(a little back story- As a senior in high school I remember reading a magazine article about a young man who walked off into the Alaskan wilderness with little more than a rifle and a bag of rice. I'd occasionally thought about the guy, wondered if he were crazy, wondered what it must have been like, wondered how he came to that place where his life ended.
Then this week on Charlie Rose there was an interview of Sean Penn & Eddie Vedder - I was only half listening while getting Charles settled with his reading assignment for the day when I heard mention of the name "Alexander Supertramp" and I was startled to recognize the name. I listened to the interview and that night hunted around for more information on the boy and his journey. I ended up picking up the account of his life and reading it in just a few hours....)
I finished "Into the Wild" yesterday. It's one of those stories that needs time to digest. I've read a number of reviews of the movie - but most are really opinions on the character of a dead boy. I suppose I will be no different.
I think that the author of the book was very tangled up with his personal sense of empathy for Chris. I also think that there isn't any way to hear the stories of the people who "knew Alex" and to have the slightest familiarity with that desire to just get the hell out - and not feel some connection. It was a quietly forceful tale. I don't think I can say it was enjoyable - no account of death is. But, since briefly reading the article almost 15 years ago stayed with me, I am certain this will be one of those things that I mull over in the small hours of the morning for many, many years to come.
During the Penn/Vedder interview one of them said the audience is basically either going to love or hate Chris. The author said he received so many letters after the Outdoor article back in 93 that just bashed the kid for his stupidity and selfishness. I have to wonder exactly how far these people have removed themselves from their youthful ideals (or if they had any) and brash decisions made without any experience to back them. I can't believe that desire to walk off into the world and recreate oneself is a rarity among the 16-25 year old kids. It certainly held an attraction for me. It's just the acting on that idea that is uncommon.
Chris decided how he wanted to live and took a leap that, in the end, killed him. But look at the world he experienced that hardly a fraction of the rest of us ever will.
We all make choices (and mistakes) that could kill us: smoking, drinking, speeding, the jobs we do, the hours we work, the people we associate with, the food we eat, running a red light, and so on ad infinitum. So it could take a little longer to kill us, or it could be instantaneous. What joy do they add to our lives? Do these choices nourish our souls? Are we condemned as selfish fools?
He crammed a lot of life into what he had. He accomplished feats of the will & flesh that few others could claim. If instead he had shoved the desire to see & do down into his guts and just existed the remaining years of his life in the way society approves of - would that have been better? And for whom?
His youthful freedom from responsibility gave him that brief opportunity to follow his heart. He took it.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Into The Wild
I picked this book up today after the homeschooler's park date. I'm being blackmailed to leave the pc by Cole who is threatening to make the kids pick up if I don't go outside this instant and shoot the bow.
I'll tell you more about the story behind the book & my interest in it. Later.
Into The Wild
I'll tell you more about the story behind the book & my interest in it. Later.
Into The Wild
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
My Five
Five shots. Twenty Yards. One dead deer.
It looks like only 4 arrows, but it's five.
This is a photo from where I stood with the bow.
Charles told me... "Just think - this could be a real deer soon!"
When I said I might be too nervous when faced with the real thing he told me to just pretend it's the target. Then I won't have to be nervous. I hope it's that easy. But I doubt it!
It looks like only 4 arrows, but it's five.
This is a photo from where I stood with the bow.
Charles told me... "Just think - this could be a real deer soon!"
When I said I might be too nervous when faced with the real thing he told me to just pretend it's the target. Then I won't have to be nervous. I hope it's that easy. But I doubt it!
Monday, September 17, 2007
A Funny
My mother, father, brother & I tend to enjoy exchanging smart a$$ comments when we get together. Sometimes it's like a game to see which of us can get the others to laugh, sometimes it's more like trying to see how long we can keep the ball rolling.
Well - it seems that Charles has inherited this "talent" - he had me laughing till I almost cried last night!
Cole and I had watched a movie and afterward we got into a discussion of time travel and it's confounding contradictions. As my brain slowly twisted into a pretzel Cole quipped "All roads lead to Rome!" So I responded "But, you can't get there from here!"
Later, as I tucked the kids in, I asked Charles:
"Is there anywhere in the world you can't get to from here?"
Charles thought for a bit.... "Antarctica?"
"But people have been to Antarctica."
"Not from here!"
"Alright, Charles. Can you think of anywhere, anywhere, that you can't get to from here?"
Again he thought silently for a moment. Then he grinned and replied...
"Uranus?"
I Cracked completely up!
Well - it seems that Charles has inherited this "talent" - he had me laughing till I almost cried last night!
Cole and I had watched a movie and afterward we got into a discussion of time travel and it's confounding contradictions. As my brain slowly twisted into a pretzel Cole quipped "All roads lead to Rome!" So I responded "But, you can't get there from here!"
Later, as I tucked the kids in, I asked Charles:
"Is there anywhere in the world you can't get to from here?"
Charles thought for a bit.... "Antarctica?"
"But people have been to Antarctica."
"Not from here!"
"Alright, Charles. Can you think of anywhere, anywhere, that you can't get to from here?"
Again he thought silently for a moment. Then he grinned and replied...
"Uranus?"
I Cracked completely up!
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Still Here!
The past few weeks have flown by! Hot hot days filled with preparing for the switch to third grade level work for Charles, our 9th wedding anniversary, my 32nd birthday, park days, slumber parties, and all the regular chores. WHEW!
I received an email from an old friend today and it contained a story she wanted to pass on to me. It brought me to tears & couldn't have come at a better time.
...I think I should add that I believe the story applies to Fathers who go out and break their backs at thankless jobs to create a better future for their families as well...
I received an email from an old friend today and it contained a story she wanted to pass on to me. It brought me to tears & couldn't have come at a better time.
...I think I should add that I believe the story applies to Fathers who go out and break their backs at thankless jobs to create a better future for their families as well...
******************
******************
I'm invisible.
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on the phone?" Obviously not. No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible.
Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?
Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?" I'm a satellite guide to answer, "What number is the Disney Channel?" I'm a car to order, "Right around 5:30, please."
I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again.
She's going she's going . she's gone!
One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England . Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was
hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when
Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, "I brought you this."
It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe . I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees."
In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work: No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names. These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.
A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it."
And the workman replied, "Because God sees."
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become." At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, "My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table." That
would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, "You're gonna love it there."
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.
Great Job, MOM
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on the phone?" Obviously not. No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible.
Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?
Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?" I'm a satellite guide to answer, "What number is the Disney Channel?" I'm a car to order, "Right around 5:30, please."
I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again.
She's going she's going . she's gone!
One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England . Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was
hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when
Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, "I brought you this."
It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe . I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees."
In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work: No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names. These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.
A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it."
And the workman replied, "Because God sees."
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become." At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, "My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table." That
would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, "You're gonna love it there."
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.
Great Job, MOM
******************
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Ohhh... Look what I found!
Were we really that young!? I just love these pictures - they give me the giggles...
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Recall
I had a freak out moment this morning - ABC news had a segment about Mattel toy recalls (lead paint) & they flashed a few images of Dora the Explorer figures. Gillian has a nice collection of Dora toys, including the talking doll house.
I visited the Mattel site for more information and discovered that we'd purchased the toys before the recall. If your child, or a child you know, plays with Dora the Explorer, Sesame Street or Go Diego toys - please take a moment to check this list of recalled toys.
I visited the Mattel site for more information and discovered that we'd purchased the toys before the recall. If your child, or a child you know, plays with Dora the Explorer, Sesame Street or Go Diego toys - please take a moment to check this list of recalled toys.
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