handstories

Still a hero forever

    Yesterday texts and emails with the news... Beverly Cleary has died, just a few weeks shy of her 105th birthday.  I burst into tears, went outside to say it out loud to a friend, and cried again.  And now, while writing this, some more- sadness in knowing that she is gone, but mostly for the overwhelming joy she brought into my life, my family's, and millions of others.

    This is from the post that I wrote ten years ago, the day after my birthday...

    "Beverly Cleary, and her "Ramona" character, have long been heroes of mine.  Growing up, I loved those books.  I read Ramona the Pest to my husband on our honeymoon. 

     During a dark time, I read her autobiography,  A Girl From Yamhill.  I was surprised to discover that she didn’t grow up in a warm fuzzy Ramona family, but still went on to write wonderful books that make children so happy.  It gave me hope.  I wrote to her.  She wrote back a lovely thoughtful message with more hope.

     Soon after, working in a first grade class, I shared the letter, love of all things Cleary, and my hope that in spite of my lack of a Ramona family, that maybe I could someday do something that would make children happy.  In unison the circle of children suddenly said, “But you do make children happy!”  Oh!

     Twentyish years later, I met a friend of hers and shared my story.  “I’m going to see her soon,” she said, “Write her again, tell her all of this.”  I did.  That was about a year ago.  Mrs. Cleary is 95 yrs. old, I did not expect a response.  Her friend said that she was pleased with the letter.  That was enough.

     Yesterday I went to the mailbox.  A postcard.  A very happy birthday indeed."

    I hope that she was surrounded by all of the love and joy that she gave to so many others.  Thank you, Beverly Cleary.

going and growing

    After a month at home, Blue flew back to college last night, amongst some very mixed emotions.  It was too short, it was too long...  Last week someone asked if I was going to miss him?  I already do, I miss four, and twelve, and all the years between, before and most of after.  All of the years when he wasn't working so hard at showing that he doesn't need me.  I know he's doing just what he's supposed to be doing, but...sigh...this parenting gig, it's not for the feint of heart.  This week I was really bad at it. 

    Blue and Moon bickered during the last minutes, I tried cajoling, and then bossing the both of them.  As K. drove him off to the airport, I sat down for a cry, and then felt Moon's silence in another room.  I found him in the kitchen, and we cried together, and talked about how hard it is to let someone know how much you care, to be vulnerable.  When Moon wasn't looking, I texted Blue, who then sent Moon some kindness, and it was so welcomed and reciprocated.  (ending my "really bad" streak)

    Late into the night, for comfort and ease, I made more of Jude's paperless pieces.

    This morning, unlike myself, I didn't go to painting class.  Instead I stitched the squares together, snipped them apart, and stitched them again.  I thought about the possibilities of these little pieces.  Wondered about them...about maybe making one a day and then connecting them in a log-cabin sort of way to mark time, with turns now and then.  And I wondered about having calendars made in a log cabin shape...

    And while wandering with thread and thought, went over to Jude's, where she was talking about things...Ideas about grids, how they offer pattern and ease, and how she "sees creative acts as a kind of interruption, or a disturbance, in a regular pattern of what we do."  As I listened over and over, I thought some more about vulnerability and love, and was reminded of a note received long ago from children's author, Beverly Cleary.  Ms. Cleary wrote, "...I agree that painful experiences are not limiting.  Without them, how would we grow?"

    All of this is muddled up in my head and heart today.

lovely day

    A friend took me to Vashon Island for the day, to see the Vashon Sheepdog Classic (more here).  What a surprisingly great day!  Watching the border collies herd sheep from far off to the right . . .

. . . up and down the rolling hills towards us, where the sheepdogs would do what they do, finally corralling them.  (It was the book/movie "Babe: The Gallant Pig" in real life!)

    There's much more to it than that, but I know nothing about dogs, herding or the competition, but enjoyed it all just the same.

    Bagpipers played as the entire group of sheep came down to graze.

    There were also tents of fiber demonstrations and lessons- spinning, weaving, needle-felting, etc... but I forgot to take any photos, but here are more sheep!

    The highlight for me was seeing Dr. Temple Grandin in person!  She's long been a hero of mine.  She is an animal behavior expert, who help to create more humane methods for livestock handling.  She was able to do this because she "thinks in pictures," which is one part of how she sees the world as person with autism.

    Twenty years ago, when her book Thinking in Pictures: Other Reports from My Life with Autism came out, I was working with a boy on the autism continuum.  Her book helped me to better understand him, and validated the belief that our differences are gifts and part of what make our world so rich.  Dr. Grandin is delightful, so very smart, and funny.  It was thrilling to see and listen to her.

"Cloth Lullaby"

    Found at the library, Cloth Lullaby: The Woven Life of Louise Bourgeois, words by Any Novesky, and pictures by Isabelle Arsenault.  OH, MY . . . the illustrations, the lyrical language, the story of Louise. . . all of it.  So much inspiration . . . the stitching has begun.

    " . . . on the water that wove like a wool thread through everything."

    "She loved to work in the warm sun, her needle rising and falling beside the lilting river, perfect, delicate spiderwebs glinting with caught drops of water above her."

    " . . . Louise would study the web of stars, imagine her place in the universe, and weep, then fall asleep to the rhythmic rock and murmur of river water."

remembering awe

    I was nervous to draw on the nine-patch, but wanted the tree to turn out the way I draw them, just how my middle school art teacher taught me forty years ago.  There were a few more art classes in high school, I was even president of the art club one year, but I barely remember any of it.  On the other hand, I can still picture her in the front of the room in her beehive, big glasses and flowing brightly colored kaftans . . . sharing the magic of watercolor, book making, proportions of the human form, calligraphy, marbling, and more.

      I loved Mrs.Trytko, and could hear her as I held the pen over the cloth, afraid of wrecking it, "Just go for it!"

    "Resting in the twilight"

    "What home can hold"

    "She followed the rainbow light of the stars…"

    (In the shop today)

Ruby Bridges

"The Problem We All Live With" painted by Norman Rockwell, 1964.

    Walking past a crowd of faces yelling insults and threats at her, past a woman who promised to poison her, past another woman holding a child's casket with a Black doll in it, six year old Ruby Bridges entered (until that day) an all White school in New Orleans on November 14, 1960.  For the next year she was the only student of a wonderful teacher, Mrs. Henry (who came from Boston because all of the teachers in the New Orleans school quit upon Ruby's arrival).  

    We heard this, and much more of Ruby's story, yesterday at school from Ruby herself!  The PTA arranged for her visit.  For two hours she shared her experience with us.  As she shook my hand, with a "Hello, Hazel,"  I felt honored by her presence, the strength of the little girl she was, and all of those that stood beside her.

    Ruby Bridges Hall (more of her story here).

Do you KNOW what today IS?!

    Beverly Cleary is 100 years old today!  And just as spunky as ever! (interview with her here)

    I first wrote about my love of her writings here.  Ramona is my very favorite character of all time- such an expressive passionate soul, who feels the whole spectrum of emotions.  That she can be so exasperating, and still lovable, is heart warming and reassuring.

(Original illustrations by Louis Darling)

    "Forever me, thought Ramona, I go on forever!" (from Ramona Forever)

    I am just so thrilled that Mrs. Cleary appears to be going on forever!    

knitting love

    The birthday began with opening this mug from my sister.  Just add something hot . . .

    . . . and Mr. Rogers' blue suit changes into a golden sweater.  He was all comfy and ready to share tea and stitching time with me.  Did you know that his mother knit the sweaters he wore on his show?  Watch here.  (I think I fell a little more in love with him.)

 

   I started that new sweater.  (Yes, I know it's not blue, but this Caspian earth-tone kept whispering to me).

 

Legacy

    The final project for fifth grade was to choose someone they had learned about during the year and create a project that reflected how that person's story inspired the legacy they wanted to leave. One boy, the one I wrote about here, wanted to write poems.  We worked together to find and shape his thoughts.  On graduation day he posed for a photo for the cover of his project.  Looking at the finished work, I said to him, "You have the soul of a poet. This is beautiful.  Do you remember when I talked to you about taking care of your story?  You have done such a good job of that all spring.  I hope you are so proud of you, I sure am."  

    I wish you could have seen the bursting glow coming out of him.

    If I did nothing else this school year, this moment was enough.

                                            My Legacy by J.

Many people had to go through the pain of being judged by their skin color

                  By being called a name that they weren’t

                  Or a name they would not like to be called

                  By being treated differently with non-worth

Many people thought that this pain wasn’t right

                  It wasn’t fair

                  It wasn’t agreed on

So they tried to make a change

They found many ways to change the way they were feeling

                  By making new ideas to change people’s words

                  By fighting for their rights

Because everybody has the right to be treated the same

Many people would love to have those rights

 

Jackie Robinson was a strong African American hero

                  Who many people believed in

                  Who was the first African American male to be in major league baseball

Jackie Robinson had a hard time

                  Getting along in the major leagues

                  Playing on a baseball field with a crowd saying such mean things to him

                  Being treated like garbage

Jackie Robinson discovered a way

                  To ignore the crowd

                  To find a friend on his team

                  Someone who wouldn’t hide from him or think he’s an animal

Jackie Robinson was

                  As determined

                  As strong

                  As smart

                  As a tiger 

 

J.  is a strong African American

                  Who is athletic

                  Who is smart

                  And who is respected

J.  had a hard time at

                  Making new friends

                  Hearing bad things about his skin color

                  And having people judge him by his looks

J.  discovered a way

                  To go outside

                  To overcome hatred

                  And try to imagine

J.  is

                  As funny as a clown

                  As smart as an engineer

                  And as strong as a body builder

J.  is a hero like Jackie Robinson 

connecting stories

    Yesterday I shared the Harriet Tubman quilt with the fifth graders. (click on the "Harriet Tubman" category below to read about the quilt & last year's 5th grade project.) We've been telling them stories about heroes of the Underground Railroad - Harriet Tubman, Henry Brown (who thought outside of the box by mailing himself inside of a box to freedom), Eliza (who stepped across the frozen Ohio River, babe in arms to escape slavery), and others.  

    We talked about why we tell stories- stories of heroes and our own stories.  Heroes- so that we can remember and emulate them.  Our own - to know, remember, and reflect on the choices we make.  I said to them, "Harriet did not have an easy childhood, she was not treated fairly or kindly, but she made choices to rise above, to do better, and to help others.  She took control of her story and helped others with theirs.  We get to make choices, too.  We may or may not be able to save three hundred others, but we can make the very best choices for ourselves.  We can make a difference.  We can do good."

    At this point one boy raised his hand,  "We can make a difference right now.  We don't have to wait until we grow up."  

    This boy.  This boy has not been making good choices for himself or for others.  He has been unkind and behaved in bully like ways.  

    I looked at him straight in the eyes, "That's right.  Every act you do, every word out of your mouth is a choice to make things better or worse.  It's up to you what your story will be."

    Later, during math, he was screwing around, not trying.  After sending him to a new solitary space, I went over and sat down.  "Look at me.  You are a smart beautiful boy . . . Look at me.  You are so smart.  I have seen it.  But you are not taking care of yourself, or those around you.   I am so sad that you are not making smart choices for you, you deserve better.  You deserve the best.  Make the very best choices for yourself.  Take care of you and those around you.  You can have an amazing story."  His head was ducked down again, I figured I had probably gone on too long and stopped, and then I saw a tear fall down his face.  

    Oh, I hope for him, and his story.