The Other Jingle Bells

November is gone, and December, flashing by at light speed.  So much to write about, but given the choice between sitting in front of the computer and moving through the tasks at hand, I’ve chosen the latter!  Our lives have been full of good everyday happenings– dinners with friends, school concerts, art classes, and creative projects of all sorts–just to name a few.  In the midst of all the activity, we are more grateful than ever for the community we are starting to find here, but continually miss friends and family far away.

For the first time our family is not traveling this Christmas, and although there are pangs of regret for me, staying put is a gift in itself.  More about Christmas at “home,” later.

tree trimmer

Early in December my six year old remarked “I don’t like Christmas Carols. “  Then he paused and said, “What are Christmas carols anyway?”  When I told him they were songs about Christmas he said, “Oh, actually I do like them.”  The boys have been doing a lot of singing in the past few weeks.  At school the kids have been preparing various Christmas, Hanukkah, and Kwanzaa songs to sing in concert (in Spanish too!).  Many of these songs came home in their heads, and I’d hear the boys humming to themselves or singing quietly in the back of the car.  My five year old learned the verses of “Jingle Bells,” and over and over wanted me to start singing with the “dashing through the snow part.”

Then one day the six year old says to the five year old, “Did you know that there’s another way to sing Jingle Bells?”  That’s right, the Batman way.  Then with a wicked gleeful look in his eye he launches into “Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid and egg!  Batmobii-le lost a whee-el, and the Joker got away!  Hey!”  and it was all downhill from there.  My husband overheard the Batman version being sung and wondered aloud where they learned it.  His comment was something like, “the funny thing is, we thought that was hilariously funny when we learned it at their age too.”  They have no idea how long kids have been tweaking the song to impress each other.  And as kids do, the five year old went on to teach the Batman Jingle Bells to his best little three year old buddy, and they happily sang it together over and over.  I have to admit that even as the song gets old, really fast, the kids get such a kick out of it that I find myself smiling.  A little.

T's Christmas card: jingle bells and happy face ornaments

Another family music favorite that has had its share of airtime is a home-made CD from the cousins, fondly referred to as “Tree-Hunting Tunes.”   The recording dates back to a Children’s Radio Hour Christmas show in 1999, recorded on tape, by yours truly, as broadcast on Albuquerque Public Radio (KUNM).   I gave the tape to my then very young niece and nephew, not knowing that the Radio Hour would become their all-time favorite Christmas recording, and the music they would listen to every year on their way to find a Christmas tree.  When you’ve got songs like “What Do You Get a Wookie for Christmas,”  “It Must Be Santa,” sung at super speed, and Louis Armstrong reading “Twas the Night Before Christmas,” in his warm gravelly voice, what is not to love?

A life full of song is a good one, and there is room for the goofy and spoofy, just as there is room for the reverent and soulful.  With the strains of “In the Deep Midwinter” and “What Child is This” in the mix, I’m content.

T draws a snowman and a tree...

As we move into the last days of the season, there are still parcels to be wrapped, cards to be sent, and sweets to bake, and of course, songs to be sung.  

So even if you don’t have a card from us yet, please know, we’ll be wishing you “the happiest, the happiest, and the merriest, the merriest!” wherever you are.

card printing

The leaves never know

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haiku

Something in the air today prompted me to pull three slim volumes off my bookshelf.  These books ended up in my possession when I was a teenager, after a great uncle died and the extended family gathered to sort through his things.  As a lover of poetry and occasional poet, I could not pass up charming Haiku books, translated from Japanese to English.

Besides being full of beautiful Haiku from some of the best-loved early Japanese poets, these books are delicately illustrated with woodblock prints, and are a pleasure to look at and hold.  But what makes these particular books even more precious are the notes written inside, by my great uncle, and his brother who gave him the books as gifts.

The first inscription:

I love that Mitchell described haiku as “word pictures of sensitive awareness of nature and life,” and that he trusted his brother would enjoy those very qualities in the poetry.  In the same book, in Howard’s own hand are three haiku.

My favorite:

“The leaves never know

Which leaf will be first to fall

Does the wind know?”

~SOSEKI

I wonder.

Tucked into the first book there is a small slip of paper, carefully cut from a longer letter, typewritten on one side, and in blue ballpoint pen on the other:

“Howard:   Thank you very much for the ‘Japanese Haiku.’  It is an unusually fine translation as it preserves a 5-7-5 syllable form and doesn’t attempt to rhyme.  Efforts to rhyme in the translation often spoil the haiku.”  In red ballpoint pen at the top of this note is written “FROM MBR JAN 1973,” another note from Mitchell, clearly cherished, and safely kept with his own haiku, by Howard.

And last, tucked into the back of one of the books is a folded piece a paper, some kind of photocopy with the exclamatory “A Few Thoughts on Birthdays!” written across the top.

At the bottom is the emphatically underlined phrase:

“Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.  Be gentle with yourself!”

The fleeting, bittersweet quality of autumn has always moved me, and in looking to these books for a poem to mark the day, I am moved by the picture of two aging brothers who had room in their lives for poetry, and a love and sensitivity toward the nature that inspired it.  I only hope for the same love of nature and poetry for my children, brothers all, and that they might also write letters and give books.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My boys know something about the knowing of the leaves and the knowing of the wind.  A couple of weeks ago, the younger two were patiently watching for the signs of the first falling leaves in the back yard.  For us, autumn comes slowly and less dramatically than in colder climates, but it does come in its way.  We are lucky to have great old trees in our yard that lose their leaves and turn yellow, but it takes time.  The boys decided to be prepared for that event.  One afternoon I came out to a yard that looked like this:

When I asked what they were working on, the reply was “We’re making leaf traps!”  The idea was to catch as many leaves as possible, just as they fell.  Here the brothers demonstrate how the traps work:

leaf catchers

caught

Perhaps not the most efficient leaf-gathering technique, but I like the resourcefulness at work!

For my boys, a haiku for autumn:

Fall soon golden leaves

Empty buckets and rakes wait

For you to let go

Autumn is coming here, slowly but surely–even as the days get shorter there is much to savor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Perhaps you will be inspired to write your comment as a haiku?

Young Illustrators

my mouse on a log, after Leo Lionni

Earlier this summer I taught a 5 week kids’ art class called “Young Illustrators,” at the art museum.  The aim of the class was introduce the students to a number of children’s book illustrators and their books, and then to create artworks using the techniques and the materials that those illustrators employ.  The class of 13 was the perfect size, and turned out to be an enthusiastic group of 6-10 year olds.  Preparing for the class was almost as much fun as teaching it, as I whittled down my illustrators list with numerous trips to the library and stack of picture books piling up on my studio floor, reading and studying new and old favorites.  What accumulated there was a treasure trove of talent and diverse approaches to art making and storytelling.

The first week we made “mouse in a maze books,” and to get ideas looked at dozens of different illustrations of mice from “The Tale of Two Bad Mice,” by Beatrix Potter, to “Stuart Little,” by E.B. White, and many more.  The kids started by making fast tiny sketches of their own mice, then we created paper mazes for them to inhabit.

The photos don’t do the books justice as the room was dark, but you get the idea!

mouse maze books

student's book covers

My guys at home, always interested in the art project at hand, contributed their own mouse drawings to my mouse maze sample book.  I love how each of them already has a distinct style of his own!

L's cover illustration

M's mice scurry by

Three mice by T

T mouse meets L mouse

mom's mice at book's end

Leo Lionni has got to be one of my all-time favorite author/illustrators, and with his beautiful combination of simple collage and thought-provoking animal stories, he was the perfect illustrator to start us off.  We read “Matthew’s Dream,” the story of an artist mouse, and the kids made paper mouse collages to begin a five page accordion-style book:

contrast mouse!

The next week we drew Wild Things, in the manner of Maurice Sendak…

pencil first

K's wild thing

and here’s my painted  example to show watercolor and pen and ink texture techniques:

unfinished sample

L tries a Wild Thing at home

The third week we finished our Wild Things, then moved on to painting paper with various textures and colors to get us ready for the work of Eric Carle.

Wild Things by Ben age 6

collage mouse & wild thing by Marvin

Eric Carle paints his own paper for his collaged illustrations, and he often incorporates shaped or otherwise cut out pages.   We did the same thing in our books:

Lionni style, Carle style, by Natalie, age 8

Sendak influence, Carle influence, Ariana age 8

books in progress

For the final week, rather than focus on one illustrator, we looked at Fairy Tales as a genre, and some of the different ways they have been interpreted (and taken liberties with!) over time.  We read “The Three Little Wolves and the Big Bad Pig,” written by Eugene Trivizas and illustrated by Helen Oxenbury, to get the creative juices flowing, then the students chose or imagined a fairy tale to illustrate.  A few kids brought original stories into class to share with me.  Very fun.

Our Fairy Tale illustrations included decorative borders around the main picture, and metallic watercolor paint to add that Fairy Tale Feel.

A illustrates her Fairy Tale

finished books laid out

more finished books

Keeping up with the class meant that I made an accordion book of my own complete with versions of all of the above.  As you can see, I enjoyed myself just a little…

Wild Thing

Lionni, Carle, Sendak...

more like Carle...

Rider

the book

The end of the class is just a beginning, as I barely scratched the surface of all that I love about children’s book illustration.  Next year perhaps I will teach another Young Illustrators session with the same format covering different illustrators.  And for myself, I hope to develop more illustrations of my own and take real steps in that direction.

admiring the finished work

Filling the book

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sketchbook

As sketchbooks go, this one has filled fairly quickly, with life— still and moving around me—as the subject.

Another back yard painting made with waning daylight:

and a quick horizontal yard painting another day.

Pen sketches during swim lessons…

swim lessons

And above the pool, a hillside with gangly palm trees…

Later, sketches in other back yards made while traveling:

and from out the car window…

almost to the Grand Canyon

AZ mountains with raindrops

Then, back at home, the wild life around me:

M with wet hair

fleeting T

And last but hardly least, some guest sketchers made these:

"It's a birthday party--do you see all the balloons?!"

and a collaboration drawing

"That's Dad with a sack of potatoes, and me and the guys coming home. Dad looks like a pumpkin."

And now, just seven pages more to go, and if it gets done before school starts on Monday, I can really call it “The Summer  (of 2011) Sketchbook.”

imagined aerial view

beach sketches

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sketchbook

Just a few sketches to bring in July…

This one, like many warm-up sketches, is slightly awkward.

July 4th

The second full sketch managed to capture the playful scene more to my liking,

and the moving figures have some life.

And last, a quiet moment, at dusk, in the back yard:

When an overall sketch doesn’t quite work, I look for success in the details.

sand digger detail

summer proof

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sketchbook

In the same way that photographs document where we’ve been, who we’ve seen, and what we’ve paid attention to, sketchbooks are recording places for noting details important enough to capture.  This summer, my goal is to keep up with some of the goings on by taking pen and paint to paper.

Already, in the past weeks, the wading pool has been put to good use.  My sketchbook has not seen as much action, but this is the page where I got my feet wet:

Before bedtime the boys listen to the latest book, chapter by chapter, and “Please just one more!?’

And finally this week, the apricots are orange and ripe for the picking.  Picking the apricots is almost as fun as eating them.

top of the tree sketch

Those fuzzy orange apricots are so appealing, I couldn’t resist taking these photos from the top of the ladder.

Many more still to come…  just have to get to them before the birds do!

That’s the proof of summer, right there.

You can’t step in the same irrigation ditch twice

The whole month of May gone and complete radio silence from me, and here we are well into June!  May was momentous, sandwiched between life events of late April and early June that added up together make quite the series of happenings:  death, birth, and a birthday.

In late April, the last of my grandmothers died.  Only she was not a grandmother in the blood-relative way, but in the way of the relationship that she chose to have with me and my siblings.  We called her “Baba,” a nickname given by my younger brother when he was learning to talk, and though it sounded nothing like her name, Mary, Baba she was, and Baba she stayed.  When my parents were a young married couple, Baba took them under her wing, and as just-down-the-street neighbors we spent countless hours visiting the Carlsons–playing in their yard, learning to swim in the pool, sharing meals and holidays.  The four Carlson kids were a generation older than the Rider four, and like aunts and uncles or older siblings, they helped bring us up– babysitting, entertaining, teasing, teaching, making us laugh, and by being good models for living in the world.

Baba was a completely modern woman, who along with being a degreed dietician, had real skill for cooking, sewing and gardening.  She was demanding and loving, with a hearty laugh and an inquisitive mind.  From Baba we learned what it meant to be loved “with a bushel and a peck,” or a swat on the “britches.”  She delighted in us, her chosen grandkids, but didn’t let us get away with a thing.  If we ran out of her house and let the screen door slam behind us we’d hear about it.  If we splashed her drying sheets on the laundry line, we’d hear about that too, in no uncertain terms.  We also knew to throw frisbees and toys for the dog carefully, not in the garden!  Later on, we’d also hear about it if there was any question about our individual directions in life, what we studied, who we dated, where we were headed, because she cared about us like we were family.

As with many memorial services, Baba’s was full of tears and laughter and emotion. I couldn’t get through the first strains of Morning Has Broken and had to stop singing.  But, along with everybody else I laughed in recognition at the memories and stories compiled by family members, of Mary, the person we knew and loved.  The dominant theme running through the recounted stories was one of a woman with an undeniable gift for hospitality.  Her table was a bountiful, and beautiful, and creative one, and the food, always delicious.  I count myself among the fortunate to have eaten at such a table, and the sense memories of Christmas Eve turkey dinners, the smell of homemade fried chicken, delicate lemon custards, and rich coconut layer cake, are so strong that these foods will always remind me of Baba.  It was also at Baba and Dev’s table that we children practiced our best table manners, learning how to use extra forks, cloth napkins, and most importantly, to wait to eat until the hostess was served.

After the memorial service, my sister and I took a nostalgia drive through the old neighborhood where we grew up.  We drove past our childhood home, a two-story Victorian-era house made of stone, now cosmetically improved and added onto since our day.  We continued up the block past the Carlson house, built a bit later than ours, painted a new color, but otherwise much the same from the outside.  I snapped some pictures, and admittedly, felt a little sad.  All of the houses on the block are as they were with small notable differences, plantings, paint colors, surface improvements.  Old houses in a nice, quiet, residential neighborhood, and many seem to have security warning signs prominently posted outside just in case someone with bad intentions gets any ideas.  Inwardly I couldn’t help thinking “that’s not the way it used to be.”  Exactly like the safe neighborhood where we live now in southern California, where the trend seems to be “fix-it-up and keep people out.”

As we completed the neighborhood circuit, my sister stopped the car so I could take a couple last pictures of a best-loved play place of our childhood, the “farmer’s ditch.”  This seasonal irrigation ditch ran parallel to our street, a block down, and from west to to the farm country out east somewhere.  We loved wading there in the summer, would take rubber inner tubes down it, getting out at every under street grate, and walking back a few blocks to do the whole thing again.  When it was dry it was a place to make forts and explore and collect rocks, close to home, but a world away.  Here’s the ditch running with water, just as I remember it below the elementary school grounds:

But just on the other side of the street from this same spot, somebody has improved on my memory, and I’m not sure I like it.  I suppose the truth is that I like the idea of the shored-up bank along the ditch, and the idea of the sanctuary that it looks to be for someone who owns the space.

But this ditch is not what I remember, and my memory is what I want to keep.  And I wonder, would I be welcome there, in our old place?

May, 2011, saw the birth of my newest nephew to my youngest brother and his wife, while other nephews turned 5, and 15.  My own birthday marked the solid move into middle age, as  the five candles on my cake marked out a “41.”  And so life goes.

Any passing on of a loved one is hard, but what seems painfully clear to me is that as the elders born early in the last century pass on, with them goes something we of the younger generations can’t replace.  Even as we celebrate lives just begun, we mourn the passing of a time that won’t come again.

You can’t step in the same irrigation ditch twice.

before the eggs get put away

Before the month is out, and before putting away the Easter supplies, I have to include photos of  the eggs of 2011.  This year I didn’t take any action shots during our Ukrainian egg dying, but the after shots will do!

The Saturday before Palm Sunday marked the now annual cousins’ egg dying afternoon with Margie.  While I made a kind of groovy colorful “mouse in the garden” egg, she made gorgeous turquoise and black design in the more traditional vein.  Then, the day before Easter there was another round of egg dying with the kids, which produced a number of vivid scribbly eggs (Jackson Pollock eat your heart out, again!), and two more from me.

Margie cleans off the wax

cool bird upside down

Finished egg!

succulent nest

this one started out as a naturally green egg...

We’ll make honorary Ukrainians yet!

back to the back yard

Two weeks ago, an artist friend of mine posted a photo on his facebook profile of a delicate charcoal sketch, drawn earlier that day in his back yard.  The drawing was of a tent his daughter set up, and he wrote of enjoying a spring day in Massachusetts, and the practice of drawing for the fun of it.  Usually, he paints.

That brief note and photo got me going.  First, I just wanted to get outside and enjoy our own spring-like weather, and second, do some drawing in the yard.  I liked the tent idea too, but that could wait.

So many interesting viewpoints to tackle, the hardest part was deciding where to begin.  I set up the table and folding chair, and moved it until I found a good, though not exactly level, spot.  The first couple paintings were nothing special, but each a beginning.  Before the ink was dry, I had a little painter at each elbow, wanting to do their own.

taking over the table

painting houses in the night

black ink drying

brush prints

Unlike their mom, the kids crank their paintings out, running through the paper supply in a blink.

looking over the paintings

M's painting

The best part of assisting the boys’ painting session was hearing their ideas about what they were painting.  The black ink inspired them to think of night scenes, and because I painted the yard, garage, and house, so did they.  My favorite was the nearly all black painting that was “our neighbor’s dog behind his fence barking at us.”

Just today I brought out white ink so my youngest artist could finish the dog, a black and white border collie.  Here’s what he came up with:

WOOF!

The dog is a barker, art does imitate life.  I had to laugh.

Three drawing sessions and lovely spring days later, I’ve done two ink drawings that please me.  Not surprisingly, these drawings came about after I warmed up, and the kids had moved on to the swing set.

two on swings

And the next, from another vantage…

from the patio

detail

pots against the wall detail

And now I have a whole new appreciation for these swings!

This morning, unbeknown to me, someone was taking pictures of us as we painted together again (thanks, Paul!).  I only wish I had a recording of the conversation too, as the barky dog was carefully rendered, a little white at a time.

painters viewed from the window

“Time to put bricks on their heads!”

… as one of our former university students likes to say, or in other words, “My, how they’ve grown!”  Each of these exclamations, cliché as they sound, are apt when it comes to sprouting kids, the ones we don’t get to see nearly as often as we should.  My red-headed niece with her 3-year-old’s grin and paint streaked face in the dog-eared photo on my fridge, is now a glamorous 16 year old in a lovely dress, this time posing for prom pictures, on a stairway with tuxedo clad friends.  Sure, that same smile is still there, but how did she grow up so fast?  We also recognize the smile looking out from a different favorite baby picture on the fridge, the one that belongs our other 16 year old niece, now mature and beautiful, and herself an accomplished musician and world traveler.  How does that happen!?  Though I have more current photos, I like keeping those baby faces on the refrigerator, hanging there with goofy magnets and all, reminders of who they used to be.

fridge faces

The same goes for cousins scattered across the country and their kids, and former neighbors’ kids, who seem to grow, weed-like, and have lost their sweet baby cheeks, as chronicled in the yearly holiday letters, and the electronic updates that come to us over the wire.

Every year, that sense of fast-forward time comes into full focus when we have a much anticipated visit from our dear friends from Chicago.  We first became friendly as neighbors and co-workers, but that friendship was permanently cemented when we found ourselves expecting babies at the same time.  And then there were two more babies, and now between us, five.  With those toddler years spent constantly together, our two oldest kids act more like family than friends, and have a special, unfaltering connection.

When Heather and Patrick and their girls came this year, I couldn’t help but have that “bricks on their heads feeling,” and an overwhelming sense of the rightness of sharing in the same kinds of activities that we’ve been doing together since our kids were tiny.  Like déjà vu all over again.

Looking back over the years in pictures, it’s like time lapse photography, but with bigger gaps… see what I mean?!

age 1, under the blossoms

same trees different year

by the lake with baby brother

by the lake 2

under a tree with baby sister

by the lake again

in the lake

hiking the Emily Dickinson Trail

up Mt. Rubidoux

this year, the big kid hikers

And the younger kids, who never want to be left out, could have their own series:

the littlest kids

the littlest, now sitting and standing

hide and seek

underdog!

And just to reiterate the point, there is nothing like classic birthday shots to give a sense of the passage of time.

Baby Ls 1st b-day

Happy 3rd!

special red plate on the 4th

birthday grin

still loves berries

everybody helps

Birthday wish granted--picnic outside!

5, and ready for a fancy dress party

What a delight to watch this band of five make their progress and their way together, even if only once a year.

1, 2, 3, heave!

zoom zoom zoom

picking lots and lots of kumquats

And of course it is great to see them all growing up, up, up, but I have just one request of our Wendy and our Christopher Robin.  Please, keep company with Peter Pan for as long as you can.