Lemony Webbles

off to Zivar's

We're going on vacation for a week to visit Billy's sister Zivar (and family) in Leonia, New Jersey. It's right across the Hudson river from NYC, so hopefully we'll be able to see some sights while we're there. But mostly we're just going to have a big cousin-fest with Zivar's three girls. I supect there'll be lots of ballet dancing and wrestling involved. We'll leave Saturday morning at some horrible hour and drive till we get to our PA stop at the Holidome in Clarion. I picked a town randomly using a topographical map, looking for mountains that happen to be along I-80. We'll stop there for the day and swim as much as we can (indoors, of course). The next morning or maybe afternoon if we need to do more swimming, we'll finish the trip. We'll be back the following Saturday. What is that, the 7th? Hopefully I'll be able to keep webbling from NJ! I'll let you know how our travel scheme worked with two squirmy kids.

Aung

Today feels like a momentous day. Maya identified herself by her name for the first time. Only she decided that her name is Aung. I can hardly pronounce this name she's picked. Where the heck did she get it?! I found out that this is her name because when we were playing the laundry game today (this is where I try to distract her from the fun of sklonking through my piles like so many fallen leaves by picking up each piece of clothing and asking whose it is), she identified all her clothes calmly as belonging to Aung. She's enjoying the new found power of being able to call herself by name, and the attention it gets her. After all the trouble we had naming this child, maybe its better if she just picks one for herself. Who knows, maybe she'll change her mind just like we did. She's not even two yet, after all.

ice

Around 9:30 this morning, the kids and I were playing in the toy room and we heard this sound like a light bulb makes when it suddenly burns out as you turn on the light switch. We looked around, and out the window was a car rammed into the bushes in our neighbor's yard, about 15 feet away from the window we were looking out of, and a woman staggering around, getting her two small children, out of the smoking wreckage. I had a strange feeling as I slowly realized that I needed to go from the passive looker out the window, to the active getter of help. I looked around for the phone, which was not in it's charger, of course. Then I saw that there was already someone outside on their cell phone. So I hopped out into the snow, and shouted for them to come inside out of the sharp wind. They came shakily up the stairs. The mom was bleeding a little from her mouth, but, other than that, they all looked ok. As we worked on getting the kids' snowy shoes and coats off, the older of the two boys (named Adonis, I later found out, around Georgia's age) kept saying, 'That was scary. I'm scared'. The younger one, Armani (maybe two), just ran up and joined Maya and Georgia in their couch-trampoline jumping. I sat and talked to the mom, though I never managed to ask her her name (it just didn't come up. I overheard that her last name was Merriwether when she was talking to the police later) and she told me she was four months pregnant and asked me if I thought the baby was going to be ok. (like I would know. I had no idea what to say) Of course, I said the baby would be fine, thinking about what a great shock absorbing system fetuses are decked out with. She said she was feeling dizzy, but nothing worse. It turned out her mouth had gotten hit with the air bag when it inflated(?) (what's the verb for an air bag? seems like exploded would be about right) Her kids were so well behaved, they just got right into playing, and played nicely with my kids, despite being thrown into a totally scary and weird situation. I was very impressed by that. Neither of them even cried. Within a couple minutes, police cars, a tow truck, an ambulance, and an Urbana Park District truck arrived to officially take care of the situation. They all quickly got to work, policeman asking lots of questions from the doorway, trying not to track snow into the house, EMTs asking Mrs. Merriwether lots of questions about her condition. She seemed fine, but they all trooped on to the emergency room anyways just to check on the baby, etc. Tatman's towing guys outside trying to drag the car out of the bushes. They ended up needing two trucks, and thank goodness for the snow to slide on or they never would have gotten that thing out. The front end was all smashed up and pieces all over the yard. Later I would notice that a strange looking red thing behind a tree was a fire hydrant that she had taken out as her car was spinning around in circles on the ice. After a big shuffle to get the kids' coats and shoes back on, with three big EMT guys trying to helpful in my small entryway, and a quick hug from Mrs. Merriwether, they were all gone. I looked at the clock and only half an hour had passed. All that was left of the adventure were puddles of melting snow on the floor, and tire tracks and a misplaced fire hydrant outside. I felt a little dizzy as I went about the rest of my morning.

Now, 3 pm, there's a crew and a bunch of workers digging a big hole around the fire hydrant, putting it back together, I suppose. I'm still a little shaky, though nothing happened to me. I think it scares me to think about what could have happened, how much worse it could have been. But I feel like I shouldn't let my mind go there because it's not real. But minds tend to wander, at least mine does. Mrs. Merriwether (what an ironic name that is today) hit a patch of ice and spun out of control, and now I'm remembering when that happened to me. It was six winters ago, I think (I'm not good at remembering dates), and I was on Hwy. 74 around Danville, going to Earlham College, trying to get to Angeline's graduation. I was driving Theresa, my old monster car, a 1972 Phoenix that Grandma Moutrie had given me, and the weather conditions were not good. It was icy and there was some sleet falling. The roads were really slick and I hit a big ice patch under a bridge and lost control of the car as it started sliding off the road. Then a double semi zoomed past me realy fast and the wake of the truck sent me into a spin back on the road. I stopped spinning facing the wrong way and saw another semi coming right for me. I knew then that I was going to die. I took my foot off the brake, where it had erroneously been planted the whole time, and the car jumped (backwards? sideways?, I still don't know) off the highway, down the median ditch and up the other side, and stopped just short of the next lanes. I just sat there, not wanting to move or get out. Hoping that if I just sat still enough, this wouldn't be happening, and I would just be able to drive away. But the car was stuck in the ditch and it wouldn't budge. Thankfully, the truck that I almost ran smack into stopped for me (the double semi never did), and called for help. The driver came to check on me and asked if I wanted to sit in the cab while I was waiting. I wanted to say no because I was scared of having another crisis to deal with if he turned out to be a creep, but I felt really stupid just sitting in my now very cold car, so I went. I sat there nervously; I had never been in a semi before. He had a little fridge, from which he offered me a can of fruit cocktail. I said I wasn't hungry. He asked me if there was anything else wrong besides my current situation, because he said he could tell I seemed really anxious. I told him I was worried about Grandma Patty who was having heart surgery that day (which was true) and whatever else was on my mind that day. He said something reassuring, and then told me about himself. His name is Don Johnson, but unlike Mr. Miami Vice, he's a grandpa from Utah that can't wait to get back home to rock his two-year-old grandson on the porch. I really looked at thim then, and realized that he was a very good person. Totally blew away my stereotypes of truck drivers. I got out of the ditch with the help of a tow truck, and was amazingly able to drive away from that. I drove straight back home, praying the whole time, newly terrified of ice patches. It's taken me a long time to get over that incident and to feel relatively comfortable driving on snow or ice. Time has been the biggest help in gaining confidence again. I have a deep respect for icy roads now, and I'm still scared of being blown off the road by trucks.

Lesson: I guess it's nice to be helped by strangers, and it's also nice to be that strange helper, I mean helpful stranger. Peace on earth. Good will to people in car accidents.

weird dream

I had a weird, good dream Saturday night. Here it is:

I am called on to defend the character of an old friend from PA, whose nickname is Sweet Willy (that's a real person). The 'jury' is a dark parlour with three or four famous rich diplomat people in very fancy clothes sitting on stuffed chairs. The 'judge' is a very old man with this huge ring on that's like six inches high with three huge gems on it. Very odd and I stare at it and wonder how he can manage not to spear himself with it. I'm introduced to them all and the old guy (we'll call him Big Ring) tells me that since Sweet Willy is my mentor, he will be judged by my character. And its just my real me sitting there, wondering what worldly qualifications I could possibly possess to redeem him, compared to these people. Then, the way Big Ring is talking, I realize that this whole thing is not serious. It's just a diversion, a social game to amuse the idle gentry (kind of Jane Austen-esque). So I play along and then they bring out this little glass case that's lit from inside and it has all these Christmas ornaments hanging in it that Sweet Willy made. They are all blue and silver witha big round ball and then a sculpted part on top that's like someone's head, and they are painted like porcelain. They're actually a little tacky, and not something I would guess the real Sweet Willy would make. Then I notice one in the shape of a blobby snowman with a big cheesy smile that I recognise. And I say, 'Hey that looks like Sweet Willy's girlfriend', and then out comes his girlfriend, and its Minnie Driver, and she gives me a cold hug, like she's not that happy to see me but she has to hig me since I guessed that right, the whole trial thing is over. Then I go outside the house and its a bright sunny day, and I look down the path to the street and it's a slope covered with flowers of all different colors and there are tables part of the way down. The people sitting at them all say hi as I pass. I notice some particularly beautiful orange flowers and comment on them to Auntie Ellen and she says that she grew them, and I am impressed. Then the flowers are all over the place, so its hard to even walk, but I get down to the bottom, and there is another old friend from PA, Christian, with a whole row of different size plastic tubs that are orange, purple, green, blue, yellow, all very bright happy colors. The tubs are all upside down, and I see that they are for drumming on, like I've seen on street corners in D.C. I'm excited, and start banging on a little yellow one, but in that slow motion dream way, I can't move very fast or do exactly what I want. But it doesn't matter. Everyone is having the same trouble, I think. But we all slowly rise into the air and float around with our drums. This makes it harder to drum since they are all floaty, but then I realize that I'm up in the air and that's pretty fun in itself. And the people and drums are all tumbling around in the air and then I wake up.

day of drums

Today seemed like a local holiday to celebrate the drum and all of it's iterations around the world. Georgia, Maya and I enjoyed the powerful and really loud Chi-town Boys, a Native American drumming group that came down from Chicago for the day. They are in the midst of celebrating the 50th anniversary of the Native American Center in Chicago, the oldest urban Center in the U.S. It was a very special event and I was really honored to be there. We liked it so much that we went to another performance they had later that afternoon at Krannert Performing Arts Center. They had a bunch of people up dancing at this one. It was really fun to watch, and Maya and I got up and danced with them a little before she got too shy in front of the big crowd that was there. When they were finished, we turned around, and there was another drumming performance that started immediately. This was a percussion professor, Rodrigo Florez (I think) and his World Percussion Ensemble (all of his students). He explained all the instruments in Cuban percussion and then played a 'Rhumba groove' for us. It was amazing and wonderful. The kids were clinging to me from the intensity of it all, so I had to sit still, but I was itching to get up and dance, dance, dance. It was such a great celebration of life and joy. Then the REST of his students got up there, and there were about twenty or thirty of them standing in a line, with all these Brazilian percussion instruments. He introduced them all and played a Samba for us, which he described as an 'infectious dance groove', and it was. It was also really loud. Georgia listened to the whole thing with her hands over her ears. It was SO impressive, and funny and playful, with so many different sounds, it was a whole orchestra of percussion. I enjoyed the feeling of being swept away in the huge waves of sound blasting away all thought, good or bad, from my head. And as if that weren't enough drum happenings for the day, next came Vinx, an eclectic drummer and singer (among other things) who is here for the weekend. He led a drum circle open to local drummers, so we had a little C-U action going there. It was very homey and comfortable, with the middle of the circle filled with little children dancing and running in circles to the beat. Or to their own beat. Georgia and Maya got in on the action this time, with Georgia leading Maya out to the dance floor and holding hands dancing around. I was so sorry not to have my camera!

(sigh) What a great day.

The Crimson Balloon

Here's the poem I refered to in 'art for the people'. My mom (Susan Engle) wrote it. Please write back if you like it. We're trying to get her to publish it as a children's book.

The Crimson Balloon

O the man in the moon
Loved a sweet red balloon
Who lived on the shore by the sea.

"Do come nigh! Oh come near,"
Wooed the moon. "Crimson dear,
Loose your string now, and come marry me."

"O balloon, red and sweet,"
Cried the clams at her feet,
"Take care, for you weren't meant to fly."

But the crimson balloon
Loved the man in the moon
And raced off through the star-sprinkled sky.

"I'm untied now. I'm free
And I'll soon marry thee,"
Sang sweet crimson as faster she leapt.

But her love and the height
Burst her heart in mid-flight.
The moon gathered her fragments and wept.

O the man in the moon
Loves his sweet red balloon.
He sings songs to the sun of her light.

And in autumn, the moon
Longing for his balloon
Hovers low and burns red in the night.

Copyright Susan Engle 1980

Outsmarting Old Man Trouble

I asked my favorite angels for some help figuring out, and hopefully reframing, the issues I've been working out since I saw Cold Mountain, and they came through immediately. I asked for help as I was driving to the library with Maya and as soon as we got there, I found a children's book whose story was just for me. It's called Aunt Nancy and Old Man Trouble by Phyllis Root, illustrated by David Parkins. In it, we have a trickster character (Aunt Nancy- feisty country Grandma) who outwits Old Man Trouble (a great character at every level, whether literal or figurative- vague enough to fit any trouble, but with a satifyingly evil physical presence). He comes knocking at her door with troubles in his wake and at first she tries to keep him out, but he makes it known that he will always get in some way so she invites him to sit a spell and offers him hospitality. He creates mischeif in her house, but she just acts like she's happy about each misfortune- she reframes them to the positive (for example, he makes her chair break and she remarks how glad she is because she needs some kindling). He gets pretty down hearted about his trouble-making abilites until she pulls a little reverse psychology on him. She tells him she doesn't want her dry well to have water in it again because of all the damp and mud it would cause. They both chuckle as their plans get played out and are both satisfied with the result.

So trouble's not the most powerful force here. There's a mental game to be played to outsmart my troubles. Let's play.

Real protection

Yesterday, Bill Allmart, Husayn's Dad, quoted (on his weblog) the words of Abdu'l-Baha from the Baha'i Writings and it was just what I needed to hear. There was a long passage about how when people die, they go to a spiritual world that is marvelous and wonderful and continue their life, only on a spiritual plane, and how this can be a solace to those left behind on this earth and about God's sovereignty and mysterious reasons for calamities occuring. The last sentence, however, was for my own heart. It was, "If God protects, nothing can imperil man's safety; and if it be not His will to safeguard, no amount of preparation and precaution will avail." (Abdu'l-Baha, The Promulgation of Universal Peace, p. 46) The context of this quote in Bill Allmart's weblog was trying to find words to describe his wife's flight to the spiritual plane of existence. I found my own solace in Abdu'l-Baha's words too.

The quote reminds me that I am not ultimately in control of my future safety or the safety of other people. It's scary, but it's great to have a clear boundary and division of duties. I am supposed to love and serve God and humanity, obey His laws, and work hard to keep growing and changing, and do what I can to protect my children, etc. and he will be in charge of the big stuff like the future and people's life spans and tests. It also gave me a different perspective on the movie I saw last night. When I saw violence deaths in that movie, I didn't think, 'oh, that person gets to go on to the spiritual world, isn't that bittersweet'. There was just enough time to get horrified, and then it was on to the next scene for more of the same. I think I need to take a break from seeing violent movies. yeah, I think that would be good.

There's another quote that this one reminds me of, this one from Baha'u'llah (Who is The Comforter, also The Glory of God):

"The essence of true safety is to observe silence, to look at the end of things and to renounce the world" (Tablets of Baha'u'llah, p. 156)

and in another context:

"The fifth Taraz concerneth the protection and preservation of the stations of God's servants. One should not ignore the truth of any matter, rather should one give expression to that which is right and true." (Tablets of Baha'u'llah, p. 38)

It seems that there are many different aspects of protection and safety. Consider this one too:

"In truth, religion is a radiant light and an impregnable stronghold for the protection and welfare of the peoples of the world, for the fear of God impelleth man to hold fast to that which is good, and shun all evil. Should the lamp of religion be obscured, chaos and confusion will ensue, and the lights of fairness and justice, of tranquillity and peace cease to shine. Unto this will bear witness every man of true understanding." (Tablets of Bahá'u'lláh, p. 125)

Back to Cold Mountain, I was talking to Billy about it, and he reminded me that the Civil War that it was the crisis that created the victory of the U.S. really becoming a country instead of a bunch of loosely-held-together states. There's a birth from death.

Cold Mountain Blues

Starting this webble was one event in a chain that has really opened me up and made me feel tender/tenderized, both from joy and from pain, but I didn't realize how sensitive I have become until I went and tried to watch Cold Mountain last night. I had to leave the theatre twice, and the second time I just went home. I have never done that in my life. I'm an endurer, I usually freeze in scary or unbearable scenes until its over, but I couldn't handle this. I knew from the first line of the movie that I was going to be disturbed, and I almost walked right out of the theatre then. It was something about the Civil War changing two people until they could bearly recognize themselves and they didn't know how they were going to move on, or something like that. And that's the issue that rankled me about the last Lord of the Rings movie, with Frodo never really getting happy and all better or transformed or something like that. Anyways, from the start, I really connected with the main characters of Cold Mountain, Aida and Enman, because they are both so awkward, insecure about themselves and each other, just unsure and a little alone, and the tenuousness of the relationship between them, how unresolved it seemed, made the horrors of war that they both dealt with seem ten times more devastating. And the battle scenes and people killing people scenes were so real to me in this movie. I've seen lots of battle scenes and violent movies, but the director usually puts some distance between you and the death, whether by absurdity, overkill, humor, or crazy or dramatic music. But this seemed un-doctored, and maybe it was real to me because the Civil War WAS real and was fought relatively recently right here in the U.S. You know, you would think that I would have been prepared for this movie, seeing as I READ THE BOOK. But I must have forgotten most of it. I think I read it when it was first published or something.

I sometimes go to movies to see a piece of a life different than mine, to learn more about the human experience and the different ways to handle that experience. I often abstract the movie so I can look at it next to my life. Sometimes I learn new things, sometimes I'm grateful that I've figured out more than the characters in the movie. Being as open as I feel right now, however, this brutally sad, infuriating, and horrible (in the sense of horror) movie created an abstraction and analogy to the spiritual world that showed me some really painful things about spiritual and physical death and especially violence. I haven't cried that hard or deeply in many months, maybe even years. I was totally overtaken by my feelings. The ripping apart of the country into civil war, and the reality of what that meant to inviduals reminded me of what its like when terrible disunity exists in a place and the dark nastiness that rules when the light of justice and unity are obscured.

I'm feeling better about it now (the next morning), but still pretty shaken. There's a lot to think about.

Power Outage

There was a power outage last night in our section of Urbana -- this site was down between about 11 pm and 7:30 am.

Our house only dropped from 69 to 62 degrees during the 5 hours that power was out -- impressive! We got out the candles, blankets, and extra bedding for the hamster, who made good use of it.

Sisterly lunch

Layli and I went out to lunch last weekend, just us two. This was quite an extraordinary event because we both have small children that don't want to be left behind when mommy goes somewhere. Amazingly, our children were with their respective fathers at the same time and we ventured to Blind Faith Cafe, a slick vegetarian restaurant in Evanston. We both had to take a few minutes to remember how to be ourselves without our kids. At first I was confused because there were no distractions and I could actually look around. Then I realized that I could think straight and enjoyed just reflecting on life. I remembered how to have a real conversation about inner struggles and victories. We had a great time and enjoyed food that actually felt good after eating too. Outside the windows, snow fell in flumpy, slow bunches and made everything feel all timeless. Yeah.

the secret life of children's books

I have recently met people who (shockingly) never got into children's literature as a child and so I feel the need to explain what it means to me. When I was sick as a kid, my mom would go to Indian Trails Public Library and bring me a stack of children's books two or three feet high. She has a very good eye and so I was exposed to all the classics by Dr. Suess, Kay Thompson, Maurice Sendak, Tomie DePaola, and on and on. I loved them, I breathed them, they were a major theme in my childhood, they were a refuge, a solace, they were funny and beautiful. The art in children's picture books can be worthy of any gallery and yet it is so accesible because it's got text, a framework to think about the pictures.
My love has only deepened with time. Now not only do I learn so much about life and the possiblities that exist therein from newly published books, but the old ones contain really good memories of my childhood. That makes them magic.
Good children's literature is so free of the degradations to art because it's written for an innocent audience. There's no sex, no violence, no swearing or drugs. There are some books that deal with very difficult topics, helping children understand the scary parts of adult life that imposes on theirs, but mostly, what's depicted is a blessedly pure world. Children's authors also get down to the basics of human nature and tell amazing stories with very few words- that's gotta be hard.
I'll write again about specific books that I love. There are so many. But I will say one word. Eloise.

art for the people

Layli (my sister) and I had the inspiring experience last weekend of being able to sneak into an Baha'i artists appreciation weekend because my mom was giving a talk there. There were artists from all over the country that do writing and illustration for children and youth and the energy there was so beautiful- everyone sharing their experiences and expertise in a spirit of collaboration to serve young people. Just as a person with children, I felt really loved by this spirit, and also as someone who peeks into the art world with awe and desire, I felt empowered to take a leap and be a part of it somehow. Talking to mom afterwards, she said that she has always believed that everyone is an artist, whether they call themselves one or not. I was really moved by this and I wonder why I never had this conversation with mom before. That's something I've been thinking about for many years but I didn't know what she thought about it.

When we were at the artists' appreciation thing, mom wowed the crowd with a recitation of the first(?) poem she wrote- The Crimson Balloon. There wasn't a dry eye to be found- Layli and I had a hard time keeping our composure. I'll post it up here soon for you.

I was also inspired by Aaron, mom's colleague at Brilliant Star (Baha'i children's magazine), who does all the illustrations for the magazine. He shared his creative and productive process with us and schooled us in the art of making comics. I have always loved the versatility of comics (especially in the Calvin and Hobbes era), but never fully realized that their powerful communication ability is something that the artist designs and manipulates. Wow, my mind is blown.

How wonderful to be surrounded by these people that are really out there with their desire to create and honor art. I felt lifted up, like I could do anything.

dictionary game

Reminded by a comment on Husayn's webble of how much I like to play the dictionary game, I got my family to play it at my last visit home. We laughed SO HARD. If you know my family, see if you can guess who wrote which definitons. The people playing were Billy, me, Layli, Khalil, Mom, and Mike. If you don't know them, you can just play along and guess which definition is the right one. Or make up your own definition to add to the mess!

The word is SORICINE:

soricine- one of several intermediate-stage amino acids used in the building of soft tissue in the human body.
soricine- medicine for a sore
soricine- a light-sensitive coating for photographic paper
soricine- the last living heir of Sicily, as portrayed by Shakespeare
soricine- a dinosaur rarely seen
soricine- worse than obscene
soricine- a scarf
soricine- belonging to the class of animals whose only modern survivors include elephants, but whose prehistoric ancestors ranged across Africa and Asia and included wooly mammoths
soricine- an antibiotic used to tret pneumonia
soricine- like a shrew
soricine- a short-lived geologic age known colloquially among paleantologists as "the morning after the pleistocene impact"

Here's a few highlights from a different round. The word was EXERGUE:
exergue- an extension for an artificial tongue
exergue- the ex brother-in-law of Zurg

Georgia in Strongbadia

So my brother, Khalil came to visit us and showed Georgia and I his favorite Strong Bad e-mails on the Homestar Runner website. If you're not familiar, I'm afraid it defies description except that its a cartoon with a quirky sense of humor. <> Anyways, Georgia is only four, but she thought it was funny (partly because Khalil's giggling is infectious, I think). Khalil can also spout the dialog verbatim and does so liberally. And now Georgia's doing it! From 'invisable' she quotes Homestar saying 'those things aow bad fo you' and from 'caffeine' she quotes Strong Sad saying 'that's not true...that's not true either'. She also enjoys seeing 'japanese cartoon' and 'dragon' over and over and over again.

purpose and thanks

I'm starting a weblog because I seem to have a lot to say stored up in my head. I spend a large part of my days with little children and usually no adults with which to share the wacky journey of my life, so I think this will be a good way for me to connect with friends and family in town and far away.

Thanks goes to Husayn here for showing himself in his weblog- I love the idea of weblog as community builder. A place to talk in a totally non-threatening, un-self-conscious environment. It seems to me that this is a good way for moms at home especially to get together and talk about what's going on without having to drag the kids anywhere and without having to schedule anything.

This weblog was brought to you by Billy, my husband, who is a computer guru and stayed up all night installing a new hard disk, configuring the blah blah blah (insert relevant computer jargon here) and I don't know what all so that I could have this. I love you.

What's a webble?

Well I have go and mess with things, and if I'm going to do this weblog thing, first of all it needs a new nickname. 'Blog' is not offensive to me, its just not me. If I looked up blog in the dictionary, I'm sure it would look somethings like: blog /blohg/ v. 1. to hit someone over the head with a bludgeon, n. 2. a common caveman name. It doesn't sound fun, it sounds dark and slightly monsterish. So I took 'weblog' and took off the end instead, then added a b and an e for good measure so it sounds like english and so it can be conjugated easily (webbling, webbled).

So, happy webbling to you all.