MADE IN THE GARAGE

Happy holidays, y’all. I’ve been busy with family, new freelance work, and a new gig too. I’m firing on all cyclnders on all of them and enjoying life in general, challenges included.

The following is something I wrote for my new outfit’s blog. You can find it here and, well, here:

Another winning holiday sweater entitled "Dignity? What dignity?"

In an age of more, more, and more, a handmade gift becomes all the more meaningful. There’s something about the personalization – the care that goes into a handmade gift – that people grasp when they unwrap it. Look at their eyes. That’s where you can see them realize that the gift in their hands didn’t come with a receipt: It came from you.

And since it’s from you, it can be as original as you are. As a writer at heart, I like to write poems for people on special occasions. Here’s a poem I wrote for a coworker’s birthday:

Roses are red/
Violets are pretty/
We hope that your birthday/
Is not a bit … boring.

Cheesy? Yep. Sophomoric at best, moronic at worst. But, hey, it’s original. It gets a smile and hopefully a laugh. To me, that’s the whole point of gift giving.

Or take the “bookshelf” my son built for my wife. He used a couple 2’x4’s; some screws; and red, blue, and yellow paint. The finished product is basically a rectangle. If you lay the “bookshelf” flat and fill it with soil, it transforms into a tiny planter. The only way that books could fit in this thing is if it’s placed horizontally. Again, it’s the thought that counts. 

Practicality is important for some gifts, sure, but I think it plays third fiddle to giving something original.

We’re all creative, right? So go for it this year! Bake a batch of cookies, craft a one-of-a-kind T-shirt, or present a slideshow of your time together. Even a simple holiday card would take no time at all, yet it could bring someone cheer over and over again (and it could possibly be worth something when you’re famous someday.)

What’s the best handmade gift you’ve ever gave or received? Share your pictures or stories via this post and/or our Facebook page, and have a happy and original holiday.

Full Circle of Sorts

Long time since college, but not this long

With the new job underway, I find myself happily, albeit busily, employed. My new gig is fast-paced and keeps me rocking along about 9 hours a day.

Imagine my surprise when a one-off freelance client asked if I could help out again … to the tune of 30-40 hours of work. Due in 7 days.

I did what any self-respecting writer would do: said OK.

Now from “OK” to “product delivery,” there’s a bunch of ground to cover in a short amount of time. So I find myself at Oglethorpe University’s 24-hour study room, cranking through marketing material like a frat pledge through a free box of donuts at 3 a.m. Ah, the benefits of being an alumnus. It’s great being here, back where I got my communications and rhetoric degree. Back where I, in Public Speaking II, said, “I want to be a writer.”

Hello, Lowry Hall. It's me. I'm back again.

That was one floor above me and half a decade ago. But here I am: a writer … writing. Like my college self, I’m putting in the extra hours and extra coffee. But this time it’s billable.

Will I be here at 3 a.m.? Perhaps. If not, I’ll be back here or somewhere tomorrow morning, typing out the goodness. Regardless, I’m practicing my craft and I feel exceptionally lucky doing so.

Subversive Parenting Creates a Teachable Moment

Sometimes errors are awesome. Especially when orchestrated with an ulterior motive in mind.

...unless I get a hold of them.

Last week, I was getting in the car when I spotted a candy wrapper left nearby. I picked it up and was about to put it in the trash bag normally used for the usual — old to-do lists, gum wrappers, pesky 50s that somehow got into the stack of 100s that I keep in the trunk. Then a flash of parental brilliance hit me like a foul ball while I was looking away: I can use this wrapper for subversive parenting!

Now, I’m not sure why, but littering has always chapped my hide. I mean, why do it anyway — if you think on a broad scale, you’re just messing up your own living room.

The lesson I had in mind was “Don’t litter” and “If you see some, why not pick it up.” Pivotal to teaching this lesson is the fact that Gabriel is very observant. Also, he loves treats (although he’s been known to eat only half and “save some for later.”)

Gabriel’s booster seat was in the back left of the car, and he knows that the door pocket doubles as an ad hoc trash can from time to time. So, instead of dropping the wrapper in the trash bag, I leave it in the back, next to his seat.

The next time he was riding with me, sure enough, he spotted the wrapper and said, “Hey, you ate some candy!” BOOM! He took the bait, and that gave me the chance to tell him that, no, it wasn’t my wrapper — that I had picked it up from someone’s parking lot. “Oh,” he said.

I’m banking on the hope that he’ll come away with the idea that it’s good to clean up litter. Who knows, right? As with most things parental, I can only do what I can do and hope for the best.

Snippet from my 27th year

For fellow scribbler, Rochelle, who gave me the number 27 and told me to write about something from that age. It’s a good thing she didn’t give me 25 or I would have relapsed. Here we go:

Not entirely indicative of our neighborhood, but the bullet holes smack of our little slice of heaven

It was May as I recall, at least that’s the month written on the installation ticket pasted to the side of our heat pump, which I had installed as part of the move-in renovations. I’d just bought the 2-bed, 1-bath starter in a neighborhood I was banking on seeing improve. It has, and it hasn’t, but I’m still there. And so is the rest of The Ham Fam, now featuring Carmen and Gabriel, two additions that joined me in Decatur some years later after buying the place at age 27.

What I recall about age 27 is fixing up and moving into that small house. So much potential – it still has a lot despite the major work I’ve had and have done to it. It’s a lesson in seeing what isn’t there. Not unlike writing on a blank page, eh? The cookie-cutter beige boxes on our street with the same picture window plus two standard windows in the living room – nothing special just by looking at it. I had to look beyond it though, to the home within the house.

The hushed size helped me see that the house would do well with rounded archways instead of right-angled doorways. Repairing a damaged living room ceiling, I saw the character that a modest vaulted ceiling and encasing the major support beams in raw cedar would bring the space. Discarded slate pieces became countertops in the bathroom and kitchen.

And I recall the thrill of thinking, “This place is mine.” Nowadays, people ask me if I own my home and I reply that HSBC Mortgage Corporation holds a majority stake, but I’m working toward ownership. Jaded a bit perhaps, but I still love my home. It’s small for us, for sure. And we’ve entertained moving. Still might do so. But there’s so much love in it, thanks to the love that’s gone into it. Frankly, it’d be hard to leave. But who knows – I might get giddy all over again.

 

WSA: Quite a quarter century

As much as I’ve written about our son’s Waldorf School, you’d think I was their marketing writer. I sure feel like it, but it’s all volunteer … and fun.

Pumpkin Art

In lieu of the past few installments of Wednesdays at Waldorf,* I’d like to offer the following article, “Celebrating 25 Years of WSA,” which I wrote for WSA’s Garden Breeze e-newsletter. A write- up of the school’s 25th Anniversary Celebration, it got some good reviews and was a joy to write.

I hope it gives you an idea of what the party was like and perhaps a better understanding of this great community that is WSA:

 

On a cool, clear October evening a few weeks ago, the Waldorf School of Atlanta gathered to celebrate a tremendous milestone: our 25th anniversary. In fashion fitting our school, we didn’t let the falling mercury get in the way of a good party, especially when the occasion celebrated our school’s rich – yet humble – quarter-century history.

More than 300 members of our extended Waldorf family attended, including parents of present and past students, grandparents, and friends. Guiding the way were several hundred luminaries, winding along and lighting a path through the woods to the grove that housed our celebration.

And what a scene that was.

As one party-goer quipped, “It was absolutely a feast for the eyes.” Coming down the trail that opened into the clearing, one had the sense of being welcomed to a freshly appointed nature table. A nature table with a huge white pavilion. To call it a “tent” would be inadequate, in the same way that calling Rudolf Steiner “a guy with some different ideas” would fail to hit the mark.

Fabrics and flora in a fall spectrum accented the structure inside and out. A fire pit outside warmed hands and sparked conversation. The brisk fall air in the grove and the pavilion’s warm glow welcomed us inside. Tables and chairs for dining – and for conversation – spread throughout the space, while delicious fare and spirits from Meehan’s Public House filled the air and our bellies.

As the evening continued, our Leadership Team – Randy, Sara and Ashley – took the stage at the far end of the pavilion, greeting everyone before welcoming Katie Reily, the founding parent of the first Waldorf class. As she shared memories of our school’s beginnings with the gathered crowd, you knew that her words came from her heart; she recalled student names from that pioneering class as if she had just called roll that morning. You could sense, too, her sincerity: some parents who arrived early witnessed that virtue in Katie as she, alongside present-day parents, helped light the luminaries. Though removed by years and miles, her connection to WSA was clear, straight, and true.

Jackie Conley followed Katie in addressing the gathering. A mother of three Waldorf students in grades 2, 5 and 8, Jackie shared her thoughts about WSA from the parent’s perspective. But offering a perspective that could reach a group comprised of such disparate walks of life, experiences, occupations, circumstances, and generations was quite a task. She met the challenge well; borrowing century-old verse, she put to words a shared inclination among WSA parents and supporters:

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

After the litany of speakers and applause, Kingsized took the stage to keep the party going. And did they ever, playing great covers from the 50s through today. In no time, they had filled the dance floor with revelers who didn’t need much prompting to begin with. Never one to disappoint, Meehan’s kept the beverages flowing. And with no kids in tow, parents jumped at the opportunity to catch up with friends often seen only in passing.

Summed up by Judy and Gary Carson, “[The celebration] was amazing – walking down a star-lined path, pulled ever onward by laughter and the tempting aroma of a great meal. Surrounded by merriment and a positive atmosphere, we made new friends, clinked our glasses in toasts to an evening of smiles and fun, and thought how lucky we are to have been a part of this great place.”

Taking in the bustle of the lively gathering – and even a glimpse at those outside, warmed by coffee, coals, and conversation – we were witness to something special, a group not forced upon itself, but a community brought to fulfillment by shared experiences, ideas, and dreams. The words of Frank Lloyd Wright seemed entirely appropriate: “We have here a thing organic.”

With the Waldorf School of Atlanta’s 25th anniversary, we didn’t so much celebrate a milestone as we commemorated this place in our history, a place that draws as much meaning from where we’ve been as where we’re going. The party was indicative of this banner year, and it’s certainly a harbinger of good times to come.

* My working hours have shifted in a positive way, but regrettably will keep me from continuing this weekly feature. The schedule change, however, won’t entirely preclude me from attending Coffee Wednesdays. Woo-hoo!

Wednesdays at Waldorf — Related by Coincidence

Last week was a bit busy, what with trips to the Emory Clinic and other details of life. That didn’t keep me from grabbing a quick spot of coffee with the WSA bunch, but it did preclude me from writing about the conversations.

Today I got to speak with two dads, both of whom have children older than my son. One father, whose child is in high school, shared his daughter’s inkling toward going to a university abroad. He thought it was great, but his wife didn’t. Another country was a little to far to stretch the heart-strings, he figured.

What a wonderful world. Go gitcha some.

Our boy is only in the first grade, so some would say it’s too soon to think about that. But I’m not of that mind. I think it’d be great! His mom … well, we’ll see. The paternal consensus this morning was that studying abroad can bring a ton of good. Particularly for Americans, it’s easy to consider ourselves and stop there.

Being fortunate to have studied in Germany and Japan, I feel that those experiences still inform my outlook and actions. It’s been a while, but having been to those countries when I was younger, I was all the more impressionable then.

What if all high school students were required to take a semester abroad? How would that affect our youth? Our nation?

I for one — along with my fellow fathers — think it’d be expansive. Beyond the life experience and learning of another language and culture, our kids would benefit from a broader world view, fostering (hopefully) more respect and consideration for others. We could all use some more of that.

Funny thing is that one dad, who was born in Italy, said that they used to be required to serve a year in the military; if they were from the south, they’d get stationed in the north, and vice versa, so as to learn more about the country’s regions. He said that Italy was a disparate country; they were Italians “related by coincidence” more than a singular national identity. The other dad chimed in that where they used to live in Nashville, there were kids there that had no idea of what life was like in a major metropolitan city.  I’ve often said that my home state of California was like two states — NorCal and SoCal — in one, the regions are so different. Maybe some temporary domestic relocation could do our youth some good, too.

I guess the lesson in all this is to broaden ourselves. When I stop to think about it, we are  all related by the coincidence that we were born at the same time. Seems a shame not to make it a point to get to know a few peeps out there. After all, we’re all related, if for no other reason than cohabitating on this blue-green orb.

Wednesdays at Waldorf — The Importance of Why

The conversation this morning ran the gamut, but — as it’s wont to do — wove together nicely: history, writing, Japan, vacation, finding direction. It was all there.

I was talking with a friend about writing and how research plays into good writing. In that vein, she shared that she had earned her degree in history. She enjoys writing, too, and I remarked that her interest in history would inform her writing. I left out the fact that I had somehow gotten into an advanced placement American History class in high school and somehow managed to score a 1 on a scale of 5 on the final exam.

Why did they go left? Why did they go right? And most importantly, which fork leads to the cookies?

We talked further about history’s importance in why we do what we do — our traditions, our actions, our beliefs. From our mutual understanding of and experience in the Japanese culture, we recounted how their understanding the history behind tradition creates a connection to the past.

Further, and applicable to our own culture, knowing why we carry forward certain traditions makes the tradition richer. It teaches us why we do what we do. If we don’t know why, we might do things in form only. And that’s never good.

When we know the why behind something, it can inform our decisions today, help us choose one thing over another. So, despite what Sting might say, history can teach us something.

Wednesdays at Waldorf — Giving of Ourselves

This morning’s gathering of the Waldorf PSCAFBG (Parents Seeking Caffeine and Free Baked Goods) was fantastic. Conversation was a litany between several old and new friends. And we were privileged to hear the 4th grade cellists play a few selections, including “Can-can” at half speed.

Thank you Google Image Search

Giving comes to mind as I reflect on what impressed me about this morning. One friend I spoke with is co-chairing the Waldorf Annual Fund this year. We talked about giving and how indicative that act is of how one feels about a school, a museum … darn near anything really. WSA has a really high percentage of families that contribute to the Annual Fund.

Although I don’t know any figures, I’d suspect that an even higher percentage of families gives to the school in other ways. Like food! Mr. Crowley’s bread and Chance’s gluten-free goodies from My Beloved Bakery are always welcomed at Coffee Wednesdays!

And there are so many other ways to give. I’d run out of fingers and toes were I to count the families that I know. That’s the cool thing about WSA: we have some structured ways of giving, but I’ve found that if you have a talent that can help the school, it’s welcomed.

I write. So I always support the yearly auction by writing copy for the event. And this year, I aim to assist the Annual Fund through some writing or proofreading.

You go with what you know. As a Bikram yoga teacher — and former USMC drill instructor — once said, “Get in where you fit in.”

50 Cents Worth of Wisdom

Quick post for today, on account of the spotty WiFi at Emory and the fact that I may have to scram at any given moment.

We’re back at Emory University Hospital for the installation of a PEG tube, a typical pre-chemo procedure. That translates into my working around campus, checking in on my friend, and trying to get some work done. None of which am I meeting with much success.

In short, I’m operating on a gumption deficit, and the two cups of Starbucks haven’t gone far in bootstrapping me up. Gotta get rocking somehow.

Inspiration is where you find it

Enter a used-book sale in the lobby of Emory University Hospital. Sweet. I like these things a bunch, and if time permits, I scour spines for the rare gem or interesting title. Among such page-turners as The Cheap Bastard’s Guide to NYC, I spot a dog-eared tome that fits the bill for today: Shelley’s Poetry and Prose. Can I get a hell yeah?

A coupla quarters later, the paperback is mine all mine. I took the book and myself outside for some sun, which we both desperately need, and opened it up to “The Mask of Anarchy” and found what I needed:

“Rise like lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number–
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you –
Ye are many–they are few.”

Boom. That’s what I needed. Great poetry, sure. But what speaks to me most is that fact that this speaks to me at all. I mean, Shelley wrote this on the occasion of the massacre at Manchester in September 1819. Yet, now, 191 years thereafter, I find resolve in his words when faced with a situation nothing akin to what spurred him to write those lines.

The answer to the question “Why?” is found via a penciled-in note on the inside cover: “Shelley on language, p. 513, para. 5.” I turn to it obediently and read “A Poet participates in the eternal, the infinite and the one; as far as relates to his conceptions, time and place and number are not.”

So I guess it was his intent to write so his poetry related to those of us beyond his age. And he’s done well along those lines. If his inclusion in many required-reading textbooks wasn’t enough, I’ll vouch for the guy based on today’s experience.

Thanks, Shelley. Rise like lions.

Wednesdays at Waldorf — Mellow Cellos

Never one to disappoint, Coffee Wednesday was chock full o’ nuts, mainly because both my wife and I were there. The gathering was full of conversation. And good ideas. And cellos. Did I mention cellos?

If cellos play in the forest at Coffee Wednesdays, does anyone hear them? You bet they do.

The fifth grade cello students delighted us with a few selections from their repertoire. It went nothing like this, but was at least as delightful, and begat at least as many smiles. The four or so songs included a piece entitled “Babylon” and some traditional music as well. It was such a treat. And it’s so refreshing to hear live music, especially when you’re not surrounded by thousands of screaming fans. I can’t wait for next week’s 4th grade cello performance.

While Carmen spoke with a new acquaintance, Ashley and I talked about writing for the school and otherwise. She brought up a fantastic point about writing: it’s an invitation to experience something. What a good way to put it! And so true; when you put words down on a page — paper or electronic — you’re conveying a thought, striving to impart something you’ve experienced to someone else who hasn’t.

That isn’t an easy task. Not with three words. Not with a thousand. No matter if you’re trying to convey a vacation or a vacuum cleaner. I guess that’s one reason that writing is such an important (if overlooked) art. As a friend pointed out this morning, editing is, too, but that’s another ball of yarn. (Thanks, Jen!)

As another pal pointed out a loooong time ago, “Good writing means never having to say, ‘Well, I guess you had to be there.’” (Thanks, Gary!) Writing — quality writing — is an invitation to an experience, but it’s also a conveyance, a vehicle that takes the reader there.

If you haven’t made it here, to Coffee Wednesdays, consider this an invitation. And if you can’t make it, I hope this Heavy Mental weekly feature gets you at least halfway.