She arrived on Friday.

She arrived on Friday, elegant and polite, but needing assistance and some clothing.  You see, she's fallen on hard times, and her arms and legs were loose and not fully attached.  She couldn't manage to sew them herself, and she'd heard it said in the forest that I was kind to mice...

And so I let her in.

I am under deadline for another project, and so while I offered her a cozy place to sleep, I have to beg off stitching her arms and legs until Monday. She agreed, and nestled into her nest in our dining room clock.

She hasn't yet shared her name with me, as she is quite shy and a bit embarrassed.  But she and Mr. Mouse found lots to talk about, squeaking into the wee hours last night.  I think they may be fond of each other, truth be told.  Love at first sight?  Time will tell.

Open Heart Letter 2: To Judy

As part of my open-heart project, here is another letter to someone I love.  I open my heart to her and to you.

Dear Aunt Judy,

My relationship with you begins in the void before I was born, through my mother.  The chemistry you found as roommates makes you more sisters than sisters.  And as my aunt, you prove once again that family is a choice, a construct.  

Your gentleness has been an ever-present influence in my life.  I may have taken for granted your presence when I was a trying teenager (and I admit it--I was!), but I see as a grown up how much your temperance and goodness affected me.   As you know, my household as a kid was one of extremes, without too much structure or boundaries.  That was a good and a bad thing.  What you and Tom brought to my life was a sense that normal things like meals and bedtimes are comforting.  That simple rituals of eating together and cleaning up the dishes together are pleasurable.   In my home now, we eat every breakfast and dinner together, we cook together, we clean together.  There is order and balance here, and I recognize the patterns from your home in mine.

Despite all the things we've shared together, there are countless things I haven't told you yet. Of course, I could never list them all, but here are a few:

Do you know what it meant to me that you, a young mother, busy with work and little kids, would make the long drive out for each and every show I was in?  I felt so very loved to know that when I stepped onto the stage, you would be in the audience, warm as the spotlight, clapping for the performance, regardless of how good or bad it was.   So many plays, so many events.  And you shared them all with me.  I don't know that I ever told you how much I appreciated it then, but I did. It was a real gift for me to know you and Tom were out there when the curtain went up.

Do you know that I think of you every time I make a bed?  That's funny, huh?  I remember making up a bed with you somewhere (maybe you were helping Mom out?), and you showed me how the top sheet faces right side down, so when you fold the cuff, it's neat and tidy, and the edging faces the right way.   I cannot lay a flat sheet on a bed without remembering that.

I know we don't chat on the phone all the time, but I do think of you almost every day.  So many things make me think of you--here are just a few things that bring you into my mind immediately: seeing fat little squirrels, like the ones you feed in your yard; the feel of a warm sunporch; any Celtic music, of any persuasion; any Schnauzer (how I miss Fritz and Ernie--what good dogs!); seven-layer salad with cheese and olives; any kind of object with an owl on it--I know you don't collect them anymore, but they remain stuck to you in my mind.

If I close my eyes, I'm right there at your table, eating a meal off the cool, thick Pfaltzcraft dinnerware and laughing at Tom's wry comments.   I'm back in the kitchen on Camp St, or I can feel the soft carpet of the staircase (with its landing that I loved!). And there, clear as day, is the backyard and its burgeoning garden, the sunporch, the bookcases and cabinets of photos and treasures. And what treasures abounded there.

The "new" house is as warm as the old. That weekend Ada and I spent with you was so fun--we are eager to do that again. Ada still talks about what happened with the whipped cream on the blueberry cake. I had chastised her when she went to wipe a dollop of whipped cream off the cake with her finger. And Tom joined in, saying, "No Ada! Don't do that! Do THIS!" and he proceeded to take a handful of it himself. Oh, how we laughed. Her eyes were glowing with love, seeing that a grownup could play like that.

This from Tom, who taught me that smart is funny and disagreement can be safe.  That love can share the same space with two very different political views.   Tom, you opened my mind to listening to differing opinions, to respecting dissent.   Without that, I would have missed out on so many wonderful relationships with people who share a good heart, though not my politics.

I have so many memories of birthdays and Christmases with you.   The longer visits, the weekends at your lovely homes linger in my mind.   All the big events in our lives, the weddings, the giant birthday celebrations (and birthday/anniversary celebrations), assembling wedding invitations and preparing showers and graduation parties and holidays. Washing dishes together after all of these, and lazy breakfasts after late nights, where Sara and Debbie and I had listened to you girls "cackling like hens" until the wee hours.

These are simple memories of family events, and everyone has them. I am glad that my memories of family events are of you.

As I said, while we are born into one family, I think we can also choose the people who make up our real family, our family of the heart.   You helped teach me that. And that ultimately freed my perceptions enough that I was open to the idea of adopting a child. In no small part, your commitment to me led me to understand how fully I could be a parent to a child who was not physically born to me. I can never thank you enough for that.

We choose our real family. I know that if I were given the choice, I would choose you, again and again.  Thank you so much for being all you are to me.  I love you.

love,

Kirie   

A Conversation in the Car

Ada: Mom, what's that smell?  

Husband: Hmmm.  I think that's Mom's perfume.  

Kirie:  What's wrong, don't you guys like it?  It's one of my favorites, and I've been waiting to wear it, and today just felt like the day.

Ada:  It's too strong.

Husband.  Yes, too strong.  I don't like it.

Kirie:  But doesn't it smell warm and, you know, exotic?

Ada:  Mommies don't smell exotic!  Mommies need to smell like mommies, Mom!  

So much for exotic.  And warm and spicy.  The perfume in question is Yves St. Laurent's classic, Opium.  I have loved this scent since I was 12 years old.  It's one of those great scents that changes moods all day long--powdery, sandalwood, sexy, cinnamon, cumin, green-sap and sugar-musk, then powdery again, where it lingers like a sweet memory for a few days on your clothing. 

I fell for Opium when I was in junior high.  My music and voice teacher wore it as a signature perfume, and because of that, it signified all that was special and dramatic to me.  Stevie was vivacious and beautiful, with a huge, bell-like voice and the presence to match it.   Though I've worn the perfume long enough to establish new associations to it, the first note always sings "Stevie."  

So, phooey to my clan--I'm still going to wear it.  Just not for long roadtrips in the car.   

Later I prodded Ada a bit on what exactly Mommies smell like.  Her answer: soap and milk.  And that is definitely not exotic.

The photo is a rare shot of me, taken by Ada.  She points out that "You do not look exotic in that picture, either."  No kidding.  

A poem for Monday

An old favorite of mine, all the better when read aloud:

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.

It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;

It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil

Crushed. Why do men then not reck his rod?

Generations have trod, have trod, and have trod;

And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;

And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil

Is bare now, nor can food fell, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;

There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;

And though the last lights of the black West went

Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs--

Because the Holy Ghost over the bent 

World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright

wings.

Gerard Manley Hopkins


This is a good poem, I think, for midwinter, for a time of difficult economy, for a conflicted heart.

Hopkins himself was a complicated man--manic, simultaneously anguished and joyful, isolated and longing for connection. Some of his poems virtually sing, as this one does, with the internal sounds shimmering through it like water. Others capture the deep melancholy he felt so often toward his later years. I think the flux in his life translated into something almost tangible in his writing. I love this poem for its alchemy of juxtaposition. What do you think?

My first negative comment arrives

I have long been wishing for comments on this blog.  In the past few months, I've finally received some, and along with them, I've made treasured connections with other bloggers whom I respect and admire.  Yea for the comment feature!

But until this weekend, I hadn't personally experienced the bad side of putting oneself out there--the negative comments.   On Sunday morning, I found my first bad comment, posted on my post "Thoughts on the Inauguration, part 3."   Boo for the comment feature!

Clearly, this is not the kind of comment I've been wishing for.  I figured so few people see my blog that I wasn't really at risk for such a thing.  And, truth be told, it's not the most evil of comments. It's just self-serving and insulting, which I suppose are two qualities that make for a "negative comment."  

I read it with surprise and a bit of dismay--why target me?  Especially when this person found my blog on a quest to find out how to make a chipmunk costume, of all things! My second reaction, which followed quickly (and I admit to my childishness here) was "Bring it!"   I love a good debate.  Ask any of my former students about how I love to play with argument.    But, after a minute's thought, I abandoned the idea that a "debate" with anonymous would be a good or productive thing.  

I have, in my life, experienced more than my fair share of angry, judgmental, abusive language.  I know how hurtful words can be.   It took a great deal of work for me to distance myself from people who practice this kind of verbal abuse, and I guard this distance carefully.   Seeing that nasty comment brought back some icky memories for me, reminding me that "Yes, Kirie, there are still mean people in the world, despite the little bubble you've created for yourself.  And yes, mean people still suck."

I can't have it both ways, I know.  If I write about my thoughts, and I enable the comments (and wish for them!), then I am bound to get friendly ones and rude ones.  Thank goodness I've not experienced rude comments until now.   I think that if I receive comments like this in the future (and I'm bound to, right?), I'll be taking my actions on a case-by-case basis.  In this case, I did respond, if only to say my piece. You can see what I said here.  For the next nasty remark--perhaps just a delete.  Silence is a forceful weapon.

Now, my dear readers, how do you deal with the negative commenters on your blogs?  Or if you don't have a blog, how do you deal with the negative commenters in your life?  

Six Little Things About Kirie

Two games in two days!  Fun!  

I was tagged by my friend Paula at American Koukla for this one.   It's simple--list six random facts about myself.

1.  Like most people from my fifth grade class, I can recite the entire list of US Presidents in chronological order.  We learned it by singing a song of all the names.   We would stay in at recess and sing and sing and sing until we knew the whole thing by heart.  I think the song was called Presidents' Rock or something.  I've tried to find it, but had no luck.  

The song was catchy, and I don't think I'll ever forget it (at least the Presidents part--the little intro ditty and bridge have escaped me).  Being able to recite the Presidents is a great little party trick.  (At which party, I'm not sure.  Probably one where the other guest would have an appreciation for a someone able to recite the first 100 digits of pi.)

The sad thing is that I really didn't know much about any of them until I got a lot older and started reading biographies.... Still.  It impresses Ada to no end that I can do that.   Now if I could just start memorizing pi.

2.  I can change the oil on a commercial diesel truck.  

Me, in the junior high years.  

3. When I was in junior high, I lied about having a two-story house to a few kids at school because I was embarrassed that my family was relatively poor.  By my faulty logic, I had put associated two-storied homes with wealth.  And I had associated wealth with happiness.  In junior high, I felt like I was on the wrong side of both of those, so I lied.   After I  told that lie, I worried that someone would find out and call me on it, but none of the kids I tried to impress ever came to my neighborhood.  I now live in a two story home, which we built ourselves.  Sometimes I think I've tried to overcompensate...

4.  I am drawn to read the backs of shampoo bottles and cosmetics when I am showering or getting ready for my day.  I know what each says, as I've read it a million times, but I read it again anyway, almost every time.  I am a little touched in the head with OCD, I think.

5.  In high school, we moved to a new house, and I got a new room.  During this time, I went through a phase in which my entire room had to match--the wallpaper was white stripes with pink and blue squares, my lamps were matching shades of pink and blue, and the striped Marimekko bedspread reflected exactly the stripes of the wallpaper. I hung empty, white acrylic frames on the wall, around an all-white, non numbered clock from Crate and Barrel. As often as I could, I would wear pink or blue pajamas that matched the color of the lamps and squares. Did I mention I might be a bit touched by OCD?  I'm actually a lot better since those years.  More nights than not, even my pj tops and bottoms don't match.

6. I have small feet. While I can wear a small women's shoe (a 5 or 6), I can also fit into a larger kid's shoe. Each summer Ada and I get a few pairs of matching sandals or clogs from a store like Payless. It's very fun to go out and about with our matching shoes. Ada's now looking forward to the fast-approaching day when she can share my shoes--she's got her eye on a lovely pair of hand beaded kitten heels in blue (also my favorite shoes!).  

Now the tag part:  Honestly, I don't know enough bloggers well enough to tag them for this--the ones to whom I would passed this along have already done it.  So I will tag any of you who chooses to answer in your blog or in your comments below.  I hope you take me up on it.  I wish someone had tagged me sooner--this was fun!

Photo Tag--Yea! I'm It!

Lovely and wise Julianne at Potpourripromenade has tagged me with a game. Here's how you play: Show the fourth photo in the fourth folder in your photo files. Then tag four more.

Here is mine:



In this photo, Esme is celebrating her first birthday, and she's busy choosing a toothbrush from the Tol table. The Tol ceremony is a Korean tradition for babies on their first birthday. In Korea, babies are dressed in the hanbok, and there are tables groaning with amazing ceremonial foods for celebrating. The Tol table is laid out with items that symbolize different professions or blessings for a person's life. A few items on the traditional table are:

• bow and arrow: the child will become a warrior
  
• needle and thread: the child will live long
  
• jujube: the child will have many descendants
  
• book, pencil, or related items: the child will become a successful scholar
  
• rice or rice cake: the child will become rich (some resources say choosing a rice cake means the child is not smart)
  
• ruler, needle, scissors: the child will be talented with his/her hands
  
• knife: the child will be a good cook
  

The child is seated on a cushion in front of all of these items, and the first two things he or she chooses are supposed to predict the direction of his or her career or life. 

We are not Korean by culture or birth, but when we adopted Ada from Korea, we decided to incorporate many Korean traditions into our family celebrations.    Not being raised with these traditions makes it difficult to to it entirely authentically, obviously.  But it also affords us some flexibility.  For instance, at Ada's tol party, we added a few extras to the tol table, including a thermometer (for a doctor).   Ada, being herself, first chose the thermometer and then the needle and thread.   On the video of this event, you can hear me lapse into a throaty cheer, not unlike a good Yiddish mama, "She's a doctor!  And she has long life!  Yea baby!"  I guess I channeled Barbra Streisand for a minute or something.

For Esme's tol table, we added yet another few choices:  a small plane (pilot) and a toothbrush (dentist).  She chose the toothbrush first, and then a measuring cup (a chef, perhaps?).   Ada likes to remind Esme that she's "going to be a dentist who likes to cook."   Time will tell.   She does like to brush her teeth and floss an awful lot, come to think of it....

Now to tag four more:

3continentfamily

American Koukla

Word Lovers Unite

and I know she's been tagged already, but I second it:

La Belette Rouge

Tag, you're all it!