Out With the Old...

Today I had to get a new library card. One would not think that would be an emotional event.

However, I have had a library card from the Redford Township District Library since I was six years old. That means I was a library patron for over 50 years.

But today, I had to relinquish my Redford Library card and get a new one for the Northville District Library, here in my new town.

I've been dreading this, with the dread that only a sentimental book lover could understand. I spent countless hours in the Redford Library. It was my hangout in the summers, where I gleefully participated in the summer reading programs. It was the first place I drove solo when I got my drivers license. (I know, I'm a geek.) And then when my son was little, he and I would take frequent trips to the library on our bikes, usually stopping at Donutown for libations on the way back.

So more than just bookish memories were associated with my library card, although there were certainly plenty of those too. The Redford Library was the place I discovered the Betsy-Tacy books by Maud Hart Lovelace, and Madeleine L'Engle's work for readers of all ages. It was the place I could always find the best new releases, and, in recent years, was able to take full advantage of their computerized hold services to make sure I got them immediately.

One of the things I've been most surprised at during this moving process and the inevitable culling of possession it has entailed, is the things that mean the most to me. They often were not the most expensive items in the house - the crystal serving pieces or the lace tablecloths. What I really hated to part with were things like the scratched pyrex bowls I used to stir up brownie and cookie batter or the stainless steel cutlery we ate from every day for 37 years. The worn flannel blankets my grandmother used when she was in a nursing home. The throw pillows on my bed that I propped my head on to read in the morning.

The library card I've used ever since I learned to read.

A new home demands new things, and I have enjoyed gathering bright, shiny new feathers for this little nest. But there is suddenly a tiny whole in my heart for some of those well-used, well-loved pieces of daily living that were part of of my old life. And I suspect there always will be.

The Sunday Salon: Epiphany

Today is Epiphany, a day  on which Christians commemorate the revelation of Jesus' divinity as evidenced by the Three Magi who traveled to Bethlehem bearing gifts for the newborn King. Epiphany was recognized as an official celebration in the church calendar before the end of the second century, even before the Christmas holiday was established. In fact, until the fourth century, January 6 was the day set aside to celebrate Christ's birth, and the Armenian church still celebrates Christmas on January 6 ~ so Merry Christmas to my Armenian family and friends :) Aside from its religious connotation, the word epiphany also refers to revelations in thought, and often conjures that cartoon image of a light bulb appearing overhead. For readers, many epiphanous moments come from books. Whether fiction or non-fiction, the words of writers and thinkers inspire us to open our hearts and encourage us to think.

Last week I read Help Thanks Wow, Anne Lamott's new book about what she terms "the three essential prayers." Lamott's writing always reveals something to me, at the very least a totally different slant on a familiar subject. I'm such a straight arrow thinker, reading Lamott is like standing my familiar concepts on their head and seeing that they suddenly make a lot more sense.

And  that what epiphanies are all about - seeing something we knew all along, but in a different way, opening our eyes to a truth we've been too blind or stubborn or fearful to notice.

"Revelation is not for the faint at heart," Lamott writes. "Some of us with tiny paranoia issues think that so much information and understanding is being withheld from us - by colleagues, by family, by life, by God - knowledge that would save us, and help us break the code and enable us to experience life with peace and amusement. But in our quieter moments we remember that (1) there are no codes, and (b) if you are paying attention, plenty is being revealed. We are too often distracted by the need to burnish our surfaces, to look good so that other people won't know what screwed up messes we, or our mates or kid or finances, are. But if you gently help yourself back to the present moment, you see how life keeps stumbling along and how you may actually find your way through another ordinary or impossible day. Details are being revealed, and they will take you out of yourself, which is heaven, and you will have a story to tell, which is salvation that again and again saves us, the way Jesus saves some people, or sobriety does. Stories to hear or tell - either way it's medicine. The Word."

Our stories hold so many revelations, tiny epiphanies sent to reframe the truth as we've known it.

What stories are you reading this week? Any epiphanies for you in them?

Following Yonder Star

When I was studying piano, lo those many years ago, my teacher wrote my lesson in a spiral notebook each week. She would list the things I was to practice (Major scales, two octaves, hands together, Czerny Number 5, with metronome 120, Mozart Sonata in G Major, First Movement...) and sometimes put notations about specific areas to focus on in my practice time (Dynamics in the Mozart, even tempo for the 16th notes in the Czerny, so slow down if you need to!)  She kept a box of little gold stars at the side of the piano, an at the end of the lesson each week (if my performance rated it) she would place a gold adhesive star on the notebook page for that week's lesson.

People, I craved those gold stars SO much. To the very last lesson I took from her (when I was 19 years old and engaged to be married!) I still sat with bated breath on that piano bench wondering if she would nonchalantly reach into the box, pluck out a gold star, touch it to the tip of her tongue and place it on my notebook. (She did.)

My husband, who was also one of her students, has said the same thing. That tiny mark of approbation, usually given with no other fanfare than a satisfied nod of her perfectly coiffed hair, was worth a million dollars.

I still think most people (especially children) respond better to positive reinforcement than negative consequences. One of the most successful strategies I ever used to get my son to clean up his room was the ribbon reward system. Each night I "inspected" his room, and if it passed muster, he got a ribbon. At the end of the week, if he had seven ribbons, he was allowed to pick a prize. The prizes weren't "things," but certificates he could cash in for a trip to the arcade, or for staying up an hour past bedtime, or a game of Candyland. This worked to help him get in the habit of picking up his toys and see that there were positive rewards for cleanliness! (Well, it worked until he was a teenager, and then all bets were off in the room cleaning department.)

In that same way, my piano teachers little gold stars gave me the extra impetus to practice my lesson each week. The star meant I had pleased her, and because I respected her, I wanted very much to earn her affirmation.

As grown ups, we don't get a lot of gold stars. More often than not, we only hear about the stuff we do wrong. Deep down inside, I think most of us are still tender hearted enough to need a little soul-stroking once in a while, even if it's for something as simple as preparing a meal or remembering to take out the trash without being reminded.

It's the little gold stars that give us the impetus to keep going, even when the going is difficult and we think we'll never make it through.

Here's hoping someone puts one on your spiral notebook today.

Write On Wednesday: Let's Start at the Very Beginning

I'm on the cusp of a new writing project, one I've been pondering for a long time, and so I've been thinking about how different and difficult it is for a writer to start at the very beginning. Unlike other artists, the writer  begins with nothing other than an idea, a thought, a fleeting glimpse of character or concept. A musician has notes on the page, the potter molds a lump of clay, the photographer a subject in her lens. Yet the writer - all we have are words in our heads. Nothing to hold onto, nothing to look at or listen to and think, oh a bit more contour is required, a softer dynamic is needed.

Sitting before my screen this morning, in the two hour window of writing time I have allotted for myself today, I think about looking for a dictionary and leafing through it, just to gaze for a moment at the tools of my trade laid out before me in black and white, maybe leaf through it and find a few that catch my eye, a few that I could pluck off that page and place somewhere onto my own.

I've decided the real building blocks of a writer's trade aren't words, but thoughts. The words are vital, of course, but they are the material, the conduit to convey those thoughts to the world. I'm pretty good with words. I'm not so good at thinking, or at least the kind of quiet and thoughtful thinking that leads to good writing. I have to work at mindfulness, at focusing on the subject at hand. Like most people, my head is filled with a million thoughts, trampling monkey like through my brain. Should I check my e-mail one last time? Who has posted on Facebook? What an interesting article someone linked on Twitter. Oh, the dogs need to go out and I really should brush them when they come in. Oops, forgot to make the grocery list. And where is that recipe for lentil soup I wanted to copy?

Plunked down in the middle of real, everyday life, it's difficult to still the mind long enough to contemplate anything, much less an all-important beginning.

Still, I enjoy the beginnings of things, and it is, as the song says, a very good place to start. There were times when I had to start at the middle of things - musical things, work things - and it's never quite as satisfying as beginning right at the inception, being there from the get-go and seeing it through to the conclusion.

A New Year is a good place for a new beginning. I have determined to make this year a writing year, to get really serious about this book I want to write. I'm setting definitive goals - a first draft (shitty though it might be) of one chapter per month. I've enrolled in a writing class* to help me get started and keep me on track.

And this morning I began, pulling over 2000 words out of nothing but my head, heart, and experience.

The very beginning.

I've started.

How about you? Are you at the very beginning of something?

*If you're interested in beginning a new writing project, there are still a couple of spots in the writing class I'm taking. A referral from me gets you a 20% discount too :)

Into the Light

We are only just past the winter solstice and already I sense the presence of more light at the end of the day. I am always seeking light, wandering the house in the early morning opening  blinds, lighting candles and turning on lamps as soon as dusk settles in. It isn't just that my old eyes need light to read (although they do, they really do) but that my spirit needs it to breathe. Although I love real light, love pulling open all the window shades and letting in pour in, I often I keep draperies pulled tight across the window to my soul. Curtains of guilt, self doubt, fear, and regret not only prevent light from entering my heart, but also prevent me from allowing my own inner light to shine. They have hung there for years, strewn with cobwebs and laden with dust.

As we move into a new year, I want so much to pull aside those musty coverings, expose the things that hold me back and plummet my spirit into darkness. I want to let light shine on my hopes and dreams  - the ones that tell me my life is worthwhile, that I have something to offer the world, that my love can make a difference.

This morning I will put away the wreaths and ornaments and Christmas candles, tuck them safely into boxes and bags where they will wait patiently until next December as I live out the year in front of me. As lovely as they are, their time has passed and the house will feel cleaner and brighter without them.

This afternoon I will spend some time with these pages. I will give myself the gift of seeking clarity for my spirit, purpose for my mind, and a focus for my work. And I will ponder the message in this short film by Katrina Kenison, whose new book I am so very eager to read.

Mostly I will look for light.

Inside and out.

May your year be illuminated by love and peace. And may all your dreams come true.

*Image by photographer Lars Ven De Goor