More Than a Decoration

A Christmas tree isn't just a decoration. It reflects family and memories and love.

Thursday's "At Home" column by Marni Jameson talked about her visit to a Christmas tree exhibit with artistic trees of all shapes, colors, and materials. They included one made of apple-green Tupperware bowls and one shaped like the Eiffel Tower. Then Marni gave readers tips on how to create their own designer trees.

Much as I enjoy Marni Jameson's column, this time I disagree with her. I'm all for creativity, but I don't want a designer tree.

I want one that creates memories of Christmases past and hints at those to come.

The second picture shows the year I got my doll house. A wonderful Christmas with a scrawny tree covered in hand-made decorations. The paper chains are the most obvious here, and we had at least two kinds. Our tree topper was a cardboard star covered with aluminum foil, and the best ornaments were . . . well, I'll tell you about them in a minute.

I remember only four store-bought things that ornamented our Christmas trees as I grew up. Strings of lights, shiny round balls (like the one in the top picture), long plastic ornaments that resembled the icicles hanging from the eves, and tinsel.

The best ornaments were the ones my father made from goose or turkey wishbones. He dried the wishbones and painted them silver. I'm not sure how many there were originally, but I have two that hang on my tree every year. You can see one of them in the first picture.

The third picture shows the type of tree we had when my children were growing up. By now, most of the ornaments were commercially made, but they still had memories attached. The mouse I bought at a dime store when I moved out on my own, the cloth Santa that always hung at the bottom of the tree because toddlers couldn't destroy it, and the ornaments Roland's parents gave us each year. We also used the ones Caroline and John made in school, but most of them disintegrated over time.

Even though the children are grown up now, the tradition continues. My current tree (shown in the last picture) still wears the mouse and the Santa, the ornaments from Roland's parents, and the two wishbones. The stocking I crocheted for Caroline hangs in her living room, along with the one I made for Pete the year they got married. John's stocking is still here, but once he has a permanent home, I'm sure he'll take his, too.

So don't let anyone convince you that a Christmas tree is just art or decor.

It is family and memories and love.

The Alternative

This past week I attended two wakes. Both were for elderly women who had been active in my church until the advancing years turned them into shut-ins.

I had a routine eye exam the week before, and somehow the conversation turned to growing old. My optometrist said, "It's better than the alternative." My reply? "I don't mind the alternative." Then she said, "Oh, don't think that way." That was my cue to explain why I don't mind death, and I let the opportunity pass.

Here's what I should have said.

I do worry about losing my faculties and my independence, so I'm not looking forward to old age. On the other hand, I like my life and there are a lot of things I want to do before I die. I'm not seeking death.

But I'm also not afraid of it. God has promised that death is simply the entrance to heaven for those who believe in his Son, Jesus Christ.

And I'm one of them.

Only God knows what heaven looks like, and that's okay with me. I don't care if the gates are made of pearl and the streets are paved with gold. I don't even care if it's a physical place or only an experiential one. One thing I do know: in heaven we will be in constant communion with God, and nothing is better than that.

We won't all grow old.

But I don't mind the alternative.

It's a Lie

Violin concertos embraced me as I drove back from Indianapolis on Saturday, and my heart soared and ached simultaneously. I longed to be able to play like that.

I love the violin. It is more versatile than any other musical instrument. In Vivaldi's "Four Seasons" the violins trill like birds, roar like thunder, murmur like a gentle breeze, romp like peasants celebrating the harvest, and spit like icy rain.

Few of you know that I used to play violin. I took lessons for three years and played last chair in the college orchestra for one year before I faced the truth: I would never be more than a sixth-rate violinist. And it wasn't for lack of trying. Granted, I didn't practice as much as I should have, but it was my body that betrayed me.

Physically, there are two characteristics all good violinists possess. One is an "ear" for pitch. It wouldn't surprise me if there are deaf violinists who can "hear" the pitch in the vibrations that course through their fingertips. But one way or another, a violinist must be able to determine whether he or she is on pitch while tuning and playing the instrument.

If a piano is properly tuned, playing the perfect pitch is as simple as hitting a particular key. Violins aren't like that. Each string contains a continuum of pitches, and producing the right one requires you to hear it inside your head as you place your fingers.

I was good at that.

The other necessary characteristic is dexterity. Dexterity in the bow arm (which is the right arm for a right-handed person) and dexterity in the fingers that play the notes, which are on the opposite hand than the one you use for writing and other fine-motor skills.

Dexterity I didn't have and could never develop no matter how motivated I was. If I had set my heart on being a great violinist, my dreams--and my heart--would have shattered.

So I wince whenever I hear someone say, "You can be whatever you want if you try hard enough."

It's a lie.

Not everyone can be the smartest kid in the class or the prettiest girl or the best athlete. Many people want to be President of the United States or Miss America or an Olympic gold medalist, but only a few succeed.

I'll never be a good violinist. But that's okay, because my talents lie in other directions.

We all have talents. They may not be the ones that make us rich or famous, but every one is valuable. We need carpenters as much as (okay, more than) we need lawyers.

The secret to success is not in believing that we can be whatever we want to be. That road leads to heartbreak.

The secret to success is discovering our talents and making the most of them.

And that's no lie.

What's in a Title?

I'm taking a poll, but it has nothing to do with the election.

Lately I've had several discussions with my writer friends about titles of blog posts. Should the title be descriptive so the reader knows whether the subject will interest him or her, or should the title be intriguing to rouse the reader's curiosity? The same question applies to the blurb included with a Facebook post linking to the blog. I'd love to have your comments telling me what type of title--informative or intriguing--is more likely to make you read a post.

As an illustration, but mostly for fun, ask yourself which of the following book titles shown in the picture attract you most.

• Little Women or Pride and Prejudice. Both of these novels are about sisters who look for love. Okay, so you have to read partway into Little Women before the love stories start piling up, but they do come.
• Bird by Bird or On Writing Well. These are both books about writing.
• A Pebble in My Shoe or Four Continents to Freedom. Each is an autobiography about growing up in Europe during World War II, living in an internment camp, and becoming a refugee after the war.
• The Last Voyage of the Lusitania or A Night to Remember. While one book is about the Lusitania and the other is about the Titanic, each tells the story of a passenger ship that sank at sea and lost over a thousand lives.
• The Writer Got Screwed (but didn't have to) or The Law (in Plain English) for Writers. These books are both legal guides for writers.
• An English Murder or Violet Dawn. Both are murder mysteries.

There are no right or wrong answers. It's all personal preference.

But I would like to know which type of title is more likely to make you read my blog posts.

Halloween Creatures

 

Here's a poem I wrote in keeping with the season.

 

Halloween Creatures



Wisp of smoke or waterless cloud,

No door can keep it out;

Straight from Hamlet or Macbeth;

A restless, wandering spirit.

 

See the track upon the ground

As Satan slithers by;

Listen when the rattle sounds,

Avoid the forked tongue.

 

Sonar guides it through the night,

Its wings spread like a cloak;

Bloody teeth and lapping tongue

Betray its source of food.

 

Robbed from a grave at midnight

To become an anatomy lesson;

Bones suspended from a hook

Resembling a hangman's noose.

 

Gloomy barn corner houses a web

Where sits a poisonous predator;

After sex it kills its mate,

Making itself a widow.

 

Which sinister creature takes the prize

For most creepy and terrifying?

Not ghost, rattlesnake, vampire bat,

Skeleton or black widow spider.

 

Without costume, make-up, or mask

To enhance or hide its features,

The scariest creature of all

Stares back from my mirror.

Backwards Priorities

Two weeks ago I wrote about taking responsibility for our children. In that blog post, I mentioned that a member of my writing group was forced to ask two boys to be quiet after the "responsible" adults ignored their antics. After I left, coffee house staff apparently admonished my friend for embarrassing the mother.

What?

Embarrassing the mother by asking her to control two boys who raced around coffee house tables and yelled like banshees?

Embarrassing the mother by suggesting that she and her children be considerate of other customers?

Embarrassing the mother by saving the coffee house from a potential lawsuit if the boys had fallen or bumped into something and injured themselves or other patrons?

Embarrassing the mother by asking for a little common courtesy?

She should be embarrassed. So should the coffee house staff, who have their priorities backwards.

I don't feel sorry for either the mother or the staff, but I do feel sorry for the boys. Who is going to teach them to be responsible adults?

Apparently nobody.

Life of Pi

I don't normally write book reviews, but I just finished reading Life of Pi, and it was riveting.

Life of Pi would probably be classified as young adult fiction, but older adults will enjoy it, too. It contains very little sex or language, but it is not for the squeamish.

The story has two narrators. The first is the author, who describes how he came to know the grown-up Pi and learn his story. The main narrator, however, is Pi himself. Or, more accurately, Piscine Molitor Patel.

Pi's story starts when he is a young boy growing up in India, where his father owns a zoo. During the first part of the book, we become acquainted with Pi and his family. This section is also a course in zoology and a study of three religions: Hinduism, Islam, and Christianity. The religious thread makes for a fascinating philosophical discussion that holds our interest because of the way the three religions intersect in Pi's life. Although Pi doesn't resolve the issue the way the Bible does, it is a thought-provoking read that will make Christians reflect upon their faith.

The main part of the story begins when Pi's father decides to sell his zoo and move his family to Canada. Most of the animals have been sold to zoos in the United States, so Pi, his parents, and his older brother board a Japanese freighter that Pi's father has hired to transport them and the animals to North America.*

The freighter sinks in the middle of the ocean, and Pi ends up in a lifeboat with a Bengal tiger. The real adventure begins as Pi struggles to survive.

Canadian author Yann Martel is an artist with words. While reading the novel, I clearly saw the power of nature and experienced Pi's limited but often terrifying world.

The movie is coming on November 21. It has the potential for wonderful cinematography, but even the best cinematographer can't match the word pictures Martel paints in the pages of his novel.

I'll wait for the reviews before I decide whether to see the movie. From the trailer, it looks like the script may have added a love story, and that makes me wonder what else it changed. It wouldn't bother me if they eliminated the religious thread at the beginning of the story since that wouldn't translate well onto the screen. But if they changed the surprise ending, that would spoil everything. I'm not talking about the fact that Pi survives: we know that from the beginning. But the ending is one of the things that makes this a great story.

So don't wait for the movie. Read the book and discover the ending for yourself.

_____
* The picture shows a car ferry that operates on Lake Michigan, and it is probably nothing like the cargo ship Pi and his parents left India on. But I don't have any tigers or ocean freighters among my photo library, so it's the best I could do without violating someone's copyright.