Perceptions and Illusions

I--like many people in this big bad world--have had my share of times I trusted the wrong person. Times I took a person at his/her word, and believed that that person would act in a manner consistent with my moral code.

Only to have my faith in humanity cracked and my heart broken just a bit.

Silly of me, I know, since I am old enough to know better. It is one of the lessons that children learn while still in school.

One instance I remember vividly did happen in school--only it was college, not elementary school.

Once upon a time, in a far away land called the University of Washington, I was studying to be an archaeologist. I had the good fortune to get into a practicuum at the Burke Museum, and I was having a blast. I loved every minute of it. The comraderie of the students and teachers, the professional atmosphere in the archaeology lab--but I especially loved that I got a chance to curate a 1949 field school all by myself. It was heavenly.

In the spring, we went on an overnight field trip to Odette, an archaeological site on Neah Bay. To get there we had to drive for several hours, park our van, and hike 4 hours out to the site, which was right on the water. We were all warned to bring plenty of water, since there was nothing at our campsite by sand, mud, and trees. If we wanted something, we had to hike it in.

I had prepared for the trip carefully. As a mother of 4, I was used to making sure that I had everything I could possible need. Change of clothing, check. Snacks, check. A gallon of water, check. Tent, check. Sleeping bag, check.

I was ready.

As I was repacking my backpack in preparation to begin the 4 hour hike, one of my classmates, a young man of about 22, voiced concern about the heaviness of my pack. He said that he was used to hiking with a pack, and that he would gladly lighten my load.

Right on top was my gallon of water. He pointed to the water, and said that he could easily add that to his pack, and he would be glad to transport it for me to the campsite.

I looked at him and noted that he seemed to be an athletic guy, and since he was at least 8 inches taller and 40 pounds heavier, he probably would be better able to handle the weight of the water. Besides, I had a couple of smaller bottles with me for the hike, so I thanked him and handed over the water.

The hike was exhilirating and beautiful. For the sake of convenience, we split up and all went at our own pace. Although I was not even close to the first of the group to make it to the site, I was proud to discover that I was far from the last person. I held my own.

I set up my tent and unpacked my backpack. Noticing that I had drunk all of the water I had carried on the walk, I went in search of the nice young man who had offered to carry my main supply of water.

Imagine my dismay when I found him, and he informed me that he had drunk it all. The entire gallon.

I had no water the rest of the day, no water that night, and no water for the 4 mile hike back to our vans.

A crack reverbrated through my very being as a new crevice formed its way across my faith in humanity, and through my heart.

Which didn't help my thirst one bit.

But who could I blame, but myself. I was old enough to know better.

Labels: history, life, myth or reality, world

Do you want to know my favorite compliment I have ever received?

It was when I was 17 years old, and it was given to me by a 17 year old boy who was madly in love with my best friend.

One day we were talking about the wonderfulness of my best friend and determining strategies he could use to get my friend to notice him. For a reason I couldn't understand, since there wasn't a natural break in the conversation, the boy became suddenly quiet. After silently looking at me for a several minutes he said, "You know, you are no raving beauty, but you are kind of pretty."

As a 17 year old girl I was devastated. I desperately wanted to be a raving beauty, and I was insulted and hurt that I had to settle for being "kind of pretty".

It was only years later that I realized the true intent of the compliment. He was not really commenting on my physical self, he just didn't know how to express what he meant.

By saying I was "kind of pretty" he was trying to tell me he valued my friendship. He appreciated the hours I had spent listening to him blather on about the glories of my best friend.

After all, it isn't every teenage girl who has the patience to listen to a litany of another girl's wonderful attributes. Again and again and again.

It isn't exactly a self-esteem builder.

So, after years of being bothered by the compliment, I'm happy to be able to say that I have figured it out. He was complimenting my good nature.

At least, that is what I've decided he meant. And I'm sticking to it.

Labels: history, life, myth or reality, world

I was so happy yesterday! I ran a report to see which books have been checked out most in the last 30 days in my library, and was totally shocked to see Behold the Eye: Braumaru listed as #1! I ran another report, but this time for most checked out in 1 year. Braumaru was #4. Not bad for a book that has only been published about 8 months!

Then I got home, and waiting for me was a rejection letter from a contest I had entered Braumaru. Not only had I not won, but the reviewer thought that the book was too complicated for kids in Middle School, so they would become frustrated and not finish it.

Listen, I know that not everyone who reads my books are going to like them. This is a fact. I can live with it. I expect it.

But I would much prefer for the reviewer to state that s/he did not like my book rather than say that the middle school/young adult crowd are not smart enough to understand my books. That they would not be able to follow the storyline.

It makes me wonder if the reviewer actually reads fiction written for this age group. Does s/he not understand that books that have been dumbed down are quite often mundane and boring? Is it possible that s/he is not aware that the young mind is perfectly capable of handling and detangling complicated plots? Could it be that s/he does not know that a book that challenges while it entertains is a powerful encouragement to continued reading? Books need to be fun!

I am a mother, a librarian, and a writer.

As a mother, I've watched the reaction my children have had to various stimuli. And after watching, I made a conscious decision to be involved in what they were exposed to. Yes, I will admit it. I made careful selections (aka censoring) of my children's computer use, television viewing, and book choices. But my choices were never to dumb things down, only to keep out the inappropriate.

As a librarian, my job is to choose reading material that will encourage the love of reading and learning. I spend hours every day evaluating books to that end. What age group do I evaluate for you ask? Kindergarten through 12th grade. And to do this I ask a lot of questions of the kids, about what they like in a book, what keeps their interest, what makes them think!

As the writer of the Behold the Eye trilogy my goal was to write a story that I, as an adult, would enjoy reading, and that I could read aloud to my child.

Which is why I know some people will not like my books. The Behold the Eye trilogy has no vulgarity, no vampires, and no scenes that would make a person blush.

They are complex, interesting, and fun!

Labels: Behold the Eye, Braumaru, Cerulea, family, history, librarian, life, publishing, Viridia, world, writing

In my youth, I had a theory that people could easily be placed in generations based on their place in a family. If you were a parent, you belonged in the parent group, you were the parent generation. All parents were the "parent age", and should willingly hang out with the other parents. It worked the same with grandparents, who enjoyed the company of others of "grandparent age".

But then, people started talking about Baby Boomers. I was shocked to learn the long span of years that were included in a "generation". Around 20!

Okay, so here's something to think about.

A generation is defined as approximately 20 years. If I was born at the beginning of my generation and I had a child at the age of 18, my child and I would be a part of the same generation.

Totally destroys my theory!

Labels: blogging, history, life, myth or reality

I will be so glad when Tuesday is done and gone. It's impossible to get away from all the political ads, and my mind needs a break from all the nastiness and confusion.

But I have a secret. It's not a big, humongous secret. It is a little, annoying secret, one that I've already shared with my family and close friends.

You see, there is a candidate for Congress that I know one tiny little thing about. A tiny thing that shows what her character is made of, and that she doesn't know the meaning of ethics.

You see, several years ago I was laid off from my job, and my family was struggling to make ends meet. Times were tough, and I was frantically trying to get myself re-employed so that my family's financial stability could be restored.

I was estatic to have the opportunity to interview at Microsoft, and I was fully confident that I was a good fit for the job.

I met with the hiring manager, and the interview began. She seemed to be a nice woman, she described to me exactly what the job entailed, and I explained how I could accomplish each task, and how I could add value.

She explained that in order for her to make a decision, she needed to know my working methods and ability. Therefore, she wanted me to tell her my ideas about how she could restructure her site to make the information flow more easily.

After I had completed the task, she suddenly jumped up and said she had to go check on something.

About 5-10 minutes later, a young woman came into the office, and said she had been sent to escort me out of the building. I asked if it would be possible to thank the hiring manager for her time, and the young woman said that the manager was unavailable. She said I shouldn't worry about the abrupt departure, that the manager was "just like that."

A couple weeks later I was chatting with a friend of mine about her job search, and was surprised to discover that we had both interviewed for the same position at Microsoft. (It was easy to remember the name of this hiring manager, because really, how many women at Microsoft have the first name Darcy?)

My friend had left her interview with the task of creating a mock-up of a redesign of the site, to make it more esthetically pleasing. She had done the requested work.

A month later, both of us consoled with each other that neither of us had heard back from the hiring manager, which must mean neither of us were going to get the job.

Out of curiosity, we visited the site I had been asked to restructure, and my friend to redesign.

Shock! Total shock! There, replacing the old site, was a combination of our work. She had interviewed each of us, requested work from us, and combined our work without any recompense, without a "thank you", and even without a polite "sorry, but you are not hired."

And this woman is running for Congress? She claims to be ethical, looking out for the interest for others?

Hardly!

Labels: blogging, family, history, life, world

I remember...

Being awakened in the early hours of the morning by my husband. My 15 year old daughter had woken him up because of what she had heard on the radio.

I remember...

Looking at television, horrified that a pilot had made such a terrible mistake and crashed into one of the World Trade Center buildings. My heart ached as I thought of the families of the unfortunate who were either in the plane or in the section of the building that had been hit.

I remember...

Watching the second plane crash into the World Trade Center. My first thought was that the whole scene was surreal. It had to be some kind of publicity stunt for a new movie. One plane hitting was a trajedy, two was impossible.

I remember...

The sudden realization that this was no accident, this was no stunt, this was real, and this was an attack. Innocent people going about their daily lives had been attacked and killed. In America.

I remember...

The feeling of fear. Would more attacks follow? How would I be able to keep my family safe? How could life continue?

I remember...

Hearing of the attack on the Pentagon, and of a plane going down in a field. I'll never forget the look on my husband's face as we talked about what might come, especially after the plot against our country was discovered and then publicized. Suddenly the world had became a much more dangerous place.

I remember...

Realizing that this was not a series of events that would mark a single day, this was a series of events that would change every day. It was a lonely time. It was a stressful time. It was a time I never want to relive. Many things happened then, and in the days that followed, that I would rather forget.

But I'll remember...

That I am fortunate. I can empathize with the families of those who died on September 11th, but I cannot truly feel their pain. My loved ones were safe on that eventful.

And I pledge to remember...

That it was not buildings that were attacked, it was my country. And though it took a little longer than I would have liked, America took action. I'll continue to be proud of my country. And I'll continue to be in awe of the selflessness of people like my husband and other members of the military who regularly sacrifice to protect my country.

I sincerely hope Americans always remember what it really means to the an American.

Labels: family, history, life, world

I celebrated my anniversary this weekend. I have now officially been married more than half my life.

When I met my husband, I realized very quickly that he was the man I wanted to marry. I don't quite know why (we came from different backgrounds), but we matched perfectly. We liked the same things, had the same interests, enjoyed the same foods. We even had matching fingerprints!

Probably most important of all, we could talk for hours and hours. We still can.

There is no doubt that my husband is my best friend.

After all these years, he is still the only man I've ever met I can imagine as my husband.

Labels: history

While we were deciding and planning to go to college, I worked hard to set us up financially as well as I could. I made sure we had no bills, and we actually had a little in savings.

I must say, going to school with a family was the hardest, and most rewarding, thing I've ever done (except write).

I say family instead of 3 kids because after 1 quarter at UW, I became pregnant with my 4th.

You don't know joy until you've had to run from one class to another, across a huge campus, pregnant, in the rain (UW is in Seatle).

Since I had little ones, I learned some very valuable lessons early on. Procrastination was out. If I even hesitated a little before I started an assignment, a child was sure to get ill and I would need to stay up all night being a mommy.

I became a lean, mean, studying machine. Efficiency should have become my middle name. But I like the middle name I was born with, so I decided to keep it.

Labels: history

Being a mother is hard work. All consuming work. Which is okay by me, since I prefer to throw myself whole-heartedly into everything I do.

So before I knew it, I had 2 more children!

It is at this point that my husband and I decided that we would never be where we wanted to be unless we made a very gutsy move. It took us a full two years to finally make the decision, but make it we did!

We had decided to go back to school and get our Bachelor degrees. Both of us.

My husband was active duty Air Force, and his time in the military was almost up. But he loved to fly--so much so that he felt he could not give it up totally. He solved that problem by joining the Air Force Reserves.

We loaded up our three children (ages less than 1 - 5), sold our house, and moved across the country to be near the University of Washington.

We had researched various institutions of higher learning, and decided that the University of Washington had the reputation, classes, and opportunities we sought.

In all honesty, I'm glad we didn't have a clue what we were setting ourselves up for.

Labels: history

I've always been a writer. I can remember that as a child I would write poetry for anyone who would be kind enough to read it. I particularly liked to make birthday cards, because then I knew I had an audience who would read and (I hoped) enjoy what I had to offer.

The plans of my childhood were to make writing my career, and I decided it was time to act on that plan shortly after my marriage 23 years ago.

That is, of course, until I was blessed with the birth of my first child. At that point, my world shifted and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, more important than my family. Writing could wait.

Labels: history, writing

Actually, this is only the beginning of the blog. The beginning of the book goes back to 2003 when I finally decided I had waited long enough to begin it, and the story itself, well, it has roots in my childhood.

Labels: blogging, history