books by my favorite authors. My teachers who read aloud had a lot to do with my reading tastes. The funny thing was, I noticed that there was usually a capital E in several of these authors' names, such as Elizabeth Enright (I blogged about her recently), Eleanor Estes, Edward Eager, E. B. White, Madeleine L'Engle, E. Nesbit.

I have just been rereading E. Nesbit's books, now over a hundred years old, and having a delightful, chuckling-out-loud experience. I think I love them even more now than I did as a child. Then, it was her magical books I liked best. The most well-known is Five Children and It. Now I find each one absolutely charming.

Nesbit was greatly admired by her contemporaries such as H. G. Wells and Rudyard Kipling, and is said to have been an innovator in children's novels. Hers were different than Lewis Carrol's and Kenneth Grahame's because they were about children having to deal with real life in the midst of all their misadventures, magical or otherwise. She had a great influence on many of those who followed, especially Edward Eager, and including C. S. Lewis I imagine ( I hear her influence in his Chronicles of Narnia or maybe it's just the English way), and even J. K. Rowling. Her books are about ordinary, imperfect, but very imaginative and mischievous children, having extraordinary adventures. Some of the books are about the real world and some include the best magical adventures ever thought up.

The funny thing about Edith Nesbit is that she was a known socialist activist, but her children's books in no way reflect that way of thinking. They reflect some of her own life as a child and as a mother (her life was not an easy one), very traditional, family-oriented, full of delightful insights into childhood and human nature, and very very English. I think her first love was being a mother and the reason she wrote was her love of children, as shown in her dedication of Five Children and It to her little son John.

My Lamb, you are so very small,
You have not learned to read at all,
Yet never a printed book withstands
The urgence of your dimpled hands.

So, though this book is for yourself,
Let mother keep it on the shelf
Till you can read. O days that pass,
That day will come too soon, alas!

Some of the words and dialogue may be a bit too English or archaic for the modern American reader but are still easy to understand in context. I've found that some of the books are not easy to find except online. They are in the public domain and easy to download, including the original illustrations.

I am trying to read the most famous of them (she wrote or contributed to around 60 books) sort of in the order they were written from 1899-1906. She uses different families of children so I like to read those together if possible. Here's a short list:

The Story of the Treasure Seekers (real life adventures of the Bastables: Dora, Oswald, Dicky, twins Alice and Noel, and H.O.)
The Book of Dragons (fantasy stories)
The Wouldbegoods (the Bastables again with two new friends)
Five Children and It (magical adventures of Robert, Anthea, Cyril, Jane, and baby brother they call the Lamb)
The New Treasure Seekers (more of the Bastables)
Oswald Bastable and Others (short stories)
The Phoenix and the Carpet (sequel to Five Children)
The Story of the Amulet (another sequel to Five)
The Railway Children (real life adventures of Roberta,Peter, and Phyllis)
The Enchanted Castle (magical adventures of Jerry, Jimmy, and Cathy)


I've read four so far of the above. All jolly good! Ican't stop!

Where Game Shows Have Gone

The only TV game shows I grew up with were quiz shows. They were based on trivia questions, word puzzles, word clues, making guesses, matching answers. The people who lucked out or knew the answers won the game. It was all in good fun. People were good-natured, funny, and honest. There was no cheating allowed. Players treated their opponents with the utmost respect. The games were simple and straightforward. Prizes were not life-changing, maybe a few thousand dollars, a trip, or a car.

Over some decades, this gradually changed. First some innuendo and lewdness crept in. Now, in the new millennium, we have what are called reality TV game shows such as Survivor. I don't know what is more "real" about them than the games I've just described except the set-ups, the rules, the prizes, and the conduct of the players. Human nature is still the same as ever. People are just as free to be nice or mean, civil or uncivil, decent or indecent, gracious or greedy. And it's looking very bad. The shows have ramped up the stakes and the rules and the drama and the production and the playing time to encourage people to sink to their lowest and do their worst toward their fellow man. Instead of wearing suits and ties the players are wearing their underwear. Instead of being decent and honest, the players are often crude and underhanded.

Fans of these shows like to rationalize them by insisting "it's just a game." So, in games we are allowed to sink to our basest, most selfish, most deceitful, most uncivil, most greedy? Try that with your family at the dining table playing any game and all will end very badly indeed. It is in every kind of human interaction, perhaps especially dramatically in the part of living we call playing games, that we must be on our best behavior: good manners, good sportsmanship, rooting for each other, enjoying the game itself rather than the winning or losing, sharpening our wits, and if we win we have won not by cheating or stepping on others but by doing our best. These values are not a part of some shows today. In fact, they are often seen as weak and a sure way to lose. What some of us are caring about now is winning above all else.

The new game shows, played over weeks and months, actually become these people's real life, rather than what can be defined as any kind of game. These players are not actors. They are real people thinking and choosing, game or no game. And we are treated to seeing that they care more about winning money and fame than about being good or kind or unselfish or honest. These societal developments should make us take a long hard look at ourselves and our world.

Entertaining as these new game shows may be, the reasons they are really awful is that they are played for huge stakes, they take the place of the these people's normal lives and become their new reality, the players become famous stars, they are based on greed and avarice, and the players are encouraged to use any means by which to win. Deep, long-term deception, carried on day after day, is praised as a virtue. What we think of as a game turns into real life, a nightmarish life. I can't even imagine interacting with other people day after day in these selfish, deceptive ways. We seem to have forgotten that games are for fun and should show us at our best, not our worst. It's like we're back in Roman times enjoying watching people hurt each other for entertainment.

I just read The Hunger Games, which, aside from some criticisms I have of the writing, I thought was a great commentary on where our society has taken this perverse form of entertainment. It's the national taste and our new reality.

Mating and Marriage

I don't usually post about controversial issues on this blog. I save that stuff for my blog at standardof liberty.org. But twice now, some person has complained about me expressing my opinions, and the blog has been locked down. Censored! A civil, decent, intelligent blog censored from the internet which allows all manner of vulgarity and obscenity! Funny, I don't complain about anyone else's blog no matter how stridently I stand against what it says. Funny, how free speech is only allowed to some people nowadays. Funny, how people can be so intolerant of a view different from theirs in our supposedly diverse, enlightened, tolerant society. Actually, it isn't funny, it's scary.

Anyway, I am tired of waiting to be able to speak freely again, so I am posting this article on my personal blog.

Mating and Marriage

I just read a great article from The National Review called “The Case for Marriage” (you can link on this from standardofliberty.org). Of course! Government has historically taken an interest in the institution of marriage because of children; it's about what to do with the children that regularly come from mating. Traditional marriage with its natural gender roles is never perfect (because human beings are never perfect) but it is in the best interests of children. Our government and legal system must continue to take an interest in marriage with its traditional definition—as importantly linked to procreation— or we’ll find ourselves on the road to the government taking upon itself the role of parent, with dangerous and disastrous consequences. (I say again, everybody needs to read Wild Swans by Jung Chang which shows what happens to people when government gets out of hand.)

As for so-called gay marriage, try as they might, men cannot mate with other men and women cannot mate with other women. So why should government take any interest in their relationship? Of itself it doesn’t produce anything. As for the argument that government should support gay marriage because it is an adult emotional relationship, government has never gotten involved in people's emotional unions. Can you imagine the colossal intrusion and power that would lead to? Government could dictate what should happen in every human relationship imaginable! That’s why government should only have something to say about the one union that regularly creates children, that is, marriage as it has always been defined.

As for another argument about how many heterosexual couples do not procreate for various reasons (infertility, choice, age), like it or not, the principle still stands. Childless couples still mate, that is, they do the very thing people do that makes babies. Gay couples do not mate, that is, they do not do the very thing that makes babies. Whatever else people acting homosexually do, they can’t mate and never do. Therefore, they can never be married as the word marriage is defined. If we decide to call what they do marriage, we will have ruined the word as it has always stood with its foundational purpose and definition: Marriage exists and is encouraged in the hope that every child may be born into the most stable environment possible, to the basic family unit consisting of a legally united and recognized opposite-sex couple, his own biological mother and father from whom much is expected by society for the sake of its own survival and well-being.

Purposely destroying language to further a malevolent agenda is a cowardly and tyrannical thing to do. As is engraved in stone on the beautiful Jefferson Memorial we visited recently, “I have sworn on the altar of God eternal hostility against every form of tyranny over the mind of man.”

You Know, For Kids!

So I read my grandsons Jeffy and Ethan a book aloud this summer, Dear Mr. Henshaw by Beverly Cleary. Oh, Beverly, what were you thinking? It starts out so cute and funny and totally kid-appropriate. The class is reading a book about dogs and the boy writes, "We licked it." Ha-ha-ha, laughed Jeffy and Ethan. The boy reads the same book, Ways to Amuse a Dog, over and over, and every year he writes a book report on it. Jeffy laughs. Then the boy's favorite author writes a new book, Moose on Toast that Ethan practically rolls on the floor about.The biggest problems are how the family has moved and now somebody keeps stealing the yummy stuff out of the boy's lunch. Then about 1/3 of the way through the book, the thing turns dark and heavy. The boys sees that his parents don't love each other anymore, the dad is never there, they are getting a divorce, the dad never calls or writes to his son. We're sitting there reading and I feel Jeffy (age 8) start inching away. "What's the matter, Jeffy? Is it too sad?" "Yeah," says Jeffy. "I don't like when daddies are like that." After some weeks leaving the book alone we decided to finish it to see if it ended happy but it didn't, just a little up in the air. So much for funny. Thanks a lot, Ms. Cleary, Ramona got to have a childhood, why not Leigh Botts?

I guess moderny children's authors think they have to reflect the world as it is, not as it should be. Wouldn't want anybody to feel left out, right? Wrong. I say again: Literature that merely reflects life is no fit guide for it, so says Flannery O'Connor.

This summer I have been reading some books I loved as a child by Elizabeth Enright. I wondered if I would still love them. And I did. It has been a wonderful experience. Yes, in the Melendy family series the children have lost their mother (before the story begins) and World War II is going on, and in one book they meet a boy who is being raised by his mean adult cousin who dies in a fire, but these are not the things the children worry about except in child ways, such as they love their nanny/housekeeper lady as much as a grandma and their dad is gone a lot helping with the war and is their hero, and the family ends up adopting the orphan boy. They keep themselves busy and creative, as in putting on plays and collecting junk to help the war effort. And oh, the adventures they have, mostly outdoors. In other words, despite life as it is they get to be normal children. They aren't weighed down with adult problems. The books are absolutely beautifully written and the content age-appropriate. There are lots of references to classic literature and music and nature and traditional values. (Some details are dated but still work in context.) I don't think anybody is reading these books anymore.
The Melendy family series consists of: The Saturdays, The Four-Story Mistake, Then There Were Five, and A Spiderweb for Two. Enright won the Newbery for Thimble Summer. My fifth grade teacher read Gone-Away Lake to us. And then there's Return to Gone-Away. My favorites are Spiderweb and Gone-Away Lake. It has been a refreshing treat to reread these lovely books. (The above charming art is is also by E.E. from Then There Were Five. She was also an artist.)

Triplets, Twins

Needles
Pins
Triplets
Twins
What goes up the chimney?
Smoke
Now our wish will never be broke.

This is a little verse my mother used to say if, when walking along side by side with a friend, they got temporarily separated by a pole or person or something. And so I have raised my kids saying it, too, and making wishes. Funny that Emily now actually has triplets, and twins (her boys are identical twins, too). Not to mention, she is a twin, also.I am having a great time reading the hilarious A Series of Unfortunate Events (that didn't sound right) which contains some triplets. These two children, who are triplets but whose one triplet sibling is not with them, get sad and frustrated when anyone calls them twins. Of course they are not twins but triplets, even though there are only two of them that you can see. So the author is always referring to the Quagmire siblings as "the two triplets" or "both of the triplets" which sounds so funny but is true.

I find myself sometimes referring to Alex and Bennett as the twins, and I see that this is unacceptable. They are triplets as much or more so than they are twins. They are triplet twins, or twin triplets, or triplets who are also identical twins. Ruby is forever their triplet and they are forever hers. The boys are even triplets to each other. This relationship can never be broke(n). So I will never call them just twins ever again.

Speaking of twins, here are some rare-ish photos (from Matt -- are these from videos?) of my twins as babies, maybe 5 or so months old. I didn't have my own camera until they were about 3 so there aren't hardly any casual pictures like this of any of my kids except Lili as babies; we have to watch the videos. (Thanks to Matt and Cortnie who put them all on DVDs!) What were we thinking???
Every day I'm so grateful Emily and KC's fondest wish came true. They got a baby at last, well, actually three. Having multiples is a lot of extra extra work, but I know they feel wonderfully blessed and thankful most of the time for each dear one. I did too.

The Clean Sea Breeze of the Centuries

I am frequently asked to recommend books. It's interesting that I seldom recommend a new book. My thoughts go directly to the best old ones. C. S. Lewis said it well in his essay "On the Reading of Old Books." (I think he may have been referring to books on Christianity, but his words apply to all books, if we call ourselves Christians.) Here are some excerpts:

Naturally, since I myself am a writer, I do not wish the ordinary reader to read no modern books. But if he must read only the new or only the old, I would advise him to read the old. . . . A new book is still on its trial and the amateur is not in a position to judge it. . . . The only safety is to have a standard of plain, central Christianity which puts the controversies of the moment in their proper perspective. Such a standard can be acquired only from the old books.

It is a good rule, after reading a new book, never to allow yourself another new one till you have read an old one in between. . ..

Every age has its own outlook. It is specially good at seeing certain truths and specially liable to make certain mistakes. We all, therefore, need the books that will correct the characteristic mistakes of our own period. . . . The only palliative is to keep the clean sea breeze of the centuries blowing through our minds, and this can be done only by reading old books.

Of course the best thing to do would be to start at the beginning, which we are attempting to do in our Classics Club. But short of reading Homer to Euripides to Plato to Dante to Chaucer to Shakespeare, may I suggest at least going back a century or three to a handful of books that have earned the name of classic? Here are some relatively oldies but goodies I think every good book group today should have under its belt. (And bear in mind that Lewis says you haven't read a good book if you've read it only once! That should keep us all busy. I also think we see more in a great book the older we get.)

Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe, 1719 (the first novel in the English language)
Gulliver's Travels by Jonathan Swift, 1726 (which he wrote"to mend the world," referenced even today)
Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, 1813 (Lewis said Austen was just right for convalescing)
Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, 1818 (oh, the humanity!)
Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte, 1847 (the quintessential heroine)
Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackery, 1848 (highly entertaining study of human nature)
David Copperfield by Charles Dickens, 1850 (it's got everything)
Silas Marner by George Elliot, 1861 (perfection)
Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain, 1885 (a masterpiece on many levels)
Tess of the D'Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy, 1891 (writing to measure all other novels by)
Dracula by Bram Stoker, 1897 (be sure to read this only in light of day)
And so many more! (I'm thinking Nathaniel Hawthorne, Oscar Wilde, Joseph Conrad, Henry James . . . )

A wonderful guide for reading the best books in the English language is The Politically Incorrect Guide to English and American Literature by Elizabeth Kantor which contains short lists of novels, stories, and poetry you must not miss beginning with Old English through Flannery O'Connor (my favorite).

So many books, so little time. I find it tragic that people are spending their time reading the worthless and even harmful new and neglecting the priceless and ennobling old. Kantor says, "Great works of literary art teach us to love what's noble and spurn what's base; they civilize us." From the work of great authors we learn to recognize and love truth. Then, when we come upon a bad new book, we'll instantly recognize it for what it is, too.

Short Stories! Where Have You Been All My LIfe?

I am keeping up with my goal to read a book a week this year. One thing I am really enjoying is short story collections. I first fell in love with these when I first read Flannery O'Connor a few years ago. Her stories are incredibly unique and I love what she was about and I love her stories.I read them repeatedly. I have just finished The Distracted Preacher and Other Tales by Thomas Hardy and Edith Wharton's Roman Fever and Other Stories. Wow! These stories are great, too. I found the Hardy stories a little tongue-in-cheek and some even funny (not all dark and sad like his novels which are great) and the Wharton stories satirical and clever. All with twists and surprises. Beautifully written. Can read each story one or two sittings. Evidence of great minds.

I am inspired to work on my own little collection of stories that have been sitting around. As Annie Dillard said, "When I see the Rembrandts I want to paint."

Laws for a Mother-in-Law

Mother-in-law. It can be a difficult role to play. Think of all the mean jokes; they exist because there is some truth to them. Being a happy mother-in-law with happy children-in-law usually requires some finesse. I have been a mother-in-law for 15 years and have 7 in-law children and 15 grandchildren. I think the most delicate relationships can be between mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law. This is because the young woman is setting out to be a wife and mother establishing her home and is eager to develop a style all her own. The mother-in-law has been there, done that, and probably learned a lot. She may not want to give up her position as the center of the family or trust her son's welfare to this young woman's inexperience. As such, she may be tempted to push her presence, energy, ideas, talents, resources, advice, and expertise onto the resisting daughter-in-law. Big mistake! The following may be some of the reasons I seem to get along well with my married children, especially my daughters-in-law, so far:

1. I keep my life packed with my marriage, and my own projects, interests, and goals, so I do not need to be involved in the activities of my grown children or my grandchildren to feel needed, busy, important, or fulfilled.

2. My kids know they are welcome to visit us anytime. We love when they come over. If they do not call or come to visit for a while and I miss them, I give them a love call, invite them over or out somewhere, or let them know I’d like to pay them a visit or do something together when it’s convenient.

3. I let the kids do most of the planning if they want to get together as an extended family. They usually decide where they want to meet. I am happy to have them here at home, be the hostess, and do some cooking if that’s what’s convenient. This happens pretty regularly at various homes and is a lot of fun. I don’t make any judgments about who comes and who doesn’t or how short or long anyone stays.

4. I do not require their presence on any occasion, and they know it. If they turn down an invitation or don’t show up for something, I miss them but do not make any judgments or comments. I realize there are unique dynamics in every marriage and family which are none of my business.

5. I do not intrude myself on their family’s birthdays, family home evenings, Sundays, vacations, special occasions, or holidays. (I had my chance to teach lessons, make childhood memories, frost birthday cakes, and plan vacations.)

6. I try to make it to anything they ask me to come to. This is always a pleasure.

7. I do not pop in on them unawares or invite myself to stay at their home.

8. I may offer my services, but I do not do or arrange anything for them unless they ask me to (which is pretty rare). This includes anything to do with their child-rearing, their occupations, their decorating, their laundry, their housework, their phone calls or appointments, their purchases, their finances, their travels, their vacations, their relationships, etc.

9. I try very hard not to meddle with the domestic affairs and maternal authority of my daughters and daughters-in-law. They are all very responsible and unique. I try not to offer uninvited advice on anything, from organizing a drawer, to feeding a baby, to buying a car, to marriage. I make it a habit to respect their wishes down to the smallest detail. (Sometimes I slip up, but I do bite my tongue. It has gotten a lot easier.)

10. I try to be complimentary and encouraging. I do not flatter or effuse (which can come across as insincere, judgmental, or condescending). Neither do I criticize their appearance, clothes, taste in decor, furniture, or any other belongings.

11. I do not pick out or buy any of my grown children or grandchildren anything of any consequence, including major articles of clothing or furniture, unless it’s something like an agreed-upon special occasion gift. I do this because I know big unwanted stuff is a burden to them.

I think perhaps we middle-aged Mormon mothers (and some fathers, too) take the families are forever thing too far. After all, even in the celestial kingdom we will be individuals who are equally grown up. We won’t be in charge of each other or lord it over each other. In this life, our children must be launched into the world and must learn to run the details of their own lives. When it’s time for them to be wives and husbands, mothers and fathers, to experience their own successes and failures, to learn and to grow, we have to take a big step back as parents. We are no longer the center of their lives; we are merely resources. Unwanted or unneeded intrusion into grown children’s lives interferes with their progress and steals life experiences from them. This is not fair or right and causes a lot of stress, resentment, and difficulty in extended families, even in the grown children’s marriages. We older folks have to be very careful not to cross lines. It doesn't take much to cause big problems. I wonder if parents, however well-meaning, who cause problems in their married children’s lives, know that dealing with interfering in-laws is one of the three main reasons for marital discord. What a burden to place on young people trying to raise their families! Personally, I hope I’ve learned from my mistakes.

It may be disconcerting at times to see our responsible grown children do things differently than we would, but that’s the way things are. I’m grateful I’ve learned to enjoy it.

P.S. This post is dedicated to my sweet smart mother whom my husband loves dearly.

The Truth about Harriet

I read the new book Harriet the Spy by Louise Fitzhugh, published in 1964, when I was about 11 years old. I remembered it being a bit quirky, very different from my favorite books by Edward Eager and E. Nesbit, and never read the sequel. But the book had a big influence on me. I immediately started keeping what I called my "secret books." Now, forty-something years later I read it again. It's good writing, it's definitely quirky, but I hope a desire to let out my stormy adolescent feelings in journals is all I got from it.

Harriet is not the girl I took with me in memory. Overall, I'd say Harriet M. Welsch is a selfish, indulged, naughty, bored, rude, insecure girl who lives in Manhattan. She might have OCD because she eats the same exact lunch and snack everyday and imposes on herself an inflexible personal routine of sameness. She also trespasses into people's private property, such as spying from a dumbwaiter into a strange lady's bedroom. She has no empathy to speak of. She pronounces harsh judgments on everyone, including strangers, based on their appearance or the keyhole impression she has of them. Harriet is really mean to people in writing. ("Pinky Whitehead is the most disgusting thing I ever saw," she writes.) One day her classmates and best friends get a hold of her notebook and read all the mean things she has written about them. Understandably, they ostracize her and seek revenge. You'd think Harriet might learn something, but no. After she gets caught she is even mean in person. No one teaches her how to be a better person. All the adults in the book, save her Mary Poppins-type nanny, Ole Golly, are portrayed as distracted and self-absorbed. Even the psychiatrist (!) she gets taken to by her parents is shown as nuts. And Ole Golly, who is supposedly wise because she quotes misguided humanist writers and poets off the top of her head, teaches Harriet (age 11) that anything she perceives as truth is truth, and that she should pretend to apologize to people/lie to keep the peace. In the end Harriet offhandedly and impersonally apologizes for her notebook and gets her friends back. Nothing changes. There is no character development (not like in Mary Poppins where the father finally pays some attention to his kids -- flying the kite.) I suppose the message for little kids is one of radical individualism/moral relativism, as in, follow your dream whatever it takes; truth comes from inside you. Ugh! As if kids know everything.

I don't know why people write and publish such dark, perverse books for children. It makes you wonder about the author and if she ever grew up.

I'm so disappointed.

Number 15

Penelope Louise Ribeira..................................March 3, 2010

So pretty, and hair!

Baby Boom

We are eagerly awaiting the birth of our 15th grandchild, due anytime. When this baby is born, our five daughters will all have had new babies within the last two years. The last six babies will have been born within one year.

It is time to make a list of our grandkids! How grateful we are for each and every one.

Jordan............................................... Dec. 7, 1994
Kathryn............................................. Nov. 24, 1997
Jackson............................................. Sept. 26, 2000
Jillian................................................ Dec. 8, 2000
Jefferson........................................... Sept. 25, 2001
Ethan................................................ May 2, 2003
Allyson............................................. Feb. 16, 2004
Julia.................................................. June 1, 2007
Jane.................................................. May 6, 2008
Gabriel.............................................. May 15, 2009
Alex.................................................. Sept. 12, 2009
Bennett............................................. Sept. 12, 2009
Ruby................................................. Sept. 12, 2009
Brady................................................ Jan. 4, 2010
Penelope........................................... ???

Photo by Matt taken at Christmastime before Brady was born:

A Book a Week

I made a new year's resolution to read a book a week. Yike! That's a lot for me. But I have so many books I want to read (and reread), stacks of them are falling over beside my bed. I am doing pretty well so far. If I read thick or heavy one, I try to read a thin or lighter one next and vice versa. I'm also finishing up some I had started. Here's my 10 conquests so far with 1-3 word comments:

Absolute Surrender by Andrew Murray (perfect truth)
A Collection of Essays by George Orwell (excellent and quotable)
Wild Swans by Jung Chang (Communism is insane)
Lord Jim by Joseph Conrad (a glorious masterpiece)
The Lovely Bones by Anne Seibold (a waste of time)
Selected Poems by Emily Dickinson (part brilliant)
Narrative on the Life of Frederick Douglass (free at last)
A Lantern in Her Hand by Bess Streeter Aldrich (8th grade fave)
Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neal Hurston (I'm awed/speechless)
God and the American Writer by Alfred Kazin (learned about authors)

Onward!