Looking Back on a Quiet Life

Recently I heard someone ask what big, memorable moments in our lives will stand out to us when we look back at it at age 80. I had to really think about it. To me, the best moments of life haven't been the "biggies" -- graduation, school in Wales, marriage, moving to Canada, giving birth, trips to Hawaii or Italy, books coming out. I'm surprised to discover that the most memorable things to me, the things I'll look back on with deep satisfaction, are these: My mom's blueberry cheesecake. The clouds moving in over the lake. My kids laughing together in the basement. Singing bedtime songs to my grandkids, knowing which ones they always request. Lying in the hammock with my banjo. Swimming at Helaman Halls with my cousin Janice while "I Can't See Me Lovin' Nobody But You" plays (ungrammatically) on the sound system, and someone somewhere is grilling burgers. My dog's soft head warm under my palm. A musical jam session with my parents and siblings, complete with yodeling. Grandma's sloppy joes. Stumbling across a really well-written book. Listening to the wind in the trees. The jolt and rattle of riding on the back of my dad's bike. Sharing Grandpa's recliner while watching Johnny Cash. Sledding down the snowy slope behind my parents' house. The thump and shove of my loom. Clogging to Bluegrass music. The view of Mount Timpanogos from my childhood bedroom window. My dad's brothers gathered singing around the piano while their mother played. Hiking at Riverwood. Homemade bread.

These are the things that make up my life, the really important parts of it, anyway. These are the things I need most, and that I'll miss most when this life is over. If I look back at age 80 and nothing more exciting has happened to me than these, I'll consider it the best possible life.

Resources for American Sign Language

I've continued to meet with this fellow at church who needs a sign language interpreter. I've been madly cramming as many signs into my head as I can (about 200 this week) using some great videos on YouTube by Learn How to Sign. They are also developing a handy website Learnhowtosign.org. I was also steered toward an online sign language dictionary specific to my church, so I can figure out some of the less-common vocabulary ("Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles" anyone?).

He has been very patient and encouraging as I've struggled, teaching me some signs and telling me to be patient and persevere. Meanwhile, he snatches my books from my hands to read them and writes down scripture references to tuck in his pocket, and just absorbs as much information as he can. He's eager to learn, and I feel the pressing need to open that door for him to do it, but I wish I could do it more coherently. I'm exploring some other resources for him that would do a far better job than I.

On the other side of this, I've looked into what it would take to become an ASL interpreter. At least three years and lots of money, which I don't have. Possibly having to relocate to Nova Scotia for training. So...maybe I'll stick to YouTube for now and learn on my own as much as I can. Maybe there are online study groups I could join, for practice.

And I now know the sign for "practice," which I expect to use a lot.

Reviving My Sign Language

Several years ago, I took a sign language class (ASL) through the Canadian Hearing Society. I had a deaf friend in high school and was always keen to improve communication. I really enjoyed the class, and our deaf teacher taught us about a lot of things in the culture that I hadn't realized, such as the availability of close-captioning machines in the back row of movie theatres. I wanted to continue on to the next level, but there weren't enough interested people to run the class.

Usually when I'm learning a new language, a terrible shyness comes over me and I have a hard time trying to use what I've learned. For some reason, ASL is less intimidating. Maybe it feels more like playing charades. Maybe it's because it's non-verbal. Whatever the reason, it just seems to come easily to me, and I'm eager to try to communicate, rather than shy. I also find, when I'm learning other languages, that the previous, most recently-learned language rises up to interfere with the one I'm currently studying. When I tried to learn Italian, my French intruded. When I was learning Latin, my Italian resurfaced. Similar things happened when I moved on to Welsh, Hebrew, Mandarin, and German. But with ASL, I'm not finding any conflicts or intrusions, since they're structured so differently.

Sign Language isn't "English." I might be hearing English in my head as I do it, but to the deaf person, ASL is their first language, with its own structure and grammar, and English (or any other language) is their second. For this reason, writing back and forth isn't always a satisfactory substitute to signing. And of course, some deaf people learn to read lips, which could be in any language. There are also different systems of signing, of course, not just the American one.

Fast forward to last week, when a deaf individual showed up at our church, wanting to attend but having no interpreter with him. The missionaries handed him off to me---not sure why---and I did the best I could, falling back on scribbling notes to him when my signing and "acting out" failed. I managed to direct him to the correct lesson on his phone (despite my not having a phone of my own, so I'm not familiar with them). I've spent the past week madly learning 150 common signs in case he shows up at church again this week, so that at least I'll be able to say simple things like "What's your name?" and "I need to practise signing" and "See you next week!" I've also practised explaining that every other week, we have different classes at church. We alternate between meeting all together and meeting separately, men in one room and women in another.

Except today is the day the men meet separately from the women, which means I won't be in his class to sign all of this. I'll have to try to catch him beforehand to explain, and to pull up the day's lesson on his phone so that he can read along in his class. We'll see how it goes! There's also the added hindrance of the mask I wear in public, which interferes with signing, because it's not all in the hands.

It's funny how eager I am to try out my newly-learned signs. I'm an extreme introvert. I don't know this man from Adam. But languages have always fascinated me, and I actually considered becoming an ASL interpreter at one point. Maybe I'm being nudged in that direction once more.

Sons to the Rescue!

I had some sad news today and was feeling down, and my lovely sons came to the rescue. My sous-chef son had to check in at his restaurant, so we all walked over, and he treated us to a wonderful lunch. French Dip sandwich (making wonderful memories arise from my childhood) and an Oreo cheesecake. Waddled home again very full and managed to arrive just as a thunderstorm started. A very nice day. I like hanging out with these guys.

Popping Bubbles and Stomping on Dreams

This might be a bit of a difficult post this morning, so if you're looking for something light and entertaining, you may want to give this one a miss. Just saying...

When we first got married, my husband found my constant optimism a bit much, and he gave me the nickname Pollyanna. (For those readers who are too young to remember Hayley Mills, she was an actress who played a little girl named Pollyanna who was overly and unrealistically positive all the time). Whenever I chirped about sunshine and roses, he'd roll his eyes a little. I figured he was just of a more sober temperament than I. Life, mortgage, children, work, news broadcasts, and general existence have toned me down over the years, which likely needed to happen in order for me to function in the world. However, the last little while, I've noticed a new tendency in myself---whenever I see someone being optimistic online, I have this grumpy urge to pop bubbles, scorn dreams, and roll my own eyes.

This morning someone who is probably a very nice person posted on Facebook their vision that in fifteen years, the world would be a peaceful place, the oceans would be clear of plastic, everyone would have geothermal heat pumps, and diapers would be biodegradable. And sure enough, my first response was to think "Sweet innocent, most of the planet won't be inhabitable in 15 years." 

My own thought brought me up short. Do I really believe there's no hope? Have I really lost any hope for the future of humanity? We certainly haven't got a good track record of cooperation and making wise choices. But does that mean such a dream is impossible?

I do have a deep religious faith regarding the future of our souls. I do believe ultimately the earth will be renewed and receive its paradisiacal glory, as promised in scripture. But as far as our human existence on the planet over the coming decades...? We can't agree on pronouns, for pity's sake. How can we agree on climate action? People won't budge on what they perceive as their rights. How will they willingly deny themselves of their former excessive lifestyle in order to drastically reduce the human footprint on Earth? We're trafficking children and pushing those who are Different out from among us. Why should we have hope that we'll consider the non-human world important enough to sacrifice for? We're willing to drop bombs on our neighbours to take their territory, and meanwhile we're careening through space on a tiny speck we don't even steer. Even if everyone on Earth suddenly became altruistic overnight and politics instantly became moot, we're past the point of no return on certain climate factors, and the beautiful dream this person expressed online cannot come about.

So yeah. I guess Pollyanna is dead, and I have no hope in humanity as a whole. Does that mean I give up and embrace the coming difficult reality? No, of course not. As has been said, it's too late to live hopefully, but it's not too late to live compassionately, responsibly, meaningfully, intensely, even vibrantly. Will it make a difference to the trajectory we're on? As a group, no. But individually, yes. Will my actions matter to the planet as a whole? No. But they'll matter to me, and the few people around me. Will my getting a heat pump stop the feedback loop of global warming? Not a bit. But we do things not because they're successful, but because they're right.

As I've quoted before, when the plane is going down, the best thing, the only thing, to do is hold the hand of the person next to you. Will it stop the crash? No. Will it make any meaningful difference? Yes. To me. To the person next to me. In the end, it's all we can do. For me, it's the only path forward. So I don't choose hope. I choose meaning. I choose compassion. Which, I suppose, means not stomping on others' dreams even when I don't share them.

Handbook on Gardening

A reminder that my latest book, Mom's Handbook on Gardening: Everything I Know About Growing Food, is available as either an e-book or PDF at Kristen's Books (https://kristenmckendry.ca/kristens-books)

Adventures with Hearing Aids

My husband recently got hearing aids, and it has taken some time to learn how to drive them. Gone are the days when you just had a dial to turn them on and off and adjust the volume. Today's hearing aids are run by an app on your Smartphone. There are programmable settings for different environments and to get direct feed from microphones or TV sets. So you end up with the scenario of him plugged into the TV, watching a show fed directly into his ears, and me sitting beside him on the couch reading a book, and I don't have to hear the TV at all. Unless I want to, and then I can turn up the external volume. However, it also means that if I want to comment on the show we're watching together, I have to pause the TV and he has to grab his phone and change over to allow himself to hear "background" noise. I am now relegated to being background noise. I suspect I'll have fewer comments to make in future. I do think it's an improvement, though, not having to stumble down from the bedroom at 1 a.m. to ask him to turn down the volume of the TV. Silence is bliss!

The hearing aids nestle in a little recharging box, content to be together as long as the power is charging them. If you turn off the power or remove them from the box, however, and they are anywhere near each other, they let off an unpleasant high-pitched squeal, like distressed canaries. Are they wailing for sustenance? Feed me! Feed me! Or are they throwing temper tantrums? How dare you confine me to this stupid box with him! It's deafening even to me, from across the room. They settle down once they're in place in Hubby's ears or if they're separated, like children being sent to their respective Time Out stools.

The weird thing is that he can't---or hasn't figured out how to---adjust the volume. You'd think that's a pretty vital feature, no? So when he plays his bagpipes, the sound is amplified to a truly painful level, and he has to remove the hearing aids and put them in their travel case. Except the travel case doesn't recharge them, only holds them. Together. My husband could hear them screaming in the trunk of the car all the way home.