I am delightfully Booked!

I've loved books ever since I can remember. I love the smell of them, the weight in my hand, the touch of the cover. Books have always meant excitement, something new, mysteries revealed.

My Aunt Elsie worked at Scott, Foresman Publishing for 48 years. She started out in the typing pool, became secretary to Mr. Scott somewhere down the line, and later became a Special Editor in the Math department. That's how she retired.

Aunt Elsie would bring books to her obnoxious niece often, and each time, whether it was a copy of the newest Dick and Jane, Numbers Are Fun, or 1001 Arabian Nights, I was delighted. I considered myself an extremely lucky kid back then. We lived on the southwest outskirts of Chicago at the time and the closest branch library was quite a few bus rides away into the city. The parents on our block, mine included, didn't think it was worth the money spent on the ride. So, my books got passed around. In fact, I started my own lending library. (Huh, I'd actually forgotten about that until I wrote this!) I pasted little pockets made from index cards on the inside of each book with another index card labeled with book title and author on it tucked inside the pocket. The kids would write their name and date borrowed on the card which I then kept in a green metal file card box on the top of my dresser alongside my prized fantail guppies and mollies swimming about in their 5 gallon fish tank.

I also cajoled and blackmailed the neighborhood kids into taking parts in my "theatrical" productions of fairy tales. I had the complete sets of both the Brothers Grimm and Anderson's fairy tales, don't you know.

Yes, books have been a huge part of my life. Always will be.

And now I have discovered Library Thing! Ooooo...I'm so thrilled. If you love books, have books spilling out of your shelves and onto the floor like I do, and enjoy connecting with other bibliophiles then take a gander.

I've also just discovered that there is a used book store in town (McHenry IL) called Wrinkled Pages. Fiesta Days where McHenry merchants have sidewalk sales starts today. Sunday, I believe, the Old Goober and I will head to town for a look-see.

Oh, the lure, the scent of the printed page!

Why that's just Infrasonic!

Researchers make noises of pre-Columbian society
“"We've been looking at our ancient culture as if they were deaf and mute," he said. "But I think all of this is tied closely to what they did, how they thought."

Velazquez is part of a growing field of study that includes archaeologists, musicians and historians. Medical doctors are interested too, believing the Aztecs may have used sound to treat illnesses.

Noisemakers made of clay, turkey feathers, sugar cane, frog skins and other natural materials were an integral part of pre-Columbian life, found at nearly every Mayan site.

The Aztecs sounded the low, foghorn hum of conch shells at the start of ceremonies and possibly during wars to communicate strategies. Hunters likely used animal-shaped ocarinas to produce throaty grunts that lured deer.

The modern-day archaeologists who came up with the term Whistles of Death believe they were meant to help the deceased journey into the underworld, while tribes are said to have emitted terrifying sounds to fend off enemies, much like high-tech crowd-control devices available today.

Experts also believe pre-Columbian tribes used some of the instruments to send the human brain into a dream state and treat certain illnesses. The ancient whistles could guide research into how rhythmic sounds alter heart rates and states of consciousness.”

Now this fascinates me on several levels. Of course, a lot of things endlessly fascinate me, that this article does is nothing unusual. I mean, how do holes appear in relatively new screening? Without any encouragement from our cat and dog residents, that is. Bud’s computer room ceiling was covered in those voracious little mosquito beasts last evening. Yeeechhh! And how much hair can one Black Labrador Retriever shed in one day? I swear there’s enough Black Lab hair on the bathroom floor alone to fully fur a standard-sized Dachshund, and I just vacuumed the house on Saturday.

The above article fascinates me, of course, on an historical level. History is an ever unraveling mystery. The facts are never as interesting as the stories behind them; truth is always stranger than fiction. I envy archeologists, paleontologists, anthropologists, etc., etc. I envy their passion and tenacity for unraveling the mysteries of our past that help us understand our present. I wish I’d been gifted like that – a gift of focus and determination. Ah, well.

Anyhow, sound that heals? How riveting is that?! We know about the soothing qualities of some music and the irritating qualities of others – Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons as opposed to fingernails on the blackboard, Tibetan Singing Bowls as opposed to a pile driver outside our office building. So, this should not be too much of a surprise. Yet, a doctor prescribing sound to aid healing? Yes, that would be surprise.

I was just watching a Discovery Channel show yesterday about how animals “hear” the Earth. Through infrasound, a frequency too low for humans to hear, animals communicate with the Earth – at least, they are on the receiving end of Earth’s communication. The narrator implied that humans are not capable of receiving that communication from Earth. I found that interesting. It seems a vast assumption to me.

Sound is vibration, yes? Those who are deaf are able to dance through feeling the vibrations of the music. Wasn’t Marlee Matlin recently a competitor on Dancing with the Stars? Heck, I can feel my cat Fox’s purring when he lays on my chest while I’m reading in bed (between my nose and the book, of course!) before I even hear it. Why would folks put cell phones on vibrate during meetings, unless they don’t want the “ring” to be heard?

I think we are likely fully capable of receiving communications from Earth, we just aren’t trained to be aware of them. We’re too plugged into our Ipods, the boss droning on at our meeting, keeping an ear glued to the baby intercom that we don't "hear" infrasounds. Actually, we are too attuned to our own voices, self-centered species that we are.

I imagine once upon a time, a long, long time ago, we homo sapiens were quite aware of infrasounds. I can imagine that awareness might often have meant life or death for them. Perhaps our pre-columbian ancestors were so aware that they knew how to use sound for healing.

So, just thoughts for today. I believe I’ve seen one of those pre-columbian ocarinas somewhere - someone I knew had one - but for the life of me I can’t remember who or where.

Figures.

The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein

It should come as no surprise to anyone who knows me that I would read a book that was written from the POV of a dog. I am a dog person. Always have been. My first true friend was an imaginary collie named Poojie. Yes, I am a dog person. I loved Marley & Me. I currently am allowed to reside with two Labrador Retrievers. I raised Shetland Sheepdogs in my former married lifetime. Yes, I am a dog person.

So, I wept at the end of this book, even though we readers were put on alert as to how Enzo's own story would end.

Enzo travels from puppyhood, when Denny is an aspiring racecar driver, through Denny's marriage to Eve, the birth of Zoe, Eve's battle with brain cancer and her death, Denny's battle with in-laws for custody of Zoe, to Enzo's last days when Denny reaches the pinnacle of what Enzo has dreamed for him.

Enzo is the quintessential loyal Dog archetype. He's the ultimate companion in service to his master. He is Denny's amanuensis. (And Stein, his.) He serves as the mirror for Denny's fears of "not belonging or of not being approved of," as Jamie Sams puts Dog Medicine in her Medicine Cards. Enzo believes in Denny, even when Denny does not. He is Dog.

But Enzo longs to be a human. He envies our opposable thumbs and flexible tongues.
He has, as he often says, only gestures. Oh, but he does use those gestures well! i.e. when he tears custody papers from Denny's hands and ultimately lifts a leg on them. Ah, yes, he uses gestures very well!

I remember when our 7 year old Black Lab, Dusty, was just a pup. Dusty terrorized the house with his chewing. Everything went into his mouth. He chewed a hole in the wall, razor blades, underwear, jewelry and - horrors! - books! The Old Goober and I would holler at him and, eventually, when Dusty realized the hollering was directed at him, he would settle down with a look of guilt in those large brown eyes.

One particularly bright and shiny autumn afternoon Dusty leapt onto the couch, tipping it towards the window and began his "Squirrel, get off the Boss's property!" bark. I thought he and the couch were going straight through the window after our resident pesky tree rodent. It was then I also saw the masticated end of a throw pillow, it's guts spilling out onto the couch.

I instantly had a flash of Dusty in a straight-jacket and I heard in my head, "But I don't have any hands! And there is so much out there to experience! All I have is my mouth!"

Indeed. All a dog has is gestures.

This, fortunately for us, makes Enzo a keen observer of his human family and he shares their story with us.

However, I've been arguing with myself whether Enzo's dog-sight keeps him from seeing anyone but Denny as no more than a two-dimensional character. Denny's in-laws, the Twins as Enzo dubs them, certainly suffer from being the stereotypical evil in-laws out to control the life of their progeny. Perhaps it's that Enzo watches too much television? I don't know. I can't help but feel as if there was much more to this story that got edited out somewhere along the line. I would have loved more of Eve in particular. Why did she succumb to her parents' manipulation so easily? More depth would have made this a truly remarkable book. As it is, it is a pleasant read.

Today's quote

"We don't see things as they are, we see things as we are." ~ Anais Nin

I don't really want to write about that. I haven't really wanted to write about much lately. Words haven't been coming.

But I like that quote. It is a truth for me.

Building Condominiums

Today I was sifting through my files on my computer at work looking for something - I forgot what. Instead, I found things that I had written a few years ago. I figured one was okay to post here. It follows:

As I was standing outside for my break one day, two Cedar Waxwings started fussing at me and diving down within three feet of my head. I had no idea what their fuss was about. I followed their hyper-flight movements until I was dizzy. Then they stopped and flew away over the roof of the church. They couldn’t possibly have been building a nest on the church roof. It is deeply pitched. And the eaves weren't the kind that would be accessible for a nest. It was a mystery!

For some reason a memory suddenly warmed through me. It was a memory of reading the Seuss story of Thidwick the Big-Hearted Moose to my son. I think it was that one. Anyhow, Critter was about 6 years old, I think. We came to the point in the story were poor Thidwick had all kinds of little critters making homes in his antlers. Thidwick let a Zinazu bird build a nest for his Woodpecker wife, then along came four squirrels, then a bobcat, then a turtle, etc. until his antlers had a raft of residents.

I was reading on thinking to myself about boundaries and not letting people take advantage of your goodwill, etc., but poor, beleagured Thidwick didn't know what to do. "What would you do?" I read aloud good Dr. S’s question to Critter.

Critter immediately came up with the answer, "Build Condominiums!"

He wasn't being funny. He had been pondering the circumstances while I was reading. I saw that little crease between his eyebrows forming even then. He came up with the most equitable and creative way to solve the problem he could think of. Condominiums - the critters would have nice homes and Thidwick could make some money. I stared at my son. What does a 6 year old know of condominiums anyway? But then, this was Critter!

Critter never seemed to give up on a problem or puzzle. He was, and still is, a problem solver. His job now at 31 is that very thing, solving problems so that company and client may have an equitable resolution. It's amazing to me. He always finds a way. He doesn't give up till he finds a solution and makes it work.

But my point here isn't bragging about my successful son! Proud as this Mama might be and loving to do it whenever she can! The point is that there IS always a solution if we have faith and stick with the work until we find it.

I didn't tell Critter then that the condos would be too heavy, or it would still be too noisy, or maybe Thidwick's friends wouldn't want to pay what he asked, etc. etc. OR that he'd missed entirely the point about boundaries and being taken advantage of! I just laughed with joy and told him what a wonderfully creative idea that was! Good for him!

Later in his life he would meet head on the criticism of others which would work at tearing apart that which he would wish to build. That would come soon enough, as it does for us all as we head into our teen years.

Family Stories

That's my father, William Hale Lindholm, and his dog, Shep. I have quite a few stories about Dad when he was a boy and living on a chicken farm in Donaldson, Indiana. I also have stories about my maternal grandmother, my Grams, and her childhood in St. Louis living above a Chinese laundry.

I have Aunt Elsie stories, Mom stories....

I wondered why, after I divorced, I got rid of almost all my possessions with the singular exception of boxes of old photographs, letters, a huge old scrapbook of my grandfather Lindholm's (half of which the contents are in Swedish), and odds and ends - momentos - of the lives of my family. Most all of whom have passed over 20 years ago at the least.

I toted those boxes from one place to another for eight years and now, since I've settled, I've the time to sift through them. I've sorted and scanned photos, some of which I swear I'd never seen before. I've read letters I know I'd never read before - had no idea existed and certainly not that I was in possession of them.

And now my genealogical authority marvel of a daughter-in-law has me hooked on searching online through files to put some order to the stories - the connections, the skeletons. My stories are beginning to flesh out in the most remarkable ways to me.

And it hit me - that's why!!

I have been given care of these historical wonders for a very specific purpose. Me - the one who writes! Hah!

Ohhh...now I have plans! First it will be my grandmother's story. I'm already diving into the history of St. Louis and the "Kerry Patch" Irish neighborhood.

I'm excited! Oh, yes. I'm excited.

The Flits

Obviously, I haven't been writing much lately. It's a period of having a myriad of ideas all running through my head without time to give them attention. Flit! And then it's gone. I can't revisit the moment without something else grabbing my attention. Often a dog needing out when I'm home, or a phone ringing and/or someone walking into the office at work.

When I do have "time" I am so exhausted and longing for the flits to go away so I can just "be." I read then, taming my brain into order so that I may later sleep.

I sometimes worry that the flits are my way of being, that focus and writing is not to be mine. But it's a season, I believe. A time of busy-ness that I must undertake.

But I do wish it would end soon. It is exhausting.