Home!

Travelling since two a.m. and too tired to report on the trip. Will do so tomorrow!  I will say, it actually took longer to bus home from the airport across Mississauga than it did to fly from Salt Lake City to Denver. Something seriously wrong with the local transit system! - K

Off to Utah!

I am boarding a plane tomorrow for Utah. I'll spend three days with my brother and sister-in-law and then I have a conference in Salt Lake City for work. So I won't be writing for the next week. I hope my followers can muddle along without me (all two of you!).

Motherhood in Action

Last night my fifteen-year-old son and I babysat for some friends so they could go to the temple. They have five kids under the age of 7 and live far from any family, so I imagine they don't get away together very often.

Bracing ourselves for an exhausting night, armed with books and games, we went to their apartment in the lower levels of a house. We were ushered in and found one child drying ceramic plates while Dad washed, one child sweeping the floor very expertly, and one child kneeling on the kitchen table so she could reach to wipe it. They were cleaning up from dinner. I looked at my son and said, "Boy, you had it easy. This is what I should have done."

Mom handed me the cheerful, squirming nine-month-old while she finished getting dressed and told me --optimistically, I thought-- that she would lay the baby down for the night before she left. The little kids, she said, would get in their pajamas, brush their teeth, say their prayers, and go to bed on command at 7:30 or 8:00. Yeah, right. The sun is still up at that time. We were coming with new things to play with. They would be hyper and too excited to sleep. I envisioned a night of squirming-baby-holding.

As we waited for Mom and Dad to leave, we sat on the squooshy living room couch and I felt an incredible calmness and organization in the home. All the artwork on the walls was family photos. A large picture of Christ was over the fireplace. Books were stacked neatly in cardboard boxes. There was a piano with music ready to play. It felt comfortable and peaceful.

Mom took wide-awake baby from my arms, put him down in his crib, and walked out of the bedroom. And he lay down and stayed there. They told the kids goodnight and put their phone number on the shelf and left. The kids took a vote and decided three would play a marble game we brought (downstairs where it wouldn't wake the baby) and the fourth would watch a DVD with my son. She chose from four available DVDs, a puppet thing about rabbits.

I trekked downstairs to the playroom with the other three and we had a rousing game of run-the-marbles-down-the-track. They shared nicely with the marbles. They laughed delightedly and made a lot of racket. When I suggested we do something quieter after a while, they immediately got up and went upstairs. The two-year-old took herself off to the bathroom and put on her Pull-Ups for the night without a word.

I brought out some books and read to them for a while, and then gave them some new little books as a gift. Immediately the room went dead silent as four little heads bent over their books, absorbed. The ones too young to read looked contentedly at the pictures. Books were politely exchanged, and if one requested a particular book, the swap was made instantly without fuss. Then they brought out a book of their own, On the Shores of Silver Lake, and asked if I'd read a chapter. I told them how much I'd loved the Laura Ingalls Wilder books, especially Farmer Boy, and they replied, "Oh, Farmer Boy was last week." So we read a chapter, which seemed to me to be well above their comprehension level, but all four listened happily and seemingly understood it.

At eight o'clock I spied some yawns and announced hopefully, "Bedtime." And sure enough, they trooped off to brush their teeth (one having to kneel on the counter to reach the sink). Said their prayers, even the two-year-old. Tucked themselves into bed (the two girls in bunkbeds, each boy in his own bed all tucked into corners of one bedroom). And they went to sleep, not moving, not giggling or talking, just with happy "Good nights!" And no one fussed or got up for a drink or poked their neighbour or anything.

Now I have shared a bedroom with two sisters, and I can attest to the fact that this is really amazing behaviour on the part of these four children. I remember lying awake late into the night telling each other stories, tickling each other, and generally avoiding sleep.

Whatever these parents are teaching these kids, they have it down pat. Obedient but not suppressed, cheerful and polite, helpful and articulate, just a touch of mischief, responsibility, and a strong sense of how to vote to keep things fair...I'd adopt these kids in a heartbeat. Whatever you're doing, Mom and Dad, keep it up! You're doing it right.

The Passing of Farley Mowat

I was sad to see the news this morning that Farley Mowat has died, and I feel the need to make some sort of tribute. I first became aware of him through The Dog Who Wouldn't Be and Owls in the Family. Then I got hooked on his Arctic books, the adventures in the high north, the stories of the natives and the fragile climate. It's because of him I have this desire to go dog sledding, to tour the Arctic, to explore Canada. It's because of him I am slogging through this latest manuscript I'm trying to write for Covenant. I think of him as the last of the great northern adventurers. He had a zest for life and wasn't afraid of difficult things. He was that way as a child, too, exploring the rivers and fields of Toronto. It seemed he was always curious about the world and open to experience, willing to stretch and risk. Above all, he was a vivid storyteller, his practical and simple words having a powerful impact on my imagination. They sparked ideas and evoked images that got me thinking.

He once said that the best thing you could do would be to buy a piece of land and then leave it alone. Just take the human element out of the equation, instead of always trying to impose human influence on everything. I feel the same way about nature, and this statement felt right and solid to me. It's what I want to do.

I wish I had discovered him a little sooner, in time to meet him. I wish I could be as confident and curious and energetic as he was. I wish my words were as powerful.

Spring...sort of

There is something inherently wrong about having to mow the lawn in your mittens.

Leaving Home, Going Home

Tomorrow my daughter-in-law and granddaughter head with the U-Haul to northern Ontario, where my son is already waiting for them. I wish them a safe journey and a happy life in their new home. It reminds me inevitably of my own arrival in Ontario, in November 1989, with this same son--then age nine months--and my husband. I had no idea where I was going or what I would find when I got there, but I knew my husband knew, and that was good enough for me. Wherever he was was home. We arrived in a snowstorm at midnight, crossing the border at Sault Ste. Marie. I've always wanted to go back someday and see what the town looks like in sunshine.

My heart goes out to Rowyn's other grandmother, who has to say goodbye to them for now after two years of closeness. I am starting to gain a deeper understanding of what my own mother went through when I disappeared off to Canada. They will be away from both sides of the family now and will have to rely on each other and build the self-reliance and strength as a family that will carry them through the years ahead.

I have found great beauty in Ontario. I never tire of the rolling green fields, the salmon-coloured maple leaves in autumn, the rippled-looking folds of gray granite poking above the soil, the majesty of wild-haired and wind-whipped white pines. It is very different from the sun-baked and sage-scented landscape I grew up in, but I fell in love with it immediately and am content to live here always. I hope my son and his family find love and happiness in their new home.

This says it all