Love is a Voice

I have always wanted to begin a children's book with the following opening line: Love is a voice and a presence in burrow darkness. I first read the quote in a book entitled Sea Birds of the World, text by Ronald Lockley. The quote refers to the bonding which occurs between birds during both mating and parenting seasons. I have read so many books about migratory birds, and I am amazed that a "voice" can be so unique that it is completely distinct among all other voices. According to the book, the sea bird "species is monogamous and usually a pair will remain faithful to each other as long as both shall live. This faithfulness is the result - as it often is in man - of establishing a partnership at the breeding site and successfully raising progeny together....The pair-bond is renewed and maintained at the nest in several stereotyped ways, but principally by individual voice recognition....Love, for these birds, is a voice and a presence in burrow darkness."

Anyone who has ever read a book on writing or attended a writing conference has been exhorted, trained and drilled to find his or her "unique voice." A writer's voice is what distinguishes them from among the thousands of clamoring, chattering, obscure writers in the world. If that voice is authentic or patent enough, then the writer moves from desiring to be heard to desiring to be read. When I become captivated by a certain author, I actually long for his or her next book to be published. Written words simply lay flat on any manuscript page; however, when the writer has a "voice", there is a presence that draws the reader in - almost like time spent with an intimate companion.

I have taken pictures of thousands of shore birds on the beach and have listened to their repetitive calls. Their squawks, chacks, quacks, grunts, chickerings, coos, cries and caws sound like a chorus of indiscriminate gibberish to me, and yet, to the right bird, love is a voice. One morning, I heard a mourning dove cooing outside the upstairs window of my daughter's condo. The dove continued the persistent early morning song, which sounded so forlorn and longing. I decided to raise the blinds, grab my camera and take a picture. Actually, I took several.

The first dove cooing outside my window.

The surprising arrival of the second dove.

Time spent catching up and cooing

...and kissing

...and snuggling

...and more cooing.

Then, the first dove flew away...

and the second dove seemed cooingly content.

Before I read that banding studies have proven that 90 percent of migratory birds are monogamous, a friend of mine told me that doves pair for life. This past week, I have been thinking about love and bonding and life partners. Within a few days of each other, my oldest daughter's first love and my son's first love became engaged to other people. Although both siblings have remained friends with their former companions, the coincidence of the engagements made for some interesting family conversation.

What is even more synchronous is a trip that Aimee and Matt have been planning for weeks. Aimee invited Matt to take a weekend vacation and attend a conference championship football game with her. She and her sister had gone to New York early this year, and it was Matt's turn. The trip seemed out-of-the-blue and unexpected, but every detail fell right into place. I wonder. At a time when they both may be questioning their "voice recognition skills" or the trademark of their own "voice", nothing soothes the wandering soul like a long migratory flight and an afternoon of college football.

Dianne ; )

Life Mapping with Matt

My kids grew up with a Spiegel catalog in their hands. They would literally fight over it when it came in the mail. Not because they were super-materialistic kids, but because they loved to play paper dolls; except their form of paper dolls was not like that of most children. My three small kids (from ages four and five until they were teenagers) created their grown-up lives with catalogs. They began the mapping out process in their individual bedrooms and sometimes they covered the entire house with their selected pages of living. The technique was simple. They foraged through the pages of Spiegel, Lands End, Eddie Bauer, Ballard Designs and any other home or clothing mail-order catalog that wound up in our mailbox. They chose living room furniture, kitchen dishes, holiday decorations, family members (husband, wife, son and daughter - sometimes grandma, aunt, cousin, etc.), clothing, bedding, and essentially everything you needed to have a perfect paper life.

When they found something they wanted, they slapped the page fast and hard, and shouted, "I Want That!" Quickness was absolutely key to getting what you wanted, like a fast-paced game of cards. Then, they tore out the pages or cut specific images and meticulously placed them all over the floor - leaving only a pathway to walk. Finally, they rummaged through my magazines to find expensive cars, adorable pets and any other aspect of their paper lives that the catalogs did not provide. The process took all day. Once they finished creating their paper worlds, they always called me to come and view the periodical depictions of their perfect lives. It was absolutely amazing! I have always wanted it to be a "today's big story", but I never knew how to "picture book" such a complicated process.

This past weekend, my grown-up son and I spent Saturday in the capital city of our state. Our agenda was simple - visit the Amtrak station to plan a family trip. Once we received all of the information and toured the station, we decided to enjoy a cup of pumpkin spice coffee, walk around the nearly deserted downtown streets and enjoy the fall day. He had been looking at lofts and condos online that he wanted to see in person, and I had brought my camera...so we began an afternoon adventure. As we started looking at the various buildings, shops, architecture and restaurants, I experienced a process that I had encountered before. Matt was mapping out a life - not a paper one, but a real one. He was beginning his selection process, and I was simply invited to view some of his choices. The grown-up boy was saying, "I want that and I want that!"

What better place to begin a journey than the train station!

Love repeated patterns...

and architectural details...

and lots of color...

and the state's perfect tour guide!

Love the tile and the building!

Love fire escapes...

big clocks...

and coffee shops!

One of Matt's aspiration addresses is the Electric 308 Building... (I love this picture because you can see the building name and number in the background!)

or the Plaza... (I love this picture - reminds me of an opitical illusion.)

or maybe the most important address in the state!

Love things that come in threes...

and iconic eateries...

and restaurants that are closed for the day...

and restaurants that are getting ready to open!

Need new shoes for the journey...

and a one very old phone booth!

A view from the bottom...

and the top (thanks to a sweet gentleman at the Capitol Towers Building!)...

...and maybe, one day, from a window.

TODAY'S BIG STORY: A rare mail-order catalog perfect day with my favorite grown-up son.

Dianne ; )

One Bad Call

"We come from a long line of over-reactors." I love that line from Father of the Bride, as George Banks (played by Steve Martin) is trying to explain the irrational behavior of his side of the family and of his soon-to-be married daughter to his soon-to-be son-in-law. I absolutely identify with my own personal history of irrational behavior, and I completely relate to his explanation of that over-reacting side of a family.

I am a nuclear-reactor. I am even reading a book at this moment entitled A New Guide to Rational Living. The authors, Drs. Albert Ellis and Robert A. Harper, suggest that we reason or think ourselves out of emotional outbursts and neurotic behavior. They recommend using words such as unfortunate, disappointed and irritated instead of my personal favorites - horrible, awful and terrible! They also propose that we deprogandize our stories or situations. I am really trying to practice logic and reason as a means of finding balance in situations and circumstances, but as a storyteller, propaganda is life! The more emotional the story, the better the plot! The more neurotic the behavior, the more memorable the characters!

No where is that more clearly illustrated than little league baseball! I am now at the point in my life where I can be truly embarrassed for my children and how I behaved when they played team sports. No one could convince me otherwise at the time. Only now, when I look at those videos and hear my loud mouth above everyone else, am I thoroughly convinced that George Banks doesn't hold a candle to me. All I have to do is look up the thesaurus synonyms for irrational, and I totally belong somewhere in the word group. Total Chernobyl!

Of course, my softball daughters and my baseball son pretty much knew what to expect from me. They were familiar with my multiple personalities on the ball field - from supportive mother to little league terrorist. Somehow, they continued to love me in spite of my behavior - stories which are still told in little league and family circles twenty years later.

TODAY'S BIG STORY: There is nothing like a big sports story, and today was one of the biggest. We played a team for the district championship, and the weight of the win rested squarely on Matt's shoulders. He was the last batter, and he did not swing at pitch that was clearly a dirt ball. We lost the game by one run. Of course, they had home field advantage and the umpire advantage as they were all clearly cheaters! I was so mad and furious that I did not recognize myself. But what hurt me worse than the loss was when I saw my own young daughter behaving just like me - screaming at the umpire and the opposing team. The only person that really mattered or needed our support was Matt; but, sometimes the sensational headline-making story becomes more important than one very important person at the center of it all.

ONE BAD CALL

Only one decision could have changed the way

everything turned out that day.

It was the Championship Game on Field # 3;

the final inning, and the win up to me.

We had one last chance,

and I was up to bat.

I am eight-years-old, and my name is Matt.

First pitch – STRIKE ONE!

I swung and missed.

Second pitch – STRIKE TWO.

I fouled to first.

Third pitch – low ball in the dirt.

STRIKE THREE! YOU’RE OUT!

I threw my bat on the ground!

I took off my helmet and threw it down!

I lifted my head and looked all around.

Hey! No way! This is not fair!

And then – right then –

one word boomed out into the air!

CHEEEEETAHHHHS!

Not one thing in that ballpark was the way it use to be!

Suddenly, I didn’t recognize anyone looking at me!

Nothing was the way I remembered it at all –

everything had changed with that one bad call!

My mom had stretched her scaly neck over the fence,

and smoke was coming out her ears.

She was a fire-breathing dragon

with piggy-nostrils all flared and red eyes filled with tears.

Dad, my assistant coach, had turned into a ferocious grizzly bear,

pacing back and forth in front of the caged den of cubs,

where there used to be a dugout filled with fourteen subs.

Dad was growling and howling and beating his hairy chest!

I didn’t know what to do!

Then I looked at our scorekeeper,

who was a big green cockatoo!

I heard her shriek with a voice like a bird,

over and over again, the same four words!

“Bad Call! Bad Call!

Dirt Ball! Dirt Ball!

Bad Call! Bad Call!

Dirt Ball! Dirt Ball!”

Our fans thundered like a herd of stomping wildebeest,

and the other team’s fans were heckling hyenas,

or that's what I saw, at least!

Inside the other dugout were monkeys swinging in a cage,

screaming and scratching and pointing in rage!

Then, out on the field stood two coaches – Oh no! What next?

My favorite little league coach was a tyrannosaurus rex!

He pounded toward the umpire who made the bad call.

He never said a word, but his look said it all.

The other team’s coach was a bouncing kangaroo.

His son, the pitcher, was sitting in his pouch,

jumping up and down like kangaroos do.

I turned around behind me and looked the umpire in the eye.

He took off his head gear, and I let out a sigh.

He was still human,

and fortunately, so was I.

He started it all with one bad call,

and I knew there was just one thing I could do.

Next year, I would hit that ball long and hard

(I might even go yard!)

on strike number two!

Dianne B. McLaurin. Copyright, 1993.

It's so funny how irrational behavior works. Years later, my face still turns red when I think about that day. I still feel the embarrassment over the rants and tantrums of that raving lunatic like the game happened yesterday. I can't remember details, but I can physically feel the emotion. How absolutely incredible is that? In the book A New Guide to Rational Living, a first century philosopher Epictetus is quoted as saying, "Men feel disturbed not by things, but by the views they take of them." Also quoted is William Shakespeare in Hamlet, "There exists nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so."

Everybody gets one bad call, sometimes one per day. Just remember, we all come from a long line of humans.

Dianne ; )

No Backtracking

I will never forget the Blizzard of 1993. I was reminded of the crazy snowstorm as I watched a movie version of the Laura Ingalls Wilder story this week. Oh my gosh! All that North Dakota snow! Who would ever want to settle down in a place that required so much and yielded so little? And yet throughout the story, the family kept repeating the same confirmation, "No backtracking!"

I had the same obstinate spirit during that blizzard that blanketed the southeastern United States. My family and I had planned a Gatlinburg, Tennessee vacation for the week of Spring Break. I had made reservations at a mountain chalet and had scripted each day like the director of a documentary movie crew. What I did not factor into that week-long trip was a blizzard!

My husband's trepidation started with the first snowflake. His comments ranged from I think we should cancel the trip to You can go, but the kids and I are staying here. As the snow piled up in central Mississippi, so did the concerns of every member of my immediate family to my extended family to my dead and buried ancestors.

No one thought we should go on the trip...except me. I was obstinate, and eventually I won! My husband and I loaded up our four-year-old, five-year-old, and ten-year old, dressed in their matching sweatsuits, and we headed for the mountains. What a mistake!

We got as far as Meridian, Mississippi (about forty miles from home), and I knew that this vacation would forever reposition the decision-making weight in our family. I knew that the "blizzard vacation" would come up in every future argument and would long be remembered as "your mother's decision."

Interstate traffic was backed up as far as the eye could see, and we had not even reached the Mississippi state line. We were moving at a snail's pace - about five miles every thirty minutes. David kept suggesting that we turn back after every successfully completed mile. But, I had the pioneer spirit! No backtracking! Things are going to get better. This is the South! The snow will melt! It won't last a day!

Things didn't get better. The snow did not melt. It did last...a week! We left at 9:00 a.m. on Sunday morning, and at 9:00 p.m., we had traveled as far as Gadsen, Alabama. We had slipped and slid on the icy interstate, done a complete 360 on black ice and smashed our bumper when we crashed into a guard rail. Plus, after twelve hours of driving and not being allowed to exit off the interstate, my three backseat passengers were ready to totally combust! David had lost any ability to communicate, because of the extreme driving conditions. And, I just kept telling everyone in the car that Mommy made a mistake, which no one wanted to hear.

David decided to carefully maneuver our car down a slippery exit in Gadsen and attempt to coast to the Days Inn parking lot. He went inside to secure a room for the night, and I will never forget the look on my little boy's face when he came back to the car. "Kids, (he had completely stopped acknowledging my existence) I don't know how to tell you this, but we are going to have to sleep in the car. There are no rooms in Gadsen or in any of the surrounding areas."

Matt, my four-year-old, fell back on the seat and said, "I don't want to stay in this car another minute!" And right at that moment, as if we were in some kind of made-for-television movie, a young reservation clerk knocked on our car window. I rolled down the window, and in a perfectly angelic voice, she said, "If you would like, the manager has asked me to offer and prepare the banquet room for your family to stay tonight."

We were greeted in the banquet room with hot chocolate, roll-away beds and the most beautiful chandelier I think I have even seen in my life. The kids played Beauty and the Beast and danced the night away. The next morning, I took a picture of the kids under the chandelier. I took a picture of the kids (in their matching sweatsuits) with the hotel manager. I took a picture of the kids with the wrecked car. I even took a picture of my husband drinking a hot cup of coffee in two feet of snow.

We finally made it to Gatlinburg two days later, but we were not able to reach our chalet. The blizzard had completely shut down all mountain traffic. We were, however, able to stay in a five-star hotel with an indoor swimming pool for $19.00 a night. We walked to a local outlet mall, bought bathing suits and played in the steamy swimming pool. We never went to a single planned destination during the entire week.

This past summer, I became completely absorbed in the book Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert, another unconventional pioneer of sorts. I finished reading it two days before the movie premier, and I was second in line to buy a ticket. I absolutely love one quote in the book:

~~Virginia Woolf wrote, “Across the broad continent of a woman’s life falls the shadow of a sword. On one side of that sword, she said, there lies convention and tradition and order, where “all is correct.” But on the other side of that sword, if you’re crazy enough to cross it and choose a life that does not follow convention, “all is confusion. Nothing follows a regular course.” Her argument was that the crossing of the shadow of that sword may bring a far more interesting existence to a woman, but you can bet it will also be more perilous.~~

I think about the perilous and unconventional journey of Laura Ingalls Wilder, the slightly perilous and unconventional journey of Elizabeth Gilbert and even the briefly perilous and unconventional journey of that obstinate vacation planner. I understand a little more about the defiant confirmation of "No backtracking." Everytime I am tempted to wish that my life would have followed a different course, I realize that I am backtracking. I am wishing for a life (or vacation) where "all is correct." But, when I am "crazy enough" to "choose a life that does not follow convention", I almost feel like a pioneer - perils and all.

The Tomorrow Trunk seemed unconventional and crazy twenty years ago. At times, it still does. But, at some point, I said, "No backtracking," and what a difference that decision has made.

Dianne ; )

Mainly Afternoon Showers

Today is a rainy day in Mississippi. I think people who write love rainy days, because they feel a little like everyone else. On sunny days, writing seems like an unlikely thing to do. I really have to battle being indoors when it's beautiful outside. Too much sunshine, too much blue sky, too much fresh air, too much beach! I can hardly bear to be sitting at a computer when I know I could be sitting on the sand. So I usually follow stages of progression that lead me outside. First, I raise the blinds. At least, I can SEE the blue skies. Then I raise the windows or open the door, so I can FEEL the warm sunshine or SMELL the fresh air. Finally, I just press save and shut down - too much distraction for the senses! I gather up all my goodies - mp3 player, journal and pencil, favorite book, cell phone, camera - and put them in my bicycle basket. As I jump on my bike, I acknowledge the fact that I look like an unemployed beach bum and that I should be doing something constructive; but then I think, I'll just save all that productiveness for a rainy day...

...like today. When my youngest son was a toddler, it did not take him long to associate certain phases with disappointment or dismay. Of course, time out was at the top of the list, as was 'jamas on. However, the funniest phases had to do with weather. As a stay-at-home mom, early morning forecasts were very important to me. I usually started my morning with the television meteorologist, and his forecast always helped in planning my day or ruining my day...as Matt soon learned.

TODAY'S BIG STORY: Matt is so funny about the morning "weatherman". He thinks that the weatherman decides what the weather will be for the day during his morning broadcast, like the daily horoscope. I used to laugh at this notion, until I actually looked up meteorologist in my thesaurus. I found synonyms such as fortune teller, sorcerer, seer, oracle...oh, and finally there it is, forecaster. To Matt, the weatherman is like a palm reader or prophet who has the power to predict the future of the day. I can't help but laugh when the weatherman predicts mainly afternoon showers! It's like the kiss of death for a day of playing outside! When Matt hears the phrase, he just crosses his arms and stomps back to bed. "Not mainly afternoon showers!" he responds in disgust. Today, I have decided to use the rainy day opportunity to sit at my desk and write my own weather story for the Tomorrow Trunk. My forecast is that the story will be read on many rainy days to come.

MAINLY AFTERNOON SHOWERS

The weatherman woke me up this morning, and this is what he said.
"Mainly afternoon showers."
I ran back to bed and covered my head.

A mostly sunny day, or partly cloudy - that's okay,
but not mainly afternoon showers - not today.

A good hard freeze, a nice southerly breeze,
but no mainly afternoon showers - please.

Lots of sunlight, not a cloud in sight,
but not mainly afternoon showers.
(How about showers overnight?)

A chance of snow, a high or low,
but no mainly afternoon showers...no, No, NO!

No fair and clear, no fair for here,
just mainly afternoon showers everywhere.

No shadow to chase, no strong wind to face,
only mainly afternoon showers all over the place.

It's inside for napping, for waiting and sitting,
inside for reading and rocking and wishing -
inside for mainly afternoon showers.

Then I heard the weatherman say something else.
All of a sudden, I shook myself!
"Whatever you plan to do, do it this morning!"

Gotta get up! Gotta get moving!
No time for sleeping, for snoring or snoozing!

I jump out of bed, my feet hit the floor
to the playground, to the park, to the great outdoors!

No time to waste, no time to worry!
No time for waiting! Hurry! Hurry!

Mainly afternoon showers are coming this way.
Skies that are blue will soon turn to gray.
But I can't let them stop me today-
I still have the whole morning to PLAY!

Dianne B. McLaurin. Copyright, 1992.

Weather has always been big news at our house. The Weather Channel is still a family favorite! But, weather has also been a metaphor for life. Clouds, rain, silver linings, storms, sunshine - I have weathered them all. Sometimes I think about buying a laptop, so that I can take it outside and write on sunny days. But, I have learned a good lesson from Matt. Mainly afternoon showers are on the way, so take advantage of the time that you have to play!

Dianne ; )

Sepia Tone Life

My kids always say that I try to live life in sepia tone, which is their photographic way of saying that I'm out-dated. They try to advise me that today's generation is saturation, not sepia tone. Lots of bells and whistles, graphics and gadgets. I disagree. I think within every small child is a sepia tone life that is just too quiet to be heard above all the saturated noise that supposedly entertains them. Pause for just a moment, tune out the noise and allow a small amount of sepia to seep into your saturated life.

Sepia Sailing!

Sepia Beaches!

Sepia Settings!

Sepia Shells!

Sepia Babies!

Sepia Love!

Share a little sepia with someone you love!

Dianne ; )