bflynn

The measure of wealth

As any economist could tell you, there are a lot of ways to measure wealth. There’s your net worth (the value of the things you own compared to the amount of money you owe). There’s your current earnings. There are your projected earnings. (That’s probably a better way of evaluating someone graduating with with a law degree, for example, than net worth is.) I’m sure there are a bajillion other ways: months without income until bankruptcy, ability to survive layoff, projected age to retirement, etc.

As the holidays draw to a close (even if you wait until epiphany, or count orthodox Christmas), I often find myself reflecting on my wall o’ friendship, and procrastinating from taking it down. I’ve noticed the cards seem to come later every year (I’m part of that trend – I think I mailed my last set on the 23rd!), and I get more New Years cards than I used to, but I love looking at them. Sometimes I take them down and read the notes inside them again. Every year I bundle them in a big bundle and save them. They’re in stacks in my attic, right next to the snapshots of my kids and school pictures.

The truth is that, quite unexpectedly, I find myself rich in friendships. I didn’t anticipate that, as a young girl. We moved a lot. I attended 6 schools by 6th grade. (I did that math when I was very young – I think I count church kindergarten in there.) I didn’t exactly have boatloads of friends waiting for my call. My best friend when I was Grey’s age wouldn’t acknowledge me at school. I, um, didn’t blame her. I wasn’t sure I’d admit to being friends with me either, if I was popular. I wasn’t a very easy kid to be friends with, I suspect. I reveled in being weird. It made me sad, sometimes, but there were books. My memories of childhood are mostly happy ones.

But then I stayed in one place for a while, and gradually learned how to not be quite so weird that people wouldn’t want to admit knowing me. (Or rather, how to keep the weirdness but lose the obnoxiousness of it? Maybe?) Then after learning how to be a friend, I got a fresh start. Man, college was the best.

The moon is hatching, and we're earth's last best hope. — The moon is hatching, and we’re earth’s last best hope.

And since I left college I’ve… accumulated friends. We’re still playing weekly (well, kind of weekly) role playing games with a friend whose name was picked off a bulletin board in a gaming store. (The gaming group has survived four children, and we’re delighted that a fifth has joined us. All boys.) I’ve made some relationships in church that are about ready to drive. The process accelerated vastly when I moved to this house, and there were a bunch of us the same age with kids the same age and we really got along. And then one of your friends introduces you to their friends. It’s been astonishing and wonderful.

I was thinking about what that flowering of friendship really means. Sometimes, when I’m staying out too late and consuming less-than-healthfoods with my friends, I wonder if friendship is bad for my health. But studies show that friends reduce your risk of dying prematurely, or that absence of friends increases it.

And then there are the more immediate advantages. I met a mom once or twice in a gathering of moms. In December, her husband was injured in a serious accident that killed the other driver and critically wounded one of his friends. This amazing group of moms banded together to deliver two week’s worth of dinners to her and her family.

The funny thing about being rich in friendship is that the more of it you have, the more of it other people have too. It’s a lot like love that way. Spending it just creates more of it. The modern world seems poorly set up to create deep and lasting friendships (at least judging by the number of lonely people in the world), but the optimist in me thinks that with some sort of catalyst, friendship-creating-reactions can spread. It’s hard to see friendships (especially those tough ones that cross some boundary, like race or generation or political belief) as anything but a net good to society.

So, do you want more friends? Here are some of the ways I’ve seen people become close friends:

Strike up a conversation in a park. (Seriously.)

Invite someone you like to dinner. Give them a specific set of three different days, and ask if they need any accommodation (food preference, only drive during the day etc.) If they’re interested in being friends, they’ll either accept one of the three days or counter with a different date. (And don’t be too offended if they’re not willing to get closer. Sometimes people don’t have the energy to spend on new friendships.)

Throw a party and mix multiple different “sets” of your friends. One of my bestest friends became my friend because another friend begged an additional invite to a party I held. And this also helps your friends make more friends, which is a kindness.

Put your name on a gaming store wall as adventurer seeking game!

Bring your neighbors cookies. Knock on the door. When they’re on their front porch, strike up a conversation.

Throw a block party.

Get involved in a local project. (I made some great friends by being active regarding the Bikeway!)

Join a workout group. (OK, this one is just theoretical. I’m not a workout group kinda girl.)

Order more Christmas cards, and send them to people you wish you knew better.

Exchange contact information with those parents you end up chatting with when you pick your kids up. Then schedule something with them.

The internet. I made some dear, dear friends online. I still feel much more connected to people on Facebook than one might think!

How about you? What are some of the crazy ways you’ve met people? Are you overwhelmed by an over-full social docket, or is there room for a few more busy Friday nights?

Hygge

I read an article in that beautiful late-December period when the media writes thoughtful, long-form articles about things that aren’t breaking news. The article described hygge. The word is a Danish one, pronounced “hoo-geh” (according to my Danish friend) and it means well-being, or maybe coziness. It’s a concept or value that the Danes consider a key part of their culture. In reading through what it means, I realized that it is both a value that I treasure and a place where I fall far short.

What is hygge to me? We don’t have a fireplace, which is tragic. Fireplaces are practically automatic hygge. Hygge is sitting on the couches and reading books together on library/pizza night. Hygge is a lit Christmas tree. Hygge is sitting on the front porch and working on my book. Hygge is hanging around someone’s kitchen with my neighbor-friends and catching each other up on our lives. Hygge is sitting with my son at Kushala Sip. Hygge is lighting the candles on either side as we sing “Silent Night” together on Christmas Eve. Hygge is when you can’t move because you have a cat on your lap. Hygge is when you’re in the kitchen, light on your feet, making food to feed your friends. I think that any time that is improved by lighting a candle is hyggeligt (rough translation: hygge-time!).

While I was working on my novel (update: still in progress, added a few thousand words this holiday), my beloved husband expressed that he missed spending time with me. Specifically – although he didn’t use this word – he missed the cozy time we might spend together watching a show or playing a game. I found writing to be a solitary, consuming task and my partner in life missed me when I was being solitary. He missed being hygge together.

There are of course precious moments in life that aren’t hygge. This weekend we went for a glorious hike along the turgid banks of the Saugus river, finding signs of beaver in the glazed snow. It as astonishingly lovely and refreshing… but not hygge. There are great adventures we pursue. I find, as I prepare to return to work, that the appeal of a difficult task to be well done with hard work is considerable. I like to work hard on things where my hard work leads to a great thing. That’s great – but not hygge. Most of camping is not hygge, but there’s that moment sitting around the fire when the entire world is about 10 feet in the radius of flickering orange tongues of flame, and the call of the loon wafting over the right shoulder that captures the very heart of the feeling.

Fire's burning - gather round — Fire’s burning – gather round

In thinking about this, I’ve come to the conclusion that many of my most precious moments are these moments. They’re when I feel connected to my loved ones, myself… and even my God. They make my heart well over with joy. And yet I’ve taken them only as they come, taking them as a gift of chance. As I grow older, I look with greater skepticism on waiting for life to shower me with bounty. I prefer to create environments where the fruits I would grow can flourish.

So… I don’t have a SMART* New Year’s Resolution this year. Instead I have an atmospheric one. I would like to create more opportunities for hyggeligt with the people I like best. That will, ideally, show itself as more reading on the couch, more sitting together to watch the snow fall, more lying in bed next to my husband and listening to the rain fall.

What do you find hygge? And what are your plans for the new year?

*Specific, Measurable, Attainable, Realistic and Timely – if you really want to change something about yourself, finding an expression of your intention that matches those criteria significantly increases your odds of being successful.

Sound the trumpet

Many of you know that the most important part of my life in junior high and high school was trumpet. One day early in sixth grade, in a wooden band room in a mountain town, most of the sixth graders in town lined up to try out and pick instruments. There was a guy from the band instrument company there with samples and paperwork. (I remember him distinctly – he’d lost his vocal cords and had a voice box which was both gross and fascinating to my young self.) My school was pre-feminist. There were still strong gender lines – for example the default schedule was by gender and put kids in either home economics or shop based on whether they were a girl or a boy. The gender lines held strong and true in band. Girls played flute, clarinet or maybe saxophone. Boys played trumpet, trombone, drums and maybe saxophone.

But I picked trumpet. It was likely – I can hardly remember – an iconoclastic move on my part. I wanted to be different. I did not want to conform to the strong expectations laid upon me. I probably also liked trumpet – I can’t remember? But my sister had played trombone so I couldn’t play that, but I wanted to play a brass instrumet. Trumpet it was.

A boy and his new trumpet. OMG. — Grey’s moment picking his trumpet

This was one of the most important decisions of my life. The boys made my life pure misery. I got back in the only way an undersized girl could – by kicking their rear ends in trumpet. I got invited to play in a small youth symphony (the school superintendents wife is an orchestra conductor, and their daughter who was like five years older than me drove me to the rehearsals an hour away). I loved it. I thrived on it. By the time I graduated I was playing in an excellent youth symphony (that produced many professional musicians among my friends). It was the great passion of my youth, and a kindling of life-long pleasure. I still play my trumpet, primarily at church these days.

My attempts to raise brilliantly musical children were not successful. Piano lessons were met with indifference. Guitar lessons led to some of our biggest blowouts. I knew that winds – introduced last in life due to the physical requirements of playing them – were my sons’ last chance to open the door I’d so enjoyed, but given our track record I tried to keep my expectations low.

The whole band thing was a complete pain to arrange. The band practice for the fourth graders is at 4 pm at the school. School gets out at 2:40. The absolute only way this could work was for us to arrange school afterschool on Mondays (the one day a week they have practice), so Grey’s week is now completely mixed for where he is when and we have two pickups this day. But by gum, I was going to give him every chance.

Grey's first day on trumpet. — Grey’s first day on trumpet.

He started really strongly. I was super pleased he picked trumpet because it was a place where I could really help him. He asked me to give him lessons, and when he did I gave him my complete 100% attention and praise for every piece of minor progress. I think it actually helped that I’m pretty good, since I could tease out the scraps of what he was doing right from the blatty noise of a kid learning trumpet.

After a few weeks, when he was doing really well, he started agitating for “his own” trumpet. I recalled that process from my own youth. I first rented a trumpet, then got a very cheap very bad trumpet from the Sears catalog – of all things. Then my parents bought me a good “starter” trumpet. Then (and I still don’t know how they managed to afford this) they bought me the slightly used silver Bach Stradivarius that is still one of my prized possessions.

I set him a goal. He’s excellent at pursuing goals. If he practiced 50 times, I’d buy him a trumpet. Thinking about Christmas which was about 6 weeks away, I added that if he practiced 30 times before Christmas that would count too. My hope was to get him in the habit of practicing, and to get him past the period where he couldn’t actually play anything with the motivation of this carrot. That second goal required him to practice all but about 5 days between the setting of it and Christmas.

Grey's practice log - he practiced 30 times in exactly one month. — Grey’s practice log – he practiced 30 times in exactly one month.

He practiced *every day*. Some days he practiced twice. (I didn’t set the bar too high for how long he would practice – even five minutes counted but practices had to be separated by time.) He got extremely good for a 10 year old who’s had the trumpet for two months. And last weekend I found myself at a local music store, proudly forking over the cash for the “good starter trumpet” variety of instrument.

I’m trying REALLY HARD not to put too much on this. But I’m incredibly proud of my son for what he’s done so far.

Here he is playing Jingle Bells.

A theme from Beethoven’s 9th Symphony is his favorite piece to play.

Good King Wenceslas is a good addition to the young trumpter’s repertoire.

The warm woods

The December weather was astonishingly temperate

The weather this winter has been exceedingly unwinterlike. It’s barely dropped below freezing since the thaw finally came last winter. The powerful El Nino that holds us in its thrall is bringing late September temperatures to a December-dark world. So much so that our activities last weekend were a hike and a bike ride. I had thought we’d put the bikes away for the year, but I was wrong!

The hike was more adventurous than anticipated. We started at about 2 pm, with about two hours of good daylight, with an unambitious course. I wanted to visit Doleful Pond, mostly because it’s named Doleful Pond. I also wanted to see the remnants of the old trolly line decaying above Doleful Pond. That section of the Fells is criss-crossed by unmarked trails. It’s easily the most-lostest section of the Fells. But I had not one but two maps! We would prevail! Grey stopped and sketched an interesting section of trees.

As we course corrected (despite my preparations, we had managed to be on the wrong trail. Sigh.) I saw a woman being held up by a man and limping badly. I called out to them and we booked it down the hill to see if they needed help. They did. She had badly broken ankle. We were 3/4s of a mile from any road access. I called 911 and then took off with Grey to guide the emergency responders to her location. Adam kept the backpack and got her foot elevated and worked to keep her from going into shock while we got help. Grey and I made excellent time to the trail head – but it served to make it clear to me that there was no way we were getting her out that way. (I actually slipped on some of the trail and have a livid bruise to show for it now). We met the fire crew and paramedics at the Bear Hill entrance. We drove partway up something that was generously marked as a road but that quickly became impassible to even to their manly 4 wheel drive. (Even under the circumstances I thought it was pretty cool to ride in a fire pickup through the Fells!)

We didn’t get nearly far enough. I led the crew the rest of the way to her on foot. I hadn’t realized just how much of first responding was improvising. As the paramedics stabilized her ankle, my maps became invaluable as we tried to find a better way to carry her out. That was my biggest lesson: maps can be the most critical first aid tool you have. They finally got her on a backboard and carried her out of the woods, and our stories diverged again.

The boys did an amazing job. They were both upset by her injury. But Thane was excellent in the role of comforter and care-taker. Grey’s feet had wings as he went with me to find help. I was really grateful, in a strange way, for this chance to show them how it is we should respond when need arises for helpers to help. I also felt really, really glad for the comprehensiveness of our first aid kit and hiking gear. It was a great reminder why we never go into the woods without it.

We walked out – never having seen Doleful Pond – just as the sun was setting.

She’s been in my prayers since. I hope that maybe the bone wasn’t broken at all? I hope her healing is fast, and that we run into her again on some trail in the Fells.

2015 Christmas Letter

One thing I love about this time of year is the chance to reflect back on the year that was, and think ahead to the year that will be. This is the reflecting back – that public facing summary of what the year has done and been; of how we’ve all grown and changed. Some years I look back and feel like I have nothing to say. Some years the news is sad. Some years I worry that I’ll sound braggy if I’m honest. My mother-in-law gave us some old Christmas letters my husband’s father wrote during the Gulf War. They are a lovely snapshot of my husband’s family at a pivotal point. I can only hope that writing down what I see from the vantage of the end of the year eventually feels the same for my children!

The year started in Washington state, in the only cold weather they got last year. We were all together for over a week – a very unusual thing for us. We were celebrating my brother’s wedding, and thoroughly enjoying being together as a family. We hiked in the winter woods. We took a trip to Portland. We went to the Mineral Headquarters Tavern for the first time ever in our lives. Every time I am with my family, I’m forcibly reminded how much I like them. I often wonder why we live so far apart, but then I remember the family ethos of adventure and independence and have a sneaking suspicion I’m also training my children to move continents away when they’re older.

While I was in Washington, I got a call about an interview at Google. It was extremely exciting even to make it to the interview round. Since I was working in staffing and recruiting software, I knew by reputation that Google was one of the hardest places in the US to get to interview at. Over the next few months there were back and forth conversations with them.

Hijinks. They kept coming by with plows, so eventually the police asked us to go inside. Then they stopped plowing.

Meanwhile, shortly after a Patriots vs Seahawks Superbowl where I couldn’t figure out who I wanted to win, the snow started to fall. You might have heard that Boston had just a dusting of snow this past year. (AHAHAH! Yeah.) It was epic, as week after week another foot would fall on banks where the last snow had not melted a jot. By the time of the last major storm, as we dug out, I had the incredibly uncomfortable feeling that if we got another major storm I would not be able to dig out because there would be nowhere to put the snow. The claustrophobia got so bad we rented snowshoes so that we could be outside, with horizons wider than the trapping paneled walls of our house. Even when spring should have been advancing – on the last weekend of the maple tap – we walked the woods in the snow and had an epic snowball fight.

Which meant that on the first week of March, when I went into Cambridge for my interview with Google, what should have been an hour long trip took about two. I’d given myself extra time, and I needed every second of it. The interview went very well, and not too long after, I found myself signing an offer and planning to work in Kendall Square. I still can’t believe my amazing luck and good fortune!

There was a little time before I had to start, though… so we took an impromptu trip to Cozumel to celebrate.

The dolphin's name was Merina — The dolphin’s name was Merina

Ahhhh… there is something about a tropical island vacation that is everything you want out of a tropical island vacation. Thane opened the door on chapter books. Grey read extensively. The kids learned how to snorkel (on the surface). Adam and I got some quality snorkeling time together too. We played games. The only even minor blot was that on one of my dives I seemed to come up with water that wouldn’t leave my ear. It was actually a barotrauma (very rare in snorkeling) and I have since permanently lost very high notes in my left ear. (Or rather, I have them all the time as a persistent and extremely annoying ringing.) I still think it was probably worthwhile!

They're all kind of smiling — It didn’t rain all the time, which meant we could use the hammock

The summer was absolutely full of camping, the way I like my summers. I went camping five times – our standard three trips, plus a camping offsite for work, plus a week long trip with just my husband to New Brunswick which was very cold and very wet but where we went sea kayaking and saw some really really cool fossils. Camping with the kids has only gotten more fun. They read and play and hiked and rode bikes. I love camping, and camping with these guys continues to improve.

Which was another cool thing about this year – the kids both really learned how to ride their bikes! We went on a bunch of bike rides this summer, and watched them as they went from wobblers who fell down all the time, to fast and confident riders. We did a nine mile bike tour of Boston (which Thane was truly not ready for and which took years off my life) … but we did it! I feel like bikes are truly resurging. My children will be more independent for this skill!

Insulation, check. Vapor barrier, check. Strips, check.

During that trip I took with my husband to New Brunswick, we had lots of quality time together in the car. (We listened to some awesome podcasts together!) But then we got to talking about “what we wanted to do” yadda yadda. And at some fateful point, Adam announced that he was going to do a renovation of our dining room. We got a great deal on our house, in no small part because the decor was disastrously 70s. Drop ceilings and cheap paneling covered the 120 year old plaster walls. We just needed to take down the paneling and drop ceiling and maybe redrywall. Might take a couple weeks. It actually took three months of Adam working nights, weekends and taking Fridays off to work more. It turns out there was no insulation in those walls (despite our having hired a company to blow in insulation – they drilled holes and messed up our siding, but didn’t blow in any insulation). So that added a bit. He reframed a wall. Drywall is hard. But it looks amazing now. And makes our living room look bad….

Around the time the drywall was being mudded and sanded, my brother came to live with us. The wedding that had kicked off the year was not a durable match, and his contract in Denver had come to an end. On the drive back from New Brunswick my husband invited him to come live with us and as the summer crossed to fall he did. He’s been kicking off his Steampunk Vicar officiating services and is looking for a IT helpdesk type job while he contemplates the next chapter in his life.

Another new start in the life of the Flynns. I won’t pretend that Grey’s decision to play trumpet hasn’t made me extremely pleased. Even better – he’s been incredibly dedicated in his practicing. He’s practiced on average once a day since Thanksgiving. He can now play “Ode to Joy” very well (which is *not bad* for two months in on a new instrument!) I’m trying VERY HARD not to get ahead of myself with this one.

There has also been a lot going on in the life of the church. This year I am teaching 2nd – 5th grade Sunday School (which is usually pretty fun). I’m also running a mission study taskforce. We’re using the New Beginnings process, which is a significant investment in prayerful thought and time. Because I’m crazy, I’m also running the Christmas Pageant this year. If your Christmas Card is late this year, that’s why.

This year has been a phenomenal one for me. It’s been full of the kind of adventures I like best, the people I love and new opportunities. I think 2016 is going to have a very tough time topping it, but I’m willing to give it a chance!

May your reflection on your year be filled with as much joy, and may your year ahead be even better!

I usually select about 100 pictures to choose from when I’m making my calendar. Here are this years top pictures!

Christmas in a troubled time

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. John 1:5

Growing up in the 90s set my expectations unrealistically with regard to how much tumult and warfare I might expect during my life. There was this brief shining moment where we hand only a few small combats going on – and those seemed from my privileged perspective to be minor and easily resolved. The economy was good, feminism was working, the Cold War had been won, we weren’t talking about racism (it seemed like a problem of the past) and we’d finally found a way to treat AIDS. Clearly everything was only going to get better from there on out!

I think I know the day I lost my innocence about that. I was in the car, driving to a special youth symphony rehearsal on the streets of Tacoma. I had NPR on, as I always did. I think both Car Talk and Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me had wrapped up for the day. (I liked to joke I was getting my NPR PHD.) I was 17. And there was a breaking bulletin that Yitzhak Rabin had been assassinated. Because I followed the news so closely and diligently I knew what that meant for the Oslo Peace accords. I – like so many others – originally assumed it was Palestinian terrorists. I still don’t understand why someone hated peace so much they’d kill their own leader. That moment both broke my heart and shattered my illusions about how the world was trending. It’s telling (to me at least) that it’s the moment where I remember where I was.

This time of year is one of my favorite times. I slow down from the insanity of my Fall and drink deeply of the music, the lights, the decorations, the crazy traditions we didn’t realize would become traditions the first time we did them. I look through a year’s worth of happy moments recorded on camera. I write my Christmas cards – each one a breath of prayer for the beloved person who will receive it (incanted several times as I address, write and prepare the cards). I buy too much stuff for my kids, and cuddle with my husband on the couch while we argue about whether the Kingston Trio’s “Last Month of the Year” or Roger Whittaker’s Christmas Album is superior. (Duh – obvious answer there!)

But this year I have had more trouble than usual finding my Christmas zen. When it seems as though I might just slip into the joy of the season, there’s a bombing, a shooting, a story of refugees. We are deep into the volume of violence and war that seemed to start that November day in 1995. My spirit feels dry, my back hurts, and I can’t help but think that my sons will have a less innocent innocence than I got in my childhood. We never had an active shooter drill in our school. But Grey is the same age as the children gunned down in Sandy Hook who never got to walk to school by themselves.

As I was thinking through this depressing litany (which I’ve now shared with you – you’re welcome), I wondered if I was depressed. You know, the whole “usual activities bring you less pleasure”. Having carefully considered the question – I’m pretty sure I’m not. I’m just pretty sure that this is a time where a responsibly informed person can reasonably feel pretty bummed on a regular basis.

I was reading my usual list of advice columnists today, and there were two different letters from people saying that they were having a hard time enjoying life with all the suffering that was going on. That’s truly a pity – all our challenges included we have the highest standard of living for the most people that’s ever existed in the history of our species. I wonder if we’re designed to hope in adversity and worry in plenty. I know some people take social media holidays to hide from the onslaught – but I love the people I interact with every day on my many social media channels.

What can counter the malaise of being responsibly informed? One of the advice columnists recommended service to others. I think that’s a wise response. I also think that active gratitude can help. It really is hard to stay blue while you write your Christmas letters to the people you love. I have a hunch that exercise would really help me (I swear my butt hurts from too much sitting – yet all the things I really want to do involve sitting and most of them involve a computer).

Are you finding this true for yourself? Is this year harder to find the joy in? Is this just because I’m getting older and losing my sense of wonder? How do you push past trauma and horror and incivility and unkindness and find light and warmth and joy in the darkness? Where do you lift your eyes to see the light?

Thankful for…

At this hour, standing in this place, I am thankful for…

A family that gives me nothing but love and support – and nothing I would write to an advice columnist about
An interesting new thing to do that has me excited in new ways (Nanowrimo)
A job I enjoy, doing good work with amazing people
An extensive collection of pens
Two cats, who are equal parts snuggly and annoying
A son who is working hard to learn an instrument I love
Another son who is the snuggliest human I’ve ever met
A dining room with high ceilings and an amazing finish, that is much warmer
The opportunity to review my wonderful year in pictures as I attempt to find one that will work for Christmas cards
Green tea
That studies show coffee is good for you, not terrible for you
The safety and security that surround me, and which I consider normal
Living in an ancient town with layer upon layer of stories
A vast wealth of friends and friendly faces
Social media, which I tremendously enjoy
Good books. I look forward to eventually reading some again.
That incredibly soft fabric they’ve invented lately – and a stars and crescents bathrobe in that material
A full cupboard and ‘fridge
Teachers who care so much about my sons
Stoneham finally has a great coffee shop!
Audiobooks for commuting
The Economist that keeps me informed without making my blood pressure spike through the roof.
The joyful anticipation of a holiday season, as seen through the eyes of a seven and ten year old.

And most of all … you.

Six shall ye labor and on the seventh rest

Which of the 10 commandments do you break most? If heaven and hell are decided by how we adhere to the 10 commandments, I’m going to need a whole lot of grace for my complete failure to remember the Sabbath and keep it holy. Jesus said that the Sabbath was made for us, not us to keep the Sabbath… but the truth is I don’t keep it.

But today, well, I pretty much had to.

Mocksgiving was amazing. It was, I think, our biggest Mocksgiving ever. I believe over 30 grownups simultaneously sat to share a meal. The total attendance was something like 48. I had friends who labored intelligently, diligently and cheerfully in the kitchen to help set the meal. I had friends who did the same to make sure I didn’t wake to mounds of dirty dishes the day after. (Some of those were the same people. I really hope they, um, just like doing dishes? Yeah, I think I probably need to have them over for a dinner they don’t have to cook pretty soon!) My brother did an amazing job keeping the kids happy and engaged and quiescent. But I’m happy to report that the turkey was excellent, there was enough stuffing for even Mike, and all were sated with food and friendship. It had that ineffable Mocksgiving quality that makes it what it is. Also, I can sit 30+ people for dinner.

I did feel the shadow of the attacks in Paris. I do not forget that half of the Syrian people have been driven out of their homes – that bombings are frequent enough to blur together in the strife-torn middle east. But I think Paris hits close to home for those of us in the West because so many of us have been there, or it seems so familiar. We react more strongly the more we see danger threaten people who could be us. I wish I could think of a thing I could do other than pray for those who went out Friday night and will never come home again, or those whose homes are a continent behind them, or those who face the choice to join with evil or die. I’m pretty sure that making sterner lines between “them” and “us” will not make any of use safer. But, as so often before, I lack the imagination of spirit to see what I can do to influence that outcome.

My novel progresses. I’m at 17,000 words. I’ve managed to move forward to some plot points. (Although my plotting is rather mirroring my discovery process, in which the protagonist finds something cool on the internet – not sure that’s a page-turning technique there.) I managed to write 250 words yesterday, which is about 10% of what I should be writing a day, but 250 words on Mocksgiving day seems like rather an accomplishment.

One thing I like about Mocksgiving (and I like many – most of them people) is that I no longer feel resentful of the imposition of Christmas that seems to happen earlier and earlier. (I’d love to see the studies that show that people buy more when you hammer them with Christmas carols in 65 degree weather eight weeks before the high holy day…) But hey! I had my Christmas so bring on your tinsel, Madison Avenue!

Do you remember back when my posts used to have a central thesis I’d write about? Yeah, me too. I’m sure that will come back in December, when I’m not doing all the writing on the side. Right? Right.

So I made an offer to my Facebook friends. If you’re DYING to read my novel (you know, my unedited, stream-of-consciousness write-as-many-words-as-possible attempt) drop me a note with your email and I’ll share my document with you.

This feels so much like a letter, I am finding it hard to end without a proper closing.

I remain your faithful friend,

Brenda

Mocksgiving Eve on the Sixteenth Year

The groceries are in the fridge. The Mocksgiving week to do list is half scratched off. I’ve indoctrinated a new set of coworkers to the sacred holiday that requires me to take a day off. And I woke up bolt upright last night remembering who I’d meant to invite but forgotten to.

Ahhhh… the sacred Mocksgiving traditions! (As I just said to my brother, “I should be making pie instead of updating my blog about how much pie I need to make.” This is also a tradition.)

If you’ve never encountered me writing about this before… back in the mists of time when I was a young newlywed who had just turned 22, I invited my inlaws to Thanksgiving dinner. In prior years we’d eaten in a restaurant and my horrified prim self was convinced that this was just not the way Things Were Done. But even my clueless self knew that cooking that turkey on Thanksgiving day for the first time ever was hubris that would set me up for an epic fall. So two weeks ahead of time I bought a small turkey to practice on. Since two people cannot eat even a small turkey, I invited a few friends over to share it with me.

And thus the first Mocksgiving was born.

An early Mocksgiving, but not the first Mocksgiving

We didn’t end up hosting Thanksgiving that year (the story of why is lost in the mists of time). But everyone had SO MUCH FUN at that first practice (or mock) Thanksgiving that next year we invited everyone back to do it again – plus a few extra.

This year marks the 16th year that I’ve been hosting friends for Mocksgiving. I join other friends on Thanksgiving day for theirs – and it’s usually beautifully low key. So Mocksgiving is an authentic celebration of Thanksgiving. And I’m so thankful for it, and for all the people who come to celebrate with me. Every year there are new faces. This year, my early RSVP count is for 33 grownups and 16 children for the main meal. This is all held in my home. Board games spring up in various locations like weeds. (Pretty much any door you open in my house that day will lead to a board game.)

It’s also logistically maxed out. My number 1 stressor at Mocksgiving is not the 5 loaves of bread, 5 pies, 10 pounds of potatoes, maximum sized turkey, two batches of stuffing, butternut squash or beverages. It’s the fact that I can’t ask everyone I’d like to. Once or twice in history I threw it open to everyone who might want to attend. That’s just not possible anymore. (On the list of humble-brag problems I’m lucky to have, eh?) So if you’re feeling slightly droopy that you weren’t invited, it could very well be that I woke up in the middle of the night realizing I hadn’t invited you.

OK, I swear I’ll quit apologizing for hosting a fun party now. Did you know that when I had knee surgery I woke up from anesthesia worried about whether I’d been rude to someone in that period I couldn’t remember? True fact.

And now I’ll quit procrastinating and work on the lemon merangue pie crust.

Thane's first Mocksgiving - less than 3 weeks after he was born. — Thane’s first Mocksgiving – less than 3 weeks after he was born.

Stoneham History

The weekend before Thanksgiving, the Stoneham Historical Commission held their annual two-hour opening of the Old Burying Ground. For years I’ve wanted to go, but that was usually the time I’d hold Thane’s birthday party. It also coincides with the town Trick-or-Treating. This year, Grey and Thane decided that they were too big/cool/old to do that. I have mixed feelings about that, but grabbed the chance to go visit the cemetery I’ve long wanted to see. It’s usually closed since it’s not quite safe for wandering. There are leaning tombstone and depressions (marked off with yellow caution tape on this day). While this makes for good daydreams about the haunted cemetery, it’s less good for someone who really would like to wander it.

One of the first gravestones I checked out was one of the most dramatic. It stood higher than my head, and had outrage practically dripping off the chiseled headstone. It detailed the 1819 murder of Jacob Gould “who was barbarously murdered by some ruffians in his own dwelling”. There were deaths heads and warning epitaphs and poignant poems (all the things I love best of old graveyards), but this was one of the most intriguing headstones I’d seen.

When I got home, I looked it up on Google. You see, November is National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). I decided to do it this year. (Because I’m crazy. That’s why.) So I was on the prowl for a good novel premise. Murder by ruffians seemed like as good a place to start as any. So I had a reason for my investigation.

My very first search on “Jacob Gould murder” hit the biggest paydirt imaginable; namely “A Brief History of Stoneham, Mass, From Its First Settlement to the Year 1843: with an Account of the Murder of Jacob Gould, on the Evening of November 25, 1819” by Silas Dean. Silas (I feel like he and I are on a first-name basis now) wrote an absolutely hilarious and riveting account of Stoneham. It includes ancient ruins, naked dudes, wolf attacks, haunted houses, Indian raids, aggressive bugle players, people who died of stupidity, mysterious springs, ne’er-do-well pranks of the first water… I could hardly tear myself away from reading in order to start writing. It’s possibly the most entertaining primary source I’ve ever read.

Ruins in the Fells in Stoneham - this might well be the house where Jacob Gould was barbarously murdered. — Ruins in the Fells in Stoneham – this might well be the house where Jacob Gould was barbarously murdered.

I felt like I won the novel-writing primary source lottery. And I started to get really into the research of the early history of the town (before the boring shoe-making bits). Once I started pulling at the thread of local history, I pretty easily uncovered more fascinating details.

For example…

Boston commuters pass Wright’s Tower every day. I’m standing next to it in this picture. Well, Elizur Wright for whom the tower named was kind of amazing. He:

Was an abolitionist, who was arrested under the Fugitive Slave Act for
Basically invented actuarial tables, which make life insurance possible for all of us. He read life insurance literature for fun.
Invented and manufactured two new kinds of faucet fitting type things
Ran a newspaper, which got sued for calling out liquor manufacturers
Translated La Fontaine’s Fables and wrote a foreward to a book of poetry by John Greenleaf Whittier
In his copious free time, also pushed for the eventually successful passage of the Massachusetts Forestry Act, which is why we get to hike in the Fells and why they erected a tower in his honor

I mean, I’m impressed with myself when I get my blog post out on time. I didn’t make major contributions in four or five totally different spheres. And yes, he did find the time to marry and beget children too. I’ll admit – I’m kind of a fangirl now.

Anyway, I have these wild and crazy thoughts about how to get this really awesome information about this town out there. Who, living in a town founded in 1725, wouldn’t like to hear about some of the hijinks that happened nearly 300 years ago where they currently stand? I’m going to contemplate that question while I see how many other really cool things I can uncover in my research.

I’d also like to beg your indulgence. I’m attempting to turn all these cool facts I’ve uncovered into a novel. NaNoWriMo requires about 1668 words a day if you’re going to write a 50k novel in the month of November. I’m already well behind. But it’s going to be extra hard to write a thousand word blog post on top of the 1600 words I need to write every day to have a hope at completing this thing. So I might be… terser than usual this month (and/or obsessed with Stoneham town history).