Author Archives: Janell

Growing Up Lion Kings

26 Sunday Apr 2009

Posted by in Life at Home

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Thanks to my dad’s taste in movies and music, I grew up enjoying Broadway Musicals.  I liked them so much I brought them to life on my own backyard stage.  I can remember belting my heart out in song while stretching wide my seven year old arms and anchoring my legs into the shape of an upper case ‘A’ on top of our backyard picnic table.  Of course, I didn’t know I couldn’t sing like Ethel Merman.  But how I remember dropping my enrollment in Junior High Glee Club after Mom broke that terrible news to me five years later.   

 

Some early experiences have a way of defining what we hold sacred as well as the people we later become in life.  For example, as a mother of four, I tried to never discourage my children from self-expression in the arts or athletics.   When Bryan wanted to be a baseball pitcher, I supported his dreams with afternoon pitching practice and playing the role of Team Mom.  When others discouraged Kate from cheerleader try-outs, I told her to ‘go for it,’ and wasn’t at all surprised when she made it.  When Kara wanted to be a ballerina one year and a gymnast the next, then this was what she got to pursue.  And when Kyle wanted to experiment with art, I found an art teacher to show him the way.      

 

With both husbands out of town, Kara and I pursued the arts on our own this weekend, by taking in yesterday evening’s performance of “The Lion King”.  Surprisingly, it wasn’t the glorious music but the story line and rich colors of the props and costumes that captured my attention.  I had all but forgotten the nuances of the storyline:  how the young lion cub Simba runs away from his destiny when he believes his Uncle Scar’s lies; how two sympathetic souls help Simba anesthetize his pain with their own happy-go-lucky philosophy, which fits for a time but leaves him restless and searching after he grows up; and how Simba frees himself to claim his original and true destiny by facing his past and overcoming the lies.     

 

If only.  If only brokenness were as easy to mend in real life as in a Disney fairy tale. If only the early and often dashing of children’s hopes didn’t breed more harm than good.  Because criticism, whether it be good or bad, serves to hem us in by keeping us shrunken, a mere shadow of what we are fully intended to be, rather than inviting us to stretch wide our arms to embrace life fully, even at the risk of singing off key.    

 

I made many mistakes when raising my children.  But giving them the freedom to discover their own personal truth in art and athleticism–this I hope I did right.  Growing up lion kings … this was what I tried to do as a parent.

 

As for myself, I’m just growing up.  Into what… well that remains to be seen.   

Magical Suitcases

25 Saturday Apr 2009

Posted by in Home Restoration, Life at Home, Soul Care

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In a couple of weeks, my ‘noisy’ Ignatius retreat will be over.  My bags are a little lighter for the journey but I’ve still plenty to unpack, which will help make room for the ‘spiritual writings’ I can once again read. 

 

In anticipation of this, I’ve set about collecting old favorites and buying a few new ones. For some reason, I’m especially drawn toward picking up writings of Evelyn Underhill.  Someone once told me that Ms. Underhill called God by the name ‘Reality.’  I want to know more about how she came to her God name just as I wish to know more about anyone who found God real enough to name ‘Reality’.       

 

Being real is important to me, which goes hand in hand with this idea of being more comfortable in my own skin.  I think my journey with Ignatius has helped with both, though God knows, my work in both areas has only just begun.  My pretending to be something other than who I am began early in life.  First grade, actually.  So I’ve acquired more than a few masks and costumes and magical tricks along the way.  It will take a lifetime to unpack my acccumulations and my tendencies.      

 

For instance, why do I begin thinking about moving every spring?  I’ve worked so hard on this lovely old house we live in, and while some work remains, I know the lion’s share is already done.  It’s hard for me to rest on my laurels.  I want to go out and buy another historical ‘diamond in the rough’ and start all over.  Hocus Pocus, presto chango:  The ugly duckling becomes a beautiful swan.  The house next door would be a good duck candidate.   But my neighbor is probably a ‘lifer’.  And this much neglected house will outlive both my neighbor and my own magician’s interest.     

 

Then there’s my writing.  Right now I have a writing project in mind.  And even though I began it about a week ago, I can’t motivate myself to get back to it.  I’ve no excuses other than fear or lack of interest, because with my husband gone, I’ve time on my hands to devote to it.  Time and a too quiet house, with a new writing desk pushed into the corner, with shades drawn.  I’ve all the necessary ingredients, but no interest in the task at hand.  

 

I grow bored easily, and while I enjoy the creative process, the creating process can be a lot of drudgery.  Except those times when I begin writing words I had no notion to write.  Sometimes words just come and leave my fingers all tingly from their writing.  And I imagine some of those ‘spiritual’ writers that I long to read know exactly what I’m writing about.  This may be part of the reason I wish to cozy up to them right now.  I want to unpack their thoughts and let them rest in my own mind and heart.  And maybe something of their experiences and words will stir me to unpack and write about my own sacred souvenirs. 

 

Sounds a little like magic.  But probably more like ‘Reality.’

Driving Miss Drivel

24 Friday Apr 2009

Posted by in Far Away Places, Life at Home

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This morning I took my husband to the airport.  This afternoon I took Kyle to Penn Square Mall.  And after that, I took the dogs for their walk.  But to be perfectly honest, I did very little of the actual ‘taking’ on any of these trips, unless you count the return trip from the airport when I took myself home.  If left to my own drive, none of these trips would have made it out of ‘park’.        

 

I have very little horsepower right now, probably because I’m weighed down by sadness.  It’s hard to believe that this five-week Beijing trip that I’ve dreaded for so long has officially begun.  Thirty-four days before I see my husband’s smiling face again.  I know that soon the dogs and I will settle into our routine.  But for now, I feel lopsided, like I’m hobbling along without my better half.

 

I just want to stay home and mope.  I’ve had little desire to write or to do anything the least bit productive.  So until Kyle called, I just sat in a chair and read, another one of those Tudor historical fiction books that I’m so enamored with of late, that allows me to escape to a place where wife’s heads are loped off for no good reason.  A trip to Henry’s court always has a way of putting my own woes into perspective. 

 

No woes from Kyle today.  For whatever reason, he was in a great mood, but he certainly noticed I was cranky.  He called me on my moodiness pretty quick, which may have worked to dissipate my edginess.  He was so appreciative that I stopped moping long enough to help him select some new dress clothes for tonight’s BSU Banquet.  New clothes have a way of making a person feel as though their putting their best foot forward. 

 

And I guess I put my own best feet forward when I grabbed a couple of dog leashes for a daily walk around the park that I could no longer postpone.  The poodles rewarded me with many displays of appreciation–including circus pirouettes from Maddie and a big lick on my neck from Max who was standing almost eyeball to eyeball with me, two hind legs planted on the floor and both front paws planted on my chest.  The poodles didn’t seem to notice my crankiness or the fact that I was slowing down their poodle parade with my dead weight.  Instead, I received a lot of poodle smiles that seemed to say, “Atta Girl.”  “Good Poodle Mommy.”  Even at my best, I am dragged up and down Mesta Park sidewalks full speed ahead, two poodle top knots fast.

 

Tomorrow, I’ll make myself get up and go again.  But today, I’m having my own little pity party.   What sounds good is a warm lazy river and an inner tube; or perhaps a margarita on the rocks while floating in the tube, if the river were shallow enough.  No place to go and all day to get there.  But instead, I’m writing.  Because Kyle told me I should.  And without any drive, I know its pure drivel.   But who cares?  Tomorrow, I can always hit ‘delete.’