The Toymaker's Apprentice: A Holiday Treat

So... I wanted to make this post earlier. (Heck, I wanted to finish the book on Christmas, but it ended up being the 27th.)

When I checked out Flygirl, by Sherri L. Smith, I noticed that she had a book entitled The Toymaker's Apprentice. From the seven-headed, seven-crowned mouse on the cover, I knew it was about/based on The Nutcracker. For those of you that may not know, I was in The Nutcracker four times as a kid. The full ballet is one of my very favorite pieces of music EVER. Y'all... I had to read this book.

Now, first of all, I want to say that this book is based on a 200 year old novella and a 120 year old ballet, so if I spoil the ending for you, well, that's on you ; )

The Toymaker's Apprentice is the story of Stefan Drosselmeyer, the second cousin of clockmaker Christian Drosselmeyer (who is THE Drosselmeyer from the ballet). Stefan longs for something more than his role as his father's apprentice. His father, Zacharias, is a traditionalist. Carved wooden toys - not clockwork or automatons - are what Zacharias Drosselmeyer encourages. But, reeling from the death of his mother, and the sudden appearance of his enigmatic cousin, Christian, Stefan is hit by revelation after revelation. Christian was banished from his royal appointment! Christian has been charged with curing a cursed princess! The only cure is a possibly-mythical, impossible to crack nut! Christian is being pursued by spies! The spies are mice! And they can talk! The mice kidnap Stefan's father!

Christian, Stefan, and Christian's jailer and friend, the astronomer Samir, set off for far-off Boldavia, to save a princess, rescue Zacharias, and defeat a revolution of mice.

Meanwhile, in Boldavia, the Queen of Mice has given birth to... a son? Seven sons? She refers to them in the plural but, to the shock of her subjects, her newborn has one body and seven heads. Famed rat scholar, Ernst Liszt, has been hired to tutor the... princes?... and even he is very uncertain about the queen's plans for her offspring. She names her sons for famous human conquerors, in hopes this will serve as portentous to their future, and her eventual goal of conquering the humans.

The chapters alternate between Stefan's, Ernst's, and eventually the mouse prince's points of view. Of the seven heads, the central one, Arthur, becomes the dominant personality of his brothers. Gentle Arthur, who wishes to be a scholar, but also wishes to live up to his mother's expectations that he and his brothers will be warriors, strikes up an unlikely friendship with the imprisoned Zacharias. Together, they bond over Zacharias's love for the son he misses - how Arthur wishes he had a parent who cares like this! Arthur's friendship and encouragement helps Zacharias continue the work his captors have designated for him.

Of course, I went into this story know what the ending was going to be... how it HAD to be, given the source material. And yet... I kept wondering, kept asking, how does Arthur go from sweet scholar to dreaded Mouse King, sworn enemy of the Nutcracker? How can Stefan defeat a city filled with countless mice out for revenge? And the answers... oh, the answers. I love a good tragedy. I can't tell you the last time I've read such a sympathetic and tragic villain as Sherri L. Smith's Mouse King. And the final interaction between the Mouse King and the Nutcracker, between Arthur and Stefan - two BOYS who love their parent and would do anything for them. Glorious. A real Christmas treat.

Read this book if you are a fan of: The Nutcracker; Young Adult or Middle Grade fantasy or adventure (like Terry Pratchett's YA novels? This is for you); Harry Potter; The Ranger's Apprentice series; The Colossus Rises, by Peter Lerangis; coming of age stories; steampunk (I mean... this is more clockwork punk, but I don't think that counts as a genre...; The Larklight series; retellings of classics/fairy tales; historical fiction; talking animals...seriously, y'all I could make a whole readers' advisory list.

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Whataya Know, NaNo?

Wow, December already? November just flew by... which is odd, because SO much happened in November. It seemed like one of us was always sick - sinus infections and COVID boosters for the adults, colds and pinkeye for Elianna. Fun. Add Thanksgiving to that mix and... well, who decided November was a good month for NaNoWriMo, huh?

So, first I'll talk about what I did in November, and then I'll launch into my goals for December and January.

In an attempt to kick myself into gear a bit, I decided to do a modified National Novel Writing Month challenge in November. My goal was not to write a new novel, but rather to try and crank out new material I need to flesh out Brinyor, one of my current novels. My intent was to write every day and, even thought many days I only managed about 20-30 minutes after Elianna had gone to bed in the evening, the first 2.5-3 weeks of the month I did pretty well. But, the week of Thanksgiving, everything kind of fell apart at once. To twist a line from Ian Malcom, "life, uh, gets in the way."

I knew I would be unlikely to write on Thanksgiving itself... but I also wasn't expecting people to get sick, Elianna to take a big step back in night potty training and/or willingness to go to sleep (cold, pinkeye, picking up on our stress? possibly also teething - I mean, that'll do it). She's gotten very defiant about naps as well and, as we speak, is sleeping on the floor on the opposite side of the room from her bed because she likes her play blanket and giant stuffed corgi and, well, Jason and I are tired of fighting with her at 4 AM. Two-year-olds, man.

But, yes, less griping, more progress reports. I managed to write a little over 17,000 words for Brinyor in November, in addition to spending some time working on my platform (including my newly-added Twitter. I even submitted a story to a podcast.

So, on to my December goals, which are... really low-balling it. Honestly, between holiday prep and Elianna being out of school for two weeks, I'm going to cut myself a lot of slack. If I can keep my current writing and social media schedule,* reread what I wrote in November, and start inserting it into the main body of the novel, I'll be happy.

*-Writerly quote of the week, plus business - social media, platform work, submission research - on Monday

-Work on my monthly goal while Elianna is at school on Tuesday

--Writing prompt of the week (alternating weeks) on Wednesday

-Work on my monthly goal while Elianna is at school, and alternating Throwback Thursdays on Thursday.

-Blog each weekend (unless I've done it earlier in the week)

-Alternating weekends to really focus on writing.

In fact, I have so little faith in having time to write this month, that the above goal is actually going to be my January goal, too. More of a six-week goal (because I know I'll be pretty useless the latter half of December) than a monthly goal.

NaNo? Maybe So...

The night is dark... A restless spirit moves through the house... Something calls my name...

"Elizabeeeeeeeeeeth... you know you want to do NaNoWriMoooooooooooo..."

So it's the same debate every year - to NaNo or not to Nano? And I think I will this year. Not the normal National Novel Writing Month - because I need to finish one of the novels I've already got started - but a modified version. A few years ago, I took one of my works in progress and wrote a new scene for it every day for a month, rather than trying to meet a certain word count. That worked pretty well for me - it rejuvenated my interest in the story, and got some new material down. Of course, that was the November before Elianna was born, and the November before Baldur died, so suffice to say I've had a lot going on since then...

But, in any case, I'll be doing that again this year with Brinyor. Fittingly, I started Brinyor for 2011's NaNoWriMo, so it feels right to try and get some fleshing out done to it for its 10th anniversary. (Oh, god, y'all, I've now got three novels I've been working on for ten-plus years...)

However, despite this decision, I'm not going to press myself super hard. I've spent September and October dealing with colds, sinus infections, potty training, and another round of colds and sinus infections. I never did get around to decorating for Halloween, and Thanksgiving and Christmas loom. I'm going to try really hard not to beat myself up if I can't get a scene, snippet, etc. written every day. I mean, the point is to try, yes, but I need to walk the line between making time to try and dreading doing so because I have too many other obligations.

We'll see what happens and, as always, I will have an update for you at the end of the November.

Rest

Every Easter... or maybe it was Palm Sunday... anyway, one weekend near Easter/Passover every year, we always used to watch The Ten Commandments when it was broadcast on a major TV network (I mean, it doesn't get better than Charlton Heston and Yul Brenner snarking at each other).

There's a scene where Moses (Heston) takes mercy on a stone cutter who hit an overseer in order to save an old woman. Moses, being a Good Boss, has a discussion about what the Hebrew slaves need to work better, rather than just taking "Master Butcher" Vincent Price at his word that they are lazy and expendable. The stonecutter mentions extra food and a day of rest. "A day of rest!" echoes the crowd in awe, as though he just suggested they all be given their weight in gold. Moses grants them the food, and the day of rest, and the Egyptians harp on this for while.

This was unprecedented. If you were a worker, you worked. That's what you did. The idea of taking a day off for rest, for contemplation, that just wasn't done.

Not trying to get super religious here, but there is something to the "remember the Sabbath day and keep it Holy" commandment. When was the last time you took a day off - really took a day off, where you did nothing, or only did things that relaxed or rejuvenated you?

I've recently been trying to be more aware of giving myself down time - time to relax, time to think, time to do nothing and just let my brain go. It's hard. I am the sort of person that I'm ALWAYS doing something. But I'm trying to take a few minutes in the evening to just sit quietly with my eyes closed. I made it three minutes last night! : D

We as a society need to be better about resting. We've gotten it into our heads that if you're doing nothing, if you're not being "productive," you're "lazy." But your body and your brain need time to rest, to relax, to do nothing.

I commit to doing nothing for at least four minutes today - who's with me?

Eat Your Luck

Mmm, money. Nom, nom, nom. Mmm, prosperity. Nom, nom, nom. Mmm, more money! Nom, nom, nom!

What do you eat for New Year's? Does it hold a sentimental significance for you? Do you know the cultural reasons why you eat it?

Many Americans are used to eating ham at New Years. Many also eat cooked greens and/or beans. Why? Eating pork at New Year's is supposed to represent wealth and prosperity. If you're familiar with the peppermint Christmas pig, it comes from the same idea. In the days before refrigeration, you slaughtered and preserved pigs when the weather got cold. Of course, in the South, this wouldn't be 'til deep in the late fall/early winter.

And speaking of Southern New Years food traditions, why the greens and beans? Specifically, collard greens or turnip greens and black eyed peas? Both are supposed to represent money; the greens being bills and the beans being coins. (Alternate descriptions of the traditions indicate the black eyed peas represent luck rather than coins - maybe because two foods representing money seems redundant.)

But why these foods specifically? Why not green cabbage? Why not some other bean? For that matter, if we're going for money, why not some other food that looks more like gold coins? (The Chinese eat citrus slices and round, flat, golden cakes for their new year's celebrations.)

As with many Southern tales and traditions, the turnip greens and black eyed peas goes back to the Civil War. When Sherman went on his March to the Sea, burning through Georgia from Chattanooga to Savannah, he not only burned buildings - he also burned crops. For some reason, he did not burn the black eyed peas or turnips; apparently, these crops were considered to only be fit for animal fodder (specifically, for pigs). So what was left for Georgians in the path of destruction to eat? Turnip greens and black eyed peas. The burning ended in December of 1864 (Sherman presented the city of Savannah to President Lincoln as a Christmas gift).

Perhaps the people of Georgia noticed - or hoped, or prayed - that things changed after they ate these simple foods. Maybe after that awful year of war and fire, left with only the most meager food for the holidays, they thought themselves lucky to have even that. (Or, like Scarlet, they hated it, but ate it anyway because it was better than nothing.)

I went to the grocery store yesterday and bought black eyed peas for our New Year's celebration. We do hoppin' John (black eyed peas with rice), cooked with the last of Christmas ham. This year we're adding sauteed bok choy (Jason doesn't like southern-style greens cooked with salt pork).

I posted on my Facebook page that after the crummy year we've all had that we all need to do our part and eat our good luck foods. A (Southern) friend joked that maybe the greens and beans were making things worse, so she was going to avoid them this year and see if that helped. I recommended she try the Chinese New Year's foods - long noodles for long life, and citrus slices for money. Sounds like she might do it.

So what's on your New Year's menu? Eat it with crossed fingers. Make a wish. Let's greet 2021 with some positive vibes.

Book Review: Unholy Night by Seth Grahame-Smith

Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter. Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. Fun - and, if you have a dark sense of humor, funny - mashups of historical and literary characters with zombies and vampires.

I was in the dollar store a few years ago and saw a bin of another book by the same author - Unholy Night. I recognized Seth Grahame-Smith, and the title was intriguing. I flipped it over to read the back and the premise had me hooked - what if the Wise Men were not simple pilgrims, come to worship and give gifts, and then to disappear from whence they came? What if instead they took umbrage - ultimate umbrage - with Herrod's slaughter of the innocents, of his attempt to find and kill the baby Jesus?

And it was only a dollar! Um, yes, please. (And, as it turns out, it was not priced so low because it hadn't sold, but rather because this bin was full of misprinted copies - on one page Balthasar's name appears as Ba!tha%a*, or or something like that.)

Mostly Spoiler-free review:

First, as you might guess from an author whose other books are about genteel historical and literary figures messily fighting evil creatures, be aware that if you're not up for some heavy doses of gore, this book is definitely not for you. In fact, I might go so far as to say that the violence and gore in this book is even more distubing because it's happening to normal people who more often than not are either just trying to do their jobs, or, even more terrifying, are innocents who just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The book opens with Balthasar, not a king, not a scholar, but a thief, evading persuit by Roman troops. After being captured and thrown in prison, he and his cellmates escape by disguising themselves as priests. The three "priests," traveling out of the Roman province of Judea encounter a couple with a newborn, hidden in a stable.

The couple is hiding for good reason - only briefly after their encounter with the traveling "magi," Herrod's troops enter the town, rousting all children under the age of two. Balthasar witnesses a mother with an infant run down by a soldier, and the child is killed in the street. Even this thief cannot comprehend the terrible act he has just witnessed - and he snaps. He rides down the soldier and kills him.

Other soldiers fill the town, other wails of dying babies and weeping mothers fill the air. Another soldier chases a young boy carrying his infant brother - but Balthasar chases him. Melchior and Gaspar join the fray. Soon the entire troop of soldiers is dead. Many infants are also dead... but many more have been saved, including a very special one.

Now the "magi" and the young family they encountered in the stable must flee in earnest. On the way they encounter various dangers - dehydration, angry mobs, locusts (yes, really), and burning buildings - before before being captured by joint forces of Herrod and a young, up-and-coming Roman officer named Pontius Pilate (Yes. Really.) who everyone says will go far.

And, as you can guess, since Easter occurs some 30-odd years later, the baby survives. But it's the *how*, the reactions of the characters with him, the string of coincidences and oddly timed good luck, that makes the story intersting and gripping. Reading this book you think that it is not so much the circumstances of the Mary's* pregnancy and Jesus's birth that are miraculous - rather the miracle is that he survived his first few weeks at all.

*Mary, incidentally, is a fantastically feisty 15-year old. Say what you will about her, believe she is delusional if you must, but bad-mouth her husband and she will give you what-for!

#Spoilers Below#

I love the whole "historical in joke" - when historical characters meet up in unexpected ways. It's hard to do well, without coming off as either cheesey or a forced coincidence.

Grahame-Smith does well at using a young Pilate as a secondary antagonist. He's 20 (so, young enough that him still being alive in 33 years, while also being old enough now to be a competent officer is not unlikely), with a strong eye on his career. He aspires to be a high-ranking official - maybe even a governor - which is why he goes along with the emperor's orders to humor Herrod in his search to eliminate this prophesied baby. But when they finally do catch the family and those aiding him, when it becomes clear that Herrod has gone off the deep end, Pilate decides to defy his orders.

Enough is enough, and this isn't right - Piate sets the prisoners free with the warning that for the sake of his own life he must pursue them shortly. But the head start - and a little divine intervention - are enough that the group is safely away before persuing soldiers follow. The soldier and the thief have a moment of understanding and respect - these are two men trying to make their way, trying to survive - and they both understand that you draw the line at killing babies (even though they both also understand now that this is not just any baby).

It's also hard to pull off a deus ex machina. This book is full of them - but they're well done and justified. And given that we mostly see Balthasar's reaction to them (rather than being told through the eyes of the already-believing Mary and Joseph), they seem more real.

Three fleeing swordsmen just happen to show up in time to protect they baby? Meh, I was just passing through.

A perfectly straight stream of perfectly clear water just happens to cross their path in the dessert right as they begin to fear the baby and nursing mother might die? Well, that's odd, but we're glad it was there. (A 15 year old with no lactation specialist has no trouble breastfeeding her newborn as they flee across the dessert? That might be the biggest miracle in the book...)

But when an angry mob of pilgrims attacks the Roman soldiers for violating the sancticy of their holy site, when a swarm of locusts descends on the persuing soldiers... but doesn't harm the fleeing family? It's more than Balthasar can accept as coincidence - especially as the baby SMIRKS while the locusts attack the soldiers. (And, honestly, this serves as a reminder that this incarnation is where the vindictive Old Testament God meets the humble and loving New Testament man.)

Reading this novel with a new baby (I read it last fall; Elianna would have been just a few months old) the horror of so many things that could happen to such a delicate and vulnerable child was very, very real. Don't get me wrong - I really enjoyed the book. But reading it as a new mother gave me a very different perspective, and made me very thankful that I live in a place and time where my baby is relatively safe.

Na No No Go

Today's a big day - no, not just the day after Halloween (and don't you DARE start putting up that Christmas tree yet ; ) - today is the first day of NaNoWriMo*.

*If you're not familiar with the abbreviation, NaNoWriMo is short for National Novel-Writing Month, which takes place annually in November. Writers challenge themselves to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. It's not as hard as it sounds - it breaks down to about 1700 words a day, which is just a couple pages. The hard part is not writing 50,000 words - the hard part is actually finishing the novel after November ends.

Those of you who have been following this blog for a while will hopefully forgive me as I give a little background on my NaNo history here:

-In 2009, I did NaNo for the first time, and succeeded in writing 50,000 words. This novel, which I've referred to often in this blog by its working title, The Wolf and the Sheath, still sits unfinished 11 years later.

-In 2010, I did NaNo again, leading to BrightFire... which is also unfinished.

-In 2011, because I was very busy, I gave myself the goal of 30,000 words instead, and ended up with the partial novel I'm currently calling Brinyor which is, you guessed it, still unfinished.

A few months ago, I had been hoping to be back into some semblance of a writing routine by now. I have been trying to sit down and work on writing stuff a couple mornings a week. There have been a few times recently that I've worked on something else like laundry or food prep during the time I should be writing. I really need to cut that out. I really need to start treating my writing time as non-negotiable.

So, I'm sure that you might have guessed from all of that that I will not be participating in NaNoWriMo this year. I just have too much going on (which, yes, all of you with multiple children that get shuttled back and forth to various activities, just pat me on the head and call me a sweet summer child) .

We're heading into "the holidays" and I have crafts I want to put together. There are areas of the house that haven't been cleaned since before Elianna was born. And we're going to have to start taking her to physical therapy because she's behind on walking. In addition, I'm dealing with anxiety and insomnia (though, it is 2020 - who isn't?). I'm trying to be more active so I can kick my weight loss into gear... I hope it doesn't sound like I'm making excuses; this just isn't the time to be putting a major task on my plate.

But with all that said, I think that I am going to try and reread all three of my partial novels this month, as well as do some other creative things (art rather than writing, but I feel that any creative juices are going to get others flowing).

And those of you who are going to take up the challenge this year - go for it! Take those emotions, those anxieties, and pour them into your novel. Write about the dystopia you fear, or write about hope and recovery. Just write. And, hopefully, your novel will make more sense than this year has.

To those about to write, I salute you.

#NaNoWriMo2020

Missing the Magic

Fall is in the air.  Unfortunately, so are other things...

There are, sadly, a lot of kids missing out on their fall and Halloween traditions this year (yes, and their parents, too 'cause parents love Halloween). I've seen lots of posts from friends about how they're modifying fall traditions for their kids and grandkids.  Some are trying to figure out social-distanced trick-or-treating, others are swapping private hayrides for group excursions.

Jason and I briefly considered taking Elianna to a pumpkin patch to pick out a pumpkin... but then I saw that the CDC was calling that a moderate risk activity, even outside with masks required.  Given that we live in an area where there has been a lot of push-back against masks, we decided not to bother.

I was taking Elianna for a walk in the stroller a few days ago - it was the first time we'd been out and about since a lot of people had put up Halloween decorations.  I came to the end of our street and saw that the hedge out in front of one house was decked out with about a dozen friendly scarecrows.  I thought to myself how much fun she's going to have once she's old enough to go to fall festivals, fondly recalling the school festivals my sister and I went to at our elementary school: mazes, pony rides, and haunted houses with spaghetti brains you could touch. 

And I know she's too young this year.  I know she won't know what she's missing out on, and wouldn't remember trick-or-treating or picking out a pumpkin anyway.  I take comfort in that.  But I miss it.  And I know how many of my friends and/or their kids are, too.  But I think the kids will be OK.  I think the kids will still find ways to see the magic.

I talk about how kids can find the magic this time of year so easily in a re-post from last year ( https://www.iveyink.com/blog/2019/10/19/memories-and-magic ), but here's that specific section:

“The things I remember most about Halloween as a kid, was the feeling that anything could happen.  Those chilly, cloudy nights out walking through the dark neighborhood, I would look up at the sky and see faint ghosts in swirling patterns.  Most other nights I knew that wasn't a ghost, but rather a search light from a concert or a car lot.  But on Halloween, it was a ghost.  On Halloween, that empty house down the street might really be haunted.  On Halloween that neighbor that likes to dress up like a scarecrow and sit on the front porch to startle trick-or-treaters might actually be an evil scarecrow come to life that would come get you. 

Certain nights hold magic.  Halloween is one of them.  Christmas is another.  On Christmas as a kid, that flashing red light in the sky isn't a plane - it's Rudolph.  The fireplace making a thump isn't the flue cooling off and contracting - it's Santa.  And I really believed for many years that if I sprinkled glitter on the Christmas tree and the nutcracker collection that one of these days they would magically transform and take me to a magical land...  I believed this probably 'til I was way older than I should have.

But my point is, there is something very magical about Fall.  (Yes, I know Christmas Day itself is about 4 days into Winter, but most of that buildup, most of that magical transformation is in Fall.)  And there is something amazing about kids; they believe.  They want to believe.  They love to believe.  And that is awesome.”

I know a lot of us are disappointed, and a lot of us are concerned our kids will be, too.  But don't worry about the kids - they'll still believe in the magic.

Some Stories Need to be Told

This is something I've been thinking about off an on lately. I've been thinking about it as I've helped my sister prepare for the birth of her baby. I've been thinking about it since a friend of mine mentioned some emotional issues he's going through. And I've been thinking about it since I'm now on some medications that are helping me sleep and generally helping my mood.

I think it's time to share the fact that I had - or am possibly still recovering from - postpartum depression.

Over the past few years, I have come to the understanding that a lot of people - myself included - suffer from mood issues like anxiety and depression... but that a lot of people don't talk about it. There's a stigma. If you're depressed, there's "Something Wrong With You." But we don't talk that way about allergies, or high blood pressure, or migraines. So why do we feel that way about mental health?

Almost two years ago, I started seeing a counselor for my anxiety. I had a near-panic attack over a difficult customer at work and decided I was tired of worrying. I was tired of my hands shaking when someone got angry with me on the phone. I was tired of laying awake at night mulling over little things that might go wrong.

My counselor really helped me - not in the sense that she cured me or made it go away - but in the sense that she helped me understand my anxiety as a chronic medical condition that comes and goes. As an allergy sufferer, this made perfect sense to me. I have various seasonal allergies, and a couple allergies that will trigger migraines.

With the anxiety, as with the allergies, there are certain things that bother me, certain times of year (when I was working) that I could count on to be worse - and therefore prepare myself. Just as with allergies, this is just something I have, something I will always have. Counseling didn't make my anxiety disappear, just as sinus surgery didn't make my allergies disappear. But I also understand now that it's not something I did wrong. It's just the way my body (in the sense of allergies) or my mind (in the sense of anxiety) works. It's nothing to be ashamed of, just as my nearsightedness is nothing to be ashamed of.

I was still seeing my counselor when I got pregnant and we discussed various things related to the pregnancy, including the fact that my history of anxiety put me at greater risk for postpartum depression. (Ironically, I stopped seeing her about half-way into the pregnancy, as we felt I had improved enough to no longer warrant counseling.)

As it turns out, I ended up being at very high risk for postpartum depression, based on a lot of factors, including: the previously-mentioned history of anxiety; a long labor; a traumatic labor*; trouble breastfeeding; trouble healing; an overly-fussy baby, and other factors. Looking back, I shouldn't have been surprised that I developed depression.

*Elianna's heart rate dropped at one point and we came extremely close to having to go for an emergency C-section.

It kind of crept up on us. I think for a long time Jason and I didn't recognize the difference between the sleep deprivation and the mood change. Then it was "the Holidays" - everyone gets stressed out during the holidays - and Elianna peaked at the worst of her fussiness and tummy issues around that time. Then at Elianna's six-month appointment in January, I was so upset and frustrated (and honestly, not even unreasonably so) that Jason had to take over asking our questions of the pediatrician. When we left, the pediatrician said she was worried about me. The next day, we visited Jason's family for his birthday. Elianna was a horrible fuss, and I was a wreck. Jason's family said they were worried about me.

Jason and I decided to make some changes. We decided I needed to get out of the house and do something without Elianna on a regular basis. And we did this for a couple weeks. I was feeling a lot better by late February.

Then, of course, we went into lock-down in mid-March.

But... oddly enough... the quarantine didn't make me feel worse. I mean, yeah, I was worried about the state of the world. But Jason was home with me every day. We alternate mornings getting up with Elianna. Her tummy's better. She's eating better and sleeping through the night. He can spend more time playing with her, and she naps reliably. I'm also on an anti-anxiety medication and a sleep medication. (Oh, yes, and 5,000 allergy medications.)

The last two days, I have woken up and felt... good. Not overly tired. Actually motivated and somewhat energetic. Oh, my god, do I finally feel normal?

The point to this long, rambling post is this: talk about your mental state. Don't hold it in until you get to the point where you can't function. Everyone talks about their allergies, their cholesterol, their weight. Let's talk about mental health. Let's make it just as much a coffee time chit chat with your girls discussion as "I'm trying keto."

I hope this post helps someone. If one person reads this and says, "oh, my god, I think I need to talk to someone about this," I am glad I could have helped.

A Tale of Holiday Cheer

Our next door neighbor's daughter had a liver transplant last week. She is doing well, but had to have another procedure yesterday. They are hoping to be able to bring her home this week; no one wants their child in the hospital over Thanksgiving.

Bella was always the one out in the yard with her dad putting up Christmas decorations (or rather, she was the one directing Tom) the week of Thanksgiving when she and her brothers were out of school. Knowing this, Mark, the neighbor across the street came over Sunday night and asked Tom if he'd like to have his "light guy" come help put up lights so the house will be all festive when Bella comes home.

Fast forward to yesterday morning...

I had gone back to sleep after Elianna's first morning feeding and woke to the engine of a large vehicle outside the house. Monday being trash day, I didn't think much about it... until I realized that the motor wasn't going away, and there seemed to be a lot of voices outside. More voices and for much longer than the few seconds it takes to pick up the trash. I got up and peeked through the blinds. There were two fire trucks parked on our street - one in front of our house, and one in front of the neighbors'.

I jumped up and hurried downstairs (quietly, because of the sleeping baby). I was thinking, "Oh, no - not an emergency next door. That's the last thing they need while their daughter's in the hospital" Jason was just coming back in from taking Athena out and he told me what was going on.

It turns out Mark's "light guy" is a firefighter and he brought about 20 fellow firefighters with him to help deck the halls. They were out there most of the morning (much to the delight of Bella's 2 younger brothers). While you can now probably see the neighbor's house from space now, it's so nice to see people do something so nice for a family they don't know ( at least beyond "I know a guy who knows a guy whose kid had surgery").

Memories and Magic

Hello, readers! As I mentioned a few weeks ago, posts will continue to be sporadic for a while as I get used to the routine (or lack-there-of) of being a new mom.

For the meantime, though, please enjoy a re-posting of a blog I wrote right around this time 3 years ago:

How many of you remember what you went as for Halloween when you were kids? How many different years' costumes can you name? I'm going to make a go for ALL of them (at least up to senior year in high school).

2 years old - Smurfette

3 - Minie Mouse

4 - Cinderella

5 - Dorothy

6 - a bride

7 - an Amish girl

8- black cat

9 - black cat again. I don't remember why I was a black cat 2 years in a row, but it was the closest to "something scary" my mom would let me be until I was older.

10 - gypsy

11 - a vampire! Finally!

12 or 13 - a butterfly. Whichever year I was a butterfly was the year it snowed. On Halloween. In metro Atlanta. The butterfly costume quickly turned into "Elizabeth in her green parka." Don't remember what I was the other year.

14 - Egyptian. I was quick to point out at the Drama club Halloween party that I was not Cleopatra, as I didn't consider her to be a "real" Egyptian due to her Greek ancestry (I was weird about stuff like that at that age). Not that I, as a re-headed Celto-Ukrainian have any business being picky about who's a "real" Egyptian...

15 - Spanish Renaissance Princess

16 - Salem Witch. I won the Drama club Halloween contest with this costume.

17 - Juliet. Not entirely dissimilar to age 15, but it was a different dress...

In all honesty, 15, 16, and 17 may not actually be in order. I went to the Drama Club Halloween party every year, and also chaperoned my younger sister and her best friend trick-or-treating.

I always tried to have a cool costume every year after that, working or not, going to a party or not. Some years in college I lucked out in that Halloween would fall in the middle of the week and the weekends on both sides ended up having some costume extravaganza to go to. Sometimes I had a costume for each party. But then, I was a theatre major and a costume nerd and could usually "throw something together" that was at least as good as something you could buy.

Halloween 2014 stands out as one of my favorite costume experiences. I was a children's librarian at the time, and I went as Elsa from Frozen. I tell you what, kids know exactly what you're doing if you have even the most vague representation of a costume. I had a platinum blonde wig that I had braided, and a vaguely blueish satin(ish) dress. And every kid (except one) who came into that children's department that day stopped in their tracks and said in whispered awe, "It's ELSA!" (The one kid who did not told his awed 6 year old sister, "That's not Elsa, that's just a grownup.") Oddly enough, this was the second Halloween I can remember that it snowed... Maybe I should be more careful with my costume selection.

But the things I remember most about Halloween as a kid, was the feeling that anything could happen. Those chilly, cloudy nights out walking through the dark neighborhood, I would look up at the sky and see faint ghosts in swirling patterns. Most other nights I knew that wasn't a ghost, but rather a search light from a concert or a car lot. But on Halloween, it was a ghost. On Halloween, that empty house down the street might really be haunted. On Halloween that neighbor that likes to dress up like a scarecrow and sit on the front porch to startle trick-or-treaters might actually be an evil scarecrow come to life that would come get you.

Certain nights hold magic. Halloween is one of them. Christmas is another. On Christmas as a kid, that flashing red light in the sky isn't a plane - it's Rudolph. The fireplace making a thump isn't the flue cooling off and contracting - it's Santa. And I really believed for many years that if I sprinkled glitter on the Christmas tree and the nutcracker collection that one of these days they would magically transform and take me to a magical land... I believed this probably 'til I was way older than I should have.

But my point is, there is something very magical about Fall. (Yes, I know Christmas Day itself is about 4 days into Winter, but most of that buildup, most of that magical transformation is in Fall.) And there is something amazing about kids; they believe. They want to believe. They love to believe. And that is awesome.

Please comment with your favorite Halloween memory, costume, or story, and share with someone who believes in the magic : )

Telling Stories with Music, Verse 3

A few months ago, my mom and I were having a conversation about the music they play at the store where she works. She was talking about how they've been playing the same mix for so long that she can tell the time by what song is playing. I've worked a lot of retail jobs where they had a mix that we were supposed to play for a certain length of time (during a themed promotion) or at a certain time of year.

"Now, don't get me wrong," she said, "it's a good mix. Fun stuff, a lot of oldies, some songs from movies. But it just gets old after a while."

"Huh," I said, a theory forming. "A lot of oldies?"

"Yeah - Beach Boys."

"And more recent stuff? Billy Joel? A couple songs from Grease?"

"Yeah!"

"And 'Professional Pirate' from Muppet Treasure Island?"

"Oh, my gosh - yes! Were they playing that mix when you worked there?"

"That's the mix I MADE for them when I worked there."

One summer, seven years ago, when I worked at the school supply store she's currently working at, my coworkers and I were lamenting that we had to play the CDs that we sold in the store - kids's songs, nursery rhymes, circle-time songs that in children's high-pitched voices became very grating very quickly. Someone asked why we couldn't listen to the radio. The owners said since we couldn't control what songs are on the radio - even the more family-friendly stations - or that there might be ads for competitors that they really didn't want to do that.

"What if someone brought in CDs?" one of my coworkers asked.

"Well, if everyone brought in CDs, we'd have to approve them all, and that would take a while, especially since we'd have to do it every time someone brought in something new."

"I've got a lot of family-friendly stuff," I said. "What if I made a mix, 2 or 3 hours long, and you guys could approve all the songs on it?" They decided that was decent idea, so I made a mix, kind of on the idea of a family-fun summer mix - the sort of thing you might have playing at a family pool party. I had imagined they'd use it for a few months and then I'd make another mix. But I got a full-time job with Cobb County Public Library shortly after this, and never really gave my mix more thought - until my mom brought it up. It kind of tickles me that they're still playing my mix so many years later.

I like making mixes. I made a playlist for my engagement party. Rather than hire a band or a DJ for my wedding, I made playlists for the "cocktail hour" (before Jason and I came to the reception) and for the reception.

I like making themed play lists that tell a story. I make mix CDs for my parents for presents. I remember back a few years ago, I mentioned this to a coworker (who was only slightly younger than myself) and she said, "aw, that's cute that you still make mix CDs for your parents." The tone kind of said, "how retro and quaint," and to this day I'm not sure if she meant that making mix CDs for other people was retro and quaint or that making mix CDs at all was retro and quaint.

That was a few years ago, before computers stopped coming with CD drives, back when buying a physical album and buying a digital album was probably still 50/50. Now it's getting to where physical media is a lot less common. I'm going to need a new laptop soon, and I have a feeling it won't have a CD drive or burner.

I made three mix CDs for my mom for Mother's Day this year - I don't know if I'll be able to do that next year.

Three Minutes on the Stage, Forever in my Mind

I was in the Nutcracker four times when I was a kid - when I was 8, 10, 11, and 12. This meant that I spent every Sunday afternoon for most of Fall rehearsing. (I can't believe my mom's patience and dedication, driving me down to the studio on a sketchy corner of some Peachtree Street all the time.)

We rehearsed for what felt like months, years. The scenes - the performances themselves - seemed like they took half an hour. I mean that in a good way. The first two years, I was one of the toy soldiers. Our scene felt like a battle. It was action packed - it must have gone on and on, right?

The first year, I was the Littlest Soldier - the drummer. I was on stage the longest - the second soldier to move and the last soldier to leave the scene. I was the only soldier not carried off my a mouse; I stayed to the bitter end and pulled the Rat King's tail to distract him just long enough that the Nutcracker could get the upper hand. In the moment, and in my memory, it seemed like this scene took at least 20 minutes. I mean, it was a battle - it had to be long, right?

According to my Nutcracker CD, this scene is 3 minutes and 21 seconds.

Oddly enough, the scene that I felt was shorter, the opening of the second act where I played and angel two years in a row, is 3 seconds longer.

Now granted, despite the shortness of these scenes, I was on stage quite a bit. The first year I performed, there were 2 children's casts who alternated performances. I think each cast performed a total of about 20 times. By my last year, more performances and more casts were added - 4 children's casts in total each performing about 10 times.

As you might imagine, these shows took up a large portion of my December (in addition to the rehearsals taking up most of the Fall). There were even a couple days each year that I got to miss school, as there were several matinee performances on school days specifically for local school field trips.

The last year that I was in The Nutcracker, my younger sister was also in the show. She was 8 that year - the minimum age for the children performers with the Atlanta Ballet at the time. She actually was onstage for the half-hour that I perceived my scene to last. She was one of the Party Children, and if I thought my time was taken up by the show, hers was more-so. In addition to her longer scene, her hairdo took about 2 hours.

We were in the Nutcracker the last year that The Atlanta Ballet did the Balanchine version - the version that is still performed by the New York City Ballet. The next year, neither of us got in. We were devastated. There was a rumor that they weren't casting kids who had been in the old version. I don't know if it's true, but we comforted ourselves with both that idea, and the fact that the show we loved just wouldn't be the same now, so maybe it was better to remember it the way it had been.

4 years. Approximately 60 performances. 3 minutes on stage each time. That doesn't sound like a lot in the grand scheme of things. But it was such an integral part of Christmas for me, and the memories are still so bright. I could probably still follow most of my choreography for each scene, and, for that matter, some of the other scenes that I just watched.

Pick up your feet. Listen for your cue. It's Christmas - the time when memories and magic happen.

Behold 12-year-old me and my 8-year-old sister in all our giant-sweatshirted mid-90’s glory! Notice her curls. My mom had to redo her hair after every performance; she wore curlers to school sometimes.

A Memory of "A Christmas Memory"

I had a really cool 7th grade English teacher. We had a day where we dressed up as characters from Greek mythology. We had this massive poetry project that I really enjoyed putting together. And we made a fruitcake using Truman Capote's aunt's recipe.

We read Capote's "A Christmas Memory." In the story, he recounts going on an excursion with his aunt one December to gather all the ingredients for her famous fruitcake. When I say fruitcake, I don't mean that Claxton brick that we all love to hate. I mean something like a pound cake with dried fruit and nuts in it.

The problem for young Truman and his aunt is that one of the ingredients is whisky, but this is the Depression and Prohibition is still the law of the land. But that doesn't stop them - Truman's aunt knows a guy. They set out to find a bootlegger. (Or maybe he was a rum runner. I don't remember - I was 12 and had no idea what either was...)

Returning home successfully, his aunt lets him have a taste of the whiskey while they bake. Things get rowdy and before you know it, parents are berating the aunt for "a child of eight with whiskey on his breath!" Later, quite chastizsd, Truman's aunt laments to him that "I'm old and funny*." He corrects her, "Not funny - fun."

*"Funny" here meaning not "amusing" but "weird" and "not quite right."

We read the story, and each member of the class brought an ingredient for the cake. I believe I brought pecans. One intrepid mom agreed to transport a small amount of whiskey (in a Chinese take-out soup container, if I recall) to be handed directly to our teacher. We made the cakes in the school's kitchen. I imagine that we probably would not be allowed to do this today.

Afterward, we ate our cakes while watching a film version of the story. I recall being worried about pecan shells in my cake, as my mom had instructed me to make sure I got all the shells out when we cracked the pecans, as their shells are particularly sharp and hard.

So today, I lift a metaphorical Chinese take-out container of whiskey and a slice of (good) fruitcake in salute to Mrs. Bunte, my awesome English teacher. Thanks for the memories.

Worth Sharing Again

I’ve had a lot I’ve been trying to get done this week and this weekend, and a lot still left to do. Such is the time of year. So rather than stressing out too hard coming up with a new topic to blog about this weekend, I’ll be sharing a link to a post I made last year.

https://www.iveyink.com/blog/2017/12/16/a-time-for-solitude

A Scottish Ghost Story for Halloween

One of our favorite stops on our trip was Glamis* Castle in Scotland. Our tour guide was great - among many of the stories that she told us, the below was one of the best.

*pronounced "glams"

We stood in one of the tower keeps, and our tour guide pointed out and area in the wall, where if you looked closely you could see that there had once been a doorway. She told us that back a few hundred years ago, when it had been illegal to play cards on Sunday, that the lord of the castle had been sitting up late on a Saturday night playing cards with a friend. As midnight drew near, a servant came to remind the lord that playing cards beyond midnight was forbidden. The lord, who had had quite a bit to drink, bellowed at the servant, "I shall play cards if I wish to play cards, and the devil can take me if he does not like it!" Upset, the servant retreated.

Not long after, as the clock struck midnight, a hooded figure appeared in the doorway. "I am the devil," it announced, "and I am here to answer your invitation." The next morning, none of the servants could find the lord or his friend - but they found that both the doorway to the room the lord had been playing in, as well as the window looking out, had been bricked over during the night. They say that if you stand at the bricked-over doorway on a late Saturday night, that you can hear cards being shuffled.

It is a testament to our guide's storytelling skills that what could have been a cheesy telling gave me goosebumps.

Be careful what you ask for this Halloween!

The barred, bricked-over window in the top left of the picture is supposedly the room in the ghost story.

Better Late Than Never

If you follow my Facebook page, you might have seen a post I made a few days ago about how I had finally written down a story that I've had in my head since high school.

It's not very long - in fact I was surprised to find that it's just over 1,000 words, even with a few fleshed-out details that weren't part of the original idea.  I think that I had thought it would be long because I see it so cinematically - it's so richly visual in my head - that I thought it would take forever to describe everything.  But the written version doesn't have that much description, as it turns out.  

I decided to write quick, clipped sentences when possible; a telegram figures prominently in the story, and I wanted to give the story that feel of a short, urgent document that just has the most vital information you need to know.  I think that I actually did really well at achieving that while not sacrificing the emotion.  

You won't be seeing the story on here any time soon.  It's a holiday piece and I want to see if I can get it accepted for publication this Thanksgiving/Christmas.  As I've mentioned on here a few times before, most publications won't accepted a story that has already been published elsewhere, and many of them consider sharing a story on your website to be publication.

But I do have a favor to ask of you all: if you know of somewhere that accepts short holiday stories - magazines, websites, radio shows, whatever - please let me know.

A Man Named Valentinus

Reviving a post from a couple years ago:

So as you may have gathered from my posts about Thanksgiving and Christmas, I like going back and examining the roots of holidays.  This week many of you will either take your significant other out for a fancy dinner, or bring them expensive flowers, candy, or jewelry.  Or, conversely, you may be the one expecting your significant other to step up their game a bit and provide you some (or all) of the items listed above.

But let's step back a moment, shall we?  Who is this Valentine that this day was named for?

Back in the early days of Christianity (and I'm not going to take the time to look up the date, ok?  Pre AD 300) when practicing and preaching Christianity was still illegal in the Roman empire,* there was a man named Valentinus.  He had been arrested and imprisioned for practising and preaching Christianity.

*Just as you'd get looked at askance today for spouting the teachings of someone who had been executed for basically rabble rousing.  

One of Valentinus's jailors was a man who had a blind daughter named Julia.  This man wanted his daughter to be educated, but in those days few women were educated at all, let alone one who was blind.  So, knowing that Valentinus was a well-educated man and that he really was not in a position to refuse, the jailor asked Valentinus to tutor Julia.

Julia's father began bringing her to the prison, where Valentinus taught her history and literature.  He eventually began to teach her about Jesus's life and works, as well.  Julia was obviously very interested in the stories of Jesus's healing miracles.  She bemoaned to Valentinus that with Jesus dead, there was no hope of her eyesight being restored.  Valentinus told her that if she believed deeply enough and prayed hard enough that there might still be a chance of a miracle.  So Julia and Valentinus began to pray together and her blindness was ultimately cured.

At some point after this - whether it was a case of the last straw for a man who had already been put in prison for doing exactly this sort of thing, or because it just took this long for the wheels of bureaucracy to turn - a date was set for Valentinus's execution.  It was to be February 14th.

The night before he was to die, Valentinus sent Julia a letter telling her not to weep for him, but rather to stay strong in her faith and continue her studies.  He signed it "from your Valentinus" (which is why we still write "from your Valentine" on Valentine's Day cards).

So St. Valentine's Day started as a day to commemorate a courageous teacher who was executed.  It's like Dead Poets' Society if the teacher had died rather been fired at the end.  Where the candy hearts and flowers came in, I don't know.

I guess my point is this - if you have someone you care about, even (and maybe especially) if it's not a romantic relationship, do something nice for them this week, but it doesn't have to be about gourmet chocolate, out-of-season flowers, or expensive gifts.  A sincere letter telling someone that you care more about how they are doing than about whatever hardships you may be dealing is worth a lot more than any of that.

The Christmas Belles

A Christmas Carol was published in 1843.  Lately, partly because of things going on in the news, and partly just because of the time of year, there's been a decent amount of talk about how we still often seem to ignore the lessons Scrooge learned over 150 years ago.  

But I'm not going to be talking about Scrooge today; I'm going to be talking about the women of A Christmas Carol.

First, let's discuss Belle.  Belle doesn't get a lot of "screen time," but she is arguably an extremely strong and progressive woman.  In A Christmas Carol, Belle spends a very long time engaged to Scrooge; ostensibly because Scrooge claims that he wants to wait until his finances are better so that they can afford a good home after they marry.  But after years of Scrooge putting the marriage off because he still doesn't feel that he is successful enough, Belle realizes that he will never attain his unreachable financial goal, and worse, that he has come to value riches more than he values Belle herself.  With this realization, she does something drastic - she breaks the engagement.  This was virtually unheard of during the Victorian era.

During this time period, many women would not have had a way to support themselves without either their father still caring for them, or a husband.  For Belle to break a multi-year engagement was extremely drastic.  A woman who had been engaged but was no longer would have been viewed with suspicion at best, and become a pariah at worst.  And yet, in this story, we see Belle many years later, happily married to another man.  Belle took a huge risk, something most women probably would not have done in her position.  And yes, it did work out for her, but she was incredibly brave to do what she did.

Then there are the Cratchit women.  First, Mrs. Cratchit.  And, yes, here I'm going on the interpretation of her as presented by A Muppet Christmas Carol, because I haven't read the original since college...  Mrs. Cratchit is a strong woman.  She cares for her family (both emotionally and technically) and can be what is needed for them at any given time.  She is tender when Tim is ill, does her best to show a strong front to Bob when Tim dies in the avoided future (despite the fact that her heart is broken, too), and when Scrooge comes knocking to joke about Bob being "late" for work, she is right there to defend her husband.  (OK, it helps that she's played by Miss Piggy...)

And who remembers Martha Cratchit?  (Don't worry, most people don't - she's not in a lot of the adaptations...)  Martha is the eldest Cratchit child.  I don't recall her age from having read the book, but she's old enough that she's working somewhere that she doesn't come home every day.  And, as we see from Scrooge's reluctance to close the office, and the fact that food shops were open, Martha is somehow able to swing getting off from work to come see her family for Christmas.  I imagine she was a maid or cook, possibly a governess.  These were jobs that would not have Christmas Day off.*  I imagine that she had this sort of job, because her parents are NOT expecting her to be home.  She arrives home and her siblings make a big deal about making her hide so that their parents will be surprised to see her.

*In Britain, Boxing Day - the day after Christmas - was the day that the Help had the day off, and leftovers from Christmas were boxed up so they could take food home with them on their day off.

So while we always like to think of and remember that miraculous change of heart, the reformed misanthrope, whether it's Scrooge or the Grinch, let us also remember the Christmas Belles - the strong women who are just as worthy of attention.

A Time for Solitude

"The Christmas holiday was a chance to get some extra work done.  A time for solitude."**  Scrooge, A Muppet Christmas Carol*

If I could afford it, I would take off about 3 weeks in December.

And, yeah, partly that would be to get stuff done, so that I don't spend the last week before Christmas in a frenzy.  But the main reason why is that I enjoy being able to have some time for quiet solitude and contemplation this time of year.

One of the few times I was able to achieve this winter solitude was when I was living alone in Sewanee.  I lived in a little house a good way back from a quiet little road.  I worked 2 or 3 jobs, but due to the nature of living in a quiet college town,  there wasn't squat going on in December, so I may not have even been working much that particular December.  

I would sit in the front window as the afternoon shadows grew long and the sun started setting about 4:30.  I loved these winter sunsets, with their muted beauty and the smooth, subtle transition of the sky from gold to slate.  I would watch the family of 8 deer (yes, really) that frequented my yard and were so comfortable with me that they would hang out around my car and come up almost to the steps of the porch.  I would light my candles and play my soft Christmas music (Windam Hill in particular makes me think of quiet winter evenings) and just sit.  And be quiet.  And have space and room to think and recharge.

It may sound too idyllic, too good to be true.  And it is true that during this same period of time I was lonely and barely making ends meet.  There were a lot of less-than-positive things going on for me during this time period.  But I honestly don't remember them as richly as my quiet December evenings.

There is a big difference between being lonely and being alone.  There are times that I like to be alone.  There are times that I need to be alone.  I actually am a firm believer in the idea that everyone needs a certain amount of time alone to just be quiet and reset.

And don't get me wrong, I am happy with my life.  I have a good job and a wonderful husband, and we both have family and friends who love us and want to spend time with us.  But if I could change one thing, it would be to somehow - maybe with a time turner - find a few extra days this time of year when I could have some time for solitude.

*Also quite possibly lines from the original.
**Yes, I know he didn't actually believe that.  It's still a good line.