The Crab Chronicles

Living Outside the Box

I guess I have never been a person who worried too much about what was proper, except when it came to morals.

When I was small, I was the kid running around wearing my brother's old shirts, putting the cat in the tub with me, completely unconcerned about what shoes I wore, when I even wore them.

My friend Gary came over last night and we had a good visit. He used to do a lot of creative writing, but not in recent years, as he has a demanding job at UGA. "I don't want to start writing when I only have 10 minutes. That's not enough time to do it right," he said.

It reminded me of a conversation I had years ago with a longtime friend who chided me about not praying properly. "I wouldn't bother God with anything so trivial as a parking place," she had said.

I've always been impatient with that kind of thing.What's wrong with asking God for a good parking place? No matter what words I use, or where I am, I firmly believe God knows my heart, and nothing is out of bounds with him. He isn't some guy sitting up there in the sky. He's within me. Within us all.

Back to writing...

I don't write because I think everything I write is going to be perfect. I'd say probably less than 10% of anything I write creatively is even good, much less awesome, or important, or proper.

But here's the thing: if you get hung up too much on propriety, you will stagnate.You will quit moving forward.

The irony is that Gary and my friend who made that remark are both hugely intelligent folks, highly accomplished. Gary has a Ph.D.

In comparison, I have only an MA. My life is sometimes messy and I veer off in improper directions all.the.time. But I am not complacent. I charge ahead, even if it's in the wrong direction. I MOVE. I make some people quite uncomfortable, I know.

In my defense, I've always tried to remember my manners, and not hurt anyone else when I am blundering around.

I told Gary to just sit down and write for 15 minutes every day, even if he never shows anybody what he writes. The only real way to learn to write is to DO IT.

Since I've become friends with fellow poet Cliff Brooks, I've felt re-energized, in terms of my writing. I've been writing a lot of poems. They are not great. I will likely never get them published anywhere. Yet, they nourish me. I can't define how. There are things bubbling away in my subconscious sometimes that I'm not even aware of until I think about writing a new poem.

When I was chatting Friday with my surgeon and telling her about some of the leakage from one of my incisions, she said basically, if wounds don't drain they can become infected. Later, I realized there's a metaphor there, and it applies to all of life basically.

Sometimes Michael confides things in me and I realize, he is letting that wound drain. I can see the relief on his face as he speaks. To me, this is the most important part of being a parent. If your child can't confide in you the things closest to their heart, you are denying them the chance to heal. You are risking infection, perhaps even risking terrible consequences. Sometimes I feel that's what happened with my daughter, and I regret not being a better listener with her.

Then again, I never could get her to really trust me, no matter how hard I tried.

Oh well, I can only move forward...

I showed Gary a poem yesterday that I wrote recently. It's not a great poem [see below]. It won't win any prizes. But writing it helped me remember that my basic nature has always been to be fearless, to reach for things that others say are impossible or dangerous.

Sometimes I want to say to some of my very proper friends, just GO FOR IT. If you want to write, write. Don't worry about it being perfect. Don't worry about pleasing anyone but yourself.

My friend Lesleigh left last year to go back to school and learn a completely new profession. She did something incredibly scary BUT she followed her passion.

You cannot grow as a person if you are always comfortable, and proper. Get messy. Screw up. Try again. Don't let anyone trample your ideas.

"If we don't change, we don't grow. If we don't grow, we aren't really living."

-Gail Sheehy

 

Home By Dark [a work in progress, like my life]

I remember the formica countertop beneath my hands,

My wiry arm muscles bearing the brunt of it, swinging my leg up

To the countertop, the land of the cabinet.

I was a climber.

Nothing was out of reach.

 

I surveyed my kingdom, the back yard, from atop the swingset,

while still in diapers.

 

As a toddler, I grabbed a flat-bottomed cotton basket and rode it down the front stairs.

 

At two, I hated clothes.

The bosses’ wife found me sitting atop the fridge, wearing nothing, listening to party sounds from the den.

“Aren’t you cold up there, hon?”

 

Only the threat of a spanking got shoes on my feet in the warm months.

 

One day when I was 7, my brother and I hiked a long way down the nearly-dry creek bed

without shirts. We were on safari in Africa, and our pack mules had died.

Some neighborhood boys saw us, pointed and laughed at me. Brother threw me my shirt and we trudged home, slapping mosquitos.

 

I made mud pies, buried green plastic soldiers,

Fashioned masterpieces with light brites and Legos,

Cheated at Operation and Candyland,

Coveted slingshots and bikes.

Beat all the boys at

Front yard football, kickball, and hide and go seek.

 

We had to be home by dark, or when called for supper.

 

I was always home

 Before the moon shone high and clear.

 
Gary and me, around 2001

"Friendship marks a life even more deeply than love. Love risks degenerating into obsession. Friendship is never anything but sharing."

- Elie Wiesel

Corners

Yesterday was a busy day - in a good way - and I am still processing it all.

Corners were turned. Usually in life you don't actually know when corners are turned, but I knew. It was clear.

Here's the first corner: I had my followup appointment with my surgeon. Everything is on track. Incisions are healing well. No more female issues.

Best news of all - she said I can go back swimming! Yay! As long as the incisions stay intact and I don't start bleeding, all is well. I will be swimming this afternoon.

Second Corner - I also went to an Open Mic poetry reading. I had not been to a poetry reading in many years. It was great fun. I read some of my poetry. I interviewed a friend of mine for this blog, and hopefully I will get that posted in the next few days.

It was a total blast to hang out with new people. I was home by 9:30.

Thursday night, Michael and I watched a very funny movie, that the critics hated, but we thought it was great. Critics are sometimes dead wrong.

 

Mentally Exhausted

The day I have had has been so stressful, on so many levels, that if I didn't have faith in God and a nice bottle of white wine in the fridge I would be a drooling idiot sitting in the corner hitting myself repeatedly in the head with a board.

That may be either the most visual or the most disturbing sentence I have ever written.

And most moms, moms who have more than one child, will want to hit me with the board, in the head, when they have finished reading this blog.

But hey, it's MY PITY PARTY, so settle down and keep reading.

The first thing I had to do this morning was help Mother get her bath, and I won't go into details on that, out of respect for her, but it was not really fun, only because I was trying to hurry so much. Trying to hurry my mother is about as intelligent as going outside and yelling at the grass to grow faster.

She is a HASTY. That is a total misnomer. Hastys do.not.hurry.

Then I had to make breakfast.

Waking Michael  was not fun - to get him up is hard. Then, to get him interested in getting dressed and eating something before heading to school for what's benignly called Viking Visit Day? Not fun.

When I was in high school we never had to go through this HELL called "Visit Day." We didn't have to dig around and find a recent utility bill to prove where we live. We didn't have to stand in line with 5,000 annoyed parents and jittery teenagers, waiting to be herded into the gym to stand in more lines.

We live in the computer age. WHY on earth can't this nonsense be handled by a computer??!?!?

Michael picked up his class schedule, took one look at it, and promptly refused to show it to me. He likely knew I would be apoplectic to discover that there is no science teacher listed. Last year he had to wait almost 2 months before he got a Biology teacher. He learned next to nothing in Biology. It was a nightmare.

We had to pay class dues of $45 in another line. What do low income parents do? That's a big hunk of money if you aren't working steadily or you are working for minimum wage. It cost $27 to join the PTSA, and that was another line.

Then we had to wait in line 3 more times for him to get his locker.

Then we had to leave and come home in the pouring rain. I was soaked just walking to the car.

When we got home, we had to hustle and get Mom in the car to go to the dermatologist.

On the way, I had to tell Michael about 4 times to turn down the nasty rap music on his iPod, because even with his earbuds in I was subjected to listening to that crap. He didn't believe me when I told him it was too loud. Finally I had to say IT"S TOO LOUD!!

We finally got to the professional building. I had to stop in front of the building so Michael could get out the wheelchair and get Mom in it, and wheel her inside while I went and parked the car, in the rain.

The dermatologist's folks were all very nice, and Mom liked the doctor - hallelujah. He didn't put her on the scale. He laughed when she told him her firm belief that Preparation H cures most skin issues. They are not that far apart in age. It was a win win situation, especially if the cream he prescribed works.

Coming home, we had to sit in traffic on I-285, a/k/a The Highway from Hell. I turned on NPR to catch the BBC News folks because their news is SO much better than American news. Mother said "Why are they talking in British accents?"

"It's the BBC, Mom... British Broadcasting something-or-other."

Then we came back by Checkers and picked up some lunch and came home.Michael had finished two chili dogs before Mother and I even got to the table.

I rested for 30 minutes. Then I had to go back to CVS and get her prescriptions. They only had one of them ready.

Now Michael is saying he doesn't feel well.He has been pretty surly most of the day, so I am not surprised. I think his illness is notreadyforschooltostartback-itis.

Mother is exhausted.

I do not feel like cooking. Or eating. Or anything else.

The only good thing about the horribly rainy day? I didn't have to water my gardens.

Oh OK, the rainwater actually improved the look of my messy hair. I should market that! Polluted rain does WONDERS for your hair!

Tomorrow is another day, as Miss Scarlet would say...

Company Dinner: Easy Salmon

When I was a kid we had two kinds of meals: regular and company. A regular meal always consisted of at least one meat, one vegetable, and one starch, and frequently other things, but the vegetable and meat were non-negotiable. So was a tall glass of milk, every night of my childhood. [I don't like to drink plain milk. Never liked it, even as a baby. I would disguise the taste with Bosco or Nestle's Quik or Ovaltine.]

Company dinners were altogether more "fancy" and involved more silverware, the "good" placemats, the "good" glasses, and lots of glaring eye contact between Mom and Dad and me, if I dared to put my elbows on the table, talk with my mouth filled with food, or any other unpardonable sin.

Anyway, I made poached salmon last night and it occurred to me that it would be a great "company" dinner.

Poaching salmon may sound hard but it's not. You don't even have to know how to cook. I don't really think you could screw it up, unless your salmon was bad. If you just cook the salmon within a day or two of purchase, you should be OK.

Poached Salmon

Years ago my mother devised this recipe.

1. Rinse off your salmon filets and feel of them in case there are small bones. [pull those out with tweezers]

2. Place them in a skillet and cover them with a mixture or water and white wine and lemon juice. The more wine you can use, the better.

3. Make sure you have at least one nice lemon, and you juice it. I have an old-fashioned juicer that I love and use every day. Pour some lemon juice in the water, and save back some for the sauce.

4. Bring the fish to a boil, then reduce the heat to low and cook it, covered, for about 10 minutes, unless you like rare salmon. [Then you're on your own because we eat thoroughly cooked salmon, sorry..]

5. While the salmon cooks, get a small bowl. Put in a dollop of Duke's mayonnaise [or whatever your fave brand is, but not Miracle Whip], or 2-3 spoonfulls, depending on how much sauce you want. Add lemon juice, a little sea salt and pepper, and lots of dried dill weed or chopped fresh dill. I like to add onion powder too, or you can chop some onion.Mix it up and TASTE it. Should be tangy.

Serve the salmon carefully as it tends to fall apart.

Last night, Michael looked at the bowl of sauce and shook his head. He asked me what was in the sauce, and made a bowl entirely for himself.

If you serve this with some warm french bread and a nice salad, it's a terrific company meal. I would recommend lemon pie for dessert, if you can hold dessert.

Of course, a great movie to watch after dinner would be Salmon Fishing in the Yemen. Wonderful movie.

Here are some other recipes that would work with the salmon:

Elva’s Fabulous Salad

Part of the key to this salad is the lettuce. Forget iceberg. You want tender Boston lettuce (or other soft or spring lettuce). Buy at least two small heads of it and rinse it thoroughly. Either dry it carefully with paper towels, or put it in a salad spinner. We have a salad spinner and it does a great job.

  2-4 cloves fresh garlic

Juice of one lime or enough to make a tart dressing.Taste and add more if needed.

1/2 tsp salt

1-2 cups fresh mushrooms, washed and sliced.

½ cup Olive oil

½ cup good feta cheese, crumbled

  Chop the garlic cloves fine, or use a garlic press, or buy a small jar of minced garlic. In a glass dish, place the mashed garlic; sprinkle with salt; mash the salt into the garlic using a fork or back of a spoon. (This releases the good flavor).  Add the olive oil and lime juice. Beat with a fork or whisk. Add sliced mushrooms. Put it aside for an hour or so if you have time. All day is even better. Don't chill it. Meantime, wash the lettuce and put it in the fridge, or spin it and refrigerate it.

 When you are almost ready to eat, tear the lettuce into bite size pieces, add the feta cheese to the oil, then add the lettuce leaves and the mushrooms to the dressing. Toss everything well, from the bottom. Don’t put any other dressing on it.

OPTIONAL: Can add : sliced scallions or cherry tomatoes.  

 

Elva's Fruit Salad

 Mix: 1 cup sour cream, 1/4 cup sugar, and juice of 1/2 lime until sugar is dissolved, and taste -  it should be quite tart so add more lime juice if you need. Next, fold in 1 cup miniature marshmallows, and 1 lg. can mandarin oranges, drained, 1 tall can pineapple tidbits, drained, then 2 cups washed, seedless grapes. Fold fruit into the cream mix. Cover and chill til ready to serve.

 Just before serving , fold in 1 cup toasted walnuts, lightly salted

[below, me and Mom in the kitchen, and relaxing in the 1971 family room...]

 

 

Book Grief and Farming

Is it just me, or do you jump out of your seat when clicking on a website that has video somewhere on the page that you're not aware of?!

I was curious about former President Bush's heart surgery and when I got on the page the video started and I nearly jumped out of my skin.Gotta turn down my speakers more often..

I like to look at The Weather Channel website for my zip code, and that usually has some little video on it, too.It startles me every dadgum time.

Why can't we just have news stories that are words, with no videos on the page? I fear we are becoming a society that's moving further and further away from the written word. I have loved books since I was 7 years old and I am totally horrified that we are raising kids who don't love to read, except on a Facebook page.

I finished Where the Heart Is this morning and I felt bereft. You know that feeling, when you can't stop reading a good book and yet you feel this awful dread and sadness when it's over? I have felt that many times.

I have already started my new book, Bootstrapper: From Broke to Badass on a Northern Michigan Farm. I am fascinated by people who farm. I like to garden. It's an entirely different thing. If my crops fail, there's always Kroger or Publix. For a farmer, if crops fail, it's a crisis. To me, there is no greater drama than a farm.

I come from generations of farmers, though. Below, my great grandfather William D. Hasty.

Just the other day, Mother and I were laughing about the fact that when she lived on a farm as a little girl, Papaw always named the pigs after Royalty. King George, Queen Victoria, etc. I imagine they were always English kings and queens and I am sure our Irish and Scottish heritage had nothing to do with that...

My grandfather thought being manager of a large farm during World War II was a really prudent thing to do. Nobody knew if the Germans or Japanese would invade America. There were submarines off our coast.

Mother has a whole slew of stories from that time, from the farming years. Of course, she was a little girl, and I think it colored her perceptions more than she realizes. Wartime shortages are among her earliest memories, too.

To this day, she hates to throw away glass jars, or odd buttons. She will save 2 spoonfulls of food in the fridge. She is pretty frugal.

This blog has sorta been all over the place, but so be it.

I have to go fix dinner so I will close, but I leave you with the trailer to one of my favorite movies, Places in the Heart:

 

Exciting Monday

I lead SUCH an exciting life. Here are the highlights of my day today: the bug guy is coming at 11, hopefully; I need to clean out the fridge; and I need to pay bills.

Whoopee! Can you handle the excitement?!

Showed Michael one of my fave movies last night, Big Fish. Terrific movie. One of the few Tim Burton movies I really like, although I didn't care for it much the first time I saw it. I think it's one of those movies you need to see at the right time in your life. The father reminds me of my dad, although my dad didn't travel that much. He was a great storyteller, though.

I remember seeing The Graduate when I was a kid, on TV, and thinking it was incredibly stupid. Then I saw it when I was in college and loved it.

We also finished watching Hitchcock, a movie I saw in the theater with Michael and loved. Anthony Hopkins should have won the oscar, and Helen Mirren was wonderful, as always.I took a course in Hitchcock films when I was a freshman in college and it was one of the best classes I ever had.

I am reading, for my book club, a book called Where The Heart Is. Wonderful book. Truly well written and compelling characters. I remember being unimpressed by the movie years ago, but books are almost always better.

My last book club book, 11/22/63, was one of the best books I've ever read. Not your usual Stephen King. More of a novel with a sci fi twist, time travel.I thought since it's such a looooong novel it would be tough to plow through it, but it wasn't.

To those who have wondered about it, I am feeling MUCH improved. It's been almost 3 weeks since my surgery. I have more stamina, I can actually bend over now, and the incision scars are healing up beautifully, even the troublesome bellybutton scar. [Alesia, when she was learning English, referred to it as the "bellybottom."]

My gardens are pooping out. Too much rain. A lot of the tomatoes just didn't mature before bugs got 'em and we lost a bunch of them. My little replacement plants are struggling too. We are still getting plenty of cucumbers, though, and I am eating them every day. I just peel and slice them and drizzle them with balsamic vinegar.

I hear the bug guy. Later Dudes.

my maternal great grandmother Jennie McMillan and her mother and siblings.

PRAYER NEEDS

My friend Stephanie is still trying to manage all her kids and her son Bojan, who is home from having part of a leg amputated, and still trying to deal with a lot of pain, poor baby. Please say a prayer for him, and for all their wonderful family.

TV Thoughts

As I guess y'all have noticed, I've been in a prosaic mood lately, wanting to explore some ideas here. I write exactly what I like, and what is rattling around in my head, and the beauty of being a small blog is that I can do exactly as I please. I don't have to answer to sponsors or advertisers.

Today I just want to talk about TV.

I was thinking today, it has been a really tough summer. I have not felt good for months, although just in the past couple of days I can really feel my strength coming back. The incision sites on my abdomen are nearly healed over. Things are finally on the upswing, thanks be to God.

I have long maintained my absolute disgust with most things on TV, I must admit. However, when you don't feel good, TV is sometimes the only option. So I have been watching more TV lately, I will admit.

Michael and I have started to really like a show on the History Channel called American Pickers. I love seeing the stuff they buy, and learning about each object. They are into antiques, but not chi chi stuff - they like old advertising signs, old bicycles, toys, and just plain weird one-of-a-kind objects, like lamps made out of popsicle sticks.

The interesting benefit of this is that Michael has developed a love of old things. He finds them fascinating. When the weather cools down we need to go antiquing. I also watch Antiques Roadshow when I remember it's on, which is usually right after dinner, for us. We typically eat between 7:30 and 8.

Michael also likes Counting Cars, although I am not so wild about that, simply because I am not much interested in cars. My brother watched one of the episodes when he was here recently and he said "You know, a friend of mine now refers to the History Channel as The Macho Channel." Yep, I can see that.

There's an entire show about men who live in the mountains, people who live in swamps, pawn shops, truck drivers. Here's a link to all their shows. There's a new one called The Legend of Shelby The Swamp Man. Great. Another wack job with a southern accent.

Shelby is like Honey Boo Boo's crazy uncle.

I much prefer the Travel Channel. My favorite show on there is Bizarre Foods. You learn a lot about different countries and cuisines. I bet Andrew Zimmern, the host, buys Immodium at Sam's, super-sized.

I also like Monumental Mysteries, because you learn a lot.

anyway, need to do more dishes and kitchen work and less TV watching... this is one of my fave photos of my kids, made right after we got Michael home...

Open Minds, Blessings, and Healing

What is the most powerful force in the universe? God. How does he manifest his power? The human brain. That's my belief, anyway.

I do think God gave us brains for a reason, and we need to use them.

I also feel God uses our thoughts and wishes to help us, even when we aren't formally praying.

I have noticed a strange but nice phenomena over the years, in my inner life. I am pretty careful not to pray for specific things, because I think that is like telling the Lord what to do. I try to pray for guidance and help, just generally, because I have learned over the years that so often what I think is the best course of action is entirely different than what the Lord has in mind.

For instance, I spent 20+ years praying for a husband and a family, in that order. Finally, I turned 40 and I just revised it to something along the lines of "Lord, I need a miracle now. I really want a family." Within months, I was on a plane headed to Russia and within a few years, I had my house in the 'burbs and my little family.

No husband, but that's OK. My kids needed my full attention. Once I quit trying to stalk and kill find a husband, life got a lot better.

I have forgotten where I first read this, but it has become my credo: "God's plans are exactly what we would want for ourselves if we knew all the facts." Exactly. Awesome words to help a stress monkey like me calm down and just get 'er done.

Anyway, back to my original premise.

I have noticed that a lot of times what I wish for, I get.

I didn't pray for it, I simply wished it into being, and so it appeared. Of course, this is usually after I had done what I could to make it happen, like emailing some of my friends to see if they could help me get Michael employed this summer. I really didn't think it would do any good whatsoever, and yet he has worked two different jobs this summer [children's tennis camp and the pool concession stand] plus a number of house-sitting jobs for folks out of town.

I have wished for silly things, like more tomatoes, or the ability to chill out and take a nap, or any number of things. Only after I get what I want do I remember that I wished for that.

Here's the catch, though. I can't stop myself from these little wishes, but I never have an expectation that they will be granted. It's like simply a lagniappe from God, in my view.

Can our minds manifest wishes and turn them into reality? I think so, but I think the catalyst is God, not just the fact that I wished.

A Facebook buddy posted a bizarre article the other day that said that folks who tried to manifest The Secret are employing methods of Satan. I think that's really overreacting. The idea that our thoughts can cause things to change in the unvierse? I agree with that. The idea that we can think ourselves into wealth? Hogwash. I also shake my head at the so-called prosperity preachers like T.D. Jakes. Seems to me he's the only one getting mega rich there, not his followers.

However, I like to consider all possibilities carefully, because I think the human capactiy to understand the universe is tiny. We need to be open to new ideas, and not just reject them out of hand.

For instance, a lot of folks view prescription medicines as wonderful and natural healing as suspect. After my recent surgery, I got a prescription filled for pain medication, and when I got home and looked at it, I thought to myself, I don't need this stuff. The pain is not that bad. I didn't take any of it. I did take a lot of vitamin C, and Grapeseed extract, and I have been trying to drink a lot of water. I take fish oil, and a B-complex and extra potassium and calcium, too. I've also tried to think positively and not get caught up in controversies.

I think diseases thrive when one is stressed out, and the best thing we can do to be healthy is to be calm.

What amazes me is how doctors think that the way to heal folks is just by a surgical procedure or a particular therapy. They don't have the time, or perhaps the desire, to really understand the entire human body. They don't sit and discuss nutrition, and how it plays a role in overall health. The school that Lesleigh is attending takes the approach that health is about the whole body, and we must eat what we need, which will be different for different folks.

You may totally disagree. That's OK. We need to keep the dialogue open, though. Think about this stuff. Research it. Recognize that God is in all things, and he is working for good, always, whether we want to believe it or not.

On Writing and Storytelling

I don't write a whole lot about the fact that I am a writer, because it seems self-indulgent and kinda creepy, but every so often I read something and get really inspired.

A few weeks ago, I finished a novel so huge and heavy that I had to prop it on a pillow to read it. I had not read a lot of Stephen King's books, but several of them were really enjoyable. I recently joined a book club, and soI read 11/22/63. Then I missed the meeting, because it was a day after I got out of the hospital, but so be it. I am still really glad I read it.

This New York Times intervew of the entire King family is a long read, but if you are interested in King, or in writing in general, you will likely enjoy it.

What the article reminded me is that what turns on a writer of fiction is the notion of story. You may think that's too simplistic. Fine. But it's true.

All writing is about STORY. 

I was trying to help a client recently and we got into an argument about this very thing. If you communicate with a lot of terminology that's not immediately accessible to your audience, your story is lost. I don't care if it's a 250 word blog post or a 500 page novel, the goal is to communicate.

When I was in graduate school I was pretty unpopular with the professors because I steadfastly maintained that telling a story shrouded in obscure or incomprehensible language was simply wrong and I wanted no part of it. So when I took a course on Wallace Stevens I clashed a lot with the professor. He thought Stevens was brilliant. I thought he failed to communicate clearly or meaningfully.

Here's an example:

Anecdote of the Jar

By Wallace Stevens

---

I placed a jar in Tennessee,
And round it was, upon a hill.
It made the slovenly wilderness
Surround that hill.

The wilderness rose up to it,
And sprawled around, no longer wild.
The jar was round upon the ground
And tall and of a port in air.

It took dominion every where.
The jar was gray and bare.
It did not give of bird or bush,
Like nothing else in Tennessee.

 

It still amazes me that we spent 2 or 3 class periods endlessly discussing that poem. I had the thought that if I set my hair on fire it would have been more fun. Certainly would've helped me stay awake.

My refusal to worship Stevens was just one of the many indicators that told me I should not pursue a Ph.D. - well, and the fact that I couldn't afford the tuition. I am pretty glad now I didn't even try, because I couldn't deal with the politics of a university. I had an uncle who taught at a small college for many years, and I know something of that world.

Anyway, I am not a literary snob. I am also not a rube. The fact that I firmly believe that the function of all writing is to communicate clearly, and/or to tell stories, is viewed as immature by a lot of highly educated folks. 

What I also find irritating is that teachers don't take the time to teach kids how to write. Teach them how to do research and WRITE. It will be the best preparation you can give them for life. When I was a sophomore at Farragut High School, I had to write a well-researched and footnoted research paper. It was the main focus of the sophomore year. I viewed it as a huge headache and resented it. However, I realized much later how valuable it was. [My paper, BTW, was about female spies during the Civil War.] No other class was as valuable to me once I got to college.

If you want to communicate something and have it remembered, you need to tell a story.You also need to use language that's clear.

When I was trying to help Michael with Biology last year, we found that finding well-crafted videos on YouTube about the topic was a great way to help him learn. Just spewing out information in a textbook doesn't help a child remember. STORIES are the way to go, even if it's seemingly silly, like Phoebe the Photosynthesis Shirker.

I am not alone in this belief in the power of stories. This article, The Science of Storytelling explains it well:

"We know that we can activate our brains better if we listen to stories. The still unanswered question is: Why is that? Why does the format of a story, where events unfold one after the other, have such a profound impact on our learning?

The simple answer is this: We are wired that way. A story, if broken down into the simplest form, is a connection of cause and effect. And that is exactly how we think. We think in narratives all day long, no matter if it is about buying groceries, whether we think about work or our spouse at home. We make up (short) stories in our heads for every action and conversation."

When I finished college, I got an ear infection the day I was supposed to be packed up and driving home. I had rented a huge Uhaul trailer and loaded all my old furniture from my little apartment into it, and I was trying to finish cleaning out the place, and my ear started throbbing. My dad was able to come to Athens with a friend, and drive me home, for about 6 hours. My ear was killing me, it was 100 degrees outside in an un-air conditioned car, and I needed to be distracted. So he told me stories, all the way home. 

It was one of the most terrible days of my life, and conversely one of the best days of my life. Thank God my father was a great storyteller.

When I was pondering all the issues that might arise after I adopted my son, I realized that I wanted to tell him a story about what it was like to live in an American family. Thus, I wrote Jack's New Family, so he would have a better understanding. He understood it in Russian, and later we read it in English. Stories are powerful.

Stories are life. Tell good ones. Tell stories that are understandable and meaningful.

My Awesome Son from Kazakhstan

I spent a good deal of time yesterday working on an article for a magazine aimed specifically at folks with limb differences, inMotion. I have seen the magazine at the clinic where Michael goes to get his prosthetic fitted and adjusted.

The article I wrote is not long, but the thesis is simply that not all UE [upper extremity] limb difference folks choose to wear a prosthetic.

If you think about it, it makes sense. If you are a LE [lower extremity] limb different person, you will find it impossible to walk without a prosthetic. Most people will choose a prosthetic over a wheelchair or crutches, absent other issues.

If you are missing a hand, or even an entire arm, however, you have more choice.

Michael lost his right hand and forearm to frostbite when he was 5 years old. Can you imagine being 5 years old and being told that if your hand isn't amputated, you will die? It boggles my mind and makes me very sad every time I think of that.

Michael has a remarkably good attitude about his missing hand. Rarely have I ever heard him complain about it, even though he sometimes gets frustrated with manual tasks such as cutting.

I have been reading a blog for a while by a young pastor in Wisconsin who has the same limb difference as Michael. his blog is Living One Handed. I really like it, because he aims to have a positive influence on people who live with only one hand.As he says:

"My aim in life is to help people realize they are valuable.

They are lovable.

They are important.

Hopefully my story, my life, will help you to find and live yours."

See this little guy, with his pants that are too big? This is Michael in 2007, in my hotel room in Kazakhstan, playing with an inflatable beach ball I brought from America. See that grin on his face? He already knew he was loved and wanted, and would soon be heading to a new life in America.

There are hundreds of kids with limb differences needing to be adopted.

Most people when they talk about adoption say they want a "healthy" child. They don't want to consider a child who is not, in their eyes, "whole." What they fail to realize is the amazing resilience of a child who may be viewed as "handicapped" by the rest of the world, but who has learned to adjust to his or her limitations and find joy in life anyway.

I belong to a Yahoo group of parents of kids with limb differences, and what I hear over and over from parents who are newly home with their kids is that these kids are amazing.There are 897 members of the group. That's a lot of kids in loving homes.

I was corresponding with another parent about my article and she shared this about her 3 year old son:

"We adopted him from China, he has been home 13 months. Very social. Says hi to everyone. He has become quite the singer, he will serenade ladies at the grocery store with "twinkle, twinkle little star"."

Does that sound like some poor, pitiful little "handicapped" child??

I remember when I was in the process of adopting Michael, some folks looked at me with great skepticism and/or awe, that I would take in a little charity case, like what I was doing was a humanitarian gesture. Nothing could be further from the truth. I knew instinctively that he was the right child for us. The agency said he had a great personality, was intelligent, got along well with other kids, and was totally self-sufficient.The missing hand was really not important to me, although I felt bad that in Kazakhstan he was viewed as a person who would always depend on government assistance and would find it probably impossible to get a job when he grew up.

I also was able to get information on Michael from The Antares Foundation because their CEO had been to Kazakhstan and met Michael, and could tell me truthfully what a great boy he was.

When I traveled to Petropavlovsk, Kazakhstan, in March of 2007 and finally met Michael, after months of hearing about him and seeing photos sent by the good folks at Antares, I knew the moment I saw him he was my son. It didn't matter that he didn't speak English, or that he had spent his first 10 years without us. All that mattered was that I wanted a son and I knew he would be a wonderful addition to our family.

The kind of joy that I felt then, and still feel now, is beyond price. It's not a second-best choice, which is how a lot of people view adoption. Michael has always been my son, but it took me some time to figure that out. He has been a joy to me ever since he came home.

I have heard from several people over the years, folks who know Michael well, that they never think of him as having a missing hand. His personality, his intelligence, his kindness - these are the attributes that shine through. The hand is just not important.

I just wish more people would realize that:

1. Most kids with limb differences are just normal kids, and they can be an awesome addition to your family. Shriners will help your child get a prosthetic if he/she wants one, at no charge.

2. Adoption is not impossible to afford. There is an adoption tax credit of almost $13,000. I also got a $2,000 grant from the state of Georgia for adopting an older child, and a $3,000 grant from my employer.

Even if you don't have any desire to adopt, the fact that you are reading this is a good thing. There are lots of ways to help kids in foster care here, or in orphanages overseas. A good place to learn more is the Evan B. Donaldson Institute.

As you can see below, my son is all boy, and he can do ANYTHING.

Mike at camp in summer 2012, whitewater rafting

hitting golf balls last March

climbing the wall

swimming with Colton earlier this summer