The Art of Lists

People have been writing lists for years.  Cave women probably chiseled lists into rock.  

• 1. Skin Woolly Mammoth
• 2. Make bone broth and freeze extra.
• 3. Construct Woolly Mammoth ponchos for family.

Pioneer women didn't need lists because they had that "work" poem to keep them on the righteous track. 

I have never been one for lists, other than the occasional grocery list.  I leave list writing for the Type A's and the people who can't keep everything they need to do in their heads.  Because I remember absolutely everything.

Kristen, practicing the extreme sport of list writing while climbing a mountain.

My Starbucks friend, Kristen, loves to write lists.  Kristen has a stockpile of slim tablets and cool pens for this purpose.  Kristen will write daily lists, weekly lists, personal daily lists, work weekly lists, and . . . you get the idea.  After completing a task, she marks it off with an efficient check mark.  The kind your 4th grade teacher used to make on your math worksheet, before worksheets were deemed evil.  I would watch Kristen write and complete her lists, while finished the dregs of my hours old dark roast.  What was I getting accomplished while Kristen changed the world?  Not much.

Ah?  Kristen???  Is it cheating to have "Finish climbing this mountain" on your list?  Just asking.

(What?  You haven't met Kristen?  Here is a link to a previous post about her. For the technically challenged, you need to right click on the words "Starbucks Friend." STARBUCKS FRIEND)  

Yes!  This is exactly how I want my Summer holiday to be!

Summer holiday has taken the structure out of my life. (I like how "Summer holiday" sounds instead of "Summer vacation." "Holiday" sounds like I have more money than I actually do.) Tuesday, I was still in my jammies at 11:00 AM.  My biggest accomplishment was cutting up half a cantaloupe for the kids.
While sitting on the couch, watching the kids devour my accomplishment of the day, a foreign thought ran through my head. Maybe I should start writing lists and stop spending my days rolling around like a buffalo in the dust.  So.  I wrote a list. 

Of course Starbucks was first on the list.  I needed the temporary energy a venti dark roast with light cream would provide.  

A crazy thing happened - the list motivated me to get going.  I enjoyed crossing things off and moving onto the next thing. Then several days passed without writing a list and I got that "buffalo rolling in dust" feeling.  So, I wrote another list.  Off I went - doing stuff and crossing things off.  Then it occurred to me that I was doing things and not getting any "credit for them.  (I am a teacher after all and like to get credit even if it is fake credit.)  I decided to add the category, "Extras", to my list.  BAM!  Now I could record other things I was doing that kept me from my list.  If that makes any sense.

WAY too advanced.  Whoever designed this should get extra credit.

I have been hearing about bullet journals on some of my podcast. Apparently bullet journals are a sophisticated way to write lists that involve cool notebooks and different colored pens.  (Two things I adore.)  Devotees of bullet journals claimed they are a life changer. I searched bullet journals on Pinterest and couldn't grasp all the crazy rules.  If I am going to adhere to insane rules, I am going to create them myself.

Must be time to get out the notepad and write a list.

The questions remain.  

• Will I morph into a Type A list writing gal?  
• Will I nimbly power through impossibly long lists with ease?  
• Will I answer the bullet journal's siren song?
• OR will I only write lists on those "buffalo rolling in the dust" days.

Prairie Eydie 

The Art of Tripping - Part II

Mom and Aunt Linda wouldn't be smiling if they actually had to cook in this rustic kitchen.  Can you believe Pioneers didn't have microwaves?  Sheesh.  

I have returned from the Laura Ingalls Wilder trip I took with my mom, aunt, niece, and daughter.  I would have to say the trip was an overall hit.  We're already discussing next year's trip to DeSmet, South Dakota.  This gives everyone a full year to finish reading "The Little House" series.

Can't you just imagine Laura barreling down this hill to play in the creek?  Of course, she would finish her chores first.  

There is power in visiting the residences of your hero.  Part of our trip involved trekking to Plum Creek where the Ingalls family lived from 1874 - 1876.  They moved on after three consecutive crop failures.  (I thought of this yesterday when complaining to a barista that my skinny vanilla latte tasted weird.)  The dugout the family lived in has since collapsed, but the exact location and perimeter is marked with some sad, saggy rope.  (I think red-velvet cording would be more appropriate as Laura is pioneer royalty.) The earth is sunken where the dugout used to be. 

Illustrator, Garth Williams, made everything look look sweet and whimsical.  Have you ever been inside a dugout?  It is super creepy.  Yes.  Creepy.  

I stood next to the dugout and imagined what it was like to be Laura.  The dugout's perimeter was not big.  How a family of five survived in that space through a winter is beyond me.  My own mother kept repeating, "In the book, Ma said the dugout was COZY."  Maybe next winter I can recreate the Ingalls' experience by moving my family, and all our necessities, into the mud room.  It would be fun to see how long that would last.

I understand why Pa stopped the wagon at Plum Creek.  The creek is delightful.  It is clear, quick moving, and shaded in parts by plum thickets.  Gold star to my mom for thinking to look for plum trees.   Birds sang, while the wind ran its fingers through the trees.  (I will now summarize to spare you from this descriptive passage.)  Plum Creek is idyllic.  

Prairie gals on Laura's sunny prairie rock.  (Gold star if you can find Lulu in the shadows.)  

Laura writes about playing on a rock in the book, On the Banks of Plum Creek.  The rock is still there, though it is not located where she described it in the book.  The "Little House" books are historical fiction, not biography or memoir.  Laura's first book was published when she was 65.  Her memory was good, but not perfect.  

To be honest, the Laura Ingalls Wilder museums in Pepin, Wisconsin and Walnut Grove, Minnesota are merely okay.  The museums house few of Laura and her family's belongings.  Disclaimers, like the following, are common:  "This platter is similar to the one Laura and Almanzo used in the book, The First Four Years."  OR  "This buffalo coat is similar to the one Pa wore when he braved a blizzard and ate all of the Christmas candy and oyster crackers while burrowed in a snow bank."  In Pepin you will only find Laura's sewing basket and a quilt that belonged to both Laura and her daughter, Rose.  In Walnut Grove there is a TON of memorabilia from the "Little House" TV show.  But, all the "fake" Laura items brought the books to life for my niece and daughter.  

Laura - autographing books for her fans.

Laura has been such a role model to me.  She has taught me to get up every time I fall down, to find joy in simple things, and to value family and friends.  Her strong spirit continues to inspire me.  It is a great feeling to know I have passed on my love of Laura to my daughter (not sure about the rest of the crew).  

Who inspires you?

Prairie Eydie

Little Lulu on the Prairie.  My job as a mother is now complete.

    

The Art of Tripping - Part I

Oh.  And absolutely NO firearms.  But I will pack plenty of water.  Things might have turned out differently if Thelma and Louise had stayed hydrated.  

I am in the process of getting ready for a Girls' Road Trip.  Now, now - wipe all visions of Thelma and Louis outta your head. There will be no foul language, hard liquor, or dangerous situations involving a greasy Brad Pitt.  The girls on this particular trip are my mom, aunt, niece, and daughter.  My mini-van will be pointing west, so we can visit the stomping grounds of Laura Ingalls Wilder.  Woot Woot!

Pa - getting ready for a day in the field.  No grasshopper infestation today!

First stop is Pepin, Wisconsin where Laura was born.  Second stop is Walnut Grove, Minnesota where On the Banks of Plum Creek take place.  The television show, Little House on the Prairie, was supposedly set in Walnut Grove.  Truth?  The show was filmed in nine different California and Arizona locations.  So, Michael Landon did not strip down and plow up a wheat field in Walnut Grove.  

Notice that nowhere in this post have I called this "trip" a "vacation".  I stopped vacationing 13 years ago, when I had my first child.  I finally figured out the difference between vacations and trips when I had my second child.  (No one has ever accused me of being a fast learner.)

  
Vacations imply lots of unstructured lolly-gagging time, meals eaten in restaurants, and not keeping track of time.  (A question just occurred to me.  Did Ma Ingalls EVER go on vacation?  Or was her entire life milking cows, making Johnnycakes, and bolstering Pa's ego?)  Before I knew the difference, I would go on family "vacations" and still prepare meals, manifest snacks, wash dishes and organize laundry.  Where was the vacation? I would return home disappointed and exhausted with piles of unpacking to deal with.  (Packing and unpacking is drudgery to be plodded through in order to leave your house.  It is worth it.)  When I finally understood that trips were happening and not vacations, my disappointment dissipated and I could deal with it.

But, back to the Girls' Trip.  Being a controlling reading specialist,   I required all the girls to read a minimum of two books - Little House in the Big Woods and On the Banks of Plum Creek. Rereading the books with my daughter has been wonderful.  Laura Ingalls should be added to the list of heroic women who persisted.  Here are a couple reasons why:

•  Laura figured out what to do when the cattle were eating the wheat while Pa and Ma were buying calico in town.  (She screamed and waved her arms for hours.)  
• Laura managed not to slap the nefarious Nellie Olsen.  
• Laura consistently pushed the boundaries of adventure because she was curious and not content to sit in the dugout and sew her boring nine-patch quilt.     

Today I need to vacuum the van, buy snacks at Costco, and book a hotel with a pool.  Oh, and most importantly, finish reading On the Banks of Plum Creek.  

Prairie Eydie 

The Art of Drudgery

It is four weeks into summer vacation and the drudgery of making my kids three meals a day, plus snacks, has set in.  All I do is fill the dishwasher, plan my next trip to Costco, and think of snarky answers to the question, "What's for dinner, mom?"

One evening I said, "You guys aren't hungry again.  Are you?  You just ate lunch and I am not even done cleaning up the kitchen."  My questions and declarations were met with blank stares.  "If you are hungry, figure it out because I am done."   My oldest just gave me that "tween look" and stalked off to be by himself.  My middle child chugged a Mason jar of sun tea (HE is the one I worry the most about.) and my youngest tore into flour tortillas.  

Luckily, the next day I came across this quote:

(I am sure you are wondering, as was I, who Logan Pearsall Smith was.  According to Wikipedia, he was an American-born British essayist and critic.  He was know for his aphorisms and epigrams and was an expert on 17th Century divines.  An expert!!!  I don't know about you, but Mr. Smith's career sounds like drudgery to me.  So his words are extra meaningful.)

This quote made me stop and think.  I have many vocations that involve drudgery.  I am a mom, a teacher, and a person.  (The later is something I often have to remind my students and children of.)  

Being a mother means making many, many meals.  Meals means washing out the disgusting crock pot and figuring out what to make.  Snack means cutting up countless watermelons and pineapples.  But.  I want my kids to eat real food, so I just do what needs to be done.  

Maybe if my students saw this "old school" cover they wouldn't want to read the book anymore.  

Being a teacher means I have to read the same books year after year because I know students respond to them.  I have to psyche myself up annually to read Walter Dean Meyer's Somewhere In the Darkness.  Every year students tell me it was their favorite book.  Personally I would love to leave the main characters, Jimmy and Crab, in the darkness and move on to something else.  But, I push through because I want my students to love books.  I want them to be able to answer the question, "What is  your favorite book."  

Being a person with many interests means lots and lots of drudgery.  If I want organic veggies and shasta daisies, I have to water and weed the gardens.  Writing blog posts means lots and lots of horrible first drafts and ideas that go nowhere.  (Like Part 2 of Rereading Anne of Green Gables.)    

Drudgery needs to be reframed.  I need to erase the vision of me wearing gray, mascara moons under my eyes, plodding from point A to point B and back again.  What if I think of drudgery as part of the process?  The process of raising healthy kids, literate students, and a creative lifestyle.

What do you think?

Prairie Eydie

The Art of Rereading Anne of Green Gables

Mr. Cliburn - I promise to read Moscow Nights in August.  First I have to finish the Anne of Green Gables series.  

I finished rereading Anne of Green Gables last night; the last time I read this book was in elementary school.  I know.  I told my Dad, the beloved Prairie Pa, I would ditch dreamy Anne Shirley to read up on the Cold War crushing pianist, Van Cliburn.  But, I couldn't stop myself from returning to Avonlea and the cozy, well-ordered life Marilla and Matthew Cuthbert, created for the red-headed orphan they adopted from the asylum.  (The author's use of the word asylum bothered me, but I guess that is how it was in 1908.)  Marilla and Matthew were a brother/sister team who weren't sure how to raise an 11 year old girl. Marilla made all the decisions and Matthew kept his oars out of the water . . . or did he?  

If I had a brain, I would not have let my mom highlight my hair.  

Anne's mishaps and heartaches were both ridiculous and real.  She wanted to dye her red hair black, but instead it turned out witch-hag green.  I once tried to add bright, blonde highlights to my brown hair and turned out looking like Ray Bolger in The Wizard of Oz. Plus I, like Anne, refused to redye my hair so I would learn to be humble.  True story.  Another time Anne added liniment to a cake she was baking for the pastor's wife.  Why just last week I made beef and broccoli in the slow cooker and forgot to add the soy sauce and sesame oil. Granted, it was for my kids and not the pastor's wife, but it was a major flop.  Oh- Oh!!!  Then there was the time Anne found herself clinging to a piling, after her boat sank, while she was pretending to be dead. That reminds me of when I . . . . . actually, I've got nothing.

What surprised me was my reaction at the book's ending. (SPOILER ALERT:  Stop reading this blog if you plan on reading this amazing classic.  I figured it was okay to discuss the ending since Anne of Green Gables has been out for 100+ years.)  Matthew dies at the end of the book. He dies reading a letter informing him his bank failed and all his money was gone.  As a kid, I read a Reader's Digest type Anne of Green Gables because I vividly remember Anne finding Matthew dead under a tree.

A sure way to motivate kids to read less.  

As I was reading the chapter called "The Reaper Whose Name is Death" (How is that for subtle foreshadowing?), I started crying real tears.  The kind of tears that slip down your cheeks and you can't stop them.  The kind of tears I shed when Beth dies in Little Women.  My son, Gus, was reading next to me and noticed my tears.  He remarked, "Yeah.  If you were in school your teacher would now make you STOP reading, take out a post-it note, and jot down your feelings about Matthew dying.  Do you feel like doing that now, Mom?  Huh? Huh?"  Okay.  I refuse to jump down the rabbit hole of forcing students to stop the flow of enjoying a book to jot down some nonsense on a post-it.  Kids HATE jotting and it actually makes them want to read less, but teachers think they are monitoring comprehension.  Oops.  Again, I am not going down that rabbit hole.

Dear, dear Matthew.  I tear up just looking at this picture.   

But back to Matthew's death.  He was so sweet and good and reliable.  (How was this man single?  Did I mention he was good with tools and could probably fix things around the house?  I would have snapped him up pronto.)  

• It was Matthew who got Marilla to indulge Anne in fashionable puffed sleeves and flounces.
• It was Matthew who enjoyed listening to Anne's stories and dreams.  He was really listening and not just thinking of what to say next.
• Matthew's belief in Anne motivated her to be the top student in her class.  The reward of Matthew's sweet approval was enough motivation for Anne to study her heinie off.  

Matthew, a bachelor farmer, gave me some important parenting tips:
Listen to your children.
Believe in your children.
Indulge your children in trendy clothes.

Today is the 4th of July and the library is closed.  So, I am off to Barnes and Noble to buy the next book in the series, Anne of Avonlea.  Titter.  Titter.  I think Anne's romance with Gilbert is about to take off.

Prairie Eydie