And the baby is....

May 18
6:05 P

From: Peter Simmons
Its a little baby girl

Niece or Nephew?

My brother, sister-in-law, and I have been exchanging a flurry of texts over the past few hours about little Baby Simmons. Today they went in for their ultrasound to find out if they are having a boy or a girl. They’ve decided to keep it a secret for 24 hours, so I wont actually find out until tomorrow, but here are the texts we exchanged in the meantime…

May 17, 2010

3:05 P
From: Liz Simmons
Guessing time! What do you think our baby is?

3:28 P
To: Liz Simmons
Dreamed you had a girl, but I think you are actually having a boy. Am excited to find out!!

3:28 P
From: Liz Simmons
so your guess is Boy?

3:31 P
To: Liz Simmons
Yes indeed! What is the current tally for boy vs girl?

3:33 P
From: Liz Simmons
6-boy 9-girl.

3:34 P
From: Liz Simmons
7-boy 9-girl * just got an update

3:37 P
To: Liz Simmons
Oh, it is getting close! You two must be having fun with this – leaving us in suspense! 

3:38 P
From: Liz Simmons
Yes! I’m going to put this in the baby book too!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

5:41 P
From: Peter Simmons
The baby looks very healthy

5:48 P
To: Peter Simmons
So glad to hear that! Must have been exciting to see your baby again.

5:51 P
From: Peter Simmons
Yep

5:52 P
From: Peter Simmons
Saw the little hands open and close

5:52 P
From: Peter Simmons
9 ounces

5:57 P
To: Peter Simmons
Oh, wow, that is so amazing! Makes my heart so happy to hear that! I am still smiling thinking about Baby Simmons’ little hand.

What do you write?

Tonight I attended a writing group at a local bookstore. It was a feeble step in my attempt to become more connected to other writers in Des Moines and perhaps find some motivation to write more consistently on my own. In college I wrote all the time. I had too. I was a History and Writing & Rhetoric major which meant semesters filled with research papers and essays. After graduation, the deadlines disappeared, and my writing lagged. It’s not that I don’t want to write, but there are always so many other things to do. (I don’t know whether or not I should take comfort from the fact that most writers say this.)

I wasn’t quite sure of what to expect from this gathering. I knew we wouldn’t be workshopping any pieces, but I wasn’t sure what type of discussion we’d have. So, I can’t exactly say I was disappointed by my experience – let’s just say it was interesting.

There were ten of us there, all were forty something and older expect for one girl who was my age. The atmosphere was perfect. We were tucked in the corner of the bookstore, so we were surrounded by shelves upon shelves of books! The gentleman in charge of the group began by passing out plastic champaign glasses of Sangria and handouts about writing quarry letters, cover letters and blogs. We didn’t talk much about them. From there the conversation wandered as participants asked questions and shared experiences. One gentleman is in the middle of writing a sequel to a novel he published last fall. Another is expecting a book out next month. One writer offered some suggestions about working with agents. Another talked about an authors’ conference coming up in September. Another talked about her appointment with an agent at a Wisconsin writing conference next week. This will be her chance to sell her book!

Of course, since I was new, they wanted to know what I write. Who are you? and What do you write?

I was dreading this question. Write? What do I write? The who I am is easy enough, but how do I describe what I write, what I want to write and more importantly that I don’t really write which is why I have such a vague notion of what I write in the first place. I know that what I say will push me into a genre box of sorts, which is ok, but in my first meeting, how do I want them to think about who I am. If I told them I wrote memoir or romance or mysteries, they would readily understand that.

I told them I write essays. Nice broad brush stroke. I should have known it wouldn’t be enough. Well, what kind of essays, they want to know. Ummm…essays about some of my life experiences, I say, I’d like to write about the museum where I work and history and my own experiences working in the past although it really isn’t like what it was like in the past. It sounds flimsy, like I have no idea of what I’m doing, which would be accurate. I really don’t.

To be honest, most of my recent writing has just been writing exercises. Some of my writing prompts have resulted in fiction. Some have the feelings of an essay, others are autobiographical and some are just descriptions of things. I’m just trying to put in some training miles, trying to make writing a habit, something I need to do everyday.

Of course, now that I am home and writing about my experience, I’ve figured out what I should have said to the question of, What do you write?

I write creative non-fiction, I'll say next time. Are you familiar with Annie Dillard? She writes brilliant things about life by writing about insects and clouds and sand. I want to do something similar, but by writing about historic moments and objects and connecting those objects to the past and the present. I wrote about a fountain. I want to write about hair and desks and penmanship. I wonder what they will say then.

A Rainy Day

Tonight as I was driving home from work in the pouring rain, tires splashing through overflowing gutters, slowing to a stop for two rain soaked girls to run barefoot across the street, I was reminded of something that a friend and I did years ago……

Back when I lived in Ft. Collins, CO, on another rain filled afternoon, my best friend Halley and I were playing at my house. (My guess is we were in kindergarten, but even if we had only been in preschool, we were only in school in the mornings.) As it was nearing the time for my older sister to get out of school, my mom decided to let Halley and I walk the two blocks to school to meet her. Because it was so rainy, we decided we should wear boots lest our feet get soaked. However, we did have any rain boots, so we decided to wear my parents’ moon boots.

Off we set. Instead of walking on the sidewalk where our feet would have been sure to stay dry, we found it more adventurous to slog through the overflowing gutters. It was probably an accident at first that some water got into our boots. They were too big after all, and we were splashing through the gutters, but after the little bit first got in, we began to plot. We decided it would be funny to fill our boots with water, so that when we took them off when we got home, water would spill all over the floor. Of course, we would pretend that we had no idea there was even any water in our boots! We started doing knee bends, dragging our boot tops through the water to fill them up. I pictured little worms being swept up inside the dark corners of my boots. I could feel the water squishing around my toes.

We met my sister and walked properly home with her.

Then the moment arrived - the moment when we would execute the final piece of our scheme. Off we pulled our boots. Out poured the water…all over the linoleum of the entryway floor, into a puddle between the long, pseudo stained glass window and our hall tree. My mom’s surprise and dismay, our shoulder shrug and “We don’t know how that happened! It was really wet outside.” Mom grabbed some towels to begin mopping up the mess. I don’t think we were punished for it. Perhaps Mom really did think it an accident, after all, why would we intentionally fill our boots with water?

Several years later when Halley and I were reminiscing about this incident, Mom said she had absolutely no memory of this ever taking place. Nothing we said could even jog the slightest hint of this memory in her mind. If it happened, she must have blocked it from her memory. Were we sure we really did that? But if Halley and I both remember it, it must have happened, right?

He is Risen!

Now after the Sabbath, as it began to dawn toward the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary came to look at the grave.

And behold, a severe earthquake had occurred, for an angel of the Lord descended from heaven and came and rolled away the stone and sat upon it.

And his appearance was like lightning, and his clothing as white as snow.

The guards shook for fear of him and became like dead men.

The angel said to the women, "Do not be afraid; for I know that you are looking for Jesus who has been crucified.

"He is not here, for He has risen, just as He said. Come, see the place where He was lying.

"Go quickly and tell His disciples that He has risen from the dead; and behold, He is going ahead of you into Galilee, there you will see Him; behold, I have told you."

And they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy and ran to report it to His disciples.

Matthew 28

When I Survey the Wondrous Cross

By Isaac Watts

When I survey the wondrous cross

on which the Prince of Glory died;

my richest gain I count but loss,

and pour contempt on all my pride.

Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,

save in the death of Christ, my God;

all the vain things that charm me most,

I sacrifice them to his blood.

See, from his head, his hands, his feet,

sorrow and love flow mingled down.

Did e'er such love and sorrow meet,

or thorns compose so rich a crown.

Were the whole realm of nature mine,

that were an offering far too small;

love so amazing, so divine,

demands my soul, my life, my all.

Japan: Kingdom of Dolls

Last Friday I saw an exhibit of 70 Japanese dolls currently on display at the Iowa State Historical Society Museum. (By some crazy coincidence I happened to be there at the same time probably 75 to 100 Japanese students were touring the museum. Almost everyone who was viewing the exhibit with me was speaking Japanese!) I’ve always been fascinated by dolls. Growing up they were one of my favorite things to play with, and even now, when I spot a doll in a museum exhibit or antique store, I am drawn to it, wondering about their lives when they still belonged to someone. Japanese dolls are not exclusively play things, as they are in America, but the have a rich heritage in the country, thus making Japan, a “kingdom of dolls.”


There were over a dozen different categories of dolls on display: Hina and Gogatsu dolls are used in the celebration of the girls and boys festivals each spring, Noh and Bunraku dolls that depict different aspects of Japanese theater traditions, Oshie Hagoita are cut from thick paper and then wrapped with silk or cotton, Hakata dolls are molded from clay and then brilliantly painted, Ichimatsu dolls specifically depict Japanese children.

Despite all these different categories, nine times out of ten, Japanese dolls have very serene expressions and their clothing will point to the richness of Japan’s ancient costumes and pageantry. (Also, one interesting tidbit, the dolls’ faces are made from layers of pulverized oyster shells.) There was one doll which should have had anything but a serene expression on his face as it appeared he was about to be blown away by a gust of wind! He was balanced on the toes of one foot with his other leg kicked up at an angle in front of him, almost if he was preparing to step to the right with a flourished kick. The blue and white paper umbrella he was holding was thrust almost completely horizontal. There wasn’t a hint of shock or surprise registered on his face. He just looked like he was out for a pleasant stroll.

I was most drawn to the Kokeshi and Oyama dolls. The Kokeshi dolls are made from blocks of wood using Japanese woodturning techniques. The traditional dolls have long, rounded bodies with large rounded heads placed squarely on top. They are all uniform in size, shape and expression, and look like bowling pins all lined up, just with a slightly different silhouette! I like the creative Kokeshi dolls better. They began to be crafted after WWII, born of the craftsmen’s desire for free imagination. Some of these dolls are cylindrical while others are round and others are more square. Some have distinctive heads carved above the body, while others have a face that is just carved into the one piece of wood. Many of these dolls had intricate designs carved into their bodies. I was amazed to see the variety of emotions created in these dolls with a few lines and dots of paint for their facial features. The Oyama dolls wore elaborate hairstyles and costumes, depicting the fashions of Japanese women. Their clothing was vibrant made from reds and oranges, patterned with elaborate embroidery.

I certainly felt like an outsider trying to look in and understand the Japanese culture in a bit better through the frame provided by these dolls, but they certainly kept hidden more than they revealed. I left wondering about other cultures where dolls were important and how something that is just a plaything in one culture can take on such significance in another.