Perspective

One time my mom didn't kill me (and probably wished she could have) was the first time I remember my creativity getting the best of me. I was probably four or five years old, and decided to cut the grass. 

I went outside, sitting somewhere near our big old willow tree in the front yard, and was amazed at the beauty of the area I was trimming. The grass was lush and soft beneath my small fingers. I carefully held each clump straight up while I trimmed little bunches carefully with Mom's expensive Gingher pinking shears. 

I was very confused when she ran out screaming at me. Why wouldn't she look at the beautiful design in the tops of the little blades of grass? They were all patterned on top, and it looked wonderful—much better than Daddy could do with the mower.

Mom grabbed the scissors from my hand, than picked me up. I held her face in my hands, trying to make her look at what I had done. I pointed at the patch of grass I had finished. As we looked down together, I was shocked to see that from the height she was holding me, it didn't look any different from the rest. Maybe shorter, but that's all. I couldn't get her to kneel down and really look. 

I was crying. She was crying. I'm sure her expensive pinking shears were never the same. I know my day was shot. I had been so proud of myself. My days as a gardener were over before they'd hardly begun. 

I think Mom and I have both learned quite a bit about perspective in the last half century. Although I never left my pinking shears out where the boys could get to them, I tried really hard to get down and see things from their perspective. I also realize that as I grew up, Mom got a lot better with that as well. 

Thank You For Asking

I got an email request for more photos of my new granddaughter, Kate. The request came from Sherm and Ema, good friends who will see that my mom will get to see the photos when they go to the Senior Center to play Bingo today. Kate and her sister Ashley might as well understand right now that their Great Grandma Z doesn't have (and really doesn't want) a computer.

So here are a few pictures of the sisters, my beautiful granddaughter Ashley and her new baby Kate, just home from the hospital. Thanks for the request, Sherm. I hope you all win at Bingo today!

Family Term for Severe Injury

My sister called a couple days ago. I love hearing from her, but from her first words, I knew I wasn't going to like what she had to say.

"Well, I pulled a Kathleen," she announced, and my stomach turned.

I knew she'd managed to hurt herself. The family always likes to point out that I'm the one with a three-page medical history. Single spaced. Eight point type face. I fall down frequently. I usually manage to inflict some kind of damage either on my way down or landing.

She had spent a good portion of the night in the emergency room. Thirteen staples in your head is impressive, Ellen. I can almost feel the pain. You could actually get good at this with a little effort. It's a promising start. You've been pretty accident free most of your life, so you'll have to practice. I've got a big head start. You'll need to go a long way to beat the eight broken ribs I got when I was blown down the cement stairs in a typhoon, but it was severe for an evening at home. I'm impressed.

It has often occurred to me that no one understands that pain is only part of the aftermath. I always end up feeling like there must have been something I could have done to prevent the accident, the injury, the drama. Well, Ellen, don't you believe it. I've spent a lifetime coming to the realization that these things just happen. No matter how careful you are, there will be times when you, well—pull a Kathleen.

Query Letters

Like the majority of voracious readers, I never thought much about what an author went through beyond the mystery of writing the book. For the most part, you really don't want to know. For that matter, neither do I.

Let's just touch on an item called the Query Letter. Nicholas Sparks spent about three weeks writing his first one. It took him about twenty-six revisions. The purpose is to get someone interested enough in your novel to read part of it. Then, hopefully, they'll want to read all of it with the intention of representing you and getting it published. Right. This is one of those back to the drawing board moments. I'm a writer, not a salesman. Why should this be my job?

So far this is what I've learned. You can't say:

Dear Ms. (Agent's Name),

My research shows that you have represented several of my favorite authors. They're really great, so you must be as well. I'm really proud of the novel I just finished, so I'm looking for someone with your credentials to represent me.

I'm a nice old lady who sure could use the money. My book is a good versus evil fantasy with great humor and some quirky characters. The battles are wicked, but I've managed to write it without using any profanity.

My sister loved the book. Would you like me to send it to you now?

I guess I'll buy a book on the subject...

First Family Portrait

I only checked for new photos a few (dozen) times today. After all, there were lots of babies born yesterday. They didn't let me down. Benjamin and Ruth wouldn't let 1,856 miles stand between grandparents and their newest delivery.

They all look happy, of course, but doesn't Ashley look like she made all the arrangements herself? She's been talking about "Baby Kate" for months.

Of all the babies born this week, I wonder how many grandparents can honestly look at the first portrait and know the child will go home to a family where the love is so deep and rich. Time will always be taken there to nurture, educate, and enjoy.

I looked up the word 'family' in the dictionary. There was no definition that I felt encompassed the entire essence of Ben and Ruth's home. It goes beyond values and religion, although that's included. So is love. It's the patience, tenderness, support and joy with which they treat each other. The circle opened to include Ashley. It has opened again for Kate.

Welcome, Kate Ellen

Good morning, Kate. It looks like you had a rough night. Before too long you'll get used to the noise and confusion out here in the world. No doubt you've been really cozy with Ruth these last nine months, but you couldn't hide forever. Too many people were anxious to meet you—especially your daddy Ben, and sister Ashley. 

For posterity, we'll put down the numbers. 

August 15, 2008 at 7:53 a.m.

8 pounds, 1 ounce

Grandpa and I sure do wish we were there...

Waiting By The Phone

My telephone doesn't ring very often. On most days, that's the truth. Today it rang constantly. Each time I heard it, I got excited. This must be Ben, calling to tell me that Ruth was being taken to the hospital to deliver our new granddaughter.

It was the dentist, calling to remind John that he had an appointment tomorrow morning. "We'll be there." Click.

Then it was Mom, letting me know she bought a new pair of pants half off at the mall. We had a nice conversation. I call her almost every night. She almost never calls me, and this was nice. Still, it seemed strange, especially today when I was listening for the phone.

Our oldest son called from San Francisco. He was on a two-week training session there, and was nice enough to call. Even though he sounded tired, we had a nice talk. He laughed when I admitted to thinking he might have been the call from Connecticut. "Tomorrow, Mom," he told me. Like he would know...

One of the men from the Navy base called John. They talked long enough for my heart rate to slow down. I'm not sure what it was about, but John didn't start packing a suitcase, so I guess we're not going anywhere yet. That's good. I'm still editing my novel, and September is booked solid. October still looks like a good time to deal with the contractor stuff they need.

Ring... "Hello! Obama's local headquarters? You want my opinion? Are you sure?"

After I gave him my opinion, which I did politely I might add, he hung up rather abruptly.

Eventually I'll get that phone call. I know Ruth isn't making me wait on purpose. She's probably more anxious than I am. I've been assured that the news is imminent. Today or tomorrow. Come on, Kate, we're all waiting for you!