incipit vita nova

We Only Have One Book In Our House

My daughter Meredith attended a Christian school. When she was in third grade, I was waiting outside her classroom for parent marching orders, and thought I’d make small talk with another mom, a lady whose child had attended school with my daughter since kindergarten. I and Meredith’s dad were splitting up at this time. I had already been branded with a slutty career woman “S,” at school, and even worse, Meredith’s dad . . . wait for it . . .

Picked his daughter up after school on a Harley.

Even though I’d marked myself as headed for Perdition, I foolishly thought there’d be no harm in a few words of small talk. I had started writing for younger readers and was asking everyone remotely connected to a child about the type of books they enjoyed. “Have your kids read any of the Harry Potter books?” I asked.

“We only read one book in our house,” she said, her nose wrinkling as if I’d bathed in eau de Brimstone. No — a spritz of Burberry Brit. Satan’s own fragrance.

“They’re pretty good,” I said. “Why don’t you –”

“They promote witchcraft,” she said. “He rides a broomstick and they do magic.” This last word was spat out like two watermelon seeds.

As the tone and the whole thing sank in, I thought, this woman would gladly burn every book that is not The Book. I cannot let her in my house. Although I owned three versions of The Book, I also had 2,000 other books. Dear Lord, I thought — what must she think about the library? Bookstores? Even the Christian bookstore! There were books in there covering Satan, sex (within marriage), or even witchcraft . . . at least, “Here is what to look for if cats start disappearing in your neighborhood.”

It’s a kind of strange karmic justice that the things people most fear, or that they most try to prevent, end up being certainties.

My husband and I were the first couple to get divorced in the small parent circle at the school; we were hardly the last. Our breakup due to growing apart, that we tried hard to handle properly for our daughter’s sake, was painful for her. Over time, it became clear that this was a walk in the park compared to the dad who was caught having “relations” with the church secretary, a child’s false sexual molestation allegations, the garden variety drinking and drug problems and affairs, bankruptcies and other financial disasters, and of course, kids coming out as gay. The stricter the house and more sanctimonious the parents, the worse these things were.

The interesting thing about the ALA’s frequently challenged books lists is how many of them I’ve read. What a ridiculous rebel I am, for I have read many forbidden things. Perhaps the choice is between Hell later for eating of the forbidden fruit and riding Harleys, or Hell on earth, which is what we would have if we only read one book in our houses.

You didn’t think I was really wearing Burberry Brit, did you? It was eau de Brimstone all along.

The Tale of a Great Grandmother

My grandmother told me a story of walking down the street in Riverside, CA - probably in 1915 or so - with her two older sisters and her mother, Nallie Sexton Doak. 

Nallie was very small, perhaps 5 feet tall, and the pictures I saw of her were from very old age. She had silky, snow-white hair curled in a braid around her head. In her youth and throughout most of her life, Nallie's hair was black, and I was always told she referred to herself as "black Irish." 

My grandmother was very interested in her father's background. His name was William John Turnbull Doak, and was born in Doaktown, New Brunswick in 1864, and came to the United States as a young boy. The family ended up in Columbia, MO, where he, and a friend he made there, John P. Baumgartner, worked as young barbers together. Mr. Baumgartner married Nallie's sister Lida Sterling Sexton, and WJT married Nallie. Mr. Baumgartner and Lida settled in Santa Ana, CA, where he became a news reporter, eventually becoming the founder and publisher of the Santa Ana, now Orange County Register.  My great-grandfather moved to Riverside, CA with his young wife Nallie and established the barber shop at the Mission Inn. His barber chairs are still there today.

William John Turnbull Doak died in 1910. Together he and Nallie had 13 children, of which only three lived - my grandmother Mary Lyda, Estella Sterling, 6 years older, and Jessie Agnes, 9 years older. Estella Sterling was named for William's sister, also Estella Sterling. I was surprised to learn there were Aunt Sterlings on both sides of the family.

So, Nallie was walking down the street in Riverside with her three daughters - one with chestnut hair (Jessie), one with blonde hair (Stella), and one with dark brown hair (Lyda - my grandmother). One of Nallie's wealthy lady clients stopped them and exclaimed, "Oh dear, how did you have three such beautiful daughters?"

I am pretty sure this backhanded "compliment" bothered my grandmother much more than it did my great-grandmother, Nallie Sexton Doak.

By this time, Nallie, who had been widowed when my grandmother was nine years old, owned the Loring Block across the street from the Mission Inn (the barbershop side). Today, the Loring building is still standing, and it faces the pedestrian mall constructed in downtown Riverside, filled with touristy shops, small restaurants, and businesses. The entire top floor of the Loring Block was filled with seamstresses. At one point Nallie employed over 30 young women sewing clothing, primarily for wealthy ladies in Riverside - just like the one who didn't "get" how she could have had three such beautiful daughters.

So now my interest in fashion must make a little more sense. It's genetic.

I am also not the first child in my family whose mother died, and who was raised by her grandmother. Jessie, Nallie's oldest daughter, married Richard Hucklebridge and had three babies. A famous picture of Jessie holding her baby Dick in a Madonna and child pose was reproduced and sold all over Southern California. I can't tell how many times I've been in an antiques store and seen my own great-aunt and her baby being sold as antique Madonna picture. But Jessie got scarlet fever from contaminated milk after her youngest baby Ted was born (Ted was later a pioneer in the Olympics movement) and died. Nallie raised those three babies. My "Aunt" Betty is actually my 2nd cousin.

Being a woman business owner, especially a pretty large business like the dressmaking business, and raising three grandchildren up to and including putting them through college, is plenty for one lifetime. But Nallie also made and sold chocolates at the holidays for family presents. At any one time, there were numerous relatives in the house on Lemon Street in Riverside (still there) around the corner from the Mission Inn and the Courthouse and Library.

My grandmother always said that she failed to learn math properly, because her mother could not wait for her to get home from school so she could pick up the math papers and do her homework for her. Puzzles, math - Nallie made her own patterns for the dresses and figured out the ratios for different sizes. She sent the patterns to Chicago to have them cast in copper, and had dressmakers forms made up to her own specifications. She ran the business like a small country. At one point, she dressed pretty much the whole town of Riverside.

Reportedly, she slept no more than 3 hours a night. She stayed up late, working on patterns, doing the math problems, making candy. 

And she wrote anywhere between ten and twenty stories for The Saturday Evening Post under a male pseudonym, which I do not know, and which my grandmother did not know. There was no praise for this - nothing. For all I know, she's one of the public domain, turn-of-the-century popular writers with bestselling-of-the-day books. 

Nallie graduated from Stephens College in Columbia, Missouri at age 13 with a degree in math. It was at the time, an all-women's college. 

After raising her three daughters, and her three grandchildren, and helping untold numbers of nieces, nephews and friends, Nallie even moved to a small apartment in Los Angeles so she could help her grandchild Betty get through UCLA. 

Then of course she was back in Riverside. She was whip-sharp, strong and healthy for all but the last two weeks of her 97 years on earth. After a lifetime of tragedy (10 babies lost, daughter died of scarlet fever, husband terribly ill before his death) and triumph (few women of her generation did as much as she did) she died in 1961, only a few months before my mother died in June, 1962. 

I always understood that she had been rare for her generation of women, and also that she and my father's mother, Miriam Glasband, had both been young teens when each graduated from college (Mary graduated from Columbia University at age 15 with a degree in pharmacy and opened the first pharmacy in Hells Kitchen). 

I did not understand until recently through good old Ancestry.com that it was not in fact my grandmother's father William John Turnbull Doak who had the early colonial background, it was Nallie. I heard so many confusing, apocryphal stories about her youth, such as "the house burned down and Nallie helped her 6 sisters escape and her father and mother died." This would have been in Columbia, MO, so there is probably some story of a fire there, at some point after the Civil War.

Nallie's father was William Q. Sexton and her mother, Mary Bowman. Both have ancestry back to the earliest Colonial days in America. Some are New Englanders and others are Virginians. There are Bostwicks and Warriners and Spencers and Whitmans and Wyatts and Gentrys and Lees. Once you get back pre-Revolution, people married cousins, and marrying partners were a lot more scarce than they are today. There were no Eugene Glasbands around to provide a completely different heritage and perspective.

But also, once you get back pre-Revolution, you will find that just about everybody traces back to British nobility, and in my case, in multiple cases. But rather even than the Wyatts, I would in a million years, want to pick Nallie to be my forebear. I am so sorry I never got to know her, and so glad she is my great-grandmother.

 

To the Manner Born

It's supposed to be "manor," I believe.  I signed up on Ancestry.com, and I still haven't made the connections that I signed up to make -- I know that through my great-grandfather, William John Turnbull Doak (who doesn't yet exist in terms of these genealogical records), I'm descended from "Squire Doak," who founded Doaktown, New Brunswick in 1610.  I thought that was the old-timer in my family background.

How wrong I was?  See the family resemblence?  Only 11 generations back, my direct ancestor was Anne of York, daughter of Edward IV of England.  Her granddaughter married William Warriner, who is a direct ancestor of mine, and his son, also William, was an early - I'm not going to say "Pilgrim," but immigrant to Connecticut.  Back in the day, as it were - as in about 130 years before the American Revolution.  So he beats Squire Doak to Canada.  As do some other relatives, as in Lois Bostwick, who married William the immigrant's grandson John Warriner.  Their daughter Sarah married George Sexton, a full-on Irish immigrant.  And my great-grandmother, who I know very well, was Nallie Sexton Doak.  I knew her sister, my grandmother's Aunt "Sterling" (Lida Sterling . . . wouldn't have know that without the census records) was married to John P. Baumgartner, the founder and first publisher of the Santa Ana (now Orange County) Register.  Nallie, I was always told, referred to herself as "Black Irish," and had, "three very beautiful daughters," as well as 10 other babies, all boys, who were either stillborn or lived only a short time.  As this was at the turn of the 20th Century, no one knew why this would occur.  It sounds to me, pretty royally familiar, as in Henry VIII familiar. However, I am no Tudor so far as I can tell.  These people (Edward IV, Anne, the other children and their queen Elizabeth Woodville - Anne's mother, so my x-13 times great-grandmother) were Norman French, and Anne's surname was "Plantagenet."

Clearly you can see the family resemblence here!  This is Edward IV's famous queen Elizabeth Woodville.  I was pretty excited to see her name, because she was one of the renowned great beauties of history.  A relatively young widow, I believe she had ten children prior to her marriage to Edward IV.  Afterward, she had another seven.  Among the seven were the tragic "Princes in the Tower."  Yes - it's that family.  My 13x grand-uncle was history's worst uncle - the hunchback Richard III.  He also drowned his brother in a butt of malmsey (a type of wine kept in a barrel, also called a "butt"). I'm giving the Shakespearean version here.  History's real version might well have been a little different.

Now, through the Bostwick side, my lineage is easily traced even farther.  I'm sure everyone will notice the strong, immediate family resemblence.

This is Robert I "The Magnificent" First Duke of Normandy. Robert was born in 1000 AD in Normandy, France, and died at a relatively old age for the time, 36, in Turkey - on crusade.

Why was he called "The Magnificent"?  For his love of fine clothing.  His rather was Robert "The Good," which is pretty awesome.  My descent is through his son by the redoubtable Harlette of Falaise (seriously "Harlette"), Ancitel de Bayeux, Ranulph de Meschines.  Ancitel did not live to be very old.  In fact, I wondered how he and his wife could have had even 3 children, as both seemed to have died as young teens.  Nevertheless, they did.

All these folks went on over across the Channel after a big event.  Remember that "Bayeux Tapestry"?  Another of Robert "The Magnificent's" sons was William the Conqueror. Ranulph got to be the Earl of Chester after this military triumph.

Already in the family's line were ladies named "Hawise," and it is Hawise their great-granddaughter who married Lord Bostock . . . many years later to be called "Bostwick," and to become a well-known colonial family here in America.

You can call me a retard, but until I kept connecting these lines of descent, I truly didn't realize that "Norman" referred to "NOR way," in which there were Danes settled, who later went on over and harried all the people in France until they acquired this portion of France that was then called "Normandy."  Norman French.  Which sort of casts a different light on the "Danish play," does it not?  And a different light upon the end of the Danish King's line and usurpation by Hamlet's uncle.  And there were more English children named Hamlet or Hamnet than just William Shakespeare's sons . . . I even saw a few in my own English ancestry.  I bet Shakespeare was related to old Ranulph or William, just the way I am.

See, the truth is, nearly everyone is in some way "to the manor born".  Genealogists and mathemeticians have teamed up to show how nearly everyone in Europe is descended from Charlemagne and Mohammed, and nearly everyone worldwide is descended from Nefertiti and Confucius.  A 2002 Atlantic article by Steve Olson concisely explains this amazing phenomenon. Now, as to how I spent a few hours connecting the genealogical dots having discovered my great-great grandfather William Q. Sexton and his descent from very early immigrants to New England and thus discovered a relationship to the Plantagenets and even the first Norman French English conquerors, I'm not sure everyone can do that so quickly.  Apparently those who can trace their ancestry to colonial days will have an easier time doing this, as many colonial settlers in England did have royal blood.

They seem to have all come as many have said, "In search of a better life."  Indeed!  The laws of inheritance meant that younger sons and daughters might end up with very little property, and their chance at wealth and a better life entailed coming to a new world.  Hence, I am this many hundreds of years later, to the manner born.

Beautiful Lynchburg!

From Nashville, I flew to Richmond, VA, and then Meredith and Anthony picked me up and we drove to Lynchburg.  I have to be back at work tomorrow, so didn't have a whole lot of time with them, but I did have the opportunity to see some of the downtown area and the James River, meet Anthony's sister Megan and brother Travis and their significant others, and of course, visit one of the two awesome local Super WalMarts.

Here is Meredith and Anthony's small house in Lynchburg.  Cute, huh?

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is the Civil War battle memorial on the James River in downtown Lynchburg.  There was no longer any snow on the ground in Lynchburg but some icicles around the memorial structure that is out in the river.

 

 

 

 

This is a very old bridge that's now part of the riverside park and other public buildings by the James riverside in Lynchburg.

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is the old train depot in Lynchburg, which has a restaurant that doesn't have such good reviews on Yelp and Yahoo, so we didn't eat there.  However, I like this picture because it shows other parts of Lynchburg beyond the depot, and a sense of the curve of the train tracks by the river.

 

 

We did go to WalMart and I have some amateur Cake Wreck pictures for tomorrow.  This is a great town and area so I saw no people/creatures of WalMart, except the cakes. 

 

Beautiful Nashville!

I managed to . . . wait for it . . . leave Los Angeles.  This is the first semi-vacation outside the state in like, forever, or it feels like forever.  That's not true of course, but it has been a while.

My cousin Beth is a Naval physician living with her family in Nashville and will be deploying to Afghanistan very soon.  She and her twin sister Sarah are my "sisters," i.e. the sisters I never had, and I love them so much.

Sarah graduated from nursing school at Vanderbilt University in Nashville and hasn't been back there since her graduation . . . some time ago!  We took Sarah by Vanderbilt and she was able to go by her sorority house and other areas.  Nearby is Centennial Park, with the world's only complete replica of the Parthenon.  Beth lives in West Nashville and I am going to put some of the gorgeous pictures of white Nashville.  It doesn't often snow to "stick" in Nashville.  It's not that cold here (mid-20's) but the White Christmas came to stay and it has been snowing lightly ever since . . . 

This is the Parthenon and memorial statue in Centennial Park, which is right by Vanderbilt.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I noticed there was a gryphon on each corner of the south side of the building (could not see on the other side, which features the biggest bronze doors in the world!).  The Parthenon was built in 1897 for Nashville's Centennial celebration.  I wondered if a gryphon was an authentic Athenian decoration.  Maybe it is a winged lion?

 

 

 

 

Beth's back yard has quite a bit more snow than other areas of Nashville - some school districts are closed here and some are not. Those are river birch trees, and I think elms.  The pool is in great shape!  Somehow I don't think I'm up to a swim . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

After we went to Vanderbilt we ate lunch at Rotiers which is a tradition for Vandy students and grads.  I was really impressed by the ladies room, which is covered in mostly g-rated graffiti.  This is the SOUTH.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is probably why I have what few good looks I have . . . Sarah, and Beth.

 

 

 

Oliver's Daily Adventure

A few weeks ago, I lost an important piece of mail.  As I seldom lose anything, this was really upsetting.  I suspected Oliver the kitty, but had no proof of any type.

Last evening, I realized that my suspicions were definitely along the right lines.  A couple of days ago, the notice for renewing the LandRover's registration came.  This is a big envelope with several papers and a return envelope in it.  I put it in the prominent bill stack on my second desk.  I was using my computer when I heard Oliver walking around on the other desk.  Then I heard him jump down, and saw him saunter past into the living room.

I looked over and saw he had a large envelope in his mouth.  "Hey, cut that out!" I yelled.  I jumped up, while he casually sat there and looked at me, the entire renewal notice in his mouth.  He was just randomly carrying it away.

He really enjoys being petted and loves to play with his toys and . . . well, pretty much anything else, including car registration bills.

Things to do in Denver When You're Dead

I'm heading home from Denver tonight, and it has been a great trip.  But I noticed something.

Compared to Denver, Los Angeles looks like Calcutta.  For all I know, Calcutta offers a better quality of life than LA right now.  It definitely has a fighting chance.

There is no measure that I can think of except, possibly, weather - and that doesn't count in the San Fernando Valley - where Los Angeles does not totally suck rocks compared to Denver.  I'm sure this will be the case in nearly every other urban area outside Southern California - I used to always find things to "like" about LA.  There's nothing to like any more.  We can thank two decades of "Democrat" rule for that.  People are as irrational as hell in LA and will accept just about anything that fits their preconceived "liberal" sensibilities.  Yes, I except our friends in the Valley. 

LA has its awesome, $ multi-billion nonfunctioning "mass transit" system that few people use, of which its most recent highlight is, as John & Ken put it - the "Goat Train" - or the Metro Gold line running from downtown TO Boyle Heights.  Despite the fairly obvious outflux of many "undocumented" individuals that is currently providing slight freeway relief, traffic in areas that lacked heavy "undocumented" populations is as bad as ever or worse.  Despite the hard work of the wonderful people who are revitalizing Downtown, Downtown LA is still slightly suckier than downtown . . . pretty much ANY downtown area in any reasonably-sized city I've ever been in.  You can't bring people in to an artificial situation such as LA Live and expect it to "thrive."  Not when one block away, transvestite prostitutes are running from garbage trucks making their collection runs 2 and 3 days late.

Or, to put it a different way, you can't have a vibrant urban area where the single largest employer is the government.  You can't have a vibrant urban area where middle-class (there ARE no middle class people in the LA Basin any longer - again, thank the Democrat rule for that - chasing every possible small- to mid-sized business out) people don't exist, and where the crappiest imaginable housing starts at $800 a month.  I'm sure there are horrible, crumbling apartments out there in Denver, but I found nice apartments starting at $500 a month (yeah, 2 bedroom).  Which, you can like, be a young couple with normal jobs and handle - right?  I mean so you can save money, afford a few amenities, save for a home, etc.  Right?  Well in LA right now, a young, average couple gets to start out paying around $1,800 a month if they want a two bedroom (think: room with a crib) if they want to live in any remotely decent area.  So that is nearly 4 times the amount of money that people could get by with safely and decently in Denver - which is not a poor, depressed area - not by a long shot.

There aren't any businesses closed here, or very few.  Furniture stores appear to be doing good business, and there are lots of them - lots of active home improvement stores, too.  People do not have the fanciest cars - more American makes and models - obviously more outdoors-capable SUV's, etc.  It looks to be one Beemer per 50 to 60 cars, and maybe one Mercedes to every 100.  I haven't yet seen a Bentley - well there's two at my apartment complex back home RIGHT NOW. 

I don't have to be Stephen Levitt to do a little math to see that overall, Colorado has a less-intrusive government, less taxes, and fewer laws (there doesn't seem to be a helmet law for motorcyclists).  They care about their environment here, and do what is important to ensure continued quality of life.  There's no lack of "open space."  There are plenty of cycling, walking and running, and horseback trails.  There is a well-designed transit system that people use - it goes from where people are to where they want to and need to go.  There are park-and-ride lots far-flung, on all incoming freeways.  There's a vibrant restaurant and food community (more vibrant than LA - or if you think chain steakhouses and Wolfgang Puck clones are great . . .), a music community, an art community, and extremely well-funded - PRIMARILY PRIVATELY FUNDED - I might add - museums and cultural institutions.  The two Universities in Denver are so well-integrated into the community that one almost doesn't know where they end and private residences and businesses begin.

Where I noticed this so strongly was the Denver Museum of Nature and Science.  This museum is slightly smaller than the California Science Center, but not by much.

First - let me share that the food choice at the California Science Center, where busloads of schoolchildren arrive daily - is McDonalds, and sub-McDonalds-level cafeteria food.  At the Denver Museum of Nature and Science, their own cafe is situated in a pleasant atrium area, with nutritious kid-friendly choices including an extremely fresh, high quality salad bar, and a make-your-own sandwich bar.  The entire area is very well-designed for families with children.  At the California Science Center, the equivalent area accommodates fewer diners, and, located at the lowest level of the museum, is somewhat reminiscent of Dr. G, Medical Examiner's digs (yes, a morgue).

Is this all about food?  NO.  It's about priorities and care for others.  It should go without saying that Denver is clean.  I've heard for years from European friends how shockingly filthy California is.  American-born nature enthusiasts are not hurling soiled diapers into the foliage 2 miles out on hiking trails along with dumping used Clamato cans . . . this dump in Arizona's Huachaca Mountains makes anything I've seen look like nothing - it's mind-bogglingly huge.  American students and volunteers take "vacation breaks" to try to clean up the devastation. 

As to the rest of the Denver Science and Nature Museum, it has Body Worlds, and the IMAX Hubble film, which the California Science Center also has.  And there, the similarity ends.  The Denver Science and Nature Museum has an enormous, fully-interactive space exhibit.  A brief examination of their donor walls shows much greater numbers and higher levels of individual and corporate philanthropic support.  People have to have something to GIVE TO, you see.  And the California Science Center is nearly worthless as far as that's concerned.  The only interesting exhibits they have are the traveling ones.  The rudimentary nature of their children's interactive areas should be obvious to any, especially repeat, visitors. 

Denver's evolutionary or "building up to the Dinosaurs" exhibit is not only complete and accurate, it isn't presented at a 3rd-grade level.  A person conversant with natural history would find joy and delight in seeing real fossils, presented in their true context, not missing entire periods of prehistory.  The space exhibit is simply amazing.  It's been there quite a while and has recently been updated, but let's put it this way - although not extremely large, it presents the space program up to the present day.  It presents a broad range of missions, and actual, up to date astrophysics.    

Now, the California Science Center has a new exhibit on "ecosystems" and it looks pretty cool.  I don't need to visit to know that every single section will end with "proof" of "GLOBAL WARMING."  Scientifically, this isn't "cutting edge."  They have a big exhibit to show all those busloads of school kids how to be scared of "global warming" and accept the greatly-reduced standards and quality of life that the "global warming" advocates want.  If I look back at the 1950's (when I admittedly was not around), they seemed to be obsessed with nuclear destruction or the horrible effects of nuclear radiation. Today, it's "global warming." What happened to real science?  Real learning?  It's the "Marching Morons" - I've hung out in LA and sat there while the entire city has turned into Marching Morons, over which a few rich elites preside.  And not "Hollywood Elite," either.  Mel Gibson's getting out of Dodge - and for a 5th generation resident, I never thought I'd say this, but so am I.  I'm sure Mayor Reconquista won't mind.  But I don't get how it's fun to go to a ballgame where the stadium's crumbling around you.  I don't get it at all.

Rocky Mountains . . .

I'm really happy this weekend because Meredith and I are in Colorado for my cousin Sarah's daughter Kara's wedding.  I took the opportunity to see some more of the awesome sights around Denver, and fortunately was able to convince Meredith that we should go to Rocky Mountain National Park yesterday.  This makes #3 or 4 of the big national parks I've visited as an adult.  (Not counting national forest or wilderness areas).  

I will always love Yosemite, but I am so glad we took this trip, and hope to go back Sunday before we leave.  Here are just a couple of the numerous pictures we took.

This is off Trail Ridge Road, the highest continuously paved road in the U.S., peaking at 12,100 feet above sea level.  Everyone drives this road and they are doing construction.  I felt a little bad getting out and walking around on the tundra.  This is a delicate environment, and I had no idea that the tiny plants that grow in the harsh tundra environment may be dozens, and even hundreds, of years old.

Picture #2 is higher up - with some more spectacular views of peaks that are about 13,000 feet high - not even the real "Fourteeners".

I really wanted to capture the extreme blueness of the sky.  It is a little hazy around Denver and very hot, but up in the mountains, the air is very pure and the sky extremely blue.

Most of the high part of Trail Ridge road is above the level of the ski lift at Mammoth, and way above the other high Sierra areas I've been in.

I was a little concerned I might have some altitude effects, but it didn't happen, and I was jumping around out there to see if anything would happen.

As to the forest in the backcountry, it is extremely thickly-forested, but unfortunately at the lower elevations, the bark beetle is devastating the forest as it already has done in California.  The Rockies are totally amazing from the giant scale to the tiniest details.

These are the little tundra plants.  The pine trees are natural bonsai, growing level with the ground due to the harsh winds and weather.  Now, during summer, all of the tiny plants bloom and grow.  Some of their roots extend yards into the rock, while others are beautiful daisy-like flowers that live for a hundred years, saving up their energy to bloom once, set seed, and die.  

Clarion Write-A-Thon 2010

I'm participating in the "Write-A-Thon" to benefit the Clarion Science Fiction Writers Workshop this year.  The workshop branch I'm supporting is what I refer to as "Clarion Regular," which is the workshop that was originally founded in Milford, PA by Robin Scott Wilson, and which then moved to Michigan State University, and is now located at the University of California, San Diego.  I'm doing this as part of our BVC Clarion effort - and guess what?  If you don't already know, Vonda N. McIntyre, who attended the mindblowing Clarion Class of 1970, founded Clarion West!!! 

This is like a Walk-A-Thon, only it's a Write-A-Thon.  You can pledge a certain amount per-word, or just make a donation in general.  The overall goal is $10,000 to be raised for a six week period, which coincides with the current students who are now in their second week of the workshop.

There are 76 of us graduates and friends doing this for Clarion-UCSD - so each of us needs to raise at least $132 to reach the goal.  So far everyone is ahead of the game, and I'm late getting started!

I am doing this because I attended the Clarion workshop at MSU in 1984.  The story of how I then quit writing for eight years (not immediately afterward, and nothing to do with the workshop) is now pretty famous.  As I sit here and type, I still remember those six, so long-ago weeks, as the best six week period of my whole life.  I'll probably never be so happy as I was in E. Lansing, Michigan, living in the Soviet-style housing block dorm, eating ketchup-covered pizza, collecting cans to have food and beer money, and crying helplessly and homesick-edly for the brown hills of California.  In my mind's eye, I can see the psychotic squirrel who woke me every morning.

I was amazed to discover that the storage boxes of our work that had been kept at MSU in the library dungeon are still in existence!  I have two filing cabinets of what are sometimes referred to as "white papers" and in my case, I think I would call them "firestarters" or "recycling opportunities," and those contain some of my Clarion manuscripts, and others of that early 80's vintage.  Back then, writers used different tools.  Many people wrote longhand, and others used typewriters, and because I was so "rich," I took a $10 yard sale manual typewriter with me to Clarion.  Every manuscript (they're indescribably horrible, too) that I wrote at Clarion, and I think I wrote TEN stories or "story-lets" or "story-like" objects, was written on that cheap, rickety, faint-ribbon typewriter.  Most people are surprised at my rapid computer typing speed (120 to 140 words a minute), which is similar to speaking.  I can do transcription of people who are just talking normally.  It isn't that fast to type on a manual typewriter. Point of this being, those of you who play guitar - typing on those old manual typewriters isn't quite like playing guitar, but you do develop typing callouses and those manual typewriter keys start to hurt after a while!

Ah, pain for one's art . . . 

Typewriter, squirrel, Harlan, the knit-and-purl critiques.  Smoking unfiltered Pall Malls with Glenn Wright out on the step.  Watergun fights, craziness, "Gorgo" (my husband Mike, dubbed "Gorgo" by Harlan due to his great height), and . . .

The Blue Bunny.

I have to re-take a picture of the infamous crucified Blue Bunny T-Shirt.  More recent Clarion classes don't know who he is.  I haven't done a thorough survey, but the Blue Bunny was a ratty stuffed blue rabbit that we passed around and held when it was our turn on the critique "hot seat."  From what I've heard, he arrived early on, but probably not as early as 1970 - and he was already in horrible shape by 1984.  At Clarion, you spend every morning sitting in the critique room or "class area" in a circle on, what was, at least for us, musty, overstuffed, nasty couches.  If you were like me, you were a wretched, character-free coward who clung to Glenn Wright's thin arm and shoulder as she also clutched the smelly, pilly, rough blue horror bunny to her chest.  But Kathe Koja has a way better story than me and . . . ha ha!!  Kathe did something so surprising and hilarious that I remember it as one of the great "perfect astonishments" ever.  It has to do with "knit one, purl two, I could not give less than a crap about you . . ." (All I'll say is - if you're in a writing critique group, don't knit through other people's critique sessions.  Just.  Don't.)

For the Write-A-Thon, these are my three projects:

• To Kiss the Star, novelization (YA)
• Secret Project With Astonishingly Unusual Protagonist in High Concept Milieu (adult/older teens)
• Flogging my cousin Robert Sterling to write about William Wilson's Shadow Doppelganger for the Shadow Conspiracy II.

Look!  Here's my BVC Booksheeellllffff!  You can read numerous things for free and even buy Imago!

Just saying.  That's because I never backlink and people actually go "Where's Amy on the periodic table of women writers . . . gee, I haven't read anything by her."  Well for FREE you can injure your mind and expose yourself to "real . . . talent".  That's a Kirkus pullquote.  Seems to me the original said, "This book would have been better served by being pulped and the opportunity given to writers with real storytelling talent."  (Just kidding.  I made that up.  You know they do that for real, don't you?  For movies and books . . .).

Very few of the writers that attend the Clarion workshops are rich - and they aren't all 21 years old like I was on that long-ago Michigan summer.  People come from all different walks of life - different ages, genders, professions, cultural backgrounds, and writing interests.  What they are doing, is attending the sci-fi and fantasy field's version of toney MFA programs or super-expensive writers workshops and retreats. 

I had NO MONEY to attend Clarion that summer.  I was working 3 horrible part-time jobs and Mike and I could barely make the rent and pay our bills.  I received $2,000 from my dad (this is the "Hi Dad, I want to be a science fiction writer" and "Oh, like AZEEEMOFFF?" conversation) and $500 from Andre Norton, who also provided money to a writer to attend Clarion West.  Why Michigan and not Seattle (West?).  Well, because I was inspired by beloved author and MacArthur Genius Grant winner, Octavia Butler.  1984: "Bloodchild," and this was what I wanted to do.  Apocryphally, I was admitted to a prestigious fulltime MFA program as well; I chose Clarion, for reasons I have written about elsewhere.  For the first time today, reading Octavia's Wikipedia, I realized that My Agnes, was a way better Agnes to this far-better writer than me.  "Agnes, my bright star, ever pointing upward," (this is a quote from David Copperfield, the book, not the magician) - otherwise known as Harlan Ellison, who helped Octavia be in the WGA West Open Door Program, and then, the next year, Clarion (1970).

I had no money for myself at all, and one of the most soul-crushing moments of my life was when the liquor store guy in E. Lansing refused to accept my cans for redemption - because I'd crushed them to save space!  I was expecting $20 - and I didn't get anything and therefore . . . well  . .  . ya know, it all worked out.  I probably wrote at least 2 of those awful story things because I didn't have the money to keep up with the others partying.

My goal is at least $132.  You only need to give a small amount.  The money will be used for scholarships for these crazy dreamers. 

Are You My Friend?

A friend recently shared some principles used by 4-H Programs to guide teachers, advisers, and the young people who are participating.  These principles are eternal, and derive from Native American culture and teaching.  I believe other cultures have used them as well.  They amount to a successful approach to life, self-determination and happiness.

In class, we are examining ideas of "What is Happiness?"  First, I believe that most cultures recognize that we cannot depend upon others for happiness.  That must come from inside ourselves.  Second, in having unspoken "expectations" of others, we often set ourselves up for unhappiness, for our expectations may often be unfulfilled. 

These principles are also called the "Circle of Courage." 

Belonging:  Lakota anthropologist Ella Deloria wrote, "Be related, somehow, to everyone you know." Treating all those you encounter and know as kin forges powerful social bonds that draw all into relationships of respect.

Mastery: In native cultures, children were taught from the beginning to respect and learn from those who were older and had different skills.  A person with greater ability was seen as a model for learning, not as a rival. Each person strives for mastery for personal growth, but not to be superior to someone else. According to Reclaiming Youth International, "Humans have an innate drive to become competent and solve problems. With success in surmounting challenges, the desire to achieve is strengthened."

Independence: Reclaiming Youth International points up that, "Power in Western culture was based on dominance, but in tribal traditions it meant respecting the right for independence." In contrast to obedience models of discipline, Native teaching was designed to build respect and teach inner discipline. From earliest childhood, children were encouraged to make decisions, solve problems, and show personal responsibility. Adults modeled, nurtured, taught values, and gave feedback, but children were given abundant opportunities to make choices without coercion.

Generosity: Also according to Reclaiming Youth International, "virtue was reflected in the preeminent value of generosity." The central goal in Native American child-rearing is to the teach the importance of being generous and unselfish. In the words of a Lakota Elder, "You should be able to give away your most cherished possession without your heart beating faster." In helping others, youth create their own proof of worthiness: they make a positive contribution to another human life.

Now, are you my friend?  Much of the "Circle of Courage" comes to me by nature, and this cannot be a "virtue" if it is something automatically done.  However, much else comes from what I was taught by my family, especially my grandfather.  As to learning, competition, and respect for those with higher skills, my grandfather always told me, "No matter how good you think you are, there is always someone better.  As to generosity, I was always taught not to hold too greedily to things, not to "grab" at foods or opportunities put before me, but to wait until the right moment, and take or participate only to the right amount.  As to belonging, many years ago, I heard Ray Bradbury speak at the A.K. Smiley Public Library in Redlands.  I'm not sure he said any of these famous quotes that are attributed to him at any of the several speeches I heard him give as I was growing up, but the feelings he engendered definitely fit with them:

• If you dream the proper dreams, and share the myths with people, they will want to grow up to be like you.
• If you enjoy living, it is not difficult to keep the sense of wonder.
• Stuff your eyes with wonder, live as if you'd drop dead in ten seconds. See the world. It's more fantastic than any dream made or paid for in factories.
• We are the miracle of force and matter making itself over into imagination and will. Incredible. The Life Force experimenting with forms. You for one. Me for another. The Universe has shouted itself alive. We are one of the shouts.
• You can't try to do things; you simply must do them.

So, we are all kin.  Do you believe this circle of courage is true?  Are you my friend?

According to Mr. Bradbury, who is one of those children that we other children should pay attention to and learn from,

"Why is it," he said, one time, at the subway entrance, "I feel I've known you so many years?"
"Because I like you," she said, "and I don't want anything from you."

And about writers - because like gardeners and cab drivers and teachers and accountants, we do a job.  And about the way it is done, he said,

"The good writers touch life often. The mediocre ones run a quick hand over her. The bad ones rape her and leave her for the flies."