Glad tidings to you...

I think Dr. Seuss is one of the great American literary treasures. Everything he wrote was pretty much pitch perfect (and in trisyllabic rhythm, no less!) and represent heavy ideological thinking packaged in a humorous, wacky, and utterly original style. I just ran across his "A Prayer for a Child" and thought it was a perfect little message to send out into the computering ether this holiday season. Enjoy, and please have yourselves a merry little Christmas-with peace and good will toward all.....

Prayer for a Child

From here on earth,
From my small place
I ask of You
Way out in space:
In every land
What You and I
Both understand…

Please tell all men
That Peace is Good.
That’s all
That need be understood
In every world
In Your great sky.
(We understand.
Both you and I.)

-Theodore Seuss Geisel

written in 1955 for Colliers magazine and accompanied by above illustration

Finding the fa la la la la

I really do love this season. I'm no banner waving Christian so honestly "the reason for the season" is just part of what I love about Christmas. The lore of St Nicholas and the idea of celebrating the Solstice, the longest night of the year with it's thoughts of a brighter, warmer, greener future, also make me pretty giddy. I love the fresh beginning of the New Year approaching and vow every January 1 to tackle aspirations and try harder to fix stubborn habits. It's a glorious time to look both backwards and forwards.

I got choked up reading The Polar Express to Flynn last night. It happens every time I read that line about how it used to be that all the boy's childhood friends could hear Santa's sleigh bell and over time as they grew up even his sister could not hear it, could not find the magic of Christmas. It feels all too familiar now that I'm an adult. I usually feel two or three moments of full fledged excitement during the season, and like I said, I love all the history and tradition surrounding this time of year. But my heartfelt moments and excitement now seem so fleeting and are quickly over taken by the exhaustion of social engagements (seriously why does everyone have a party just this time of year? I'd welcome something say the 2nd weekend in February?); the fear of over spending and debt and spoiling already spoiled children; the wondering whether I need to have misc. gifts ready for the random neighbor or friend caller which then brings on anger about the feelings of obligation instead of generosity the holidays can incite; and lastly, hoping that I've been 'fun' and present enough to make the season as magical for my kids as it felt for me as a child. I used to spend the whole month in pretty much a state of over-excited hyper activity! My sister and I would plan elaborate Christmas Eve programs for our relatives, reading stories or acting out puppet shows or lip synching to Andy Williams' Christmas record. I would eagerly await the Christmas Eve call from Santa who mysteriously knew so much about me. (A belated thank you Charlie Seldin! I think you fooled me for 10 years.) All of December was a blur of anticipation. Now it's pretty much just a blur.

Of course a lot of the spirit of Christmas can't help but dissipate when it's my Amex, and not Santa, footing the bill to make the magic happen. I read this frightening article awhile back that said it will cost today's parents $222,360 to raise a child born in 2009. Gulp! During Christmas, it feels like that number is right around the corner. Stocking stuffers and whim buys and trying to be 'fair' to one kid and the other adds up. I try to reign myself in but its hard not to get caught up in the mania when you are out on the front lines of commerce!

Honestly probably the best boost I had at discovering the real magic of Christmas, the kind that just might still come from Santa's workshop, is when I perused Made by Joel's wonderful creations for his children. (I've mentioned him before here.) Not only do his toys and projects look great visually but they are geniusly simple and interactive. They harness the imgination, dexterity, and natural curiousity of kids. Those are the type of playthings I like to have around. And while I did make a few crumby Christmas purchases for my kids, (hello horrendous peace sign nail polish kit and squishy salamanders purchased as at the register whims) I am hoping to redeem myself and my standards by making a little something with my own two hands to put under the tree. I'm going old school and want to introduce my kids to the pleasure of analog telephoning, tin can style! Look how cute these are! It will be an interesting experiment to see if something so hands on and homemade can compete on Christmas morning in a sea of batteries, remote controls, and plastic Playmobil. Fingers crossed! Even if those fingers are painted with glittery peace sign polish...

Tis the season...

I come from a small family and have just one sibling to call my own. But lucky for me, she's amazing. Amy is probably the most trustworthy person I know, capable of holding onto triumphs and confessions and heart aches with perfect loyalty and thoughtful advice. She's probably aided in this by what seems to me an adept moral compass and a keen listening ear. She's one of those people who never seems ruffled regardless of how much is on her plate. She quietly accomplishes more than most people I know, but she isn't one to get all braggadocio about it, so few people actually realize the zillion tiny balls she throws into the air every day. She's always the 3 c's-calm, cool, and collected- and since I feel I spend half my days in twits and fits- I've always deeply admired and even coveted her degree of zen.

Amy's full of good ideas too and she absolutely made my day this week by sending a lovely little holiday note via snail mail. Inside were a few photos of cute items she'd seen in catalogs and on each she'd labeled Al or Jaren. The note simply said "because I really am a lover of the idea that the thought really does count for something...here are just a few things I would love to be buying for you this holiday season!"

Isn't that fantastic? Knowing that her family and mine, along with most people I know, are in financial lock down this holiday season, I absolutely adored this note from my sister. In fact it truly felt like she'd sent me a gift. And I agree with her sentiment completely. It really is the thought that counts and I felt loved, pegged, appreciated, and thought of just as I would have if she'd actually bought me these things. (All of which did happen to be right on point, by the way. I mean, look at those boots! A match made in heaven.) It was brilliant and made me want to go on a fake vision board style shopping spree for everyone on my list this year, cutting and tearing magazine and catalog photos and wrapping them up. I would wager that a family Christmas party could still feel pretty great even if everyone opened a gift with a photo of an item, instead of the actual item, inside.

I think it's easy to forget in the mania of the holidays that gift giving doesn't have to be an elaborate, expensive enterprise. The best gifts are the ones given thoughtfully, whether they are big or small. It's an art to be a good gift giver and to me this doesn't just mean you are a good shopper and always have something for someone. When done correctly, a gift is a true manifestation of who someone is- you "get" them enough to choose something they would choose for themselves- or you have paid enough attention to someone to know what they are most in need of.

We should really think before we buy all of the time, but especially at Christmas. I believe in the ritual of giving this time of year, it's symbolic and Christian and all that good stuff. We shouldn't complacently let it become yet another meaningless display of our buying power. If you are looking for a little Christmas time inspiration, treat yourself and read the wonderful O. Henry story The Gift of the Magi. You can give it a whirl here or seek out a copy of the above version illustrated by Lisbeth Zwerger. It's gorgeous and good for the kiddos to boot. Let's hope we can all be a little Della & Jim to each other and those we love this year!

Happy Holidays!

Living History

In the last year, all the oldest generation of my family has all but died. I have no grandparents left, and since I started out with 3 sets thanks to a complicated family tree, that's saying something. My great aunt Shirley is the sole survivor in the 80+ crowd of my bloodline. (She's a great one to have left though. Any of you who know me well have heard me talk about Shirley. She's one serious kook and someone not to be trifled with. She embodies sentiments of another time when she says phrases like "great scott" or "my heavenly days, Alli" or "it's on the Boulevard" --meaning Foothill Blvd. She is a keeper and a true family matriarch now.) We are so lucky to have her with us still.

Holidays make me think about family. And this year, it feels a little strange not having the older set to anchor my family to our usual traditions and events. I can already see how not having my grandmother Mere around is going to mean seeing my uncles, aunts, and cousins much less. Time passes and family traditions evolve. It makes sense, times change and families grow, but I picture how difficult it must be for the person in their twilight years, who was once at the center of a family, to suddenly feel more like a leaf on a much larger tree. In one way I suppose that's what we all want when we start a family of our own, to witness something so much larger than ourselves taking shape, but it is easy to fantasize about that when you are stuck in your prime years, little family emerging and growing. It might be a bit more bitter pill to swallow when you are the old one at the table struggling to keep up with the conversation about ipads and Facebook and Toy Story 3.

One of the things I admire about traditional cultures is the way elderly people are revered and honored. Even once you die, you are still an important piece of society because the concept of respected "ancestors" is so central to many of these cultures. Some even believe the ancestor spirits are ever-present influencing for better or worse what happens in the daily life of the living. I like this belief that those who went before should inform the decisions you make in your life. It seems so comforting and smart, kind of like listening to a life coach or something. But it's simply a foreign notion in American life. I'm not saying we don't mourn our dead, of course we do, but we don't collectively spend much time thinking about what the previous generation would want us to do. It feels irrelevant in our world of personal choice and fixation with progress. Looking back isn't an American, or some might even say Western, direction of thought.

I can't say that I always listened rapt when Mere or other grandparents were telling their tales or doling out advice, but now that I can't hear it, I miss the chance to. I'd really love to ask Mere some questions about her carmel sauce technique and hear my Grandma Lou say "Raoul and Felipe" (her names for the 2 elevators in her building) in her best tongue rolling Spanish accent. I think it's difficult not to see our elderly as stereotypes. We forget to look past the wrinkles and bad Christmas sweatshirts and see their former youth spent full of days that probably really resembled our own. I wish that I could have looked further past Mere's critical eye for decadence and material possessions and focused more on the reasons behind her criticism. What was it like living through the depression and having your mother sew wedding dresses to put clothes on your back?

I find it a wee bit ironic that we fixate on our kids knowing factoids of history like "1492 Columbus sailed the ocean blue", and yet most of us couldn't probably give a significant personal family history date like when our parents were married or the year our grandparents were born. Living history, that's what or older family members are. I'm a fan of living history. I know I'm always referencing, nerd-like, radio shows, but I truly adore the tiny segments on NPR made by Storycorps. Usually less than 5 minutes, they are snippets of interviews between family members or friends. It's just one person asking another person about their life and significant (or not) moments from it. I love hearing these intimate pieces of a stranger's story and how the interviewer relates to it. It is surprisingly hard to interview someone you know well. I took my Dad into a Storycorp booth a couple summers ago when they were traveling through SLC and we recorded an interview. It was an experience I treasure-emotional wreck of an interviewer though I was- and I now have a documented, recorded piece of our shared living family history. It makes me proud. But why haven't I extended this experience to pretty much everyone I know, particularly those I know who are likely in their last years?

Storycorps motto is "Every life matters." I believe this too, so this holiday season, when I am sure to see my family, old and grey and young and dewy alike, I am going to challenge myself to think like an interviewer and find out some facts and life history about those around me. Storycorps has a list of great questions to use as a stepping off point. It might not be the usual cocktail hour conversation but it is something I know I can fell good about doing. Check the list out. Maybe you will find out that you want some of these answers for yourself at your next holiday shindig?.....

An early thanksgiving

I have a real affection for the radio talk show Radio West. (In fact, Jaren loves to tease me about my boyfriend being the show's host, Doug Fabrizio.) I don't listen to it daily or even regularly, but if I'm ever in the car at 11:00 you better believe I'm tuning in and likely really enjoying it. I have been exposed to so many new ideas and interesting personal stories because of this show. I think it would be a dream job to research and read about random things and people and then get to quiz someone about the who, what, where, when, and why. It's endless, really, the fascinating things we can learn about each other and this world if we choose to do so.

I was lucky to catch a good chunk of Radio West this week which was an interview with David Campbell, a guy who just wrote a book called American Grace. The book is an attempt to figure out why America remains such a religious nation compared to similar economic/social countries like those in Western Europe, and why our different religious sects don't necessarily divide us a nation. In America, we've kept our religions remarkably intact and even growing. Campbell posits that it has a lot to do with our nation's entrepreneurial take on religion-it's personal here, not a required religion adopted by the state or government, and because of that, religion is able to be really responsive and fitting to personal needs and tastes. It's rather interesting to me that this means that the vitality of religion (and perhaps our nation) still comes down to what our country's founders felt, that celebrating and honoring religious freedom is key.

One of the most compelling parts of the interview to me was when Campbell mentioned that in random samples across the US if he asked people the question whether they say any type of grace before a meal, it was pretty much universally 50/50; half say grace, half don't. This statistic was true regardless of where he was in the country, regardless of age or social status, etc. I found this surprising. I'm not even sure if I thought more or less people would still be blessing their food, but I thought the fact that it breaks down so perfectly across the country was significant and worth thinking about. What does it mean to not say some kind of thank you out loud before you eat? Is something lost if saying grace becomes a relic of the past or the fervent?

Not being a religious family, I confess that me and mine rarely say grace or a prayer before dinner, and yet in the abstract I realize how much this bothers me. It isn't about hellfire and brimstone or God per se. For me, it is really about the true meaning of grace as an expression of gratitude, regardless of what the specific words are or whom they are directed to. This is a heart of the matter subject for me since I think if I could sum up my religiousity/spirituality in one single word it would be gratitude. I have faith in giving thanks. I have faith in believing that the world around me is truly amazing and that those I interact with are unique and amazing too. As a parent, the qualities I hope to impart in my kids are kindness and graciousness. Call it Christian. Call it being all you can be. I don't really care. I just hate to think that by opting out of saying grace I might be helping to foster an environment in my home that equates to entitlement...the we have this just because we do, irrespective of the work it took to have it, mentality. We all work for our money but also someone else worked to grow it, make it, dream it into being. (And the it here is a fill in the blank, mind you. It can be anything.) Ultimately you can call it God, you can call it the Universe, or you can call it a long chain of humanity cooperatively organized to make it so....but isn't there room in all of those views for an expression of mindful gratitude? I can't see the harm in directing a few quiet minutes to thankfulness each day.

Out of curiousity, I looked up some different traditions around saying grace at the dinner table and was quite inspired by what is out there. I thought this list of Christian/God centered texts had some nice ones. I also thought this list compiled from all different religions was interesting. None of them feel quite right for me but I think I'm going to try and experiment and see if I can come up with one that suits my family. I started simply last night by asking everyone to say one thing they are grateful for. It wasn't earth shattering--Flynn's was Santa for heaven's sake--but it set a tone for the meal that made me quite happy.

It's fitting to bring this all up in the month of Thanksgiving, isn't it? I adore Thanksgiving and hate that it gets swept under the rug in the vaccuum between commerical Halloween and even more commercial Christmas. I love that the holiday is about the simple act of appreciation and giving thanks. I love the Mayflower. I love the Pilgrim story and even have a soft spot for crazy Pilgrim dress. I'd wear a pair of square toed buckle shoes any day and this is 300 years later! I intend to make these cute paper Pilgrim hats the required dress code at the Harbertson family turkey day meal. And you'd better believe it, this Thanksgiving we'll be primed and ready for grace!

Dollar store woes

In my life as a parent, there is no retail hell quite as visceral as taking my children to the Dollar store. It's a fate I try hard to skirt, avoiding the places like the plague that they are. They are just so full of constant temptation for children-balloons, obnoxious holiday decor, sparkly crap, plastic toy wonderlands, and cavity inducing treats. And it doesn't take a 6 year old long to figure out just how cheap $1 is compared to normal shopping experiences. Because of the toll it takes on my psyche we rarely go to the Dollar store, but every major holiday seems to chip away at my resolve and we always end up there for something random-this Halloween it was glow sticks for trick or treating. So the dollar store conundrum is fresh on my mind.

I really don't think dollar stores are responsible for cultural decay, but I'm not joking when I say that I think places like it have contributed directly to it. I think All A Dollar, Big Lots, and the like have done a lot to harm our mindset as a culture, and especially our consumer culture, so central to the American way of life. The value we place on goods is irretriveably altered when we pay only $1 for them. We don't expect much out of the product's design, we don't expect it to exude taste, we aren't supporting the labor market that produced the product, and we certainly don't expect it to last. I have issue with all of these things going by the wayside, but encouraging disposability is to me really egregious. I bet 50% of land fills are now filled with the broken down rejects someone bought at the freaking dollar store! Trust me, I tried this summer, and it is hard to unload the stuff at a garage sale, let alone have it hang around for years in your own closet.

Last summer I read an awesome book called Cheap: The High Cost of Discount Culture. It was an enlightening read about the global practices behind producing goods cheaply and the psychology of how good deals and cheap goods have infiltrated our consumer experience and mentality. The book depressed me on a lot of levels--thinking of the plight of the foreign worker making silly products for hours on end that no one needs in dangerous conditions is a hard pill to swallow-but the thing that really struck me most was the way cheap goods have changed our expectations of products and therefore our expectation of workmanship and quality. It is frightening to think that we have traded in the concept of heirloom quality for sheer quantity or the hope of a larger bank balance in exchange for inexpensive goods.

Being married to a craftsman, someone who can build actual useable things from scratch, I've learned the value of creating by hand. I've seen the work it takes to produce a chair from a hunk of wood, and it is something so hard to put a price on. It's someone's time, sure, but it's also someone's knowledge and someone's pride in what they produce. It is intensely personal work to make something by hand. And it's that sense of the personal that sets the creation apart from mass production goods. Anyone can buy a dresser from IKEA and save a bundle but is there a story behind the item, a point of view, other than how cheap it was or the frustration of putting it together?! Can you name something you own that you feel you would want to pass on to your children? Why do you feel this way about it? What sets it apart from everything else you own? I'm willing to wager you aren't looking at something you bought at IKEA or the Dollar store.

Things that we truly value are priceless. Literally. You cannot put a dollar figure on them and yet that is the only criteria shoppers use when perusing the aisles of dollar store establishments. "But it's so cheap!" "Can you believe this is only a dollar?" And that's exactly the mentality that gets all of us. These places thrive because it feels good to get a big bang out of a little buck. A 6 year old feels it, we feel it. It's a difficult thing to combat and a very difficult thing to say no to, especially in tight times like these. But I think it's worth considering the impact buying cheap has on us as a culture and on us as a personal consumer.

I've accepted my impact politically and socially as a consumer, but I'm not willing to accept the classic American consumer moniker if it means increasing trash, not treasure, on the planet. If we as Americans are consumers above all, let's be good ones. Let's elevate our possessions to being bastions of good taste, design, sustainability, and personality. Ghandi's old saying "we must be the change we wish to see in the world" was surely never meant for consumer practices, but I'm convinced there isn't a more political, or aesthetic- altering, stand we can take as a culture. I think we could change the fabric of culture more quickly by refusing to buy cheap than by the ballot box. It's an interesting power to wield, the power of the wallet, and definitely something worth our thoughtful attention when making those purchases that make the world, our world, go round.

p.s. The author of Cheap was interviewed on Radio West last year. I seriously heart our local radio west situation, and this episode is a great one hour program on all these topics and more. Give the podcast a listen if you can!

Big ups and trying not to fall down

I love when the inner world of my heart and the outer world converge. I've had a lot of sunny moments this past week that match the absolute golden beauty of these late fall days. Exciting things are afoot for me and for Jaren and the kids seem to be happily progressing. Feelings of deep gratitude for my uber-lovely parents and all the support and gracious generosity they bestow on me and mine are making me feel full. I am so lucky to have the kind of parents who are equal parts friend, confidant, and cheerleader. They have gotten me through rough patches since I was a wee thing and here they are still, at 35, stepping up to babysit my kiddos, allay my fears-both real and imagined, and buoy my reality. I am so, so lucky.

And to top it off, I got to go to the desert this weekend! I think Utah is a gem on many levels, but I don't think words can describe the magic of the red rock desert. When I head south, I feel like I'm going home. I love Southern Utah in the spring when the desert landscape is alive with flowers and life that defy the arid landscape, but Fall is pretty damn spectacular. The huge Cottonwoods lining all the rivers and washes were blazing yellow, and against the blue sky and deep amber rock it was almost too much contrast, kind of like technicolor or a hand colored photograph. We treated our kids to their first Goblin Valley experience and they were just the right ages to scramble and climb among the rock formations and really take it in. We spent the time hanging and hiking with dear friends and admiring the grandeur of a very mighty landscape. Again, it made me feel full of light and love.

It's a lucky life to lead and I know I'm blessed or fortunate or whatever you want to call it. I get worried when things feel like they are on the uptake, though, like something is bound to come crashing down. It's the "every action has an equal and opposite reaction" equation. Is it human nature to feel this?

I can't recall where I first learned about the term momento mori, a Latin phrase that translates to "remember you must die" or "remember you will die" but I've been pretty fascinated with the idea for awhile. Manifestations of momento mori occur in a lot of architecture and art, especially from the Middle Ages and Puritan era--most are dark paintings full of grumpy old men holding skulls or oversized time pieces or the occasional church with human bones and skulls prominently displayed, symbols of impending death. Macabre though it may be, I love this concept. I've been considering carrying a little momento mori of my own, something that cautions me to think about the now. I love the idea of reminding myself, even in my most light hearted and happy state, that time is always short, life cannot be lived forever. It's counter intuitive, but I find this comforts me. My biggest fear just might be letting my very own life pass me by; to feel regret or that I did not live to the fullest extent of who I am. To me, that can really only be achieved if I stay mindful about TODAY. This very minute is really all that we can control right? Who knows what will happen next?

I like skulls and black. And a pocket watch is cool, but I don't think I can go that literal with my momento mori. So I'm thinking, for me, what better manifestation of momento mori than to carry around the perfect little smooth rock I collected in the desert this weekend. It feels good to my fingertips and fits perfectly in my pocket. Rounded by eons of time, rinsed by flood and rain, and baked over and over again in the scorching desert sun, it is a tiny fragment of one of the most beautiful pieces of this Earth. Let's hope its tangible presence in my jeans helps me strive to be a beautiful fragment in this crazy world too......