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.

Art and Your Health

A couple days ago, I met up with a friend (socially distanced, of course). I was wearing one of my old Nutcracker cast sweatshirts (I was in the Atlanta Ballet's Nutcracker for four years when I was a kid). My friend commented on the shirt, and we talked about the year that she had also auditioned for the same production. She was 12. She was rejected because, as one kind judge put it, "you're too good-looking." The children's choreographer, who was more blunt, elaborated, "you're too mature-looking," and finally, when this 12 year old still didn't understand, "your breasts are too big."

Obviously, my friend was very upset by this at the time, and still remembers the sting of being turned away from a production she desperately wanted to be in, for a reason that she couldn't do anything about.

Later, as a 20-year-old college student, she was in a dance class and realized, watching in the mirror as her short, curvy self danced in a line with taller, willowy ballerinas, that, yes, the visual difference between herself and other dancers did disrupt the line and flow of the choreography. She said that realizing this for herself as a college student - realizing that she couldn’t "fit" in a professional dance company - was hard, but also drastically different than being told at 12 that your body is a problem.

As another curvy former ballerina, I completely understand this. “Curvy” is being kind - I was fat. (No, this isn't body shaming, fat shaming, etc. When you're 11 years old, not quite five feet tall, and weigh 111 pounds, you're fat no matter how you slice it.) My ballet teacher who, yes, was the same blunt children's choreographer from that audition, always gave me grief about my weight.

Most of the girls at my ballet school started pointe (dancing in toe shoes) at 11. My teacher had me wait a year; she said my ankles weren't strong enough to support all my weight on my toes. Not that I was any better at 12. For some strange reason, I gained approximately 10 pounds a year in middle school - weighing 111 at 11, 123 at 12, and 132 at 13.

Miss Joanne might have had a point, as hard as it was for me to hear. I destroyed my ankles; after a year on pointe, I had not progressed in my pointe work. Rather, I had gotten to where I could not rise up onto my toes without pulling myself up on the barre.

I also neglected to mention that the year I was 12 was the last year I danced in the Atlanta Ballet's Nutcracker, and the last year that my sister and I attended their ballet school. We didn't get into the Nutcracker the next year and, rather than continuing to drive almost an hour four days a week (between the two of us) to class, we found a new ballet school closer to home.

This was also around the time that girls my age were deciding whether to continue in the pre-professional classes - four, five, and eventually six days a week with the intention of one day auditioning for a professional dance company and making this a career. There would be no time for any other activities - I would have to drop drama club, which I had been in for a couple years.

Ankles aside, this was about the time I started to notice differences between me and some of the other girls in my class. They were thin. Some were too thin. Some of them were already talking about how all they ate between breakfast and going home to dinner - late, after all their dance classes - was low fat yogurt and an apple.

I didn't really understand yet what eating disorders were. But I also knew that 1. I couldn't commit to that kind of lifestyle, and 2. it wasn't healthy.

Around the time I turned 14, toward the end of 8th grade, unable to dance on pointe, and unwilling to drastically change my lifestyle in order to do so, I decided that I would drop ballet and instead continue with theatre.

Dance - ballet in particular - is one of those arts that's known for the extremes the artists push themselves to. To some extent, it's necessary. The human body wasn't designed to support 150 pounds on a single toe; some people can make it work with 90, though.

But dance isn't the only art that seems to produce health issues. There is, of course, the whole concept of the starving artist; the person who is so dedicated to their art that they live in poverty and squalor, making art rather than money, neglecting their health, burning their manuscript to stay warm, and dying tragically young. It's not just something you see in an opera. Jonathan Larson, creator of Rent, died younger than I am now. The night before his magnum opus was to open, he collapsed on his kitchen floor with an aortic aneurysm - something that could have been prevented had he seen a doctor in the past decade, which of course he couldn't afford to do, even working full time as a waiter.

Jim Henson died of abscesses in his lungs because he was “too busy” to go to the doctor for the flu.

And these are looked on and admired as the great tragic artists of our time. They gave all for their art.

On the other hand you have Stephen King. Prolific author, has "made it big," and is still alive and kicking. Is he less of an artist because he's still OK?

There came a time that I had to decide between theatre - and by theatre, I mean working 3 part-time jobs, driving a car held together by duct tape and mold, going to auditions but never getting called back, living with my parents, having no health insurance - and getting a full time job so that I could live something better than an abjectly miserable existence. Did that make me less of an artist than those I know who did continue with that starving artist lifestyle?

I've been writing for years. I still don't dedicate the time to it that I "should." I've been to conferences and workshops, taken classes, and read books on how to be a novelist. Many authors - so many authors - suggest staying up late, after everyone goes to bed, to write, or getting up before dawn to write... or both. And... I can't. I have insomnia. I have anxiety. I had post-partum depression not quite a year ago. (Oh, yeah, I also have a toddler.)

Sleep is non-negotiable. My own nutrition is non-negotiable. My picky, teething 16-month old's nutrition and physical therapy are non-negotiable.

Does my putting my well-being, and that of my daughter ahead of my writing make me less of an artist? Maybe. But if I never finish my novel, if I live to see my daughter grow up, if I live a decent life in comfort and good health and never publish another story... if those are the only choices, then I'll live with that.

12-year-old me and my 8-year-old sister in all our mid-90’s giant sweatshirt glory.

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.

Dream Stories

I have chronic insomnia. Every few months, my current sleep medication stops working and my doctor and I have to try something new.

Often, the first few days on a new sleep medication bring interesting and/or epic dreams. I often wake up from these dreams thinking, "wow, what a cool idea for a story." (Usually. Sometimes I have dreams about wild boars and zombie babies, or kids in my library story time getting machine gunned behind a shower curtain. I'm not on either of those medications anymore.)

The problem with stories based on dreams is that dreams don't have to make sense, characters don't have to behave logically, etc. Or there might be an emotional energy that you want to explore, but it's problematic in some way - in a way that, as a writer thinking about publishing logistics, you worry will be hard to translate to the page and/or potentially alienate your audience. Those dreams are hard to adapt.

I also worry about telling people "this story is based on a dream," - are they going to point out that Twilight was, too?

I actually have two stories with the potential to be longer - probably novel length - that are "based" on dreams. When I say "based" on I mean that a single scene, a single emotional moment was presented to me in a dream, and I've built a world and a plot around that scene or moment. One of them is quite good, if I do say so myself. The main reason I haven't sat down to start writing the meat of the story is that I already have three partial novels that have been sitting unfinished in my computer for a decade. I need to make some progress on one of them before I pick up another long-term, large scale project.

The other one... well, it's one of those problematic ones. It's based on an emotional moment I found fascinating, but I'm not sure how well it would translate to a broader audience. But, like I said, I have other projects that need my attention more, so for now that one's on the back burner. Further back that the back burner actually - that one's on the back splash.

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

Words, Words, Wa-wa

Over the past few weeks, Elianna - who just turned 15 months old - had been wanting to know what everything is called.  She points at things nearby and across the room, pokes body parts and facial features, and prods every piece of food on her plate until she's told what it is.

While poking at every little carrot nibble on her plate does make for longer meal time, sometimes she also makes a sound.  I'm not 100% sure how much she's trying to duplicate the sounds, given that her linguistic ability is still somewhat limited (to date, she regularly makes m, b, d, sounds and occasionally v, w, l, y, as well as ah, eh, and a sounds).  The other day I gave her some blueberries and she repeated "bah!"  Similarly, she repeated a "m" sound when offered mangoes... but the, she does that when given banana, too.  (I personally think she's trying to say "nana" but hasn't quite mastered the "n" yet.)

One of the few words that she says regularly, and consistently the same way, is "Ah-ah," which is what she calls Athena. 

She HAS started gesturing to herself - smacking her hand proudly against her chest and then grinning from ear to ear when I cover her chest and hand with my own and announce "Elianna!"  She loves hearing her name, and I'm pretty sure she knows it means her.

Sometimes I get annoyed at all the pointing, at how much it derails mealtime - sometimes I think she's trying to distract me*, like I'll forget to give her more chicken (or whatever food she has decided she doesn't want to eat that day).

*Is this karma coming back at me for all the times I tried to get my Russian professor off-topic to get out of a quiz?

But then I remember that she's learning.  Even though she's been told everything on her plate two or three times, been told what the window and the ipod are so many times, keeps gesturing to Athena (also crunching and munching) in the kitchen.  She knows that all these things have names and she likes to hear them.

And I also remember that she can hear me say these things, that she can see things to point to and ask what they are.  I remember that at 19 months old, Helen Keller lost her sight and hearing to an illness.  Only barely able to say a few words, the only one that she remembered years later when Anne Sullivan came to teach her, to break through into her dark world, was "wa-wa" - water.  (And as anyone who saw the movie remembers because depending on when and where you saw it, it was either an inspirational climax or, if you were like me and watched it in middle school with a bunch of hooting boys who thought this was the funniest thing they'd ever seen...)

Elianna is very close to saying "wa-wa."  She has a sippy cup for water, and pokes at it all the time while I patiently tell her for the 14th time "water," (or "milk," or "juice").  And some nights when I sit in the recliner in the dark, rocking her at bedtime while she points to the stuffed animals on the shelves, the shadows thrown by her clock, I think about how lucky I am that I don't have to worry that a fever at 19 months will take away my ability to teach my baby words.

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.

Future Tense

When I was in middle school and high school, I went on a medical thriller binge.  I think it started because of how much I liked Jurassic Park.  I read all of Michael Crichton's other books, and then started looking for similar authors.  Robin Cook was another one I read a lot of.

I had gotten it into my head that these were Science Fiction.  Some of them - Jurassic Park, and a Robin Cook novel about an alien invasion, definitely count.  I wouldn't understand that what I was looking for was more accurately a science/medical thriller until I was actually working in a library.

Aside from Jurassic Park, the only book I read from this period that stands out in my memory is The Plague Tales, by Ann Benson.  (Below is the review I wrote for it rereading it as an adult for my library's quarterly genre review.)

One interesting thing about this book, which took place in part in the then-future of 2005, was that the world was recovering from a global epidemic.  Air travel had been restricted - those “lucky” enough to be allowed to fly were subjected to full-body latex suits, diagnostic tests involving the drawing of blood upon landing, and, if resisting the latter, arrest.

I actually hadn't really given the "future" setting of this book much thought until I saw an article yesterday entitled "I Just Flew and it Was Worse Than I Thought," accompanied by a picture of two airline passengers in full respirator masks (for what it's worth, the article is from early May* and the accompanying photo was somewhat misleading).

*And who would have ever thought “I’m not gonna bother reading this 5-month-old, out-of-date article?”

But it also made me think about some of the assumptions made.  It seems that 20+ years ago we had more faith in how we would handle a pandemic - and specifically how willing people would be to comply with fairly stringent restrictions.  It's some food for thought.

Banned Book Week Day 7: Don't Judge a Book By its Challenge

One of the things that we frequently find to be the case with banned and challenged books is that people get up in arms about a book they haven’t read - “I heard that book is… Someone told me that book’s about…” But then it turns out that someone else you know and trust (maybe know and trust better than that friend-of-a-friend, or that rant on that Facebook group you’re a member of) has read the book and thinks it’s fine - great, even.

In some ways, I find that similar to certain dog breeds that have a stigma or reputation for being aggressive… but then it turns out someone you know and trust has a big, goofy, loveable 80 pound lap dog who wouldn’t hurt a fly (well, maybe lick them to death…).

So what do you do? You expand your horizons. You do your research. You visit that dog shelter or check out a copy of that banned book. And you find a new friend.

https://www.iveyink.com/blog/2019/9/25/banned-books-displays-i-have-loved-part-1

https://www.iveyink.com/blog/2019/9/28/the-challenge-doesnt-end-today

Banned Books Week Day 6: Too Young for Discussion?

While looking over the list of most challenged books of 2019, I saw that one book was on the list for the reason that "schools and libraries should not ‘put books in a child’s hand that require discussion.’”

But if we’re not allowing discussion, what’s the point of school?

When is a child too young to discuss troubling, disturbing, or even just “different” subject matter?

Read more of my thoughts on the subject here:

https://www.iveyink.com/blog/2018/9/28/unsuited-to-age-group

#BannedBooksWeek2020

Banned Books Week Day 5: You Can't...

As some of you have gathered from some of the posts I've made here, I really enjoyed making displays for the libraries I've worked for.  Banned Books week was kind of like Christmas - we started planning Banned Books Weeks displays months out.

The first year that I worked at Kennesaw State University, we were doing a "caution tape" them (common for Banned Books Week) with "graffiti" in the student computer lab.  Being relatively new in that position, I hadn't been sure what my role would be in helping with or planning that display, so I sort of followed some of the ideas that had been done the previous year, when we got to actually implementing. 

One of the new things I did do that year was to put together some "you can't" reading lists.  We printed them out on brightly-colored paper and put them on a table at the entrance to the computer lab.  These lists included "You can't write that" (frequently challenged authors), "You can't read that" (frequently challenged classics), and "You can't say that" (books frequently challenged due to language - profanity, racist, and/or sexual language).  "You can't read that" was our most popular list, with almost twice as many copies taken as the other two lists combined.

You can see the lists and some of our "graffiti" below.

#BannedBooksWeek2020

Banned Books Week Day 4: Of Seuss and Silverstein

Dr. Seuss and Shel Silverstein. Two of the great poets of childhood. Most of us can recite parts of our favorite Dr. Seuss books or a handful of Silverstein verses.

A few days ago, I changed my profile picture on Facebook to a photo of my toddler holding a book by a frequently-challenged author, with the caption “Mommy lets me read banned books!”

“Why is ‘Hop on Pop’ banned?” a friend asked in the comments. Why, indeed.

“Hop on Pop” and “The Cat in the Hat” both have come up against challenges - because they apparently encourage children to misbehave. Likewise, there are similar reasons for challenging Shel Silverstein’s poems - you can read about those here: https://www.iveyink.com/blog/2017/9/29/life-aint-easy-for-a-boy-named-shel

#BannedBooksWeek2020

Banned Books Week Day 3: Separating the Art from the Artist

Have you ever read a book, seen a movie, heard a song you really enjoyed, that really resonated with you... and then found out something less-than-savory about the creator?

Jason and I have been watching Lovecraft Country recently.  In the first episode the main character, who is black, is walking along with an older black lady after they were stranded when their bus broke down and only the white passengers were provided with alternate transportation.  The other passenger mentions that she saw him reading while they were on the bus and asks him what his book was about.  He tells her he was reading A Princess of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs, and goes on to describe the beginning of the book - a former Confederate officer is lost in the desert and stumbles upon a portal to Mars.

"Wait... a Confederate officer?" She asks.

"Ex-Confederate," he clarifies. 

She scoffs "once a Confederate, always a Confederate."

He shrugs, and admits that he can separate the character from his origin and enjoy the story.

Lovecraft Country takes place in the 1950's, and so far all the episodes are dripping with period accurate racism and misogyny.  (It's a very good, show, don't get me wrong, but it's not Hairspray.)  Some of the characters in the show are fans of H.P. Lovecraft; others remind them that he was racist.

And, while I'm not trying to excuse racism, antisemitism, xenophobia, or anything else that Lovecraft is commonly accused of, I am saying that he is a product of his time.  Casual racism, antisemitism, xenophobia, misogyny, and a whole host of other bothersome things were commonplace and unremarkable in the early 20th century.  Many authors of classics would fall into those same categories if we examined them closely.  How many older books have you read with "tricky" Jews, "lazy" or overly-servile blacks, "untrustworthy" immigrants (Irish, Italian, Mexican, whatever), "barbaric" middle-easterners, and delicate wilting violet heroines who need a big strong man to save them?

Dickens had Fagan; Shakespeare had Shylock and Othello (or specifically, the “malignant and a turbaned Turk” that Othello called a “circumcisèd dog,” and killed).

I'm not saying we should ignore the prejudices of the past... but I'm also saying that we should not completely disregard an author (or, more specifically, their works) if there is merit once we look past the author's shortcomings.  This is 2020, and I'd like to think we're more inclusive as a society now than in 1920, and 1820, and 1620.

And what are we writing today?  Who are today's paragons who will be seen as problematic in 20, 50, 100 years?

An example of how viewpoints can change, even within a lifetime, would be J. K Rowling. 

In the late 1990's when the Harry Potter books first came out, her books were frequently challenged for sorcery and witchcraft.  (Which, really, is like challenging Sir Cumference and the Dragon of Pi for use of geometry.)  A few years later, when filming one of the later films (I want to say Half-Blood Prince) there was a big to do about J. K. Rowling announcing that Dumbledore was gay.  Some people were in an uproar, announcing that she was promoting "the gay agenda" in addition to witchcraft.  Others hailed her as progressive - the wise mentor character is gay!  How fabulous!  And now... it's almost as though things have come full circle. 

Earlier this year, Rowling got into, well, a row (to use the British) online with none other than Daniel Radcliffe about whether or not transgender women were "really" women.  A large number of her fans and followers, who had seen the books as so accepting, so inclusive, such a fantastic allegory for transformation, becoming who you truly are, found that their hero, their paragon, had fallen and her pedestal was crumbling.

Many people started saying "J. K. Rowling didn't write this world, this universe that I so identify with - Daniel Radcliffe did!  Hermione did!  Someone else, anyone else!"  And, while I am not defending her comments, I think it's a shame to try and excise the author from the work.

J.K. Rowling is 55 years old.  Many of her fans who are upset are in their 30's, 20's, maybe even teens.  I'm not saying "older generations don't get it,"... but when I first started reading Harry Potter in 2000, I didn't know a lot of gay people (or, rather maybe didn't know a lot of people who had come out).  Not only did I not know anyone who was transgender, I didn't know such a thing existed.  (Yes, I was sheltered.)  That was 20 years ago. 

Now I know enough about the LGBTQ+ world, spectrum, color wheel to know that I really don't know a lot about it.  And that's OK - I'm open to knowing more, I'm open to learning and letting people be who they want to be.  And, I also know that as a 38-year-old white woman writing in 2020 that there may be things that I write that my daughter's generation, or her children's generation read and think, "Oh, god, why would she say this?  What a horrible person!"  I hope not, but I know that society moves on, and grows, and changes, so who am I to say what will be acceptable in the year 2120?

But, back to Lovecraft.  I guess the point of what I am trying to say is this: if you find the world of Lovecraft intriguing, read it, and don't worry about the author.  If you find John Carter's post-Civil War adventures on Mars thrilling, read them, and don't worry about his background.  If you love Harry Potter, for goodness's sakes, put on your house scarf and wave your wand and don't worry about J.K's tweets.  Just read what you want, and enjoy yourself.  Don't let an author take their world away from you.

#BannedBooksWeek2020

Banned Books Week Day 2: The Russians Are Coming!

Here we have some Banned Book overachievers! Not only were many classic and well-though-of Russian authors challenged or banned in their own time and/or country, but some (like Nabokov and Pasternak) were or are controversial in the U.S., too.

For a healthy dose of two of my favorite things - Pushkin and Banned Books displays, see my Russian authors Banned Books Week display from when I worked at the Kennesaw State University Library system in 2016:

https://www.iveyink.com/blog/2019/9/26/banned-books-displays-i-have-loved-part-2

Also, fun fact, Nabokov’s translation of Pushkin’s Eugene Onegin was considered the pre-eminent translation for many years.

#BannedBooksWeek2020

Banned Books Week Day 1: Background

As happens now that I’m not working at a library anymore, Banned Books Week kind of snuck up on me again this year. I do have some ideas for new posts this year, which will come later this week. I’ll also link back to some of my favorite posts of years pasts.

But for today, enjoy reading up on some background of Banned Books Week, as well as the list of the top 10 banned books of 2019:

http://www.ala.org/advocacy/bbooks/banned

http://www.ala.org/advocacy/bbooks/frequentlychallengedbooks/top10

#BannedBooksWeek2020

Brush Up On Ye Nautical Knowledge!

Arrgh, Mateys!

Today be Int-ARR-national Talk Like a Pirate Day, and ye scurvy dogs be in for a treasure.

Behold! Here be library displays!

(I made the below as a display for, yes, you guessed it, International Talk Like a Pirate Day when I worked for the library at Kennesaw State University.)

(Forgive the formatting - that’s what happens when you transfer a 4 year old file between computers multiple times…)

Great Baldur's Ghost: Son of a Baldur!

I love seeing people's pictures and videos of their dogs watching over their babies. Those of you who have been following this blog for a while probably recall my wonderings about whether Baldur has returned to keep an eye on Elianna ( https://www.iveyink.com/blog/2020/1/31/seeing-baldurs-shadow ).

I haven't talked about the Baldur/Elianna connection recently (and, let's be honest - I haven't blogged much at all this year)... but it's still there. We have a pillow on the couch that my mom made for us several years ago, with Baldur's picture on it. (We have one of Athena, too.)

As some of you know, Elianna was a very fussy baby for a long time. There were many times that we were at our wits end trying to comfort her. Something that always helped - without fail - was to give her that Baldur pillow.

Elianna's better now - much more cheerful. It's rare that she gets so upset that we have to resort to the Baldur pillow. But now we have a second option. For her birthday, Elianna's Granny gave her a little stuffed Baldur toy that she made (using the same picture as the pillow). Opening up her presents, seeing a little miniature Baldur for her to hold, Elianna's face just lit up as she grabbed him and waved him around.

Now her little Baldur stays in the crib, down at the foot of the bed where he can watch over her. But often if I lay her down and she's not ready to nap, or when she wakes up from her nap, she will crawl down to the end of the crib and grab her Baldur, snuggling with him and waving him around. The first time she did this, Jason thought he heard something and peeked at the monitor. Seeing Elianna's back and the back of her head, he assumed she was still curled up asleep. But as he watched, she sat up and, with Baldur turned precisely so his little face was looking straight at the camera, she snuggled her new favorite toy to her face.

It's obviously not the same as still having him with us, but in a way, it is nice that Elianna still has her brother to comfort her.

Elianna and her brother.

“Well, son of a Baldur!”

My COVID-19 Tale

I hadn't posted about this on Facebook yet, mainly because I wanted to sit down and take the time to really write out the story.

Since mid-March, Jason and I have been keeping pretty isolated. We wear masks when we go out. We limit our grocery runs to once a week. We only get takeout rather than eating at restaurants. We have limited how often we've seen our parents and our friends. On the rare occasion we do have someone over we keep the group small and often try to do additional safety in mind - washing hands often and keeping hand sanitizer available, sitting outside, etc.

Another couple that we know has similarly been distancing themselves, due to some health issues that they have. But keeping your distance from friends and family for months, not going anywhere, not getting Menchie's because you were already paranoid-enough about grubby kids' hands in your Reese's cups to almost not eat there even before there was a pandemic... it takes its toll on you.

Our friends, this other couple, they've been very careful. Since we have too, we figured cautious meet-ups would be great. On July 5th, they came over and we sat outside, 6 feet between couples. On the 13th, the lady* was having a rough day and asked if she could come over for another socially distanced chat. I was game.

*We'll call her Lindsey from her on out.

Lindsey came over and we sat outside and chatted until Elianna woke up from her nap. It was hot, and it was time for Elianna to eat, so I invited Lindsey inside, suggesting we sit at opposite ends of the dining table. I was being cautious for her - I knew she wasn't a risk because she has been very, very careful because she has various health issues that affect her immunity.

One of the many things we chatted about was a treatment she was receiving for her disorder. She had been receiving biological donations - and they had really been helping. Lindsey and her doctor had hope that this might even be able to reverse her condition. But she hadn't heard from her donor in a couple days, and it was starting to worry her. After a while, Lindsey headed out, and Elianna and I went about the rest of our day, glad to have seen our friend.

Three days later, Lindsey texted me. She had just found out that her donor, who she had last been in contact with on the 11th, probably had COVID-19. I immediately called her - you can't handle something like that via text.

She was distraught. Not just because she had been exposed. Not just because this put her treatment in jeopardy. She was upset because she had inadvertently exposed me, as well as Elianna and Jason. She gave me more details about the timeline.

Her donor's parents had tested positive on the 6th, and he had been spending time with them since then - but not telling Lindsey, who he was in direct contact with on an almost daily basis. He developed symptoms the afternoon of the 11th, after having seen her that morning. He delayed telling her until the morning of the 16th. (Lindsey contacted me IMMEDIATELY after he told her.)

Of course, because Lindsey and I had kept our distance from each other (and Jason had waved at her from the hallway when he had come up for water), I was not overly concerned for myself. Jason and I got tested anyway, because there was still that chance. That was... a trial.

We spent the morning of Thursday the 16th calling around and checking websites. The Cherokee County Department of Health didn't have an available appointment for a week - and seemed quite perturbed by the idea I might make an appointment and call back later to cancel if I found someone who could take us earlier. One of the urgent care offices near us had run out of tests. The CVS Minute Clinic said that we didn't qualify for a test because 1. we didn't have symptoms, 2. didn't work in a high-risk environment, and 3. hadn't been in contact with someone who had tested positive. The last qualification was further complicated by the fact that Lindsey's donor didn't want to get tested despite having been sick for 5 days at that point; it was like a bad game of 6 degrees of separation. There were at least one or two other locations we did online questionnaires for only to be told we didn't qualify for a test.

At this same time, Lindsey and her husband were also frantically trying to find somewhere that they could be tested imminently, despite the fact that they had technically not been in contact with someone who was positive (as he had not been tested). Jason and I finally found that the Health Department of Northwest Georgia had a free first-come-first-served testing facility in Cartersville; you didn't have to be a resident of Bartow county - you just had to be willing to show up and wait in line.

Since I had been the one in "closer" contact with Lindsey, Jason and I agreed I would go get tested, and he would take care of Elianna and then go get tested in the morning. I drove up to Cartersville - not a long or hard drive in the grand scheme of things. It took me about 45 minutes, driveway to driveway. I sat in line for 2 hours. Jason went the next morning and sat even longer - almost three hours. All things considered, having a tiny pipe cleaner stuck up your nose for a grand total of 20 seconds actually seems to not be as bad as sitting bored in the car for 2 hours having to run the AC at full blast.

And Lindsey... she and her husband found a rapid testing facility. In Peachtree City. That could take them the next day. An immune-compromised woman who knew she had been exposed to COVID-19 had to drive an hour the next day to be able to get tested for the disease causing a global pandemic.

So nearly a week after she was exposed, Lindsey and her husband got an antibody test and a viral test. The antibody tests came back the same day - they were negative, which was great news for all of us. But because Lindsey was told that there was a slight possibility that she might still come back with a positive viral test, even with the negative antibody test, we played it safe and hunkered down to wait for everyone's test results.

We didn't go to the grocery store like we normally do every Saturday. We postponed Elianna's birthday party (it was only going to be immediate family). I told my mom that depending on how long it took for the results to come back, Elianna and I might not be able to meet up with her on their birthday (yes, Elianna and my mom have the same birthday).

Of course, these were all just inconveniences. I know that the inconvenience of cancelling plans and ordering formula online are nothing compared to what we might have faced had we gotten sick, had one of us had to go to the hospital.

When we got our tests, we were told that our results would take about 48 hours. I was pleasantly surprised... then. I wasn't sure if "48 hours" meant clock hours or business hours. We kept checking over the weekend; our lab had received my test as of Saturday and Jason's as of Sunday, but no results or updates after that. Lindsey's viral test came back the morning of Monday the 20th. She and her husband were negative. Of course, we were thrilled. We also continued to check our lab's website - Monday, then Tuesday. Finally, July 22, Wednesday afternoon, almost a week after I had been tested, my results came back negative. Jason's negative result came in late that night. We know that we - us and our friends - were lucky.

Two thoughts have stayed with me throughout this experience:

1. You can be careful. You can be so careful. But if other people can't follow basic decency and inform you if they've been exposed, your care boils down to nothing.

2. Why is is still taking so long to get tested? For results to come in? It shouldn't have to take almost a week to find out if you're sick, to have to wait hours or days or drive to other cities to get tested, to have to qualify beyond "there is a chance I might have been exposed" when we're in the middle of a pandemic that has killed almost 150,000 people in this country alone.

I'm not disappointed in Lindsey - In, fact I am very pleased with her quick reaction. She handled a bad situation the best she could. I am disappointed with her donor. I am disappointed with a lot of people in how this has been handled.

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.

Deaf Dog, Blind Man

I follow several dog-related pages on Facebook. Usually when I post on these pages, I keep the posts and comments short and funny. This morning, a follower on one of these pages posted an unusual request. He is blind and he asked for people to describe their dogs. He was interested in (non-visual) physical descriptions and personality traits. I intended to be detailed, but didn't mean to end up running so long. (Though, with that said, there were a lot of people who also posted very long descriptions - especially given that many times on that page comments are often just pictures.) This is what I wrote to my fellow dog-lover about Athena:

My dog, Athena, is an unusual size and shape. She is really too big to be called a small dog, but is smaller than what most people consider to be medium-sized. She is 32 pounds but is boxy and stocky. She is shorter than many dogs her weight and, unlike many dogs with her build, she can curl up in a tight little ball like a cat. She is also very flexible and agile and, also like a cat, can easily get up onto tables if chairs are not pushed in.

She is very muscular and strong - she will pull you over if you aren't paying attention when you have her on a leash. She has a huge boxy chest but fine, thin, delicate paws. Her toes are long like fingers. We call her our "dragon lady" because of her long thin toes. She also has long quicks in her nails so we have to let them stay relatively long so when don't hurt her when we clip them. As a result you can always her make a shuffle-click noise when she's walking.

She is very soft for a short-haired dog. Her fur is very thin in places, like her face and back. She has no hair on her chest, stomach, or inner legs. Having a baby, I can confirm that Athena's tummy is, in fact, as soft as a baby's bottom. Her ears are also extremely soft. I can't come up with a perfect comparison - saying she's soft like a kitten makes it sound like her ears are furrier than they are, saying they are soft like velvet makes them sound stiffer. Her ears might be the softest things in the world.

She loves baths and is, if possible, even softer after a bath. I love rubbing my face all over her face and ears after she's had a bath. She doesn't have a very dog-like scent even when dirty or excited. She gets frequent baths because of a skin allergy, but based on smell she could probably go a long time without needing one. She is very patient in the bath and will just sit and let you wash and rinse her without issues. If you tell her it's bath time, she will eagerly run upstairs and trot into the bathroom. When bath time is over she runs around the house, very pleased with herself, and rubs herself dry on the carpet.

She loves to lay out on the deck in the sun. She loves to cuddle. She likes to sleep under the blankets - with her fur being so thin, she gets cold easily. Its hard to get her out of the bed in the morning.

She likes going on walks, but pretends that she does't because she doesn't like having her harness put on. She is very strong for her size and loves to chase birds and leaves so you have to keep a good grip on the leash. Her favorite toys are pull ropes and other tug toys, through she also loves to rip stuffed toys apart.

She has three distinct barks - one is a normal, somewhat grunty bark. When she is trying to be tough, she has a very deep bark that belongs to a much larger dog and sounds like you are imminent danger of being eaten. When she is worried she has a high, warbling bark that sounds like a small child was left unattended with a clarinet.

Athena is a noisy sleeper. She snores, snorts, and grunts. She squeaks and squawks when she stretches and yawns. When she shakes her ears, they crack like a whip. She is the noisiest dog I've ever had, which is ironic because she is deaf.