We'll Bring the World Our Truth

No. This isn't a missionary blog post...although if I knew what was good for me, it would be. But no. I feel this has to be addressed.

I was recently having a discussion with a friend about a most disconcerting trend that is slowly taking over our collective consciousness. I, myself, am not immune. Upon making this realization, I posed the question to my friend, "When will the madness end?!" and he responded, "They won't stop until the entire earth is covered."

That made me think of the glorious, albeit singular and ambitious work of environmental artists Christo and Jeanne-Claude, who frequently cover large edifices or landscapes in fabric.


What could we possibly be discussing, you ask? What else? Snuggies, of course! Now, let me be perfectly clear. I love Snuggies. I purchased two for my parents as Christmas gifts last year and two for myself. Admittedly, the two for myself were an unintentional purchase, but (and I think my roommates will concur) they are fantastic! They are every bit as cozy and warm and snuggly as advertised. Inane, though they are, the Snuggie really is useful.

What concerns me is the craze that has been spreading rapidly behind this phenomenon or, dare I say, movement. Hm...concerns may be too strong a word...but I don't know of an adjective that simultaneously means concerned and amused. (Wordsmiths? A little help?) Come to think of it...add awed to that word too. Snuggies started out as just your average informercial marketing scheme, a la the Bumpit, the Ab Rocket, and the Bedazzler. (I'm not necessarily endorsing any of these products, but if they want to send me free stuff for advertising for them, how could I refuse?) After only a very short time span, Snuggies had sold over 4 million units and had a waiting list for people who wanted their Snuggies. In fact, my parents and I had to wait about a month or more before our Snuggies arrived! So, okay. Kudos to them. Way to go, little entrepreneur! But now the growing product line is getting a little more disturbing. Follow the trend here, will you?

We began with this:



And then we came to this:



(Who can argue with the genius of such dialogue: "Just put, put, PUT your arms through and see what you can do!" or my personal favorite "Don't bug me. I'm wearin' my Snuggie!")

What's next? The only natural conclusion, of course, is this:



I'm not sure who was/is in charge of the script-writing, direction, etc. for these infomercials, but in my opinion they were just begging to either inspire a cult following or to be spoofed. I mean, come on now. Whose idea was it to have a kid doing the macarena? All joking aside, you really do have to hand it to the entrepreneurs behind this craze. They have obviously embraced the kitsch-factor and run with it all the way to the bank! And you have to have a pretty healthy sense of humor to hold your own fashion show in the heart of fashion central New York City during Fashion Week! So kudos to them and kudos to those of you who own Snuggies. We can form our own cult/fan club and hold monthly meetings where we read books, enjoy a snack, or attend outdoor sporting events! Who's with me?

Oh...and for those new moms concerned about taking their new babies out in the cold weather...we've got you (and your baby) covered.

The Bog of Burnsie

I want you to imagine the worst thing that you have ever smelled. No...worse. Got it? Now triple it. Quadruple it. That is what the inside of my car currently smells like. It's like the Bog of Eternal Stench got together with every landfill, decaying roadkill carcass and your stinky, little brother to spawn the most unimaginable funk known to man. Noxious, deadly, poisonous, lethal, toxic, putrid, malodorous, reeking, foul, rank, squalid, decaying, fetid. Nearly fatal, at one whiff it will put you into a hundred year coma. Smelled peripherally, it will merely knock you unconscious for several hours...possibly days and make you incapable of eating for weeks afterward. What's worse…my hands still stink - after vigorous scrubbings and repeated sprays of Glade Fabric & Air, they still stink. You never realize just how many times your hands come near your face until they resemble the odorous equivalent to mass genocide.

How? How is something of this magnitude possible? Would you believe that instead of a can of whoop-a#$, this morning I opened a can of death? As is my usual morning routine, on my way out the door, I grabbed a banana and my can of Safeway brand Weight Loss Shake. As I sat at the light, waiting to turn left out of my neighborhood, I shook up my can and popped it open. Imagine my surprise when it started to fizz and bubble, pouring over the edges like a bad science experiment.

What the? I was immediately greeted by just the edges of a new smell, but it was one I couldn't imagine coming from this can. It didn't smell like bad milk product. Instead it started first as an almost sweet smell and then rapidly progressed to an acrid, deathly gag-inducing cloud of putrescence*. Thankfully, I quickly came to another light, so I was able to open my door and pour the remaining offensive liquid onto the pavement. Unfortunately, I was still left was the offending can and the aftermath of the spillover on my floor mat, drive shaft area and even my pants. I drove the rest of the way with my windows down, but was still unable to breathe through my nose. Oh. I should also mention this. Honestly, I don't know what possessed me, but I kind of think it's a slightly human reaction to just "want to be sure". Because I still didn't quite believe that such an astonishing smell could come from my innocent can of liquid breakfast, I lifted the can to my nose and took a swift sniff. Now, I have a fairly strong stomach. I don't get car-sick. Gross stories don't literally make me want to lose my lunch...but this...ugh. It took an inconceivable amount of control NOT to vomit on my dashboard. But yes. I know. I asked for that one*.

I knew that I couldn't just get to work, abandon my car and run into work, so I called in and told them I'd be late and stopped at the first grocery store I could find. I have now employed the use of some heavy-duty fabric cleaner, 3 liters of water, a scrub brush and about half a bottle of Glade Fabric & Air. Pray for my car, folks. Pray for it. I'm actually afraid that when I get to my car after work, the noxious fumes will have reduced it to nothing more than a slightly steaming hole in the ground. So pray for Burnsie, folks. Also, if you can suggest a place that does good interior detailing for cars, I would be much obliged!

* Thank you Princess Bride.

**Does anyone remember the sketch on SNL with the family sitting around the table and one person opens the carton of milk and goes, "Oh man! This milk is bad! Smell it!" He passes it to the next person who smells it, makes a similar exclamation and thus it is passed from one person to the next...they follow w/ other things like, a broken chair - "Ow! This chair is broken! Sit in it!", etc. If had could have found a clip of it somewhere, believe I would have posted it here! But what on earth IS it about stuff like this, that we have to be sure or seek a second opinion? We humans are weird.

Pictures Worth a Thousand Words

A number of things have sparked my interest in writing this post, but it's mostly meant to be a visual. I was just reminiscing about some of my favorite books as a child and why they were my favorite books. As is well-documented here, I'm a major pushover for a good story, but I'm equally swayed by a moving illustration or picture. So often, pictures tell parts of the story that words or our own imaginations cannot...or they simply enhance our own imaginations. So w/out further ado, here are some of my favorite illustrators. Who are some of yours?

P.J. Lynch
Hands down my favorite illustrator. I will buy just about anything if he has illustrated it. Plus he's Irish. Plus I heard him speak at a BYU Symposium for Young Readers a few years ago and he's delightful!


As if his rich and beautiful use of color and detail isn't enough, he also alluded to one of my all-time favorite paintings (Gustav Klimt's "The Kiss" - picture on the right) in his illustration of my all-time favorite fairytale, "East O' the Sun, West O' the Moon"(picture on the left).












Is anybody swooning yet? Because you really should be.


Marilee Heyer

Heyer also illustrates a lot of really wonderful folk and fairy tales. The cover below is of a book that I bought purely for the pictures and ended up loving the story. I've also had a long love affair with Asian books/stories, so it had me at hello. I love how her pictures are sweeping, graceful and intensely intricate. I love detail. LOVE IT. Some of her books beg for you to spend hours just staring at her pictures...which I will neither deny nor confirm doing. Another book of hers that I'm fond of is The Girl, The Fish, & The Crown. Simply lovely illustrations.


















Trina Schart Hyman

Hyman's illustrations evoke something of the 70s to me. I can't quite put my finger on it. Maybe it has something to do w/ her pictures being somewhere in the middle between sketch and painting or the heaviness of her lines...but it just feels like my early childhood. Hm...not that I think of my early childhood as being somewhere between sketch and painting, nor did it have heavy lines...but well...her pictures just make me feel that way, okay? She also has lovely, graceful lines and delicate details. Her style is distinctive and memorable. I love it. I own this copy of Snow White, which was also purchased solely for the illustrations.
















Maurice Sendak

How could I have a list of illustrators without mentioning Sendak? Some of the most vivid images from my childhood originated in his imagination. Where the Wild Things Are & Outside Over There are two of the most vivid for me. Sendak is so talented at evoking a sense of fantasy and mixing in a bit of melancholy, eeriness and something uniquely beautiful. In short, I love his artwork and I love his stories. What more do I need to say, really?

















Leo Lionni/Eric Carle

I combine these two because something about their affinity for collage-ish/cut-out artwork makes me want to group them together. Also, I'm getting tired of writing, so I just wanted to make this go a bit faster. Also...they kind of look a little alike, don't you think? Lionni's character, Frederick, is one of my very favorite characters from my childhood. Perhaps I loved him so much because I was a daydreamer too. And what's not to love in such a sweet, adorable, unique little mouse made of paper?

Carle's pictures aren't quite as dear to my heart, because he didn't create actual characters, just illustrations. However, there is no denying that his illustrations are bright, cheerful and very memorable, which is why I've included him here.


















Dare Wright

Who says that illustrations always have to be paintings or drawings? These books have been stuck in my subconscious for as long as I can remember. My mom checked them out from the library for me when I was a little girl and I must have asked for them a thousand times after that. I was at least 80% convinced that because they were photographs, they were real. This little doll lived alone in a house w/ two stuff bears...and I was totally enamored with the idea. There is melancholy and loneliness in a lot of these pictures. (I'm noticing a trend w/ my attraction to illustrations/stories...) Being separated from my parents as a little girl was my greatest fear, so I think I was both horrified by the visual reality of such a thing and enchanted by the thought that even if that were to happen, someone/something might come along to care for and love me. Like a couple of teddy bears. Don't judge. They're special books, okay? And I still love them.
















So what books do you remember most from your childhood (or after) because of the illustrations?

Awesome Possum!

So, it would seem that I am driven to blog primarily about rodents. (Fine - rodents, mammals and marsupials, if you want to be completely accurate.) Just to recap, I've now blogged about field mice, squirrels and a raccoon - all of which met their untimely demises at the will of my car. Today I am forced to blog about another member of the rodent family; the opossum. To be specific, the Virginia Opossum. Thankfully this one is alive and well and currently hiding in our kitchen. Yes. That's right. Our kitchen. (Update: the possum has vacated the premises...details later in the post)

How did all of this begin? Well it all started when Roommate #1 inadvertently left the patio door in the basement open for several hours on Monday. Roommate #2 discovered this when she came home late that night and shut the door. The following morning Roommate #2, whose bedroom and bathroom are in the basement, found a little "gift" waiting for her on the bathroom floor. Say what you will, but at least the little critter had the decency to relieve himself on the bathroom floor and not the carpet. (We're all praying that there are no more little "gifts" waiting somewhere else! [shudder]) Roommate #2 was so disturbed by what she found that she wiped up the droppings and flushed them away. Understandably, R#2 was distressed and so she immediately contacted Animal Control to see if they could come and remove the animal - whatever it was. Unfortunately, Animal Control informed her that they would only dispatch someone if we had actually seen the animal. Sigh. R#2 and I searched the house (with broom in hand) from top to bottom and neither found nor roused anything, which only added to the frustration of the situation. This meant that because R#2 was the only one who had seen the droppings, she would have to use her super-sleuthing skills (thank you Google!) to figure out what kind of critter we actually had. Because she was at home that day, she gave me periodic updates and informed me that she thought it was either an opossum or a cat, but she seemed pretty sure that it was an opossum. Well, if it was, that would explain why we hadn't seen/heard anything in our searches because they're nocturnal and notorious for...well, "playing possum".

After returning from work, there were no new developments, so we decided to head off to institute and bother with it later. Later found R#2 and I in the living room at around 11PM both on our laptops and watching a bit of TV. Because this gave me the perfect sight line with the basement door, it was I who noticed movement and looked up just in time to see tiny black eyes peering from the delicate pointy-nosed face of a very small possum with a look of curiosity. My reaction? "R#2, R#2! Possum! Possum", spoken while pointing wildly toward where the little possum had just headed for the closed front door. Thankfully R#2 had her camera handy, so we got some good shots of the frightened little guy.













Let the games begin! The idea was to try and keep him corralled in the entryway, while we got the front door open and shooed him out with a broom or other such tool. Sadly, it didn't quite work out that way. As I slowly approached the possum to get him to the side of the door, so I could open it, he darted past me and behind the entertainment center in the living room. BLAST! So close! R#2 and I got down on our hands and knees and tried to find where he had gotten to, but couldn't immediately find him. He was a quick little guy and well, I already said it, but he was little. After moving as many objects on the floor that would provide hiding for him, R#2 lifted a blanket from a pile of other blankets and found this.

That's right folks. Have you heard that Snuggie is going for a new marketing scheme, focusing on a new and growing demographic? "Possums: the new spokescreatures for the Snuggie." (And yes, I own two Snuggies. What of it?) We succeeded in shooing Poss (he needs a name, okay?) back the way he had come, in hopes of getting him to head for the now open door. Unfortunately, because we hadn't thought to create barriers to other doorless openings, he instead, made a run for the kitchen. Sigh. We thought that wouldn't be such a big deal, because the kitchen is small and there aren't many places that he could hide, but rodents are clever and very squishy and he found a happy little crawl space between the bottom drawer and the floor. ARGH! This time we weren't going to fall for his shenanigans. We set up barriers using anything and everything we could find and then laid a trail of trail mix from his hidey-hole to the door. After that proved not as successful, I added some smelly bananas to the mix.

We retreated to the living room to wait him out and before long, we heard him happily munching on the bananas. We were not, however gifted with stealth and we had soon scared him back into his little hideaway. Great. Now he's fat and happy and has found a place to hang out indefinitely! What next?

After a few more times of him poking his little snout out and then running back to safety, we decided to back way off and just be patient. By this time it was nearing 2 AM and while I had been determined to stay until the job was done, I realized that I would be worthless today if I didn't get some sleep, so I went upstairs to get ready for bed. R#3 came down to keep R#2 company and to take her turn on "possum watch". By about 2:30AM I was in bed, but not yet asleep when I heard the front door close. I ran downstairs to see that the front door was, indeed, closed and when I asked whether Poss had acheived freedom I was met with R#2 & 3's joyous cries of triumph! Yes, he had found his way out of his hole and they shooed him the rest of the way. HOORAY! So it is official. We are finally possum-free.

Final Results

So for the last six months or so, I've been redoing my bedroom. It started back in August when I consulted with my friend Spencer (thanks!!) on the reconfiguration of my room and the important choice of wall color(s). Then I repainted my walls. Although my bedroom is relatively small, it was a looooong week to get it all done.













As you can see, I went with three different colors. Grape leaf for the wall behind my bed, a paler green for the two side walls and pumpkin spice for the wall across from my bed, in the area I call "my office". I painted that wall w/ flat paint and then painted stripes of the same orange in high gloss. The effect is kinda cool. I like it.

Anyway, it's been a long, slow process of getting all the walls painted and then getting my existing pieces of furniture moved around to where I want them. Lastly, and with the help of our favorite "house boyfriend" (Thank you, Andy), everything got hung on my walls/ceiling.

The Bedroom & closetThe Window
The office












And now my room is a marvelously beautiful little haven. I love it. Love, love, love it! I don't know whether the pictures can do it credit, but it's the best I can do. If you'd like a more first-hand view, you're welcome to come on over for a visit. I love visitors.

What projects have you been working on?

Happy Heart

A friend of mine thoughtfully sent me this poem today. Truly, my heart could not be smiling any bigger. I have more to say on the matter, after a weekend that I will never ever forget, but that will have to come later.

In the meantime, enjoy this.

Why We Tell Stories

Lisel Mueller

I
Because we used to have leaves
and on damp days
our muscles feel a tug,
painful now, from when roots
pulled us into the ground

and because our children believe
they can fly, an instinct retained
from when the bones in our arms
were shaped like zithers and broke
neatly under their feathers

and because before we had lungs
we knew how far it was to the bottom
as we floated open-eyed
like painted scarves through the scenery
of dreams, and because we awakened

and learned to speak

2
We sat by the fire in our caves,
and because we were poor, we made up a tale
about a treasure mountain
that would open only for us

and because we were always defeated,
we invented impossible riddles
only we could solve,
monsters only we could kill,
women who could love no one else
and because we had survived
sisters and brothers, daughters and sons,
we discovered bones that rose
from the dark earth and sang
as white birds in the trees

3
Because the story of our life
becomes our life

Because each of us tells
the same story
but tells it differently

and none of us tells it
the same way twice

Because grandmothers looking like spiders
want to enchant the children
and grandfathers need to convince us
what happened happened because of them

and though we listen only
haphazardly, with one ear,
we will begin our story
with the word and

By George, I think She's Got It!

Ever had one of those experiences that is so moving, so inspiring, so exciting that you fear talking about it might somehow blow all the magic away? I just had one of those. But while I do sort of feel this tenuous grasp on the magic, I feel too inspired NOT to share it.

I just had the privilege of enjoying a two-day storytelling workshop led by professional storyteller, Donald Davis (Seriously, follow that link. He's WONDERFUL!). It was held in the home of generous teller, Susan Gordon, who mostly uses her telling in therapeutic settings. Right now she works as an addictions counselor. The first time I heard her tell back in the Fall of '06 (it was the story of Cuchulain - a traditional Scottish hero), I felt a tug at my soul. What she was doing pulled at me, called me. It was more than the story she chose to tell that day that spoke to me, it was how she was using that story to offer me solutions to my questions, my problems, my yearnings. And without realizing it, that experience offered me a glimpse of a possible future. Because that's what stories - really good stories - have always done for me. They have left an indelible mark on my heart and allowed me to carry them with me. They helped me find a bit more of myself. I have always wanted to do that much for someone else. I want to share stories of substance with other people, in order to make them laugh, help them feel joy, put them in touch with their own sadness in order to understand it better, basically to help them recognize themselves and to give them what I've been given, love.

I've been attending the Timpanogos Storytelling Festival in Orem, UT for about 5-7 years now and I have always loved it. I am utterly enamored by it, but the few times anyone suggested that I should be a storyteller, I dismissed it out of fear. I used to be involved in theater, but I haven't done much of anything substantial since 1998...so I let the fear take over and make my decisions for me. Bad idea. Then I started my Masters program at GMU in Folklore and that first semester, my professor invited Susan Gordon to tell for us. And you already read how that made me feel. Yet still I resisted. I heard her a few more times over the last 2 years until finally this last semester, while a small group of students joined Susan for dinner before an evening of storytelling, she mentioned this workshop. I said, "Oh, I wish that I'd known about it earlier! I would absolutely love to participate in something like that!" Susan was happy to hear of my interest and agreed to let me know if an opening presented itself. And my Christmas Wish was granted.

A group of about nine people gathered and told their stories, all works in progress. I was touched by how personal and intimate some of those stories were and felt so privileged to be given permission to see and meet the places and people that they loved. After each story, Donald would lead a discussion on it. What else did we want to know about the story, or the main character or the storyteller? Then without a word of judgment or criticism, he shared his years of storytelling experience in his deep, welcoming North Carolinian accent. It was absolutely inspiring! I was (am) a complete novice, so I hadn't formally prepared a story, but had two small, related stories I felt comfortable telling. Ugh. It was rough. Although I know the stories very well (for family members, I told about Dad's left-handed misadventures), I hadn't ever considered or practiced how I would present them. I also had no ending...so it just kind of fizzled out into nothing. But I was given such incredible, such clear and simple guidelines by Donald that I began to feel that maybe, just maybe I could actually do this. I went home that night, my mind abuzz with ideas, and began working on that same set of stories I'd told to the group. I practiced them out loud and added a better introduction and transition and tried out a few different endings. Then I recorded myself. As I listened to it, I realized that while it was still obviously rough, the difference was incredible! I had just told a real story! If only I'd had an audience for feedback.

I had let myself get all wrapped up in my fears and that had almost kept me from this truly exciting and inspiring future. While I'm still scared, for the first time in my life, I feel like this is something I could actually do. I have a passion for stories and (a longing for attention - egomaniac that I am) and a desire to share that passion w/ others. So if I can manage to remember the P's that Donald shared with me, take the time to plan out and practice the stories I want to tell and then tell them, I think I might be able to find my own voice. And in finding my voice, I think I might find what I've been looking for all along! So who wants to help me by being my audience? I need feedback and I need experience telling in front of people so I can conquer my fears.

Have you ever had an experience like this? Like you just found your place in the universe and the chaos might just make sense? Do tell!! I loves a good story, I do!

In case anyone is wondering what the P's are, here you go:
1. Picture = Every story has to paint a picture. Storytellers make movies appear in the listeners' minds.
2. Place = Show your listeners a place they've never been before. Use the picture to take them there.
3. People = Introduce your listeners to people they'd never have the chance to know (not like you know them).
4. Plot = A storyteller needs to establish the normal, everyday way people behave in this new place.
5. Problem = In order to move forward, there has to be a problem, a turning point, that causes pulls the people/place out of its everyday existence.
6. Progress Report = Essentially, there must be some sort of end evaluation. You could call it the moral, but not every story really needs to have a moral. Basically what did you (the teller) or the character learn?

For more fun and for those maybe interested in trying this out on their own, check this out. Then I would suggest that you go to your library and ask if they have any storytellers on cd (or tape, if you're old school) that you can check out. Get acquainted w/ their stuff. Then go and practice.