There’s some old wisdom that says you first need to learn the rules, then you know which ones you can break.
I wrote a few weeks ago about talking a Navajo weaving class from Laura Berlage at Pine Needles Yarn Shop in Cable. I wrote about the story of spider woman that teaches us not to be perfectionists. I finished my weaving sampler pattern, and it has plenty of mistakes.
That’s the beauty of a ‘sampler.’ It is a sample of many different techniques, so the weaver can learn the rules. I once knit a sampler afghan where each square was by a different designer. I learned a lot of stitches and techniques. Many of them I haven’t used since, but the experience gave me confidence that I could knit from any pattern.
The weaving sampler is a mirror image, meaning the second half is a repeat of the first half. I was working the second half this week and began to break the rules. Instead of doing one row at a time, I was doing one color at a time, then filling in with the next color. It was going along great until I realized I had also changed how I interwove the colors. In fact, I hadn’t interwoven them at all. It wasn’t that I had done something wrong. I merely used a different technique and got a different result.
Here’s where the rules come in. When is it OK to break the rules? My sample is obviously no longer a pure Navajo technique. If it were found in an archeological dig 100 years from now, those in the know would not mistake it for an authentic Navajo weaving. So, did I unweave that section and start over? No.
My theory is, when we know the rules then choose which ones to break, whether it is by accident, as in this case, or deliberately, we are delving into the world of creativity. Art is creativity.
In the words of Ben Thwaits, a teacher with Northwest Passage who was referring to photographs taken by his students in the ‘In a New Light’ exhibit at the Cable Natural History Museum, “Art is something that communicates something emotionally that can’t be communicated in any other way.”
For as long as humans have been creating art, there have been those who were content to mimic artists they admired, and those who took the lessons of the masters and broke the rules to create something individual that expressed their own unique sense of the subject. Were it not for those individuals who stepped across the lines, art would not have evolved into what it is. Art is a creative force. Through their individuality, artists express their world, explore their demons, and sometimes succeed in communicating that world through their art.
We don’t have to go to the big city to see art of incredible talent, art that ‘hits’ us. I am constantly awed by the local exhibits such as the photography in Cable and the current CBAC show in Washburn. Seeing the work of good local artists inspires me to create, to explore, and to break the rules.
My sampler is now done. I have learned the rules, and broke some of them. And the result is a beautiful creation that is unique to me.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Wisconsin is party central
As grandma, I spent a weekend partying like a princess.
It was my granddaughter Wren’s fourth birthday. Each of us only turns four once, and when your birthday is in January, it’s a good enough reason to celebrate with a poolside princess birthday party.
The party was held at the Plaza Hotel in Winona, Minn. The hotel has a spacious pool area which features a large children’s pool complete with alligator and whale water slides. There is a separate adult pool and a large hot tub. The walls of the pool room are painted with a jungle theme mural.
I asked Sarah why they chose this particular hotel and she said, “Because it was the only one that would allow a children’s party.”
Hmm.
Wren’s party was attended by 15 friends and family, young and old. We discovered we were one of three children’s pool parties that day. Though the adults worried it would be crowded, the children followed the adage of “the more the merrier.”
Children splashed in the water, slid down the mouth of the alligator and the back side of the whale. A one-year-old party-goer was fascinated with the shooting spouts of water from the floor of the children’s pool. Brave parents donned swimsuits and ventured into the big pool with their children. Most of the adults ended up in the hot tub afterward.
A giant green dragon, with purple scales along its back, sat on the floor, silently watching as children climbed and sat on his colorful form. A sign taped to the dragon’s neck read, “Do Not Put This Dragon in the Pool! It is unsafe to put this dragon in the swimming pool. This area is monitored 24 hours a day. Do Not Put the Dragon in the Pool.”
Hmm.
Luckily, the dragon was so large and heavy, not even two adults could push it across the floor. It was safe for the afternoon.
We left the pool area when it was time to open presents and eat pizza and birthday cake. Wren’s other grandma, my sister Linda, used to be a professional cake decorator. Wren’s cake was a wonderland mermaid princess theme, complete with four mermaids, fish, sea urchins, dolphins, and a coral reef that must have taken weeks of careful artistic effort. I think there was cake underneath the frosting somewhere.
Children full of pizza and cake chased each other around the hotel lobby playing hide and seek, squabbled over various party favors and hid under tables.
Toward the end of the afternoon, when the children were corraled and taken home, Sarah and I were cleaning up and putting away when I saw four teen-age boys, probably part of a traveling sports team, walk innocently out of the pool area in swim trunks with towels hanging from their necks. The boys headed into the elevators and all was quiet in the pool area.
I wandered into the pool room to see if anything had been left behind and there was the dragon, quietly floating in the adult pool.
“Do Not Put This Dragon in the Pool,” in capital letters, was too much for a group of teenage boys to ignore. I know the only ones in that area who were strong enough to manhandle that giant dragon were those boys.
The dragon didn’t seem to mind. I think he liked floating in the quiet pool after an afternoon of entertaining small children on his back.
Since Sarah, Wren and I were staying at the hotel for the night, I wandered down to the pool later for a warm soak in the hot tub. Three other adults were there, one swimming in the pool with the dragon. An hotel employee came through collecting towels and one woman volunteered to help get the dragon out of the pool.
“It’s too heavy. Don’t worry about it,” said the employee. “It happens all the time. I’ll have the maintenance guys take it out in the morning.”
Hmm.
It happens all the time. Obviously the sign was more of a command than a deterent.
The next morning, Wren was back in the pool and the dragon was back out on the sidelines, the perfect adornment for a poolside princess birthday party.
• • •
Speaking of parties, a dragon in a swimming pool is probably mild compared to the partying which followed the Green Bay Packers winning the Super Bowl. I would like to let everyone know that the Packer’s win can be attributed to me.
It is another story of football superstition run amuck. It seems that every time I watch the Packers play, they lose. When the Packers began to lose mid-season, I stopped watching. Obviously, it worked, because they began to win again and ended up in the playoffs. I still didn’t watch. When the NFC championship game began, I stayed away for the first half. Checking in with my husband at half time, it looked like it would be safe for me to watch the second half, but when the going got rough, I got going, out of the room. I was able to watch the last two minutes without jinxing the game.
For the Super Bowl, I began to watch the first half, thinking the jinx had died. I was wrong. When the Steelers started gaining momentum in the second half, it was time for strict measures. I went to bed and tried to read. Downstairs was quiet until I heard my husband cheering and I knew, the Packers had won the Super Bowl. So, the entire state of Wisconsin has me to thank for my selfless deed of not watching the second half.
You’re welcome.
It was my granddaughter Wren’s fourth birthday. Each of us only turns four once, and when your birthday is in January, it’s a good enough reason to celebrate with a poolside princess birthday party.
The party was held at the Plaza Hotel in Winona, Minn. The hotel has a spacious pool area which features a large children’s pool complete with alligator and whale water slides. There is a separate adult pool and a large hot tub. The walls of the pool room are painted with a jungle theme mural.
I asked Sarah why they chose this particular hotel and she said, “Because it was the only one that would allow a children’s party.”
Hmm.
Wren’s party was attended by 15 friends and family, young and old. We discovered we were one of three children’s pool parties that day. Though the adults worried it would be crowded, the children followed the adage of “the more the merrier.”
Children splashed in the water, slid down the mouth of the alligator and the back side of the whale. A one-year-old party-goer was fascinated with the shooting spouts of water from the floor of the children’s pool. Brave parents donned swimsuits and ventured into the big pool with their children. Most of the adults ended up in the hot tub afterward.
A giant green dragon, with purple scales along its back, sat on the floor, silently watching as children climbed and sat on his colorful form. A sign taped to the dragon’s neck read, “Do Not Put This Dragon in the Pool! It is unsafe to put this dragon in the swimming pool. This area is monitored 24 hours a day. Do Not Put the Dragon in the Pool.”
Hmm.
Luckily, the dragon was so large and heavy, not even two adults could push it across the floor. It was safe for the afternoon.
We left the pool area when it was time to open presents and eat pizza and birthday cake. Wren’s other grandma, my sister Linda, used to be a professional cake decorator. Wren’s cake was a wonderland mermaid princess theme, complete with four mermaids, fish, sea urchins, dolphins, and a coral reef that must have taken weeks of careful artistic effort. I think there was cake underneath the frosting somewhere.
Children full of pizza and cake chased each other around the hotel lobby playing hide and seek, squabbled over various party favors and hid under tables.
Toward the end of the afternoon, when the children were corraled and taken home, Sarah and I were cleaning up and putting away when I saw four teen-age boys, probably part of a traveling sports team, walk innocently out of the pool area in swim trunks with towels hanging from their necks. The boys headed into the elevators and all was quiet in the pool area.
I wandered into the pool room to see if anything had been left behind and there was the dragon, quietly floating in the adult pool.
“Do Not Put This Dragon in the Pool,” in capital letters, was too much for a group of teenage boys to ignore. I know the only ones in that area who were strong enough to manhandle that giant dragon were those boys.
The dragon didn’t seem to mind. I think he liked floating in the quiet pool after an afternoon of entertaining small children on his back.
Since Sarah, Wren and I were staying at the hotel for the night, I wandered down to the pool later for a warm soak in the hot tub. Three other adults were there, one swimming in the pool with the dragon. An hotel employee came through collecting towels and one woman volunteered to help get the dragon out of the pool.
“It’s too heavy. Don’t worry about it,” said the employee. “It happens all the time. I’ll have the maintenance guys take it out in the morning.”
Hmm.
It happens all the time. Obviously the sign was more of a command than a deterent.
The next morning, Wren was back in the pool and the dragon was back out on the sidelines, the perfect adornment for a poolside princess birthday party.
• • •
Speaking of parties, a dragon in a swimming pool is probably mild compared to the partying which followed the Green Bay Packers winning the Super Bowl. I would like to let everyone know that the Packer’s win can be attributed to me.
It is another story of football superstition run amuck. It seems that every time I watch the Packers play, they lose. When the Packers began to lose mid-season, I stopped watching. Obviously, it worked, because they began to win again and ended up in the playoffs. I still didn’t watch. When the NFC championship game began, I stayed away for the first half. Checking in with my husband at half time, it looked like it would be safe for me to watch the second half, but when the going got rough, I got going, out of the room. I was able to watch the last two minutes without jinxing the game.
For the Super Bowl, I began to watch the first half, thinking the jinx had died. I was wrong. When the Steelers started gaining momentum in the second half, it was time for strict measures. I went to bed and tried to read. Downstairs was quiet until I heard my husband cheering and I knew, the Packers had won the Super Bowl. So, the entire state of Wisconsin has me to thank for my selfless deed of not watching the second half.
You’re welcome.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Dog literature and inspiration
The last few weeks have been typical January weather. I believe it may have snowed every day for as long as I can remember, and my dog Rocky’s agility equipment is buried beneath that volume of white powder. Rocky doesn’t seem to mind the cold and snow. He’s happy to run through the deep pasture, sniffing and finding frozen specimens to tunnel after.
As a human, I prefer to spend my time huddled next to the wood stove in my Bear Den with a good book. Training may have to wait until spring, but it hasn’t been forgotten.
Recently, I’ve delved into literature that has kept the fire of dog training alive thanks to Cisco, Peck and Slugger.
I started with “Smoky Mountain Tracks” by Donna Ball. In this novel, the heroine is part of a search and rescue team with her dog Cisco. Cisco and his handler are on the tracks of a kidnapped child in the mountain wilderness. Cisco is new to the game, though he proves to be under-rated by his owner. Cisco knows the little girl is hidden under the floor boards of the mountain cabin, but his owner can’t seem to understand his barks, so he turns to licking out a discarded can of beans instead. True to all good novels, dog finds child in the end, all are safe and happy.
From there, I went to “Search” by Nora Roberts. Roberts is well-known for her romance novels, so I was surprised at the depth of knowledge displayed in this story of a woman who survived abduction from a serial killer only to find the killer’s apprentice has her in his sights. The story begins with our heroine, who is a search and rescue dog trainer. She and her dog, Peck, are out on a search and rescue for a three-year-old boy who wandered away from home, now lost in the woods. Roberts’ description of the bond between dog and handler, and the terror of the little boy brought tears to my eyes.
Not only was it a good story, it gave me training tips along the way.
Could my dog Rocky be a search and rescue dog? He has the nose for it. He has the energy for it. He is trainable and loves people, treats and attention. Sounds like a good candidate, except ... he needs to come when called.
All the search and rescue dogs in these books are excellent at come when called, sit and stay, and keeping focus with distractions. Rocky is good at sit and stay, sometimes even with distractions. But come when called is still our sticking point.
I tried to explain to Rocky, “I know you like your freedom, but if you can learn come when called, it will allow you more freedom, not less. You won’t have to always be on a leash. You can run free in the yard without supervision if we know you will stay home and come when called.”
Rocky focuses his deep, brown eyes on me, as if to say, “Huh?”
So much for search and rescue.
My next book was “A Dog Named Slugger” by Leigh Brill. This is a personal account of the author’s journey with Slugger, her service dog. Brill has cerebral palsy and relies on Slugger to help her with balance, pick up dropped things, close or open doors, and keep her safe and secure in all situations. Who wouldn’t like to have a dog with that kind of training?
Even though I am not disabled, and don’t plan to become disabled, I’d love to have a dog with those talents.
“Rocky, bring me my socks. Whole, please.”
“Rocky, can you open the door for me.” (while I carry groceries in from the car).
“Rocky, is the person at the door friend or foe?”
There’s one problem. Slugger comes when called.
Perhaps Rocky could be a therapy dog, sitting quietly while small children read to him and elderly residents stroke his silky hair. He’d be like the therapy dog Pooka, whose picture has been in The County Journal, visiting local schools and libraries.
But, Pooka probably comes when called.
So for now, I remain by the woodstove, devouring books about well-behaved dogs doing great things, while Rocky dreams of running free and rolling in things that smell.
When the warm winds blow again, I’ll be ready.
As a human, I prefer to spend my time huddled next to the wood stove in my Bear Den with a good book. Training may have to wait until spring, but it hasn’t been forgotten.
Recently, I’ve delved into literature that has kept the fire of dog training alive thanks to Cisco, Peck and Slugger.
I started with “Smoky Mountain Tracks” by Donna Ball. In this novel, the heroine is part of a search and rescue team with her dog Cisco. Cisco and his handler are on the tracks of a kidnapped child in the mountain wilderness. Cisco is new to the game, though he proves to be under-rated by his owner. Cisco knows the little girl is hidden under the floor boards of the mountain cabin, but his owner can’t seem to understand his barks, so he turns to licking out a discarded can of beans instead. True to all good novels, dog finds child in the end, all are safe and happy.
From there, I went to “Search” by Nora Roberts. Roberts is well-known for her romance novels, so I was surprised at the depth of knowledge displayed in this story of a woman who survived abduction from a serial killer only to find the killer’s apprentice has her in his sights. The story begins with our heroine, who is a search and rescue dog trainer. She and her dog, Peck, are out on a search and rescue for a three-year-old boy who wandered away from home, now lost in the woods. Roberts’ description of the bond between dog and handler, and the terror of the little boy brought tears to my eyes.
Not only was it a good story, it gave me training tips along the way.
Could my dog Rocky be a search and rescue dog? He has the nose for it. He has the energy for it. He is trainable and loves people, treats and attention. Sounds like a good candidate, except ... he needs to come when called.
All the search and rescue dogs in these books are excellent at come when called, sit and stay, and keeping focus with distractions. Rocky is good at sit and stay, sometimes even with distractions. But come when called is still our sticking point.
I tried to explain to Rocky, “I know you like your freedom, but if you can learn come when called, it will allow you more freedom, not less. You won’t have to always be on a leash. You can run free in the yard without supervision if we know you will stay home and come when called.”
Rocky focuses his deep, brown eyes on me, as if to say, “Huh?”
So much for search and rescue.
My next book was “A Dog Named Slugger” by Leigh Brill. This is a personal account of the author’s journey with Slugger, her service dog. Brill has cerebral palsy and relies on Slugger to help her with balance, pick up dropped things, close or open doors, and keep her safe and secure in all situations. Who wouldn’t like to have a dog with that kind of training?
Even though I am not disabled, and don’t plan to become disabled, I’d love to have a dog with those talents.
“Rocky, bring me my socks. Whole, please.”
“Rocky, can you open the door for me.” (while I carry groceries in from the car).
“Rocky, is the person at the door friend or foe?”
There’s one problem. Slugger comes when called.
Perhaps Rocky could be a therapy dog, sitting quietly while small children read to him and elderly residents stroke his silky hair. He’d be like the therapy dog Pooka, whose picture has been in The County Journal, visiting local schools and libraries.
But, Pooka probably comes when called.
So for now, I remain by the woodstove, devouring books about well-behaved dogs doing great things, while Rocky dreams of running free and rolling in things that smell.
When the warm winds blow again, I’ll be ready.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Perfection
“I am learning that everything is perfect and to not be a perfectionist.” — From “Wokini” by Billy Mills
These words about perfectionism are good to remember when learning new things. On Saturday, I was at Pine Needles Yarn Shop in Cable for a Navaho Tapestry Weaving course taught by Laura Berlager.
Berlager began learning the method in 1998, when she was 13 years old. She is currently attending Goddard College in Vermont pursuing a masters in fine arts in interdisciplinary arts.
Our class began with receiving our portable looms, along with a shed stick and beater. Berlager made the looms and shed sticks and had a local craftsman make beautiful handcrafted beaters for each student.
Though I already own five different looms, I was happy to receive a new one for this new endeavor.
Next, we chose two colors of wool, one light and one dark, as well as a contrasting yarn for our edge work. I found a beautiful gold wool as my light yarn. I held it up to the other colors to find a dark yarn and my eye was drawn to a dark green. When I held the two together, I realized my woven project would resemble a Green Bay Packer’s theme. I let the gold go and substituted a lovely off-white heather. (Don’t get me wrong, I always cheer for the Packers, I just didn’t want to weave a jersey.)
We warped our looms with a continuous strand of cotton, chosen for its strength and ease of use. The sampler pattern began with an inch of plain weave, over and under. Berlager taught us how to incorporate the edge work twill into our woven edges. This process developed the first inch of our pattern.
I learned Navajo weaving is a long process. Each row needs to be tight so the warp yarn does not show through. This is where our beaters come in. Each woven row was beaten down with our lovely tool.
“Don’t be afraid to beat it like you mean it,” said Berlager. “Let it know who’s boss.”
We beat our yarns, not to be violent or cruel to them, but to create the proper tension.
“A loose weave will cause trouble as you get farther into your pattern,” said Berlager.
One woman lamented that she had made a mistake in her weaving.
“The Navajo have a story about that,” said Berlager, who is an accomplished story-teller as well as weaver.
“Spirit woman taught the Navajo people to weave,” she began. “One woman spent all the time she could at her loom and she was a perfectionist. She was about to finish the most perfect weaving she had made when she suddenly disappeared. The other women looked for her and could not find her. They called Spider Woman to help them find her. Spider Woman looked at the weaving, examining it closely, and pulled one strand out. The lady re-appeared.
“Let this be a lesson to all of you, she said. You must leave a doorway open in your weaving or you will weave your soul into your weaving. If you have a mistake here or there, don’t worry, you won’t get woven into your weaving.”
One in our group added, “I heard that the Amish have something similar. They always leave at least one mistake in their crafting because they say only God can be perfect.”
Whether you remember the Amish tradition or the Navajo legend, learning to not be a perfectionist, and being able to see the perfection of all things, is a good lesson. Having the patience to take your time and create a thing of beauty is a virtue. Causing stress to enter your life by demanding that it be perfect can take away the happiness generated from the creative process.
I’ve done a lot of knitting, weaving, and other fiber arts, and I’ve learned that a mistake can often lead to a new pattern, or an original design element in my work.
During our class, we talked about the many different reasons why people weave. Some weave to get the job done. Some weave because they like to socialize with other weavers. Some weavers may work on a project for five years or more, before completing it. Some may never complete their project. It doesn’t matter.
All are perfect, and each project is perfect, not because the result is perfect, but because of the lessons we learn and enjoyment we get from the process.
Winter is a good time for contemplative fiber work. The new exhibit at the Washburn Cultural Center is textile and fiber arts. I have several pieces in the exhibit including weaving, felting, knitting, spinning and quilting. Feel free to see if you can find the ‘doorway’ in any of my work.
May we all see the perfection of our lives.
These words about perfectionism are good to remember when learning new things. On Saturday, I was at Pine Needles Yarn Shop in Cable for a Navaho Tapestry Weaving course taught by Laura Berlager.
Berlager began learning the method in 1998, when she was 13 years old. She is currently attending Goddard College in Vermont pursuing a masters in fine arts in interdisciplinary arts.
Our class began with receiving our portable looms, along with a shed stick and beater. Berlager made the looms and shed sticks and had a local craftsman make beautiful handcrafted beaters for each student.
Though I already own five different looms, I was happy to receive a new one for this new endeavor.
Next, we chose two colors of wool, one light and one dark, as well as a contrasting yarn for our edge work. I found a beautiful gold wool as my light yarn. I held it up to the other colors to find a dark yarn and my eye was drawn to a dark green. When I held the two together, I realized my woven project would resemble a Green Bay Packer’s theme. I let the gold go and substituted a lovely off-white heather. (Don’t get me wrong, I always cheer for the Packers, I just didn’t want to weave a jersey.)
We warped our looms with a continuous strand of cotton, chosen for its strength and ease of use. The sampler pattern began with an inch of plain weave, over and under. Berlager taught us how to incorporate the edge work twill into our woven edges. This process developed the first inch of our pattern.
I learned Navajo weaving is a long process. Each row needs to be tight so the warp yarn does not show through. This is where our beaters come in. Each woven row was beaten down with our lovely tool.
“Don’t be afraid to beat it like you mean it,” said Berlager. “Let it know who’s boss.”
We beat our yarns, not to be violent or cruel to them, but to create the proper tension.
“A loose weave will cause trouble as you get farther into your pattern,” said Berlager.
One woman lamented that she had made a mistake in her weaving.
“The Navajo have a story about that,” said Berlager, who is an accomplished story-teller as well as weaver.
“Spirit woman taught the Navajo people to weave,” she began. “One woman spent all the time she could at her loom and she was a perfectionist. She was about to finish the most perfect weaving she had made when she suddenly disappeared. The other women looked for her and could not find her. They called Spider Woman to help them find her. Spider Woman looked at the weaving, examining it closely, and pulled one strand out. The lady re-appeared.
“Let this be a lesson to all of you, she said. You must leave a doorway open in your weaving or you will weave your soul into your weaving. If you have a mistake here or there, don’t worry, you won’t get woven into your weaving.”
One in our group added, “I heard that the Amish have something similar. They always leave at least one mistake in their crafting because they say only God can be perfect.”
Whether you remember the Amish tradition or the Navajo legend, learning to not be a perfectionist, and being able to see the perfection of all things, is a good lesson. Having the patience to take your time and create a thing of beauty is a virtue. Causing stress to enter your life by demanding that it be perfect can take away the happiness generated from the creative process.
I’ve done a lot of knitting, weaving, and other fiber arts, and I’ve learned that a mistake can often lead to a new pattern, or an original design element in my work.
During our class, we talked about the many different reasons why people weave. Some weave to get the job done. Some weave because they like to socialize with other weavers. Some weavers may work on a project for five years or more, before completing it. Some may never complete their project. It doesn’t matter.
All are perfect, and each project is perfect, not because the result is perfect, but because of the lessons we learn and enjoyment we get from the process.
Winter is a good time for contemplative fiber work. The new exhibit at the Washburn Cultural Center is textile and fiber arts. I have several pieces in the exhibit including weaving, felting, knitting, spinning and quilting. Feel free to see if you can find the ‘doorway’ in any of my work.
May we all see the perfection of our lives.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
When a Wren is a polar bear
Being a grandmother has it’s moments. One of those came recently when my granddaughter Wren was scheduled to be in her first dance recital. Wren is officially three and 11/12 years old.
The holiday themed recital was scheduled for Sunday, Dec. 19. Since my family lives 250 miles away, we decided to bundle our Christmas gathering on the same weekend. My husband and I packed up the presents and dogs, Lisha and Rocky, for the five hour trip.
The presents went in the trunk, and the dogs got to lounge in the back seat. Lisha’s an old hand at travel but this was Rocky’s first road trip with us. He settled in after about 100 miles, using Paul’s coat as a pillow.
We arrived at Wren’s house just after supper on Friday night, with enough time to see Wren before she was bedded down for the night with visions of fairies dancing in her head. Saturday was her dress rehearsal and she needed a good night’s sleep.
On Saturday, her mother Sarah and I dressed Wren in her polar bear costume, white pants, white shirt, red scarf and white ears on her head band. A stop for last minute Christmas shopping included eating lunch at the food court of the mall. Several napkins as bibs were needed to keep a three and 11/12 year old from dripping pizza sauce on her white shirt.
Her shirt intact, we arrived at the auditorium for rehearsal. We sat waiting while several other dance classes rehearsed their numbers donned in reindeer costumes, pajamas and red dresses lined in white fur. I won’t go so far as to say it was pandemonium, but I’m glad I was not in charge of the scene.
“Unless something goes very wrong, we will only run through each number once,” said the woman in charge.
One participant in the Mommy and Me group was definitely not happy about being on a large stage in front of an equally large audience of children and parents. Her meltdown left me somewhere between feeling bad for her and laughter. Several children abandoned their designated stars on the floor to wave and run to their mothers. The children craned their heads to focus on their coaches who stood in the wings demonstrating the next move.
Then it was time for Wren’s group to rehearse. The teacher lined up the little ones and led them onto the stage. What a delightful sight to see 10 three-year-olds dressed as polar bears march onto the stage single file and land on their stars. Everything was going well until the unthinkable happened.
Wren found a blue feather on the stage floor.
Wren loves feathers, crystals, and anything that reminds her of nature. We think she may be a budding naturalist by the way she likes to kiss dead crickets, and carry frogs around in her hands. Seeing a feather on the floor was too good to resist.
Wren picked up the feather and her attention was glued. She stared at the feather, reveling in it’s delicate details. She stroked the feather and waved it in the air. She danced with the feather. She blessed the other students with the feather.
She did not do her polar bear dance.
I’ll never know if it was the feather or something else in the air, but all of the polar bears seemed to lose all sense of their dance moves. When the run through was finished, the teacher announced, “This is an example of when everything goes wrong. Let’s try it again.”
With feather still in hand, Wren and her troupe got another shot at their number, showing improvement. Afterwards, we paised Wren for a beautiful dance and took her and her feather back to the car. I sat next to Wren and she turned to me and offered me the feather.
“I got this just for you,” she said.
So, the whole thing is now grandma’s fault.
Saturday night was our family Christmas gathering. I had made quilts as gifts for the members of my family, including a special one for Wren. Wren opened her package and pulled out her quilt with an excited exclamation, “Home Sweet Home!” And so, each person’s quilt was named as a Home Sweet Home quilt. I have no idea how Wren came up with the name, but it set the tone for the rest of the evening.
And, I guess Wren had a good night’s sleep with her Home Sweet Home quilt because her recital on Sunday went well. Luckily, the stage floor was swept and no feathers were found. Wren did her dance as well as any three and 11/12 year old polar bear could. We presented her with roses afterwards, like a true prima-ballerina.
Though her mother had sworn this was her last dance class, the next day she said, “Her next recital will be in May.”
By then she’ll be four and one-third years old, and hopefully there won’t be any feathers on the stage.
The holiday themed recital was scheduled for Sunday, Dec. 19. Since my family lives 250 miles away, we decided to bundle our Christmas gathering on the same weekend. My husband and I packed up the presents and dogs, Lisha and Rocky, for the five hour trip.
The presents went in the trunk, and the dogs got to lounge in the back seat. Lisha’s an old hand at travel but this was Rocky’s first road trip with us. He settled in after about 100 miles, using Paul’s coat as a pillow.
We arrived at Wren’s house just after supper on Friday night, with enough time to see Wren before she was bedded down for the night with visions of fairies dancing in her head. Saturday was her dress rehearsal and she needed a good night’s sleep.
On Saturday, her mother Sarah and I dressed Wren in her polar bear costume, white pants, white shirt, red scarf and white ears on her head band. A stop for last minute Christmas shopping included eating lunch at the food court of the mall. Several napkins as bibs were needed to keep a three and 11/12 year old from dripping pizza sauce on her white shirt.
Her shirt intact, we arrived at the auditorium for rehearsal. We sat waiting while several other dance classes rehearsed their numbers donned in reindeer costumes, pajamas and red dresses lined in white fur. I won’t go so far as to say it was pandemonium, but I’m glad I was not in charge of the scene.
“Unless something goes very wrong, we will only run through each number once,” said the woman in charge.
One participant in the Mommy and Me group was definitely not happy about being on a large stage in front of an equally large audience of children and parents. Her meltdown left me somewhere between feeling bad for her and laughter. Several children abandoned their designated stars on the floor to wave and run to their mothers. The children craned their heads to focus on their coaches who stood in the wings demonstrating the next move.
Then it was time for Wren’s group to rehearse. The teacher lined up the little ones and led them onto the stage. What a delightful sight to see 10 three-year-olds dressed as polar bears march onto the stage single file and land on their stars. Everything was going well until the unthinkable happened.
Wren found a blue feather on the stage floor.
Wren loves feathers, crystals, and anything that reminds her of nature. We think she may be a budding naturalist by the way she likes to kiss dead crickets, and carry frogs around in her hands. Seeing a feather on the floor was too good to resist.
Wren picked up the feather and her attention was glued. She stared at the feather, reveling in it’s delicate details. She stroked the feather and waved it in the air. She danced with the feather. She blessed the other students with the feather.
She did not do her polar bear dance.
I’ll never know if it was the feather or something else in the air, but all of the polar bears seemed to lose all sense of their dance moves. When the run through was finished, the teacher announced, “This is an example of when everything goes wrong. Let’s try it again.”
With feather still in hand, Wren and her troupe got another shot at their number, showing improvement. Afterwards, we paised Wren for a beautiful dance and took her and her feather back to the car. I sat next to Wren and she turned to me and offered me the feather.
“I got this just for you,” she said.
So, the whole thing is now grandma’s fault.
Saturday night was our family Christmas gathering. I had made quilts as gifts for the members of my family, including a special one for Wren. Wren opened her package and pulled out her quilt with an excited exclamation, “Home Sweet Home!” And so, each person’s quilt was named as a Home Sweet Home quilt. I have no idea how Wren came up with the name, but it set the tone for the rest of the evening.
And, I guess Wren had a good night’s sleep with her Home Sweet Home quilt because her recital on Sunday went well. Luckily, the stage floor was swept and no feathers were found. Wren did her dance as well as any three and 11/12 year old polar bear could. We presented her with roses afterwards, like a true prima-ballerina.
Though her mother had sworn this was her last dance class, the next day she said, “Her next recital will be in May.”
By then she’ll be four and one-third years old, and hopefully there won’t be any feathers on the stage.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
A dance of trust
Raising a dog is like raising a child. There is the instant love when parent and child have their first moments together. There is the time of nurturing, when the child is dependent on the parent. As the child begins to grow and explore, there is the time of anxiety for the parent. How do I keep my child safe yet allow for learning experiences and exploration.
Even though I got Rocky when he was almost two years old, there was still the instant love moment when I looked through the bars of his kennel and saw his eyes. There was the time of nurturing when I first brought him home, showing him his new place, his food and where to sleep.
Now I’m in the dance of trust, finding the balance between freedom and safety.
I’ll say it again, Rocky is a wonderful dog. And, he still has not learned that coming when called needs to be an instant thing. Because of that, his walk time and potty time are spent on a leash.
I’m getting to know his umwelt includes a need for freedom to run. I know when he’s feeling that need. He gets a look in his eye, a tension in his body, and for a brief moment there is a hesitation. He may look my way as if to say, “I know you don’t want me to, but I really have to go now. Trust me.” Then he’s off.
Like the parent, I know I cannot keep him leashed his entire life. There comes a time when each of us needs to feel the freedom to be our true selves. I can only give Rocky that time if I find a place of trust within myself.
I know he always comes home. He’s usually gone for about 20 minutes, then comes running back from the opposite direction. His smile melts my heart.
I decided control was futile and went for a ‘supervised liberty run’ approach. Fortunately, I live in the country where room to run is available on three sides. The fourth side is a road and across the road are the neighbors. My approach is to keep Rocky’s supervised liberty runs in the three wild areas.
I thought about boundaries. I realize that our farm ends at the tree line, but Rocky doesn’t understand that boundary. He seems to have a different idea of the limitations of liberty. His boundary reaches into the woods, down the ravine and across the creek, then back to the farm via the horse pasture behind the barn.
We start on leash, walking in the direction I choose, away from the road. When we reach the middle of the field, I bring Rocky in, give him praise and a treat, then unhook the leash. Rocky smiles and bounds off a few feet, jumping straight in the air, chasing his friend Lisha, sniffing the ground, until he gets the look.
This is where the trust comes in. I watch him take off, snow flying behind him as his paws hit the ground. Watching Rocky run is like watching the changing face of wind. At times he will run unhampered, like a straight line wind, powerful and unyielding. The next moment, he stops, nose to the ground, circling like a dust devil. When he finds the perfect smell, the wind ceases, like the eye of the storm. When the eye passes, he’s off again.
He heads for his favorite spots and veers off into the woods, out of my sight. I resist the urge to call him back, knowing he won’t respond. I wait a few moments, then begin to walk a diagonal line through the field to intersect his circular route.
Lisha stays by me, occasionally looking into the woods as if she can hear Rocky run. We stand quietly, listening for the jingle of his dog tags. The jingle gets louder and soon Rocky breaks through the brush, still nose down, his tongue swaying with each breath. When he gets close, I begin to communicate again.
“Good dog, Rocky. Thanks for coming back.”
He looks at me and sometimes comes to me for the treat in my hand, sometimes it takes a few tries before I’m able to get the leash back on. And, even then, his joy in the experience of the run is contagious.
“Thanks,” he says. “I needed that.”
Like the parent, I’m learning if you really love them, you have to let them go. If you’ve done your job well, they’ll come back.
There’s something about watching a dog run that stirs the love of freedom in people. How often do we get the chance to run free, unfettered by boundaries or time, only concerned with what is in front of our noses? Do we ever trust ourselves enough to remove the leash of expectations and responsibilities?
Rocky is getting better. It takes him longer to get the look now and he’s developing a consistent route so I feel like I know where he is, even though I can’t see him. I’m hoping he will realize there is a time to run, and a time to stay by your people.
It’s a dance of trust for us both.
Even though I got Rocky when he was almost two years old, there was still the instant love moment when I looked through the bars of his kennel and saw his eyes. There was the time of nurturing when I first brought him home, showing him his new place, his food and where to sleep.
Now I’m in the dance of trust, finding the balance between freedom and safety.
I’ll say it again, Rocky is a wonderful dog. And, he still has not learned that coming when called needs to be an instant thing. Because of that, his walk time and potty time are spent on a leash.
I’m getting to know his umwelt includes a need for freedom to run. I know when he’s feeling that need. He gets a look in his eye, a tension in his body, and for a brief moment there is a hesitation. He may look my way as if to say, “I know you don’t want me to, but I really have to go now. Trust me.” Then he’s off.
Like the parent, I know I cannot keep him leashed his entire life. There comes a time when each of us needs to feel the freedom to be our true selves. I can only give Rocky that time if I find a place of trust within myself.
I know he always comes home. He’s usually gone for about 20 minutes, then comes running back from the opposite direction. His smile melts my heart.
I decided control was futile and went for a ‘supervised liberty run’ approach. Fortunately, I live in the country where room to run is available on three sides. The fourth side is a road and across the road are the neighbors. My approach is to keep Rocky’s supervised liberty runs in the three wild areas.
I thought about boundaries. I realize that our farm ends at the tree line, but Rocky doesn’t understand that boundary. He seems to have a different idea of the limitations of liberty. His boundary reaches into the woods, down the ravine and across the creek, then back to the farm via the horse pasture behind the barn.
We start on leash, walking in the direction I choose, away from the road. When we reach the middle of the field, I bring Rocky in, give him praise and a treat, then unhook the leash. Rocky smiles and bounds off a few feet, jumping straight in the air, chasing his friend Lisha, sniffing the ground, until he gets the look.
This is where the trust comes in. I watch him take off, snow flying behind him as his paws hit the ground. Watching Rocky run is like watching the changing face of wind. At times he will run unhampered, like a straight line wind, powerful and unyielding. The next moment, he stops, nose to the ground, circling like a dust devil. When he finds the perfect smell, the wind ceases, like the eye of the storm. When the eye passes, he’s off again.
He heads for his favorite spots and veers off into the woods, out of my sight. I resist the urge to call him back, knowing he won’t respond. I wait a few moments, then begin to walk a diagonal line through the field to intersect his circular route.
Lisha stays by me, occasionally looking into the woods as if she can hear Rocky run. We stand quietly, listening for the jingle of his dog tags. The jingle gets louder and soon Rocky breaks through the brush, still nose down, his tongue swaying with each breath. When he gets close, I begin to communicate again.
“Good dog, Rocky. Thanks for coming back.”
He looks at me and sometimes comes to me for the treat in my hand, sometimes it takes a few tries before I’m able to get the leash back on. And, even then, his joy in the experience of the run is contagious.
“Thanks,” he says. “I needed that.”
Like the parent, I’m learning if you really love them, you have to let them go. If you’ve done your job well, they’ll come back.
There’s something about watching a dog run that stirs the love of freedom in people. How often do we get the chance to run free, unfettered by boundaries or time, only concerned with what is in front of our noses? Do we ever trust ourselves enough to remove the leash of expectations and responsibilities?
Rocky is getting better. It takes him longer to get the look now and he’s developing a consistent route so I feel like I know where he is, even though I can’t see him. I’m hoping he will realize there is a time to run, and a time to stay by your people.
It’s a dance of trust for us both.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
When are your holidays?
As a newspaper reporter, I’ve been doing a series of stories about depression. I was reviewing a list of suggestions for getting through the holidays and came upon this line - Know when your holidays are.
Most of us would say the upcoming holidays are Christmas eve, Christmas day, New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day. These are the most common times for family and friends to get together to celebrate ‘the holidays,’ depending on your personal spiritual beliefs.
When I read this line I realized it isn’t only the official day that can be a challenge.
For example, Christmas isn’t only Dec. 25. Christmas for some people has been going on for over a month already. Shopping for gifts, menu planning, traveling and decorating are also part of the holiday. For someone dealing with holiday depression, coping with shopping for gifts may be worse than the actual day with family.
What traditions do you have that give you a feeling of Christmas? Is it going to pick out a tree, or the first snowfall? If you used to do these activities with the loved one who is no longer present, how will it feel this year? What strategies can you put in place to deal with the feelings of loss or grief that may come up when you pass a Christmas tree lot?
A friend of mine told of breaking into tears whenever she passes her grandparent’s house this time of year. They’ve been gone for several years, but the memories of Christmas at grandma’s house are still vivid for her.
Personally, I think of Christmas whenever I pass an airport at night. When my niece was small, we would intentionally drive by the airport on Christmas eve so we could show her lights in the sky. She believed it was Santa Claus bringing his sleigh full of presents.
Another friend mentioned bringing out the Christmas music and thinking of special people associated with a particular song.
How about going through your list of people to send cards to? Will there be a hole left in your address book?
For someone dealing with depression, driving down the street at night and seeing houses lit up with colorful lights can be a trigger – knowing everyone else is celebrating and filled with the holiday spirit, while they can’t seem to bring themselves out of the dumps.
Know when you holidays are.
It’s not only good advice for those who need coping strategies. It can be good advice for those of us who are looking forward to the joy of the season.
Seeing a shopping adventure with your children as a holiday celebration in itself can make a difference in your experience. Instead of getting frustrated with the long lines and heavy traffic, we can remember to appreciate the experience as a Christmas memory to cherish when the children are grown.
Taking time to add a special note inside someone’s Christmas card could make their holiday and yours a little brighter. I’ve learned that people dealing with depression can be very good at hiding their symptoms. We may not know how important a smile or a card can be to someone this time of year.
Another suggestion was being intentional about holiday plans. What holiday traditions do you really enjoy, and what traditions are being done out of habit or obligation? If going to Aunt Mabel’s house for figgy pudding is something you enjoy, great. If it’s something you feel forced into, perhaps opening a conversation about alternatives could lead to a less stressful holiday. Wouldn’t it be good to know if Aunt Mabel doesn’t even like making figgy pudding, but she feels she has to keep up the ‘tradition’?
Knowing when your holidays are can bring an awareness to the magic in the small moments like hearing the ting of coins being dropped into the Salvation Army kettles, feeling the freshness of snow flakes melting on your cheek, or smelling the scent of balsam as you pass by the wreath on your door.
Adding celebration to these small moments, and seeing them as part of your holiday, can relieve stress and help us all remember why we celebrate this time of year.
Happy holidays.
Most of us would say the upcoming holidays are Christmas eve, Christmas day, New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day. These are the most common times for family and friends to get together to celebrate ‘the holidays,’ depending on your personal spiritual beliefs.
When I read this line I realized it isn’t only the official day that can be a challenge.
For example, Christmas isn’t only Dec. 25. Christmas for some people has been going on for over a month already. Shopping for gifts, menu planning, traveling and decorating are also part of the holiday. For someone dealing with holiday depression, coping with shopping for gifts may be worse than the actual day with family.
What traditions do you have that give you a feeling of Christmas? Is it going to pick out a tree, or the first snowfall? If you used to do these activities with the loved one who is no longer present, how will it feel this year? What strategies can you put in place to deal with the feelings of loss or grief that may come up when you pass a Christmas tree lot?
A friend of mine told of breaking into tears whenever she passes her grandparent’s house this time of year. They’ve been gone for several years, but the memories of Christmas at grandma’s house are still vivid for her.
Personally, I think of Christmas whenever I pass an airport at night. When my niece was small, we would intentionally drive by the airport on Christmas eve so we could show her lights in the sky. She believed it was Santa Claus bringing his sleigh full of presents.
Another friend mentioned bringing out the Christmas music and thinking of special people associated with a particular song.
How about going through your list of people to send cards to? Will there be a hole left in your address book?
For someone dealing with depression, driving down the street at night and seeing houses lit up with colorful lights can be a trigger – knowing everyone else is celebrating and filled with the holiday spirit, while they can’t seem to bring themselves out of the dumps.
Know when you holidays are.
It’s not only good advice for those who need coping strategies. It can be good advice for those of us who are looking forward to the joy of the season.
Seeing a shopping adventure with your children as a holiday celebration in itself can make a difference in your experience. Instead of getting frustrated with the long lines and heavy traffic, we can remember to appreciate the experience as a Christmas memory to cherish when the children are grown.
Taking time to add a special note inside someone’s Christmas card could make their holiday and yours a little brighter. I’ve learned that people dealing with depression can be very good at hiding their symptoms. We may not know how important a smile or a card can be to someone this time of year.
Another suggestion was being intentional about holiday plans. What holiday traditions do you really enjoy, and what traditions are being done out of habit or obligation? If going to Aunt Mabel’s house for figgy pudding is something you enjoy, great. If it’s something you feel forced into, perhaps opening a conversation about alternatives could lead to a less stressful holiday. Wouldn’t it be good to know if Aunt Mabel doesn’t even like making figgy pudding, but she feels she has to keep up the ‘tradition’?
Knowing when your holidays are can bring an awareness to the magic in the small moments like hearing the ting of coins being dropped into the Salvation Army kettles, feeling the freshness of snow flakes melting on your cheek, or smelling the scent of balsam as you pass by the wreath on your door.
Adding celebration to these small moments, and seeing them as part of your holiday, can relieve stress and help us all remember why we celebrate this time of year.
Happy holidays.
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