More Light to Read

On the third Thursday evening of each month, people gather at the Ashland Kroc Center to explore and celebrate the written word. In this writer’s group, we study the various tools of the trade, use writing prompts to practice our skills, and applaud the small successes of our members as our words find a home on the pages of newspapers, magazines and books.

From time to time, we speak of an author whose writing has been influential, or of a book that’s especially meaningful to us. Retired pastor Tom Snyder recently suggested a small volume available from the Ashland Public Library, “A Lowcountry Heart: Reflections on a Writing Life” by Pat Conroy, and what a gem it has proven to be. I’ve been a Conroy fan for years, first discovering the passion of the southern novelist in “Beach Music,” jotting down these words that resonated deeply: “For without music, life is a journey through a desert that has not ever heard the rumor of God.” As I often have over the years, I then sought out the author’s other works, reading through the rest of his novels, including “The Great Santini,” “The Water is Deep,” and “The Prince of Tides.”

Now, more than fifteen years after my binge-reading of Conroy’s novels, I was meeting up with Pat Conroy again, this time through his words as assembled by his widow, Cassandra King. As I read through the collected blog posts, essays and speeches, I was welcomed into the world of author book tours “when I’ll be running my mouth and signing my books until I’m mercifully released to return to my writing desk,” and of “the first itch of the novel I’m supposed to write.”

I was pleased to discover that since my early acquaintance with Conroy’s work, he’d written another novel, “South of Broad,” which I checked out of the library on Monday. Opening its pages on Tuesday, I started to read. With a column deadline looming and a garden begging to be weeded, I kept reading. With a twinge of guilt, I read on, rationalizing my inability to put the book down by convincing myself that part of the work of a writer is to read. I turned the last of the 512 pages on Wednesday evening.

Reaching the end of my marathon read, I was sad to bid farewell to the carefully crafted characters who infuse Conroy’s writing. Leo King and his high school friends, including the twins and the orphans, had “grabbed me by the collar,” and I sensed what Conroy explained in his essay, “Why I Write”: “Few things linger longer or become more indwelling than that feeling of both completion and emptiness when a great book ends.”

What is it about the world of story that keeps my bedside light on until 3 a.m.? Here’s how Conroy explains it: “Writers of the world, if you’ve got a story, I want to hear it. My soul will dance with pleasure, and it’ll change the quality of all my waking hours. You will hearten me and brace me up for the hard days . . . I reach for a story to save my own life. Always. It clears the way for me and makes me resistant to all the false promises signified by the ring of power. In every great story, I encounter a head-on collision with self and imagination.”

In Tolkien’s Middle Earth, J.K. Rowling’s Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, John Grisham’s Camino Island, Louise Penny’s Three Pines, or Conroy’s beloved city of Charleston, we’re led to new neighborhoods and new companions who will remain with us for many years to come. Even if no travel is on our horizon, as Dr. Seuss explains, “The more that you read, the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you’ll go.”

Jeannette Walls tells us, “One benefit of summer was that each day we had more light to read by.” I plan to take advantage of the extra light, the backyard hammock, and the lure of story in the summer of 2017, and I hope you’ll join me in a “head-on collision with self and imagination.” Happy reading!

Father-Love

Contrary to popular opinion, neither Mother’s Day nor Father’s Day was invented by Hallmark. Mother’s Day had its origins in Mothering Sundays within the church, and in the “Mother’s Work Days,” part of the peace and reconciliation campaign following the Civil War, which attempted to bring the mothers of Union and Confederate soldiers together.

Julia Ward Howe, an abolitionist and suffragette, issued a Mother’s Day Proclamation in 1870, calling for mothers to unite to promote world peace. But it wasn’t until 1908 that Anna Jarvis was able to spearhead the movement to make Mother’s Day a national holiday. Because of her efforts, President Woodrow Wilson signed a bill in 1914, proclaiming the second Sunday in May as a national Mother’s Day.

Efforts to boost a similar Father’s Day didn’t meet with the same success, perhaps because, as one unknown writer noted, men “scoffed at the holiday’s sentimental attempts to domesticate manliness with flowers and gift-giving, or they derided the proliferation of such holidays as the commercial gimmick to sell more products – often paid for by the father himself.” Although the day began to be recognized during the twentieth century, it wasn’t until 1972 that President Nixon officially declared the third Sunday in June as Father’s Day. Considering the National Retail Foundation projection that $15.5 billion dollars will be spent on Father’s Day this year, that writer’s words were prophetic.

While the average spending of $134.75 per shopper can buy quite a few ties and socks, it still pales in comparison to the $186 spent per shopper on Mother’s Day, probably due to the higher cost of the gift items than the measure of the worth of mom or dad. Now, many millennials are choosing experiential types of gifts instead of cologne, but I’m hoping our sons don’t decide to take their dad zip-lining for Father’s Day. Just saying . . .

Greeting cards and gifts have become part of the tradition, but beyond those, Father’s Day provides us a way to honor the men among us who have had a pivotal role in our own formation.

For me, the word father is personified in three generations of men. First, in my own father, gone now for nearly a dozen years. As exhausted as he must have been from long hours on the construction site each day, he was never too tired or too grumpy for his kids, or for the nieces, nephews, or neighbor kids who needed his attention. His commitment to his children is best seen in this image: at age fifteen, I wanted to participate in a march to raise funds for world hunger, and so my father walked alongside me for twenty-two miles. Umberto Eco’s words describe my dad perfectly: “I believe that what we become depends on what our fathers teach us at odd moments, when they aren’t trying to teach us. We are formed by little scraps of wisdom.”  

As Larry and I entered the world of parenting, we quickly discovered how clueless we were as to how to raise a child. Yet his presence, through diaper blow-outs and tire blow-outs, peewee football games and high school band concerts, and even a recent ill-advised ride on the Gatekeeper at Cedar Point, has been a constant in the lives of our sons.

The delightful Elizabeth Holiday, who just celebrated her second birthday, often reaches into my purse and fishes out my phone, demanding, “Baby, baby?” She wants me to show her the video of her first moments of life, as the nurses observe her to determine her Apgar score. In the background, she hears our son: “It’s OK, baby girl. It’s daddy’s voice.” If she can’t quite understand it now, one day she will recognize the promise made by her father as captured in those precious seconds of video. “I’m here.”

Harlan Coben understands: “This is the price you pay for having a great father. You get the wonder, the joy, the tender moments – and you get the tears at the end, too.” I’m grateful for the tender moments I’ve experienced through the father-love so generously given in our family, and shining in the lives of families throughout our community. Happy Father’s Day.

Fun, Even When Raining

Having hosted a seven-year-old and an almost two-year-old at the Shade homestead for almost twenty-four hours, it was time to get outside and do something. Going to the park was at the top of the list for the lovely Madelyn Simone and the delightful Elizabeth Holiday, but the weather refused to cooperate with us. I had noticed a couple of photos on social media taken at the Little Buckeye Children’s Museum in downtown Mansfield, but I’d never checked it out before – perhaps that would be a good option for a dreary Ohio afternoon.

A museum for a toddler and a soon-to-be second grader? Merriam-Webster defines a museum as an institution devoted to the procurement, care, study, and display of objects of lasting interest or value. It sounded kind of stuffy to me, and I worried a bit as I drove into downtown Mansfield. Could we really spend more than an hour in a museum, I wondered, as we primed the parking meter for a two hour stay? Located in a somewhat nondescript storefront, we quickly discovered that its unassuming exterior belied a bevy of activity taking place within its walls. There’s no way the LBCM can be described as “stuffy.”

What a wonder-filled space for children! As the girls began to explore, each new doorway opened up a new adventure. They took turns in the dental chair, checked out the beauty salon, loaded their shopping carts with food from the grocery store shelves, and climbed into the tree house. Elizabeth gazed with wide eyes at the miniature train that wound its way around the track, and wandered for quite some time with a magnifying glass glued to her face, checking out the nature room butterflies.

Elizabeth and I spent quite some time in the room especially created for the two and under crowd, as she stacked cups and carefully placed colorful rings on their base. She’s still at the age where she stays engaged with one activity for quite some time, so it was a nice break to sit on the floor with her while she practiced her fine motor skills.

There’s a fascinating exhibit (the Gravitron) where the children arrange shapes on a magnetic wall, and then propel a ping pong ball along its track, patiently making adjustments so the ball wouldn’t fly off the track. How fast did the ball need to go? Early physics lessons at work.

When I spotted the three-level water table, I cringed, realizing I hadn’t brought a change of clothes for the girls, less-than-prepared grandmother that I am. Yet the museum had an answer, a variety of waterproof smocks and raincoats that did their best to keep the clothes dry. Madelyn worked on building a pipe system for the water, while Elizabeth was content with dumping the funnels into the water (and sometimes on her belly). As her courage grew, the little one decided to test out the water by ducking her head into it, a sign it was time to move on!

I appreciated the way local businesses and groups were integrated into the museum. The theater space is called the Little Ren, connected to the Renaissance Theater. Adena Contruction sponsored the construction zone, where kids wear hard hats and build to their hearts’ content. The Optimist room allows the children to design and build structures with super-sized Lego-like objects. Speaking of super-size, even fast food gets into the act, as McDonalds offers a pretend restaurant with the familiar golden arches.

I’m not sure “museum” in its traditional sense is the best description for this interactive facility. Nothing is preserved behind glass, and the children are allowed and even encouraged to make noise, touch ‘artifacts,’ and climb on displays, as they themselves become a part of the exhibits. It seems to me that at LBCM, the lasting value of the experiences of its patrons is what’s being preserved – especially in the memories created within its walls.

Most museums have a formal mission statement, but I like the tag line of verbs that runs through the LBCM: Notice. Wonder. Question. Play. A perfect mission as summer days beckon us on. We’ll be back, Little Buckeye!