Category: Life Talk

Life Talk, philosophy

Disorganized

elouisebates

I am the least organized person I know.

I like things to be neat and organized and tidy and simple, but when I try to make them that way myself … chaos ensues.

(Curiously enough, when I was department manager at the hardware store, I did NOT have that problem. I ran one dept and assisted with two others, and kept all of them in STUNNINGLY organized condition, better than almost any of the others in the entire store. Which is odd. And the only time/place in my life where that has happened.)

Yesterday was my birthday, and my husband cleaned the kitchen for me after dinner. Except he didn’t just clean, he tidied and organized and threw things away and rearranged other things and picked up items that had been on the counters for so long I’d stopped even seeing them, and at the end of the night, I stood there thinking, “huh. I could have done any of this at any time, but it never even occurred to me. Why not?”

Part of my problem is that I’m scatter-brained. Just ask anyone who knows me. My parents used to joke that they always knew how I’d spent my day by following the trail of shoes, books, and teacups through the house. I just never even noticed I was leaving them behind! It’s even worse when I’m cleaning – I hop from one thing to another to another without ever finishing any task, ending the day by feeling exhausted and accomplishing nothing. I am really bad at time-management – I have a beautifully written schedule pinned on my fridge, and I never, ever manage to follow it. (In my defense, we haven’t had one week since October where all four of us have been healthy. It’s been a sick, sick winter, which makes it nearly impossible to stick to any kind of a schedule.) I always have marvelous, and even reasonable goals, and then I get derailed almost immediately.

Part of the problem is that there’s just SO MUCH that I want/need to be doing. Keep the house clean and running smoothly. Raise the kids. Teach the kids. Write. Self-publish. Sew. Cook all the meals (from scratch). Skate. Learn to draw so I can teach the kids. Study. Along with raising and teaching the kids, train them to become independent adults. LAUNDRY. And oh yeah, have a relationship with my husband and try to make time for friends as well. Not to mention make sure I get that bit of alone time each week so necessary for my introverted soul.

I know a lot of people manage to juggle all those things effortlessly. I’m still figuring it out, and dropping almost ALL the balls constantly in the process. I think I spend more time picking the balls off the ground than I do tossing them through the air!

Add to all that the very deep desire to NOT live a mundane life, to do more than just muddle along. One of my deepest fears is that when I die, what’s going on my tombstone is “Well, at least she tried.” This life is so short, so precious, I don’t want to spend it flustered and frustrated and frittering it away! I want to really live, to taste every moment. No, I’m not buying into the lie that says “you have to enjoy every minute of while your kids are small/while you are young/while whatever it is the speaker currently wants you to feel guilty about not savoring.” I’ve fallen down that pit before, and I won’t go back.

But neither do I want to, as I mentioned before, spend my life just muddling along, half-heartedly attempting many things without really enjoying or living anything.

So, any advice for this scatter-brained, introverted, disorganized, mummy-wife-and-mother-and-writer on how to stop wasting my time, and start making the most of my days?

Have at it in the comments!

Books, children

Reading Corner

elouisebates

In my quest to encourage the girls to read, read often, read for the sheer love of it, I set up one corner of our living room with a pile of blankets, two king-size pillows, and a stack of books, and told them this corner was ONLY for reading. No playing with toys, no pretending to take naps, we only curl up here when we want to read.

They loved it at first. Then they whined because I wouldn’t let them turn it into a tent. Part of me felt ridiculous for sticking to my guns about it, but I needed it to be special, in order for reading to be special. So I didn’t make a big deal, just reminded them that they had an entire house they could play in, they could keep one corner for reading.

Slowly, over the course of a week or so, they got used to the idea. I would come into the room to see Joy sitting there with a book. Grace would come down after her nap and cuddle up with a blanket and a picture book until she woke up fully.

And every once in a while, delight of delights, they would sit down together, and Joy would read aloud to Grace.

Now they are doing that all over the house. Joy curls up in the recliner with Frog and Toad are Friends. Grace plops down in the middle of the floor a collection of fairy tales. They sit on top of their Lego crates, prop The Little Red Hen on the coffee table, and Joy reads while Grace provides sound effects.

I know I talk fairly frequently on here about my kids and their reading habits. That’s because it is so vitally important to me right now! They don’t have to love the same sort of books that I do. They don’t have to be the type of person to get lost in another world, like I do. Carl takes great joy in sitting down with a commentary on the minor prophets, but can barely get through most fiction. And that’s fine, too.

The important thing is that the kids are learning the true magic of the written word, in whatever form takes their fancy.

And if putting an old comforter down in one corner of the house helps with that? Well, you can be sure that comforter is going to come with us no matter where we move.

Books, children, reading list

Expanding Her Horizons

elouisebates

We recently did some rearranging in our house so that Joy and Grace could have separate rooms. This, sadly, will last only for while we remain here, in this nice roomy four-bedroom house. Once Carl starts seminary and we’re living in campus housing, it’ll be back to sharing! For now, though, they both seem to be thriving on the separation.

Joy, in particular, delights in having her own space. One of the first things I did was take the tiny bookcase that had been removed from their shared bedroom after I found them trying to use it to leapfrog between beds (and it, shockingly enough, crashed and narrowly missed Grace) and put it in her room. Her special picture books are on the bottom shelf, tiny books like Beatrix Potter and Brambly Hedge are on the top shelf, and the middle shelf is reserved for big girl, read-aloud books. Books that Grace would lose interest in after two pages, but Joy is finally old enough to listen to while someone else reads. Books like The Secret Garden, Betsy-Tacy, The Wind in the Willows, Five Little Peppers, Swiss Family Robinson, Hitty, Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, The Railway Children, etc.

This is real life. A few book jackets displaced, the Frances books on the floor because she was reading them most recently, and Bunny Douglas forlornly squeezed between the bed frame and the book case.

This edition of Anne of Green Gables took its place on the shelf on Christmas Day (Grace received Peter Pan).

The book I placed on the shelf with the most secret hope was The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. That was the very first long book I ever read all by myself, and it is the book that started my lifelong love of fantasy. I so want my girls to love it as well! But I didn’t say anything to anyone, not wanting to influence Joy, and in fact didn’t even push any of the books on that shelf. I borrowed Little House in the Big Woods from the library and we started reading that together, but I left the middle shelf alone.

Then, one night, out of the blue, after Grace was tucked in and Carl came into Joy’s room to tuck her in, she handed him The Wonderful Wizard of Oz and said “Daddy? Can we start reading this?”

Carl’s never read it either, so now BOTH of them are experiencing (and enjoying) it for the first time. Both of them (separately) tend to come and fill me in on what they just read. Carl is mostly blown away with how different it is from the movie. “This is SO MUCH better!” he enthused. “Why did they even call the movie ‘based’ on the book, anyway?” The other night Joy chattered to me all about how Dorothy melted the Wicked Witch with a pail of water and won back her sparkly shoes, and how the Cowardly Lion isn’t really scary, he just pretends to be scary so he won’t be scared by everything else, and isn’t it silly that there’s a man made of tin instead of skin?

And I am dancing with glee.

Only a few more years before we can start reading Lewis, Tolkien, and Alexander!

If I keep thinking of more books to add, eventually we’re going to need a bigger bookshelf.

favorites, goals, Life Talk, writing

Year’s End

elouisebates

I always enjoy reading year’s-end posts from others. So I decided to put one together on the chance that others enjoy reading them, too! Without further ado, here are some of my favorite posts from this blog in 2012.

This post on rituals, from February, is still one of my favorites from the year. I like its quiet thoughtfulness.

My April post on destiny still resonates with me. I need the reminder, still, to not get bogged down in fatalistic negativity.

I wrote a tribute to Lloyd Alexander in May. It’s mostly quotes from his writings, so you know it’s good.

This post on why I write, done in July, is honestly probably one of my favorite things that I’ve ever written. Honest truth, and a reminder to myself to keep aiming high. The comments still uplift me every time I re-read them, too.

I had fun with using scrambled eggs as a metaphor for writing styles in August. Includes some highly amusing pictures of bread loaves that didn’t work.

This post on being French, from September, remains one of my most popular EVER.

I wrote a tribute to my grandmother on the one-year anniversary of her death in October. My hope is that it gives comfort to others who have lost beloveds to Alzheimer’s or other forms of dementia.

In December, life got heavy. So I wrote about choosing joy, light, and love.

2012 was a good year for this family. It was a year of rest and healing (emotional and spiritual), a year of preparing for some big changes coming up in 2013. Carl has been accepted to his grad school of choice, which means that we will be moving sometime in the next six months, and starting a new adventure – taking the first steps on a new path that is still mostly in shadow. Exciting and nerve-wracking all at once.

As for me, I turned thirty, started taking ice dance lessons after twelve years off the ice, began homeschooling the kids, and published my first stories.

It was a good year.

2013 promises to be even better.

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.  -J.R.R. Tolkien


families, heroines, influences, Life Talk

Grandma

elouisebates

Breaking my post-once-a-week pattern for a particular reason …

One year ago today, my grandmother ended her battle with Alzheimer’s after twelve years. She had spent almost the entire previous week in the hospital with pneumonia, and all her family was told form the beginning that this was it; she wasn’t going to be leaving. After many days spent by her bedside, in laughter and tears, she died surrounded by her children and grandchildren, gone but never forgotten, though her own memory went so many years ago.

I’ve been thinking this week about Grandma’s legacy, about how her love, her faith, her hope, and her humor have passed down now to three generations, with who knows how many more to come. Whenever I am tempted to think that my sphere of influence is too small to make a difference, that my presence in this world doesn’t really matter, I remember this wonderful women who lived in a tiny corner of the world, raising her children and planting her gardens, and whose life touched so many and continues to do so even now. No person is too small or too insignificant to make a difference. We never know how far the ripples of our life may travel.

I’m including here in this post the tribute I wrote to Grandma last year, the day after her death. And at some point today, I will sit down with my girls, show them some pictures on their uncle’s Facebook wall of their grandmother, and tell them some of the stories I remember best.

She is gone, but her love and her humor live on.

She went out accompanied by a blaze of northern lights, some of the most brilliant seen around here in ages. Heaven welcoming a gallant soul home with fanfare.

Even after her breathing had slowed drastically, her heart remained strong until the end. We always knew her heart was bigger and stronger than most.

Her humor was one of the last things to go when the Alzheimer’s took over. Even when she was in the nursing home and couldn’t even recognize Grandpa, she would try to tease the nurses and aids. They all loved her.

They were married for sixty years. Two days before she finally died, I sat and watched him hold her hand as he told us the only reason he underwent chemo and fought so hard for life through the blood clots last year was so that he could take care of her, make sure her ending was peaceful and dignified, so that he could take care of her to the end. None of his kids could speak at that point, so I managed to choke out that he had done a wonderful job of it. They were an example to us all.

Of eight kids, six managed to make it home to say goodbye, only the one in Australia and the one in Arizona not able to get back. Fully half of the grandkids were able to come. No one fought, no one argued, no one tried to make things difficult for anyone else. Everyone acted as selflessly as human beings can act. Another testimony to the love and respect everyone had for her.

The hospital nurses teared up when their weekend shift ended, knowing they wouldn’t see her again alive.

There was as much laughter as tears around her bedside, as stories were shared and memories were dredged up and old jokes revived. Her fifteen-year-old grandson played his guitar, everyone sang, and her last days were filled with the music and laughter she loved so well.

She has been gone for a long time. Twelve years ago was when she was finally diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, at that point too far advanced to do anything but watch and pray as it slowly disintegrated the woman we all knew. The pneumonia that took her tonight was a release from that living death (twelve years is phenomenally long for Alzheimer’s sufferers – most don’t live more than five years), and our tears were as much joy for her as sorrow.

She is whole again now. She is free. She is rejoicing and laughing with her Lord.

It hurts, still, but this is a clean hurt, one that will heal. The pain of the Alzheimer’s never went away; it would lie dormant for a time, but it was always there lurking in the background. This – already there is a peace growing from the sorrow.

We will miss her. We have missed her for years. But her legacy – the love, the laughter, the strength and faith and joy – she passed that on, not only to her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, but to all who knew her. I am proud to call myself her granddaughter, and you can be sure my girls will grow up knowing about what an amazing woman their great-grandmother was.

Rest in Peace? Maybe. Personally, I suspect she is singing and dancing right now.

And laughing.

Grandma as a girl                                                                        Senior portrait

Grandma and Grandpa’s wedding day
influences, Life Talk

I am French

elouisebates

Disclaimer: This post has nothing to do with writing. It just seemed like an interesting topic.

When people ask me what my family heritage is, I don’t even hesitate.

“French,” I reply promptly.

In truth, French is a tiny part of my heritage. I am 1/8 French, to be precise. My father’s father’s mother was a Frenchwoman. The rest of the blood on my dad’s side is a mix of English, Dutch, and Irish, with a drop or two of Welsh.

On my mom’s side, we’re English and Scottish (and pure New Englander). Nothing else.

So really, I’m more English than anything else. English and Celtic, maybe.

But still: “French,” I say without even thinking about it.

And I sometimes wonder why that is? Is it because Great-Grandma Bates was such a strong personality? I was very young when she died, but even I have a few distinct memories of her, and I’ve heard stories about her all my life from my dad and his siblings (and their cousins). I’m much more of an Anglophile than a Francophile, yet I rarely talk or even think about my English blood.

Is it because the personality traits I value the most in myself are ones commonly associated with French people? Passion, joie de vivre, honor, clear-headedness in a crisis. Or that some of the traits I most desire for myself (and are forever out of reach) are also associated with the French? Sophistication, elegance, poise, reserve, tact.

You can see, in my grandfather’s generation, the humor of my English great-grandfather and the charm of my great-grandmother mixed together almost irresistibly (my dad and I took Grandpa and one of his brothers out for lunch one day, a few years ago, and both Grandpa and Uncle Fred got free pie, just because the waitresses were so delighted by them). In my dad’s generation, the charm has been diluted just a tad (but not much, as anyone who knows my dad and his siblings would agree) and the humor kicked up a notch due to my grandmother’s genes (even after the Alzheimer’s took everything else away from Grandma, she maintained her sense of humor until there was simply nothing left of her at all).

Me, I’m an odd blend of Scottish practicality, English humor, Celtic passion, Dutch shrewdness, and French joy (and a generous handful of less pleasant traits, too – but I’ll leave those for you to figure out) (no giving anyone clues, Carl). And maybe that’s what it boils down to – of everything I am and want to be, joyful is the most important to me. When I die, I want “extravagantly joyful” written on my tombstone (actually, that’s a lie – I don’t want a tombstone at all – but you get the idea). To live fully and joyously, to face bravely whatever lies ahead and navigate whatever treacherous waters there may be with a triumphant laugh, to spend my days with a song on my lips and a smile in my heart, and I’m going to stop there before this devolves further into cheesy pop song territory.

Despite my complete and utter lack of glamor, at my core, I feel French. That 1/8 burns stronger in my veins then all the rest of it. And if the French aren’t really like that after all?

Experimenting with some french couture a few years ago. Always fun!

Oh well. I’m a writer. Creating worlds and imaginary lands and then dwelling therein is what we do.

What is your family heritage, and do you feel yourself drawn more strongly to one part over another?

families, Life Talk

Take a Hike!

elouisebates
We went on a family hike this past weekend – one of our favorite activities, but one that, between swelteringly hot weather and long hours at Carl’s job, we haven’t been able to indulge in at all this summer. It was the perfect day for it – sunny and warm, but the air was crisp enough that we wanted sweatshirts at first. 
Carl showing the girls how to read the map and follow the trail markers

Can you spot the toad?

Two happy hikers!

I saw this stump and thought: “It looks like the gaping jaws of some giant mythological beast!” Then I thought: “I’m not even going to mention that to my family; they’ll think I’m crazy.” THEN I thought: “Well, I’ll at least take a picture of it for my blog; my readers get my kind of craziness.”

Sisters!

Feeling like a big shot because she hiked the entire thing (this was her first major hike having outgrown her backpack carrier)

I LOVE that Joy is photo-bombing this shot of Grace and Carl

Tired little chickie, snuggling with Dad

“Hey, maybe we’ll end up in Narnia if we walk through this arch!” (We didn’t)

Not only was it an awesome day just as a family, I felt creativity bubbling up in me like crazy. Nothing specific, no great story plots or characters, just general creativeness. It was so, so needed. Even though we all came home exhausted and sore (my legs are still aching today – scrambling up and down steep, rocky mountains while helping a small child requires some serious muscle work), we were laughing and chattering and just absolutely refreshed.
Where do you go to get revitalized?
children, heroines, humor, stories, writing

Holly Grayson, Alleluia …

elouisebates

One of Joy’s favorite songs is “All Creatures of our God and King.” She will go around the house humming it for hours, breaking into words only at the “alleluia, alleluia” part.

Grace, being three, likes to imitate her sister in all things, so when Joy starts caroling “Alleluia, alleluia,” Grace immediately joins in.

Only her alleluias don’t always sound the way they’re supposed to. From Grace, it sounds more like she’s singing, “Holly Grayson, Holly Grayson …” (Or, technically, “howwy gwayson,” because she’s still working on her “l”s and “r”s.)

After I checked all their books and TV shows to see if she was singing about some character (she wasn’t), I decided it was just a trick of her hearing alleluia slightly differently, pronouncing it more differently yet, and my ear trying to arrange her nonsense syllables into something that makes sense.

Then I started thinking about what a good name Holly Grayson was for a book character, decided I’d use it sometime.

A couple days later, I decided Holly had long, dark brown hair, and either blue or hazel eyes.

Few days after that, I knew she was strong-willed and sharp-witted, often speaking without thinking, but with a warm heart underneath.

An investigator, I realized shortly thereafter. Not an ordinary investigator, either, but either a paranormal or supernatural one.

Nope, I decided a short time later. Time-traveling investigator, working for the InterGalactic Time Police (what, you didn’t know about them? Oh, they exist, my friends.), except they only let her stay on because of her ability to always get results. They don’t like the way she flouts their rules and doesn’t always respect authority. You can’t fire your top investigator for being a smart-mouth, though, so she stays on, even though they’re always looking for reasons to get rid of her.

Then I decided that her time-traveling machine broke down on her last trip, trapping her in the Victorian Era until she is able to fix it, and that she uses her skills and abilities to help those who can’t help themselves – in fact, that becomes her agency’s motto. Holly Grayson Investigations: We help those who can’t help themselves.

Saturday afternoon, I caved and started writing the story that landed her in the Victorian Era. It’s going to be novelette or novella length, I’m not sure yet. I’m having so much fun with it.

Hey Grace, got any more songs you want to mangle? Just imagine the stories you could inspire!

This is somewhat how I imagine Holly. No talking lions, though. At least not yet.

Life Talk

Farewell, Olympics

elouisebates

The Olympics are over (until 2014 – SOCHI!!! Winter Olympics and Russia – two of my great loves), and I’m torn between sadness and mild relief that life can return to normal and I don’t have to watch beach volleyball again AT ALL until Rio.

The littles are asking for rhythmic gymnastics lessons; Joy has discovered that she loves tennis; Grace keeps practicing diving off the couch (I would feel so much better about this if she would just put a pillow down first); I want to start practicing for single sculls.

Carl is almost done with Aramaic and ready to start Syriac, then Latin.

I leave it to you to determine which of us has proper priorities.

I learned a few things during the Olympics.

Number One: I am not, nor will I ever be, an athlete. Much as I respect and admire them, my dedication and passion is for writing, not sport. Also, I am incurably clumsy, which is not good in an athlete (well, not for anyone, really, but especially an athlete).

Number Two: For me, beach volleyball gets tremendously boring after half of a game. Water polo is ok for one full game. Court volleyball means I turn the television off immediately. Guess what sports NBC inevitably showed during the day, while I was freest to watch?

Number Three: I really don’t get much pop music (this was cemented during the closing ceremony, where my favorite performers were STOMP).

Number Four: I am always going to get annoyed when people are disdainful about the Olympics. THEY ARE MORE THAN SPORT END OF STORY.

Number Five: I will cry over amazing against-the-odds stories. Also whenever the camera shows Michael Phelps and his family.

Number Six: Mr Bean is funny, but Kenneth Branagh is MAGIC.

Number Seven: I must go to England sometime. I get homesick whenever I see pictures of it – truly homesick – and I’ve never been there. It is, quite simply, in my blood.

Any tidbits of wonder for you during this Olympics?