Learning to Talk

Here's a little video of when Piper (our two year-old granddaughter) was about 20 months old. Her mom and I were trying to get her to say stuff on camera. And despite our noisy attempts to extract words from her, she managed to think about what she was trying to say, and blurt it out. You can totally see the wheels turning in her head. She even asks her own questions (mom translates.)



I took a linguistics class a couple of years ago and one of the units was on language acquisition, also known as language development. I had never really thought much about how babies acquire the ability to communicate, and became pretty fascinated with the theories (especially because at the time my granddaughter was just learning to talk!) Experts disagree on how we "learn" to speak. Some theorists say that it's strictly learned or imitated, but that doesn't account for the fact that kids put sentences together that they've never heard. It also doesn't account for the fact that kids make mistakes in predictable ways. For example, it's common for kids to say, "I goed home" instead of "I went home." And they've likely never heard anyone use the term "goed."

Noam Chomsky, one of the most famous American linguists, believes that language is an innate thing, that somehow our DNA gives us the raw capacity to learn verbal communication. So a child who is born into a Spanish-speaking family will use the innate characteristics she has to learn the Spanish language, and a kid in Japan will do the same thing with the Japanese language.

I kind of believe that it's a mixture of innate ability and learning. All things considered, kids aren't given much information (i.e. stimulus) but they're still acquiring new words and phrases all the time. Yes, they hear us label things and learn to imitate that, but we don't teach them how to structure a sentence, they just eventually learn how to properly arrange nouns, verbs, prepositions, etc. And really, little kids can understand so much more than they can say when they're about a year old. If I say, "Haven, where are your eyes?" my genius little seventeen month-old granddaughter points right to them, even though she can't formulate the sentence.

Watching kids figure the whole language thing out can be so fun. A few personal examples:

• About three months ago Piper and I drove through Sonic. I was going to get her a kiddie ice cream, and I said, "Piper, which do you like better: chocolate or strawberry?" She replied, "No, I don't." She got strawberry; easier to clean.

• Last weekend Craig asked her if she was tired, and she said, "I don't tired."

• I recently went to pick Piper up so I could take her to the park. I said to her mom, "Maybe we can get ice cream while we're out!" Little did I know that Piper had asked her mom to pack some creamy yogurt in a cooler so she could eat it at the park. She heard me make the ice cream remark and had a startled look on her face, as if to say, "Listen to me!" I waited for her to formulate the sentence, and it came out haltingly, like this: I! Have! Yogurt! And then she smiled from ear to ear, because she was so proud of herself for telling me.

• Recently Piper spent the night with us. The next day she kept saying she wanted Popeye's.

Popeye's?? Fried chicken and biscuits??

Craig told her no, that we had stuff to eat at home and weren't going to Popeye's. She threw herself down on the ground and started crying. Later on I called her mom and said, "Do you guys take her to Popeye's a lot?" She replied, "Mom, she's saying "Pop Ice, as in the frozen popscicle things." Piper didn't have the ability yet to separate the two words, especially when there's a "p" at the end of one, and a vowel at the beginning of the other. The "p" and the "I" run together - try saying "pop ice" and you'll see that you do it too. The difference is that as adults we know to enunciate them separately if we need to.

Here's a video from a few weeks ago. You can see how much she's progressed. She even knows how to tell me that she's not going to do what I'm asking her to! Her phrase "No, I don't" has become somewhat iconic around here. I baited her to try and get her to say it, but when that failed I just flat out asked.

My Excellent Adventure on the Circus Train

About four years ago my youngest daughter Anna was turning18. At the time a lot of things in our world were turned upside down, and I wanted to do something completely different for her birthday. It just so happened that my dear friend Michele has a Russian friend named Zhenya, who is tight with a bunch of Russian circus acrobats (top THAT, Kevin Bacon!) So when we learned that the circus was coming to Austin, Michele called Zhenya, who contacted the performers, and they arranged for us to get free tickets to the circus. (To my animal-loving friends: I in no way condone how circuses treat animals, but I needed to wipe the celebration slate clean and was out of tricks!) Knowing what a difficult time we were all going through, Michele's friend also had the acrobats somehow fix it to where Anna would "win" a picture painted by an elephant during the pre-show. In other words they bent over backwards for us. Mega generous. The seats were great and we laughed a lot (which we desperately needed.) The whole experience was a mini-oasis in a season of personal drought.

The day after the performance Michele called and asked if I could swing by and pick up one of the acrobats named Sergi; he wanted to go shopping. And I jumped at the chance. Yes, I wanted to return the favor because Sergi and his friends had done some really nice things for me. But if I'm keepin' it real, I've got to admit that that wasn't my only motivation. Did I want to spend a few hours hanging out with a Russian acrobat who lives on a circus train? Heck yeah! Who wouldn't? (Well, I can think of several people, but my adventurous spirit nearly always trumps caution and rationale. Besides, I had heard lots of stories about Zhenya's friendship with the Russian acrobats, and I knew in my heart that they were good people.)

So at the prearranged time I drove up to the Frank Erwin Center, and sure enough there was Sergi, standing on the corner waiting for me. When I waved he raised his hand and smiled, as though hailing a cab. As he opened the car door and got in I realized that he was a lot bigger than I thought he would be (aren't acrobats supposed to be small?) He also had really huge biceps. I found out later that he is the one who hangs upside down on the trapeze and catches the little people who do tricks in the air. Anyway, you might say that Sergi had a stereotypical Russian look about him. A generous head of blond hair framed his square face, and his features were chiseled, which made him look distinctly eastern European. I'm guessing he was around 40.

Being the extrovert that I am, I started in on the small talk right away.

"Hi! How are you?"

"Fine, fine."

"Hey, thank you for the tickets last night. My daughter loved it."

He nodded once, firmly, like I Dream of Jeannie when she's granting a wish. He wore a hint of a smile.

[Crickets chirping.]

"Are you having a good time in Austin?"

Sergi nodded his head affirmatively (I later found out that circus performers see little more than the train and the venue in any given city.)

We sat in silence at a very long stoplight. Or was it the silence that was long?

I asked him where he wanted to go, and with a very thick Russian accent he told me that he needed food and some alcoholic beverages. I mentioned a few places we might go, and his eyes lit up when he heard "Wal-Mart." So even though I am morally opposed to Wal-Mart on a number of levels, I figured I didn't have the right to deny someone else the choice to shop there. So off we went, into the wild, blue yonder my friend Michele calls the seventh level of hell. Wal-Hell.

As we drove to the Supercenter I continued to make small talk, because he clearly wasn't going to initiate any conversation. I also made small talk because I am the type of person who fills awkward silences with babble. Don't get me wrong: Sergi was nice and was clearly grateful that I agreed to shuttle him on some errands. But he wasn't as interested as I was in cross examination: What's it like to ride with the circus? Did you go to trapeze school? What do you think of the United States? How is it different than where you live? Do you have a family? Do you have circus friends? Do you ever get to hang out with the animals? Are the clowns as nice and fun as they appear to be on stage? These are just a few of the things I wanted to ask him. Instead I turned on the radio, reminding myself that I'd have other opportunities to chat with him later. He seemed a bit relieved to hear the background noise.

When we arrived at Wal-Mart I followed him in, though his stride was brisk. Once we were standing in front of all the checkout lines he very carefully and politely told me that he'd meet me at this exact spot in about 20 minutes. I was disappointed. What? He doesn't want a nosy American woman following him around and talking his ear off while he buys snacks and toiletries and whatever else Russian circus people buy? Clearly, the answer was no. As he walked off I weighed my options. Theoretically I could've browsed and shopped, but I wouldn't because I don't buy things at Wal-Mart. I could've wandered around and pretended to shop, so that maybe I'd run into him and see if he needed help finding anything (yeah, right. Like I know where anything is in Wal-Mart.) Or, I could've done some people watching while I sat on the bench in front of the checkout lines. Reluctantly I decided on the third option and plunked myself down on the hard metal bench. I was a little irritated that I was watching greeters and cashiers and coupon hoarders while there was a real live circus acrobat walking around the store.

About 20 minutes later I spotted him at the checkout. He was buying quite a lot, maybe six or seven plastic grocery bags full. When his transaction was complete I strolled up to him and casually asked him how it went. How it went? How does grocery shopping usually go, Laura? When we got in the car he told me that the one thing he couldn't find at Wal-Mart were alcoholic beverages. I quickly got the drift that he wanted hard liquor, not beer or wine. (Duh! Perhaps it's a myth, but almost every time I hear of Russians drinking, it involves Vodka or some other equally potent spirit.) I told him that in Texas you have to buy such things at a liquor store. He stared at me in disbelief. A store that only sells liquor? I started thinking about where I could take him because I figured we didn't have a lot of time. At some point he had to get back to the train in time to leave for the show, and I probably should've been getting back to work. Costco, I thought. They're cheap, they have everything, and it's not too far from where we are. So I told him where we were going and he seemed pleased that he'd be able to get what he needed.

As we fought our way through traffic Sergi opened up a little more. As it turns out, he has only a few friends in the circus. Mostly the performers just keep to themselves (or at least those in his unit do.) I also found out that he had a wife and a twelve year-old daughter, though he and his wife were currently separated. I could tell he missed them both, which is understandable given that he travels with the circus 42 weeks per year. The crazy thing about it all is that he only gets to perform 10 minutes per show. Now I've never been good with numbers, but I just had to do the math: if he performs seven times per week (which takes into account travel days and matinee performances) he is away from home 294 days per year so that he can "work" just over two full days (49 hours.) Wow! What would motivate someone to do that? Without thinking I snapped into journalist mode and asked him if it was worth it to be away from his country and his family for that long. He told me that the money is better than what most people can generally earn in Russia, and then added that the trapeze something he's good at.

After circling the lot we finally found a parking spot and headed in to Costco's liquor store. It's a smallish building so Sergi was stuck with me. He walked up to the only clerk in the store and asked him where they kept the cognac. Cognac? I wondered. Isn’t cognac what men in smoking jackets drink out of a brandy snifter? Though I'd heard of it many times I couldn't think of what it was. (It's like when someone mentions Kyrgyzstan, you know it's a country but have no idea where it's located.) The clerk walked toward a shelf that was stocked with quart-sized bottles of liquor and picked up the cognac. He handed it to Sergi, who studied the bottle as though he were Sherlock Holmes and the velvety amber liquid was a prime suspect. I imagined that made me Dr. Watson. I stood with the clerk and waited for a response. After a few moments, Sergi tucked the bottle under his arm and asked for something else, signaling that the only cognac Costco carried would suffice.

We didn't stay long. Within 10 minutes Sergi had made his selections and we were back in the car. As I turned on to the Highway 183 frontage road I casually mentioned that I had never tasted cognac. You might've thought I had just confessed to having twelve toes. He looked at me as though he expected Ashton Kutcher to come out of nowhere and say he had been Punked. Never tasted cognac? He reached for his bag in the back seat and started pulling out the bottle. "You must taste it," he said. I told him that I'd love to. As he started to open the cognac I suddenly realized that he was going to try and give me a swig right there on 183. "No!" I said, anxiously. "That's illegal here. You can't have an open liquor container in a moving car, much less drink it." He seemed surprised. He gave me his best ambivalent shrug and put it back in the bag.

I suddenly realized that I had no idea where to take him. I was hoping he'd want to go back to the Erwin Center because I could probably drive there in my sleep. But no. He wanted to go back to the circus train. "Alright," I said. "Where is it?" It dawned on me that I was about to let a Russian who spoke very broken English tell me how to get somewhere in a city he had never been to. What are the odds we'll end up anywhere near that train? I wondered. While I was having visions of a wild goose chase, he was racking his brain for a street name. Finally he blurted out, "Seventh Street."

"Do you mean east Seventh?"

"Seventh Street," he reiterated.

So I headed downtown. When we got to Seventh Street I turned east, because I couldn't imagine a circus train being anywhere west of the highway. As we drove slowly down the road it appeared that he was looking for anything that might seem familiar. I could tell by the look on his face that so far there was nothing. As is almost always the case on east Seventh Street there was lots of construction going on, so the ride was bumpy and slow. We must've traveled a mile or so before coming to a bridge. Sergi's face lit up. "There!" he said. "Right there." As we drove over the bridge I looked to my left, and sure enough there was the circus train, stretched out like a massive silver snake. Once we crossed the bridge I turned on a side street, which took us to a dead end ― a stone's throw from the middle of the train. I couldn't believe we had found it. I pulled up and started to help him get his groceries out before I left. As I picked up the bags he motioned to the train and said, "You come try cognac?" Is he inviting me to get on the train? My heart started beating faster as I realized I'd have to make a split-second decision. "Yes," I said casually, as though I often visited people who lived on circus trains. Being the no-nonsense Russian that he was, he grabbed about 2/3 of the bags and started walking toward the train. I juggled the ones I had in my hands so I could lock the car, and then started out after him. There was no path, only rocks. He deftly maneuvered the terrain while I took it more like an obstacle course. I probably looked something like Bugs Bunny when he was walking over hot coals.

We passed about five long cars before Sergi jumped aboard. I followed him down a corridor that felt somewhat like a midget's hotel. Inside the train there was a hallway of separate doors, which were not much bigger than the door of an airplane bathroom. Each one led to someone's living quarters. When we got to his unit he turned the key and invited me in. I'm not sure what I expected, but when I stepped in I was taken aback by how small and cramped it was. There was a built-in bunk bed high up on the wall across from the window, and a little hot plate "kitchen" below it. I can't remember every detail (and I'm horrible with size calculations) but I'd guess the entire footprint of the room was less than 100 square feet.

Sergi motioned for me to sit down on a little one-person bench across from a miniature table that jutted out of the opposite wall. He opened the door of a tiny refrigerator and pulled out a lemon. A very small built-in TV was on in the background, though the volume was turned all the way down. The reception was horrible. Sergi began slicing the lemons and then laid them out on a bright white paper towel. He opened the cognac and poured us each a shot. The time had come, and he was ready to explain the process. He started out trying to tell me what to do, and because he was at a loss for words he decided pantomime it. He picked up a slice of lemon and gestured as though he were popping it in his mouth, and then grabbed his shot and pretended to down it. I don't know why he didn't just do his first, though maybe he was just trying to be polite by letting his guest partake before he did. Anyway, I was ready to get on with it. I took my lemon, popped it in my mouth and bit down. As lemons tend to be it was super pungent, and I involuntarily screwed my face up. It probably left me looking something like a subject in one of Picasso's paintings. Sergi became alarmed. "No, no!" he cried. I spit out the lemon and both of us started laughing.

"That's what you told me to do!" I said incredulously.

"No," he said, shaking his head, smiling. "I don't know how to say it in English."

I grabbed the shot and tossed it down. The tangy acid taste in my mouth and throat turned to fire. I'm not much of a shot person, and I don't even really like hard alcohol. But I wasn't going to pass up a chance to get on the circus train, and the cognac was my ticket in. Though it burned going in, the cognac went down smooth. Sergi licked his lemon and downed his shot, and all that was left of my first cognac experience was two empty glasses on a table that might have fit in Barbie's Dream House. He picked up the bottle and motioned to my glass, as if to ask if I wanted more. I nodded my head no, but thanked him graciously for the offer.

I would've loved to ask Sergi a lot more questions about life on the circus train. It was a culture I'd never encountered, and probably never will again. But he wasn't the chatty type. Though the journalist in me wanted to hang out and observe circus life from the inside, I knew it was time to go. The space was so small it would’ve been uncomfortable if we weren't drinking cognac or playing cards or something. I thanked him for introducing me to his favorite alcoholic beverage, and he thanked me for taking him to run his errands. In order for me to leave he actually had to step out into the hallway. I waved goodbye as I walked down the tiny corridor, toward the afternoon light at the end of the tunnel. I stepped off the train and onto the rocky ground. I wasn't drunk or even tipsy by any means, but the trip back to the car seemed easier than on the way in. I walked past car after car of circus performers, but never once saw anyone other than Sergi. I guess they really do keep to themselves. For that reason I count myself lucky to have been able to get a glimpse of what I consider to be an alternate universe. It never ceases to amaze me how many different facets there are to the human experience. Who knows? If Sergi had come back to the office with me, perhaps he would've felt the same way.

Looking Back

It's been awhile.

Yeah, I'm really stretching the "awhile" definition since the last time I posted on here was in January. I imagine I was wearing a sweater when I wrote my last blog entry, probably had the heater on, and might've been looking forward to hot soup for dinner. It was cold outside. As I type this it's 93 degrees in Austin, which is still pretty mild for a Texas summer. I'm wearing a sleeveless dress made out of t-shirt material, and I have both the air conditioner AND the ceiling fan cranked up. I think I'll have a Popsicle for dinner. In other words, it's not been days or weeks since I've blogged; it's been two whole seasons!

In January I finally gave up trying to keep my writing blog current (though I managed to attend to my photography blog here and there.) I had just finished my hardest semester in college and was headed into another one. In fact, within twelve months I earned 48 college credit hours, while at the same time running my own business, getting married, moving, meeting siblings I had never known, starting another business, and helping care for a mom who has cancer. As I just re-read the last sentence I was hit with the weight of it. Am I crazy? Apparently so. Who in their right mind thinks they can do that many things at once? That would be me (though I question the "right mind" part.) Anyway, all that to say I was so covered up in academic reading and writing, I didn't have the energy or the time to write for pleasure. Yes, for me, blogging is a pleasure (at least it is today; ask me in a month or two and I might be singing a different song.) Why might I change my tune, you ask? Because I'm turning over a new leaf. No, really. I'm tempted to make a pledge to write a new blog entry every single day -- even if it's just a few lines. But that sounds like a trip to Ball and Chain-ville, and I've vowed not to visit there this summer. No, I'm going to tone it down a little. For the next month I'm going to try and offer something twice per week. And if I don't deliver, well, I'm going to forgive myself. I don't think I have many regular readers anyway (two, perhaps?) We shall see how it goes.

In the meantime I am happy to report that I've finished my coursework and in August will officially graduate from St. Edwards University with a Bachelor of Arts in English, Writing and Rhetoric. Whew. It's been a wild ride but completely worth it. I wouldn't change a thing, except that maybe I'd divide the last twelve months into equal parts and give myself two or three years to get it all done. But that's hindsight now. And I'm just not that in to rear-view mirrors anymore.

Image Credit: Littledan77 - Flickr
Licensed Under Creative Commons

Home

Man, I love my church. Journey is so out of the box, but not just for the sake of being out of the box. I am completely put off by churches that try too hard to be relevant, trendy, or weirder-than-thou (which is usually just a mask that covers up an agenda.) For the record, Journey is a weird place, but not because it's necessarily trying to be. It's a place where it's OK to be who you are, where you are, and what you are. Not only do I get to hear people like Darden Smith, Grace Pettis and Dave Madden play (they all happen to be a part of our little community) I regularly learn things if I'll just keep an eye on the little kids. About a month ago I posted a Facebook status from where I sat in the warehouse, saying, "Overheard in church: A five year-old telling his father, "Dad, I love ZZ Top." Today I sat behind a girl of about eight years old, long dirty blond hair, cute as a button. She had an American Girl doll, but since my kids are grown I've lost track of their names (plus they've added several over the years.) But I do know this: her doll was not white, as in Caucasian. She may have been black, but I suspect she was either the Latino girl, or the American Indian. And it delighted me to no end. In a culture that is often homogenous, where grown-ups tend to congregate around people of like mind, color, socioeconomic background (especially when it comes to churches) this kid picked a doll who was different than she was.

And I really smiled when, during a prayer, I looked up and she had her hands in, for lack of a better term, a modified "Ohm" meditation position (making a circle with the thumb and index finger.) She was swaying her arms back and forth while most of the rest of us just sat still.

Diversity. It does a body good.

Image Credit: thetasha - Flickr
Licensed Under Creative Commons

2009: Laura's Top Ten List

A few people have asked me what the highlights of 2009 were for me, so I'm gonna go for a top ten list (which is really mostly just a gratitude list.) I am a very fortunate woman. So without further delay, here they are in no particular order.1. Getting married. Up until a few years ago I never saw a second marriage in my future. I was married for 25 years to my first husband, and after our divorce I knew that though I needed to be single for a while (turns out it was 2+ years), I definitely did not want to spend the rest of my life "alone." Going back into the dating scene after a 28-year hiatus meant that I hadn't had a date since I was 19 years old. I remember one day, after having moved through a whole lot grief, uttering a really spur-of-the-moment prayer. I said, "Hey, could we perhaps just skip the whole singles scene? If it's in the cards for me to find love again, would it be too much trouble to let us find each other sooner rather than later?" I didn't necessarily expect an answer, and I certainly didn't expect an affirmative one. Enter: Craig. Wow. Never in a million years did I dream that I would find a man who was such a perfect fit for me. We joke sometimes that we are TOO much alike. Those who know me well can attest to the fact that I'm wacky, adventurous, weird, and often irreverent. Craig is moreso. I knew I had found my male twin the day he went shopping with me and disappeared, only to come sauntering up to me with gangster clothes on (over his clothes) grabbing his crotch and talkin' smack. He makes me laugh like no other. We both love music and the arts in general. (We have a game we play most every time we get in his truck, which has satellite radio. We shuffle through the stations and try to be the first to identify the artist of the song that happens to be playing. To put it mildly, we're pretty competitive. You get one fist bump if you identify it correctly, two if you identify it before there's any singing. We once played this for two hours straight while we were traveling, and would've continued if we hadn't reached our destination.) We have many of the same spiritual ideals and struggles. We both have a dark sense of humor. We place a high value on family - especially our six kids. We're both extroverts, love people, and also love our solitude. We are fond of good coffee, fine wine, cooking together, independent films, a handful of TV shows, and have a desire to travel and see the world. He is without a doubt my best friend. We got married July 3rd in his brother's backyard in Long Beach, with all of our children and grandchildren present (which was a feat to get them all out there!) Then we went on a weeklong trip up the California coast, stopping in Big Sur for a few days, and on to San Francisco. The whole experience was wonderful. Speaking of marriage, I not only found the love of my life, I also got…

2. Three new sons. Okay, technically they're "stepsons," but I agree with the oldest one when he says he's not a fan of the "step" label. They're awesome. For those who don't know, my three girls and Craig's three boys are nearly the exact same ages. And yes, we're aware that we're the Brady Bunch. Anyway, Brandon, Nathan and Cameron all have vastly different personalities and their own unique takes on life. Knowing them has enriched my life tremendously. Like their dad, they make me laugh a lot, and have introduced me to cool music, interesting people, and…drumroll please… Bon Qui Qui. (Thanks, Cameron.) One really wonderful thing has been to see how much they love their dad, and how much he adores them. In today's world, that's not terribly common. Oh - almost forgot… this means that my children now have brothers, and my granddaughters have more uncles. They think that's way cool, and so do I.

3. My mom's courage and fortitude. She has been fighting ovarian cancer for nearly three years, which is certainly nothing to celebrate. But her resilient spirit is definitely an ongoing source of inspiration to us all. It has been a horrendous road. She has endured hair loss, nausea, and a host of unimaginable side effects from the different courses of chemo. She has been in and out of the hospital, weathered pneumonia, and recently suffered a fractured knee, stitches and a possible broken nose as a result of a fall. And this was all just in the last month! Throughout it all she has managed to live her life to the fullest. She has been a part of family functions and celebrations (and was even able to make the trip to California for our wedding!) has enjoyed many different activities with friends, and even worked full-time up until about six months ago. She has struggled mightily but has a strong determination to live the life God gave her. I love her a lot, and am so glad she has fought so thoroughly and nobly. Thanks, mom, for showing us the true meaning of courage. I look forward to 2010!

4. The birth of my second granddaughter. Haven Kathryn Kelley Hauck was born on February 4, 2009, and I got to be in the operating room when she was delivered by caesarean section. I couldn't watch the procedure (for fear that I'd come unglued at the sight of someone slicing open one of my children) so I sat on a stool behind the drape, holding Amy's hand and talking to her as they brought Haven into the world. Her husband, Johnny, was behind the drape too, but he stood up and watched the whole thing! Haven weighed in at 11 pounds, two ounces, the exact same weight as Anna, so Amy and I now share the record. She is such an incredible gift, and I'd describe her personality as equal parts sunshine, wonder, and holiness. I love her fiercely, and I think she gets that. On Christmas Eve I was holding her and Amy held her hands out to take her from me. Usually she immediately leans in to her momma, but this time she turned away and clung to me. My jaw dropped; Amy and I were both stunned!! I couldn't have felt richer if you had given me all the gold in Fort Knox.

5. Watching my oldest granddaughter morph from baby into little girl. Where to start with this little genius? Piper is the cutest toddler on the planet. She has gone from cherub-faced baby to long and lean toddler, and has acquired some pretty impressive skills in the process. I will never forget the day she finally said my name, which was like hearing all the symphonies in the world gather for one resonant chorus. She's got personality pouring out of her, and is showing signs of having a few unique quirks (which delights me to no end because that means she's at least in part a little like her Gia.) On Christmas morning as we were all chattering away, she started with me and worked her way around the breakfast table: "Hi Gia. Hi Gia. Hi Gia…" She kept on until I finally put my conversation on pause and said hello. "Hi Happy. Hi Happy. Hi Happy…" "Hi Teenie. Hi Teenie. Hi Teenie…" etc. When she came over on Halloween to trick or treat, we walked outside to a full moon and she pointed up and emphatically said, "BALL!" (but now shouts, "MOON!") She loves the movie "UP" and is extremely affectionate - even known to walk up to strangers, lay her head down on their knee, and pat them sweetly. She dances to the Sesame Street theme, loves to torment our cat, and runs to hug me when she sees me. I won the lottery with this kid. She is rocketing toward her second birthday.


6.Three beautiful girls. I blinked and they were grown-ups. I am so proud of each one of them, and have deeply enjoyed their friendship and company this year. As a mother it makes me so happy to see them moving toward their dreams and goals. If I were to list everything that I admire about them it would take pages and pages. So I'll try to keep it compact and concise to avoid droning on and on (which I'm happy to do if you want to give me a call.) Amy: She's a new mom, but continued her quest to earn a graduate degree. Even though it's sort of cheating, I love talking about my daughter, the college professor (she's a T.A. at UTSA). Amy is also really involved in the lives of college students, and regularly has a kitchen full of kids who need hot chocolate, a kick in the pants, or a compassionate listening ear. She's simply one of the kindest people I know. This year I have loved seeing how much motherhood agrees with her. Mandy: My middle one never ceases to amaze me. After being one of the millions of Americans who were laid off from their jobs in 2009, she found a way to return to school while being a full-time mom. (Warning: I'm about to do one of those parental boasting things.) She made straight A's her first semester back, and is heading into another full load in the spring. Out of all my kids she got the keen crackshot business sense that is certain to take her far, wherever she may be headed professionally. She is an amazing mother, and Piper adores her. Can you tell I'm proud? Anna: if I didn't love her so much I'd kick her little butt for getting to spend some time in Europe this year (while I've never been.) But she worked hard for it, and totally deserved the amazing time that she had. Among other things she held down her job at the UT History office, and has been a professional violinist with the Temple Symphony. She is without a doubt one of the most creatively gifted people I know, and though it's been an exhausting year in many ways for her, it does my heart good to see that she consistently chases her dreams. In many ways, I think they chase her.

INTERMISSION: Yeah, I'm aware that the last three entries read a bit like a braggy Christmas letter, but anyone who has children and grandchildren understand that if there's anyplace to gush, its here. Don't hate.

7. My family. I love my sister and my brother. A lot. It's been a hard year for all of us, and I wish it hadn't been. But it's really brought us closer. I'm well aware that good sibling relationships aren't a given, which makes me all the more grateful for the many times we've been able to laugh and cry together. They are two of the most caring, kindhearted people I know, and I am incredibly fortunate that I get to be their sister. Beyond that, I'm really thankful that my dad has been in good health, and that he's tearin' up the road in his beloved vintage Jeep pickup truck. And on July 3rd I got another family… Craig's! Some people tolerate in-laws; I hit the jackpot with the Jenkinses. I truly adore them all and am looking forward to spending the rest of my life getting to know them.

8. A new sister. This could be an essay in and of itself (and probably some day will be.) But for now I'll keep it somewhat brief. I knew I had another sister out there somewhere, and in 2009, with my husband's help, I found her. But that didn't mean that I was brave enough to contact her. It was my sister Leslie who encouraged me to send her a message on Facebook - the introvert compelling the extrovert… go figure! So with knees knocking I went for it, and I am SO GLAD I did! Laurie is my "sorella maggiore," which simply means that she is my Italian big sister (age, not size.) I knew that contacting her was a risk - I'd heard wonderful stories about people finding long-lost biological relatives, but I'd also heard just as many horror stories. Mine turned out exceptionally well. Laurie is absolutely delightful, and I have loved every minute of our emails and phone conversations. It's mind-boggling how alike we are even though we've never met (other than on Skype.) We have tentative plans to meet in person in 2010, so stay tuned…

9. I made it through the hardest semester I've ever had in college. And I only have ONE MORE TO GO! I'm finishing my degree in English, Writing and Rhetoric, and love, love, love what I'm doing. But I'm very tired of being a student, especially amongst twenty year olds. When I went back to school in 2007, I was in a class with a girl who hosted my youngest daughter at a slumber party when they were in the fifth grade. The humbling part is that I had to work hard to keep up with her. Take note, all of you old folks who are considering a return to college. It ain't as easy when you've lost twenty more years worth of brain cells (yes, I said ain't.)

10. I love my church. That one sentence has the ability to conjure up a thousand different images in a person's mind. Go ahead and throw them all out. Journey Imperfect Faith Community is by and large comprised of people who are burned out on organized religion, and just want to learn how to love people the way one might hope God would. I have a long way to go. But I have never in my life felt like I fit in a spiritual community the way I do here. Here's a clue about the church: awhile back they put out a bumper sticker that said, " Journey IFC: Love. Healing. No B.S." I knew I was home when I looked up one day and saw an Anne Lamott quote on the wall.

Happy New Year, everyone! I hope 2010 is the year that your wandering hopes and dreams make a U-turn, and head straight for the center of your life.

Emmanuel

Make a puking sound. Go ahead - humor me. Now exaggerate it - bump up the volume and do it more slowly. Once you've got that down, do it from your toes - as though the heave is springing from your very soul. That's what I heard when I was leaving the hospital yesterday. My mom has been battling ovarian cancer and is in the hospital with pneumonia. As I left her room to go home, I heard some poor woman across the hall heaving so deeply, so loudly, that I wondered if it was a prankster pretending to be sick. Then I remembered that I was on the oncology floor. The nurses at the other end of the hallway looked up as if to say, "Is that for real?" I'm horrible with distances, but they were further away than the person who lives three doors down from our house. My heart absolutely ached for her. What a horrible, heinous thing to have to go through; I cannot even begin to imagine what it's like to be chained to a drug that leaves you like that. As I was walking toward the nurses (away from the sick woman) a nurse behind me said, "She's throwing uuup." I could be wrong about this, but she sounded a bit put out. And it pissed me off. Seriously? I don't like cleaning up vomit at all, which is one of the gazillion reasons I couldn't ever be a nurse. I have the utmost respect for those who put their whole heart and soul into caring for a sick person. They are the true good Samaritans. But in any field, there are a few who not only don't have the gift, they're grumpy and cold and rude, and let it be known that their heart isn't in the work. Maybe she was having a bad day, but I wouldn't doubt that the puking woman heard the tone of her voice between heaves. What's worse than throwing up your toenails when there's nothing coming out? Dry heaves + a caregiver who makes you feel like a burden.

It's been interesting observing what happens on the 7th floor of Seton Medical Center. Some of my mom's RN's have been absolute gems. Sarah is my favorite. She's very kind, soft spoken, easily engaged, and leaves you with the impression that she would do just about anything for you. I even know that her favorite dog is with her parents in Alaska. While she went about her routine - flushing my mom's port, taking her blood pressure and temperature, she shared some of her life with us. It was a very nice distraction, as we had been sitting in darkness and silence trying not to think about the seriousness of our situation. Lisa is the same way. She looks you in the eye and listens intently to your concerns, your questions and your incessant rambling. That's what people do when their loved ones are gravely ill - they ramble. We hate seeing our moms and sisters and friends suffer so. We are worried we will lose them. And we feel profoundly helpless because we're not powerful enough to neutralize the effects of the disease that is tormenting someone we love.

In contrast, there are also a handful of nurses who have been snippy. They give staccato answers, and act like you're putting them out when you ask for an extra pillow so you can prop up your mother, who is battling bedsores. One nurse came in and completely ignored me. She was talking to my mom, and when I politely interjected something - a question or an observation about something - she completely blew me off. She wouldn't even make eye contact. I can imagine that nurses have a lot to deal with in terms of demanding, meddling family members, but I was neither. Why do some people have to be so stingy with kindness?

By far, the most amazing person who has been a part of our hospital care-giving equation is Courtney. She is a CNA (certified nursing assistant). My mom was weak from having pneumonia right after a particularly brutal round of chemo, and she couldn't take a shower. Standing up for any length of time made her hyperventilate. So Courtney came in with her bag of goodies and gave my mom a sponge bath. She's an African-American woman, probably in her mid to late twenties, and is what my late friend Nita would call "sturdy." She had a smile that lit up the room, and her spirit was even brighter. (I am not even remotely a fan of "The Shack" by William P. Young, but I deeply appreciate the author's depiction of God as a loving black woman. I have always hoped that God is a lot like many of the African-American women I know.) Courtney lovingly and gently went about her task, though she worked with the swiftness of a racing gazelle. When she talked she had a song in her voice, affirming my mom, encouraging her. It almost seemed like she'd rather be doing nothing else. Come to find out that was true. When I commented on her incredible bedside manner she told us that she lost her mom to cancer seven years ago, and that she went back to school in order to be able to care for those who were battling the dreaded disease. As I watched her it occurred to me that God was giving my mom a bath. I don't know if Courtney is spiritual or not, but she sure did a stellar job modeling what I think true religion is. Screw theology and religious programs and endless striving to somehow lay hold of "the truth." Enough with all of the grandiose plans to save the world. How about we just care for each other, the way we hope God would care for us? Emmanuel - God with us. Could it be any simpler?

Image Credit: C. A. Muller
Licensed Under Creative Commons

ABCDEF...G

I think a lot about writing things on this blog, the operative word being think. I am doing so much academic writing in this last push to finish school, I have very little time or creative energy left over. However, I will admit that I tend toward perfectionism when it comes to writing, and I'm reminding myself today that something is better than nothing. Just recounting some of the funny, random, delightful things that happen along the way reminds me that I'm alive, and that I don't have to take life as seriously as Plato and William Wordsworth did (or as seriously as I think I have to!)

That said, I want to tell you about my grandmother name. When Mandy and I started talking about what Piper might call me, we were at a loss to find something that "fit." While I'm ALL about being a grandmother and will talk on and on about it to anyone who will listen, I just don't think I'm a typical, "Grandma." The name doesn't seem to fit. Neither does Meemaw, Granny, Grammy, or Mimi. I don't mind Mimi, but my grandmother was Mimi, and in my estimation there's only one of those. And I'm also not really in to the trendy alternatives, such as "GG" and "Ya-Ya." So one day I was in a night class at St. Edwards and there was a beautiful, twenty-something African-American girl sitting a few seats away from me. The professor called on her and said, "Please tell us your name." She replied: "Gia." The first thing I thought was, What a pretty name! Then I thought, "Wait a minute. Starts with a G...ends with an A... Maybe that would be a short and sweet grandmother name! My kids liked it, and so it was decided.

Fast forward about 16 months. Piper knew who I was, but never could say Gia. She could say "Mommy," "Daddy," "Happy" (Craig's grandpa name)and even "Nanos" (my mom's grandmother name.) But when we'd try and teach her to say Gia, she'd just point at me. Craig and I tried to walk her through it.

Craig: "Say G"
Piper: "G"
Craig: "Say UH"
Piper: "Uh"
Craig: "Say G-UH"
Piper: points at me and smiles

We worked with her on this, but it didn't do any good (or so we thought.) Then one day Mandy called me and said, "Piper and I were working on her alphabet today. I would call out the letter and she'd echo it - "A" "a", "B" "b" - and so on. But every time we get to "G" she replies with an emphatic "UH!" Oh no, I thought. We've confused her!

But finally last night - FINALLY - she looked up at me and out of nowhere said, "Hi Gia." Imagine the best fireworks scene you've ever seen, and that's what exploded in my heart. She said my NAME!!! Being a grandmother ROCKS. I couldn't even begin to tell you how much light and love my two granddaughters bring in to my world.