Where icicles hung the blossoms swing

Despite the measurable snow and the freezing temperatures within the past week, that quintessential symbol of hope "Spring" has finally sprung. Here's what I love about spring:

Those early days as the sun starts to return when, if you breathe deeply and slowly and hold really still, you can actually watch the grass grow greener by the minute.

Shirt sleeves. One more example of how everything is relative. In September 60 feels chilly and moves one to grab a jacket. In March, as soon as it gets above 45 it's time for short shirt sleeves to welcome back the sun.

Crocus. Daffodils. Tulips. Forsythia. Just for starters. Soon, flowering plum. I love the tangible evidence that something so apparently dead can show new life and in a big, beautiful, colorful way. I especially love how the blossoms don't shrink or bow under the fallen snow, but burst their bright shows of color up through snow with a hint of wanton rebelliousness.

Tossing out the alarm clock and waking up to the birds (not in the Hitchcock sense...these are just happy, harmless little nesting birds). I don't even mind that they wake up earlier and earlier--and earlier--clear into summer.

Warmth. Through a sunny window. On a blanket lying on the grass. Against the brick on the southern exposure of my house. This warmth seeps in and thaws even the coldest and darkest parts of my soul.

Moderation. Stuck between the chill of winter and the heat of a Utah summer, spring offers just the right mix of temperatures. The seasons we have here are good for people like me who have short attention spans.

Let there be light. Despite the percentage of Finnish blood running through my veins, I need light. I am always relieved to kiss the SAD good-bye and fully embrace the light again at the end of a long dark winter.

Spring really awakens much more than just the flowers, grass, plants and trees. Spring arouses every one of your senses. Watch the renewal of life. Feel the texture of warmth. Listen to the return of the birds and the bees. Taste the breath of the sun. Smell sweet daffodils, soft cherry blossoms and perfect lilacs.

Kites, kids playing outside again, a break in the silence of winter, my 10-year-old wearing her swimsuit and cleaning off the slip-n-slide as it warms to mere 50, bubbles blowing, digging down deep in the warming soil. It's all good!

Happy Spring!

Identity Crisis II

Why Rosie? Here's the story behind Rosie. It's a long story, but completely appropriate in a blog about a real identity crisis.

I thrive on keeping very busy. I also like to take care of people. But a couple of years ago I tore my ACL and because they did the graft from my patellar tendon, I lost my entire quad muscle and couldn't walk at all. The rehab on a patellar graft is pretty long. And I had never experienced anything so physically debilitating--not even after spending a week in the hospital with serious double pneumonia and coming home on oxygen for 3 weeks. I felt completely useless. I couldn't do anything. And because people were so kind to take in my youngest child while the rest were at school, I was home alone much of the time. As a result, I got really absorbed by what I felt I'd lost--all the things I couldn't do--and became really depressed. I do try to be one of those people who are more tied into being than into what they do, but part of who I am involves what I do, so I was at a complete loss.

One of my best friends is an amazing poet. During this time she wrote the following poem and dedicated it to me (I left in the original spelling, because I liked it that way):

Materna
by Melody Newey

September 2003
for Dalene

Rosy the Riveter's got nothing on you

Someone put children to work in factories--
Mother stopped industrial
revolution smashing innocents.

Engineering masterpiece Mona Lisa
doesn't just sit. Neither does
four-bedroom-rambler
domestic royalty

Maternity, machinery,
fine-tuned, flannel-lined
perfection.
Flesh and blood
mammary.

Power doesn't come from a biceps.


Initally the Rosie image was used as a bit of an inside joke--to evoke the image was to evoke the the poem. But eventually she somehow sort of became an icon to me in a rather ironic way. And yet she still works for me because I come from a long line of strong women who weren't afraid to do whatever it took. In fact, would you like to meet my grandmother? Yet they are all women not without heart. The biceps is there and these women are not afraid to roll up their sleeves; but they will take you in and embrace you within their flannel-lined arms any time. I love the inherent dualism of it all and I aspire to attain that sort of greatness someday in my own small way.

In Valley Green or Towering Crag...they're magically delicious!

I love a good holiday. And St. Patrick's Day is one of my favorites. Partly because it's a great occasion to do indulge in two of my favorite pasttimes: Playing with my food and playing dress up. But mostly because it's not one of those holidays that one is required to celebrate. I could ignore it if I wanted, but why not take advantage of another chance to live a day less ordinary. Not to mention the fact that it's a great excuse to partake of one of my favorites, Lucky Charms.

Here are a few traditions at my house.

Some dye their beer green. Since we don't drink beer, we dye our milk green. Breakfast at our house consists of green milk, green eggs (sans the ham--green meat is never a good thing), and green muffins. Lucky Charms taste very good in green milk.

In the tradition of a good Utahn, whip up a big batch of green jello, topped with green whipped cream.

Come up with one more reason to eat sugar cookie dough. And if some of it ends up as cute green shamrocks then great. If not, that's OK too.

Meet the minimum daily requirement for fruits and vegetables all in one meal: green grapes, kiwi, peas, beans, broccoli, asparagus, salad greens, and cabbage--of course. But we'll pass on the brussel sprouts thank you very much.

Pinching. This is a good thing when one is married to Mr. "Best Buns in 501s." Oh, sorry honey. I didn't see your green.

I don't get the whole corned beef thing, but this year I am going to surprise my husband with some. I have a feeling he might be eating the whole thing by himself, but at least this year he won't have to go looking for it in some other woman's kitchen.

As with most of our family traditions, sometimes I wonder it if is really worth all the effort to entertain my kids. Last night I realized that indeed it is. As his brother was rounding up all the food coloring in the house for a geology project (now the maple syrup is blue), my six-year-old became quite concerned that I put aside enough green food coloring for St. Patrick's Day. She shoots. She scores!

Oh, and did I mention how much I like Lucky Charms?

Luck o' the Irish to you!

Lessons from Mama

During my latest adventure at quilt camp (another blog for another day) one of the speakers was showing a quilt she made for her mom on which she had stitched sayings she and her sister remember hearing from their mother. First I was amused. Then I started to wonder what my kids would contribute if asked for sayings from me. You know, those little philosophy-packed phrases I utter over and over with good intentions to teach them life's all-important lessons, but which only result in causing my kids to roll their eyes and vow to never, ever utter such nonsense to their own kids. I have a feeling a few of the following would be on their lists:

"Be part of the solution, not part of the problem."

"I don't care who started it, I'm more interested in who will finish it!"

"Don't mess with the Queen." A special phrase reserved for when one of my kids actually dares take on the queen eye-roller of the 20th century, namely me. They know they don't stand a chance. But I secretly swell with pride when one of them has the nerve to even attempt.

"So sue me." Read, I'm not budging on this and good luck finding a jury in any county who will side with you. (I know, it sounds totally unsympathetic, but since I'm very much a "choose your battles" kind of gal I don't feel too guilty standing firm when I do put my foot down.)

"I'd rather be an idiot than a jerk." This, of course, is uttered most frequently to a certain testosterone-charged teen-age boy who thinks everyone who doesn't think just like he does is an idiot and doesn't deserve to breathe the same air he does. Don't get me wrong, he's a great kid and I do love him. But I have issues with people who are rigid and who lack compassion. I pray he will grow out of that some day, but I have living relatives who prove that one doesn't always.

"I'm sorry." As a kid I remember being aware that sometimes my parents were wrong and being sooooooo frustrated that they just couldn't admit it. I want my kids to grow up knowing that anybody can be wrong and that I respect them enough to admit it when I am out of line.

"Be good, be happy and have fun!" Practically shouted to kids as they head out the door to go anywhere or do anything. The sequence of these phrases is intentional.

"Have fun stormin' the castle!" Also occasionally heard by kids on their way out the door. From one of the few movies that was far superior to its book form. Other great lines from "Princess Bride" also heard around my house include: "As...you...wish!" "Inconceivable!." "To the pain!" and, something about being only mostly dead.

"Make it a good day!" I want my kids to understand that although they don't always choose what happens to them, they have the power to choose what they make of it.

"So deal." My version of "Life isn't fair." Tough lesson, but that's life. I know people in their 60s who are still playing the victim card and it prohibits them from actually living. I think our kids' lives are going to be much tougher than ours ever were. I hope I'm doing all I can to prepare them to make the most of the good times and be survivors through the rough stuff.

"Bye! Love ya!" On the phone, in the car, or as they are headed out the door. If something ever happened to me this is what I would want them to remember was the last thing I ever said to them.

Red, White and Green? or...pardon me while I tuck in my tree-hugging bleeding heart

At work the other day my co-worker was describing the type of books by a certain publisher as "tree-hugger conservative." He quickly corrected himself, then said, "Tree-hugger conservative, now that's an oxymoron." At first I laughed, then I thought, "Wait a minute. I think I might be a tree-hugger conservative." And it got me thinking about the difficulties inherent in jumping back and forth over the political fence. I 'm no fence-sitter, but, independent woman that I am, nor am I content taking up permanent residence in either compound. I don't flip-flop over issues. It's just that some issues find me camped firmly on conservative soil, and other issues find me lobbying alongside the liberals. Go figure.

I wasn't raised that way. I have deep "red" conservative blood coursing patriotically through my veins. In fact I come from an extended family made up of many who would (I'm only partly joking) as soon disown you if they knew you voted Democrat. Yet I was raised in one of the most liberal states in the nation. And then I moved to the most conservative county in the USA. Maybe that accounts for my seeming ambivalence. It just seems that the older I get, the more people I come to know and love, and the more life experiences that hit me over the head, the more I think twice when someone tries to tell me everything is black or white.

I admit I find myself in an awkward position, campaigning and voting for and with a few of the Democrats in my state while abhorring the beliefs and behavior of many of the Dems at the national level (the Clintons, Kennedy and Kerry make me cringe). I often roll my eyes, pull my hair out and write letters to the editor over the narrow-minded antics of some of our local Republicans; yet I admire and respect many of those seated in various positions in Washington (Condi Rice is my hero).

Maybe I'm schizophrenic. I prefer to hope I'm achieving some semblance of balance in my life (not in the Fox way, but more like in "The Karate Kid"). Maybe I'm just insane. In any case, pardon me. I've got to go hug my tree.