incipit vita nova

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."

Great Book and Blog for Moms and Kids Alike

I want to give a shoutout to my friend Laura Diamond, who I know from Beyond Shelter.  Laura is Beyond Shelter's current board president and she's been an amazing volunteer and supporter as long as I've been there.

Laura has her own blog and a great book that she edited of true essays on parenthood called Deliver Me. Laura's got a great voice and everything she writes rings very true.

If you're a parent or a child, you can't go wrong reading Laura.  I think that covers just about everybody out there.  Funny, bittersweet and insightful - this describes Laura's writing.

So go go go!!  Take a few minutes to read and discover a great new voice!  I recently heard from my friend Susan Koppelman, the literary historian, again after a several-year hiatus.  I think Laura's writing would fit right in if you enjoy the many books that Susan has edited of writing from women.

Whale Watching

Meredith wasn't very eager to go whale-watching yesterday, but after seeing a gray whale surface and dive several times, she was glad that she'd gone.  

This is a nice illustration of a gray whale.  They are glorious creatures, even though they are covered with all types of barnacles, parasites and scarring.  I'm not sure that the sea lions play with them like that, but they come extremely close to the coast this time of year during their annual migration.  The boat we took just left Long Beach Harbor, went quickly past Point Fermin, and then went along the Palos Verdes peninsula.

In addition to the whale, we saw hundreds of dolphins traveling in vast pods.  I thought I saw three different kinds - and it turns out there are three main kinds of dolphins endemic to Southern California, so that is what I saw.   These guys are so gorgeous - it's marvelous to watch them swimming so happily.  They know the boat is there and know that people are watching and that famous dolphin playfulness comes right through.

These are the common dolphins, and they're anything but common.  I can't endorse any specific whale-watching company, except to say that they're all good. 

Great Teachers Never Die . . . In Memory of Lois Langland

Last year, I seriously considered developing a program for Scripps College's Alumna in Residence week, which is an annual spring event that brings together students, faculty and alumnae (you did read that correctly - Scripps is a women's college) for a week of learning and growth.  I contacted Susan Anderson, after learning of an outstanding week in 2006 that she presented on the African-American independent community of Allensworth, CA.

Susan provided me with outstanding feedback and input; I proceeded to scratch a few itches, repeat the phrase "Free Your Mind" several times, and take Badger for a walk.

Hence, there will be a brilliant, lovely week this year created by the journalist and memoirist Alison Singh Gee ('86).

In the intervening months, Scripps professor emeritus in psychology Lois Langland, who is the namesake and inspiration for the event, passed away.  A memorial service for her is one of the key events of the week.  The picture of her illustrating the week is very much as I remember her, particularly her necklace.  I think even so, that the photo is "older" and taken quite a bit before I met her, but it echoes the day that I met her, the first day I set foot on the Scripps campus.  This was a crisp spring day in 1979.  I think I had just turned 17, and Lois Langland was one of the first to greet me.  She was the first person I really spoke to at Scripps, and she stayed with me off and on for most of the whirlwind of that first day's tour and events.

So, thirty years ago.

And thirty years later, the little girl whose hand she took, thereby welcoming her to a new life, is going to try to assemble the shards of memory into something like a true reflection.

Some remember days by the weather, others by what was said, and still others by the people they met. I remember most of these things from that long-ago day, from the robins-egg blueness of the sky to the impossible green and ivory beauty of the Scripps campus, to the crowds of girls - some sophisticated, some athletic, some chattering happily, and others - perhaps just one - standing in frozen terror and awe, the least of the little ones, taking hesitant steps over the cut-stone threshold into a world utterly unlike any she had ever imagined before.

Shard after shard after shard -

 As I've often told people, I'm the shallowest person they'll ever know, and the second-strongest memory of I have of that day was what I was wearing.  It was a small, sleeveless beige nylon dress, covered with a tiny floral print.  I remember a darker beige, silky knotted cord belt that refused to stay tied, even while secured by the tightest knot I could make.  As to shoes?  I'm quite sure my memory has erased all but their excruciating unattractiveness and discomfort.

This was the nicest, most stylish thing that I owned; I also wore it to the Senior Awards ceremony at Redlands High School.  My memory of that evening?  Mark Blankenship tripping while leaving the stage and stumbling down the steps in Clock Auditorium.

I was afraid that I'd slip and fall on the slippery tile floor of Balch Hall.  The shadows fell in unusual places; it was cool in the stone interior.  I saw the green lawn of the campus first, marveling at the huge eucalyptus tree - its creamy bark peeling back from its broad, elegant trunk.  There came a smell of spring, and the loud milling jabber of a considerable crowd.  It was all so beautiful.  

I suppose we signed in.  My grandmother suddenly seemed very small, less the vital force that she usually was.  

This is Ms. Blah Blah and Mr. Bler-de-Bler.  That's Dr. Whasbo and the mumbledy-mumble-brr-brr.  Over there is the slmmm-r-de-gubble (Seal Court).  Across the campus is tuh-wall-hull.

Looking north toward the familiar mountains, this is what I saw - tuh-wall-hull - Toll Hall - the place that would be my home for the next two years.

Inside my head, a small voice said, "This is heaven."

Then came this lovely kind face, a sandy-haired lady, not at all tall, wearing a simple knit suit and a lovely pearl necklace.  She pointed at my neck, where the only item of any sort of worth I owned hung - and not really owned yet - had borrowed from my grandmother.  It was the copper leaf-link necklace that had belonged to my mother.

"What a lovely necklace," she said, and I noticed that her very kind gray-blue eyes twinkled. "Where did you get it?"

This was Lois Langland.

My grandmother answered of course.  Upon asking my name, the gray-blue eyes twinkled yet more.  With a charming smile, Lois stepped toward me and took my hand in both of hers.  No one had ever taken my hand quite that way before.  I instantly knew that she was good; not just kind - one of the world's truly good people - and brilliant and decent and - a word that I knew from books - but not truly as a way of being in the real world - humane.  A person who knew what cruelty and lies and indecency were, who saw them and understood them, but who consciously chose never, ever to let them harm her life or others around her in any way.

"Do come with me," she said, "there are people you should meet."

She led me over to the very handsome then-Scripps President John Chandler, tan skin, bright eyes, brilliant smile, and several others - I'm sure all people I came to know well over the next four years, but I don't recall who was in that first group, when Lois Langland physically led me a short distance away from my grandmother and toward the people of Scripps.  

"There's someone you must meet," she told the group who mostly towered over me, who out-sophisticated me, who were at ease, at home, in their place in the world, and I standing outside the dancefloor, not ever expecting to be asked to the slightest pas-de-deux.  They turned and smiled with that look I now know so well, but which at the time, struck me even more silent than usual.  What did they want? I wondered.  Why is she so eager to introduce me?  I was just the least, the shyest, obviously not as bright as all of the other girls, why I was lucky they were going to let me go to this school.  I would be lucky to -

"I found her," she said to the group of tall, curiously-blinking peacocks.  "This is Amy Glasband, our four-year National Merit Scholar."

* * * * *

There are moments upon which our lives turn.  Moments from which we take a step that leads us down a main path in the broad and endless garden of forking paths that are our lives.

This was one of those moments for me.  It was the first, and I still think, perhaps one of the greatest. During the next four years at Scripps - I took one class with Lois Langland, Introduction to Psychology, and I doubt I did better than a "B" - I developed a deep trust and reliance upon her guidance and insight.  Of the humanity she possessed, and her great empathy and insight, I can only hope that in some small measure, a part of that has come to me.

* * * * *

It is strange how such feelings can rest in an object.  For me, it's that copper necklace that Lois Langland noticed, and always liked.  I will never look at it without thinking of her.

On that day, this great woman and great lady, took me physically by the hand and led me from my child's life into the life of a young woman.  She led me into the life of the academy, the life of the mind, and the precious experience that was and is Scripps.  

A simple gesture, really.  Yet something that only those of us with genuine grace, like Lois Langland would do, or think to do.

That day, I received many things, but of them, the greatest of all, was that Lois imparted to me a feeling I had never known before.  It was the first spark of a sense of self that enabled me to grow beyond the shy, self-conscious, frightened and uncertain young girl that I was.  It was a vitally-important feeling that every person needs to experience in their lives.  Having experienced it myself, I came to decide that I too wanted to give this gift back to others.  It's a very simple thing.  Looking at someone, noticing, paying attention to who they are and responding to them, and not to our own selfish, isolated selves.  That was Lois Langland's great gift, I believe, and one she gave freely to so many in her long and wonderful life.

What was it that she did for me on that long-ago day?  For the first time in my life, Lois Langland made me feel special.

 

Oliver the Kitten Acrobat

Meredith's kitten Oliver is super cute.  He tries to play with everything and everybody.  He is a really great climber and leaper - better than any other cat I've ever had.  Meredith took these pictures and it's a nice little snapshot of my life too - look at the bookshelf!

 In the second picture, the collage-like artboard is actually the Playhouse Pictures Christmas card from 1956 or some such year.  I'd had it for years before Amid Amidi told me it was the actual studio Christmas card.

Richard Nixon is faced out because Oliver was VERY interested in him, as in chewing.

Smash the Rotating Mr. Alligator or Somniloquy

Somniloquy is the technical term for a sleep disorder that involves talking in one's sleep while utterly unaware.

Talking as in, Mike told me that once he woke up and I sat bolt upright in bed and announced "Smash the Rotating Mr. Alligator!" and then immediately laid back down and "went back to sleep."  I was of course asleep the whole time.  I can't say who Mr. Alligator was or why he should be smashed.

So, a London couple has achieved Internet fame by the wife Karen recording her husband Adam's ridiculous nighttime utterings.

Her blog features such gems as "Snail fiddling is not an occupation I'd be proud of" and "My badger's going to unleash hell on your ass!  Badgertastic!"  

Somehow I think I might have said something similar at some point . . . I am told usually I mutter incomprehensible, untranslatable things.  However, there's always "Smash the rotating Mr. Alligator!"

Oliver & Hiking

Oliver is getting to be a much bigger kitty.  He's still a kitten though, and after torturing Taz, took up this position in my ladies' lounge (bathroom).

Ahhh.  Sooo comfy.

This past Saturday, I took Meredith on a deathmarch (hike) to one of my old favorite spots, Lion Canyon trail near the Sespe wilderness in the Los Padres National Forest (southern portion, back of Ventura/Ojai).  These great series of hiking spots are accessed off the 33 going northeast of Ojai past Matilija Creek.

Here is Sespe Creek by the Lower Lion campground.  This campground was somewhat occupied despite the cold weather, with a couple of young guys, a couple and another friend, and a mature version of Chris McCandless (though a "rubber" tramp version).

My faulty memory combined this campground's pit toilet (not at all bad, plenty of TP) with the actual bathroom with running water found at Oak Flat, which is actually on the Piedra Blanca trail, not far away . . .

The stream was clear and running rapidly, but very easy to cross.

At the start of the trail looking east across the Sespe wilderness, the sky was extremely clear and a gorgeous blue.  Excellent visibility and the air was very crisp and fresh.  I don't remember the white stones outlining the trail (which was definitely less-traveled the farther we went, though a large group of kids on horses came off the trail just as we got started).

Another backcountry shot on the way back.  This is looking southwest toward Nordhoff ridge (facing back on the trail).  The scenery, with stream in the distance, is the sort where I saw the mountain lion on a hike several years ago - i.e., it was "shadowing me" on the other side of where the first stand of trees appear.  Between is the stream, recessed in a small gorge.

Here is one of the small seasonal waterfalls to be seen along Hwy 33 on the way from the Ranger station to Rose Valley road.  I was unable to locate the boy scout spring that I am pretty sure is also around somewhere on the route (Meredith driving).   

I sure love this backcountry.  As I told Meredith, this section of the Los Padres National Forest is next to the giant Sespe Wilderness.  33 miles of the Sespe is now a wild and scenic river (and I think Matilija Creek, which would be really awesome, because it is so gorgeous).  This large area, being wilderness (also including the nearby Dick Smith Wilderness, also awesome) is closed to non-wilderness activities, such as motorized vehicles, off-roading, ATV's, and let's hope - gangs of beer-guzzling tourists with supersoakers (as seen at the foot of Yosemite Falls - no lie - beyond appalling).

It's wild enough back there that even the short jaunt that I took Meredith on led us well away from the campground and modern noises and sights into the genuine wilderness.

No lions this time though - maybe next time.

Don't be lazy - click and learn about this precious and huge treasure of nature right here in California. - I learned that Sespe Creek is the last undammed (i.e. - no dam) river in Southern California.  As someone who grew up near the formerly awesome Santa Ana River (no lie) pre-flood control, or at least, pre-extreme flood control and diversion, I remember this great river.  It was truly huge at flood-height, spanning almost the entire valley where I grew up.  The large flood basin, as well as entire residential developments, like "East Highlands Ranch," shows what a mighty river this was before human diversion and use.

Anyway, the Sespe is usually crossable and is a creek.  And it's the last one.  Nice, huh?  What they did to the Owens River Valley - that's not progress.  It's a crime.

Kindle: Best Christmas Present EVARRR

I received the best birthday present of my life this March when Meredith got Marcus and Lucas to take Badger to the beach, and Lucas, a talented photographer, took pictures of pony (one of Badger's several nicknames).  He is nicknamed "pony" because with his long, rangy legs, he looks like a pony especially when he races and runs, which as a Jack Russell, is one of his main life purposes.  I get to see my beautiful white beachy frame with the beautiful beach pictures of him every morning.

So, the 3-M's (Meredith, Mike and Marcus) outdid themselves this holiday season.  I had an early Christmas gift-opening this year and I got a Kindle 2.  I let it charge 2 1/2 hours, registered it, and have started to use it.

I made my first Kindle book purchase: The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold.  Seeing the gorgeous film trailers and having read AT it for several years, I thought of the first grouping of 30 or 40 books I looked at, this seemed the likeliest for me to start reading.

I have started reading, and I am causing myself some anxiety and discomfort by turning back to the computer and blogging.  By the way, my Kindle just went idle, and my default screensaver is a large, well-illustrated black and white picture of Ralph Ellison.

Let me preface what I am about to say:  I am a Kindle user of about 3 hours, so I am not giving an expert device review.  Crunchgear has a great basic overview of ten reasons to buy, and not to buy a Kindle.

What I do have to say is that I haven't been this happy and excited about reading - anything - for years.  This includes my Jon Krakauer books.  This includes my climbing, hiking and point-of-death adventure books.  It includes stories of John Muir, and . . . heaven forbid . . . fiction.  The last book that I read that I genuinely enjoyed was Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell by Susannah Clarke.  Some time ago.  

I own over 5,000 books.  Many of these are art books, some are family books, while others are first editions, and in other ways, special and unique.  I love hardcovers, and love the beautifully-made feel and quality of a beautiful, well-typeset and designed book.  The Kindle cannot replace art books, and I am certain there are other sorts of physical books for which it will not be an ideal substitute.

But for regular reading, of the sort people used to do to relax, to divert themselves, and to activate their imagination and mind?  I have just reclined in my office chair, rolled it around and turned to face my lovely beachy bedroom window, with a view that I seldom see turned opposite as I frequently do to use the computer.  I have leaned back and lifted the Kindle, and as I read the exquisite writing of Alice Sebold, I suddenly want more than anything to listen to Susie Salmon's story.  I want to find out about her heaven, and I want every word of this story to resonate in my mind.  I want to savor it.  I want it to last.

I have heard from many adult friends who "no longer have time for books" aside from trains and airplanes and rare beach excursions, that once they got a Kindle, they began reading more and more.  I see so vividly now the difference between the unsatisfying, frustrating computer screen reading experience, and how satisfying, relaxing and lovely the Kindle is.  It is as simple as turning in my chair, leaning back, and holding the "book" up as easily as a "real book" or moreso.  Perfectly balanced, lightly pressed between my fingers, a bare movement of my thumb to read from page to page to page . . . 

I believe for this, Susie Salmon is the exact right girl . . . she has "spunk," it says . . . and now I must read.

Farmville Hoarding . . .

As the proud owner of a pink calf, two alien cows, several clumsy reindeer, numerous elf gnomes and a horrifying number of holiday decorations, I can say that what my best friend pointed up the other day is sadly, all too true:  I'm a Farmville hoarder.

The ASPCA or 4-H might come and do something to me for animal cruelty.  Look how these poor animals are packed in next to Christmas decorations and a thicket of elf gnomes.  I am rapidly collecting enough snowmen to make a snowman fence.  My holiday tree exploded with presents several days ago.  I'm waiting for some type of stern warning from the Farmville crew that I can't cram one single more thing onto my already-largest sized farm.

What is Farmville?  An evil Facebook game is what is Farmville.  I usually use my computer with the sound off.  If I turn the sounds on, comfortingly folksy music plays and the animals make all their barnyard noises.  With the number of animals I have - a LOT of barnyard squeals and honks and clucks and oinks.  And baaa-baaaa's and mooos and neighs.

Here is just one small corner of the Amy Sterling Farmville Farm.  It took me over an hour to harvest, plough, plant and place hoarded items this morning.  Down there in the corner you can see the "lighted hedge posts" - those are a new addition, and that snowpile next to the sign?  That's got an animated cow in it, and if you're actually on Farmville and visiting my farm, you can see his legs kick.  That little brown sign reads "Hoarder!"

I really think I need some type of intervention.  It's going to kill me to sell all this stuff off after the holidays.  This is like my own holiday stuff.  I made a vow two years ago to not buy any new holiday items.

I managed to keep that vow through one holiday season.  I was shopping in Borders for Christmas gifts a couple of weeks ago.  Their items were on sale!  So therefore I brought home another garland, a plastic tree, and an aqua glittery reindeer.  At least he's not a "clumsy" reindeer.  I keep collecting those because . . . I . . . I'm a hoarder.  That's right.  My name is Amy . . . and I'm a Farmville Hoarder.  I acknowledge that there is a higher power.  So I'm right there, at the first step.

Help!

Baby Disaster Tweets

I agree with Madison McGraw - it's almost surreally-disturbing that a mother who lost her 2-year old son to drowning on Monday, December 14 was tweeting about the incident shortly after her son was taken to the hospital, while she was waiting to hear if he would make it or not.

According to ABC News, little Bryson Ross, the 2-year old son of mom-blogger Shellie Ross, was found floating in the family's pool only moments after his mother had tweeted that she was tending to her chickens and that fog had scared them.  The 9-1-1 call about the little boy being found by his brother was made at 5:23 p.m., and the paramedics arrived 15 minutes later, at 5:38 p.m.  

I have been in this game of inches and moments that stretch to hours that we will never forget, so I will never say anything to increase this mother's pain.  I know what it feels like to hold your baby in your arms, to try to clear his airway and to try to do CPR on a tiny body.  

Rush Limbaugh was mocking the recall of window blinds, because not a very large number of children have died by choking on the cords in recent years.  If something can be done to save even one young child's life, I think everybody, thinking about it for a moment, would want to do whatever is in their power to prevent a senseless, preventable death.  One baby's life really is worth a million window blinds and repairing or changing them so the child cannot become entangled and choke to death.  I really didn't like Rush's callous attitude about this, and I felt even angrier about it after viewing the video created by the organization that has been working for several years to improve window blind safety.  There were at least half a dozen young children who survived a choking incident shown on the video and a live home video of a child choking was shown.  It literally happened in a split-second, the child was freed within a few moments, and still nearly died.

We all know about pool safety, and swimming pools are one of the number-one causes of death for young children.  A two-year old cannot swim by themselves, and incidents like what happened to little Bryson happen every day across America, and it is every parent's nightmare.  Bryson's accident also happened quickly - and it was just that - an accident.  This is how fast it happened, and I now know that if I had made it home just 5 minutes earlier on January 11, 2005, I would have a dear little 5-year old boy getting ready to start school in fall 2010, instead of only fragile memories and tears.

I could be blamed for taking full-time employment and going to work, specifically for the health insurance and support of a caring environment that I found at Beyond Shelter, because if I had been with Lee, he would not have died.  Lee received 24-7 constant, attentive, experienced mother care from me in his brief six months of life.  He knew few moments of discomfort, being changed and bathed and played with constantly, and lovingly held and fed at all times.  By the time a child is the age of Bryson Ross, 24 months, they simply cannot be physically held and watched at all times.

However, only Shellie Ross will ever know what was going on, or why she did 74 tweets that day, even as she was working outside around her house, and her older son was tending to the pool area.  As to tweeting within hours of Bryson's death, or tweeting from the hospital while waiting to hear - yes, I do find it inexplicable.  But as a mother who has lost a baby to suffocation at home, my heart does go out to her and the whole family.  I especially feel for her 11-year old son who found his brother and called 9-1-1.  My daughter also found Lee - although she did not have to do CPR and didn't have to call 9-1-1.  She saw the whole thing and it will stay with her for her entire life.  I think with 74 tweets and going through this with one's blog fans - it's time to turn the computer off and tend to yourself and your family.