Elizabeth Atkinson's Blog, page 3

Celebrate Like Nobody’s Watching

One Christmas morning, when I was 8 or 9 years old, I woke up excited as usual, but this year I was also a bit worried.

I realized I had never been to anyone else’s home on Christmas morning –- that I had always celebrated with just my parents, my older brother, and younger sister. It occurred to me that maybe we were doing everything wrong.

“What does everyone else do on Christmas morning?” I asked my mother.

She shrugged her shoulders and said, “I have no idea.”

That answer made me even more uneasy, as I assumed there was some guide book, written by Santa himself, which everyone else followed.

“But what if we aren’t doing it right?”

“What does that matter?” replied my father.

“It matters,” I couldn’t believe I had to explain this to the adults, “because we could be forgetting important things we’re supposed to do.”

They both laughed.

“Honey,” said my mom, “we can do whatever we want to do on Christmas.”

Wait, what?

Are you saying our entire culture is contrived by us — not dictated by some higher force? We simply agree to follow an accepted set of norms and rituals, but in fact they aren’t set in stone? That nothing would happen if we dressed in Halloween costumes on Christmas, or celebrated Christmas a month later, or even skipped Christmas all together?!

That morning, I found out the answer was yes, yes, and yes.

At first, I was shaken by this mind-boggling, earth-shattering realization, but eventually it became liberating. I came to understand that the trappings didn’t matter at all. And that measuring ourselves against what others do (or get) wasn’t the point.

The point of Christmas, whether it’s steeped in religion or not, is the deeper meaning behind the holiday… which all boils down to one thing: love.

Obviously, Santa knew that all along.

So go ahead and celebrate like nobody’s watching! Because, the wonderful truth is, nobody’s watching

When This Leads to That & That & That

As a kid, social activities almost always caused me anxiety. Way back then, I thought something was wrong with me. But now I realize my social anxiety is typical of anyone with an introverted nature. 

The one exception to my fear of social situations was a slumber party with a whole bunch of girls. The more, the merrier!  I loved the junky snacks and late-night movies and secret stories all enjoyed from the coziness of pjs and a cushy sleeping bag. 

I especially relished in slumber party games, like Truth or Dare, Finger-Lifting, Prank Phone Calling, Seances, and SPIDER’S WEB.  I don’t know where I first played Spider’s Web, but it’s a lot of work for the one hosting the slumber party. It involves selecting a designated room (like the basement), tying a ball of yarn to an anchor (like a block or stick), then stringing the yarn throughout the designated space. If you have 10 girls playing, then ten balls of yarn are strung around the room, criss-crossing each other in a maze like this: 
When it’s time to play, each girl takes an anchor and starts wrapping up the yarn as fast she can. It’s funny to watch everyone climbing over & under each other and any furniture in the way. Every player gets a hidden prize at the end of their yarn web, but the first person to reach their reward wins something extra.

 
I never cared much about winning as a kid, but what I loved about this game was the sense of connection. The way we were webbed together, meeting (and giggling) at various points, never knowing where your web would lead, resulting in a hidden prize for everybody.


Throughout my life, I’ve overcome a lot of my anxiety by focusing on the web. While the task at hand may seem overwhelming, you never know where else it may lead. 
 
For example, I recently attended the National Council of Teachers of English (NCTE) annual convention in Missouri where I was part of a panel for Notable Book Award winners.

To overcome my anxiety about being in a strange city by myself at a huge conference speaking on an author panel with super-accomplished writers, I imagined downtown St Louis as one of those Spider Webs made of yarn, where the convention was just one stop. 
 



First I crossed the city over to the famous Gateway Arch 

 
then crossed up to the top of the Arch in the tiny tram

 
then crossed down to the court house to take in the historic, humbling Dred-Scott Exhibit

 
and later crossed over to the Mississippi River to check out the paddleboat rides

 
afterward crossing back for some BBQ at Sugarfire’s

 
and then finally crossing over to the famous National Blue’s Museum,


where I read up on the fabulous founders of the Blues


and discovered many amazing Blues artists today, including Shemekia Copeland. After reading about Shemekia’s life and incredible talent, I checked out her concert schedule later that night back in my hotel room. And I found out she performs every year at a venue near my cabin up north! So I bought four tickets to her show this February. 

 
And that author panel that gave me the pre-jitters? It actually ended up being a lot of fun

Doing Time

“How do you do time?” an 8th grade boy recently asked me during a writing workshop.

I was working with his class earlier this week in a beautiful corner of the world where time seems to stand still. 

No other student had ever asked me that question, although it’s an important story element often addressed in adult writing workshops.

How do you explain to a child that time is just the way we organize change, and that your perception of time will constantly change as you change and grow and reach milestones . . . and then pass those milestones.

For example:

 What makes me feel YOUNG?
Coasting down a hill on my bike.

Letting my mom make my breakfast

Deeply, Sweetly, Vaguely

Were you born in a place where you didn’t grow up?
But when you visit that place, or see a photo, you feel a slightly intense connection?
I was born in Rhode Island, then my family moved away when I was 5.
Over the years, I’ve been back only a handful of times.
But each time I visit, I enter a time warp… where the 400 miles of inlets and harbors and bays become deeply familiar in a hazy sort of way.

Flashes of sitting in the back seat of our family station wagon on the way to feed the ducks or see the fireworks or go to kindergarten in Barrington, where we lived, spark memories and gentle feelings of what used to be.

Last month, my husband and I were invited to a fairy tale wedding in Newport, Rhode Island…

at Rosecliff Mansion

where we also made time to visit the Green Animals Topiary Garden 

at the charming Brayton Estate

after making a stop at Flo’s world-famous clam shack

followed by a day on the ferry

over to Block Island

 

where we had a drink on the same veranda as Ulysses S. Grant, Mark Twain, and a Kennedy or two… or three or four.

And as we left Rhode Island, the fog of childhood memories lifted like waking from an old familiar dream, forever woven – deeply, sweetly, vaguely – into my life.

 

 

 

 

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If This House Could Talk

Earlier this month, during the annual homecoming fair, our town had an event called: IF THIS HOUSE COULD TALK

Lots of wicked old houses have been preserved throughout our town — dating as far back as the 1700s (and even a couple from the late 1600s) — so organizers of the annual homecoming fair thought people (aka; tourists) would like to know the history of these homes. They asked residents to research their houses (with help from the local historical society), and write up some fun facts on a poster board to post outside their wicked old homes.

Well, like most writers, I’m nosy as all get-out. So I literally spent hours walking up and down the streets reading people’s posters…

And as I strolled the sidewalks, it occurred to me that I LOVE this idea.

In fact, I think everyone should post, IF THIS HOUSE COULD TALK, outside their home or apartment or condo or trailer — regardless of the age of their abode! (I also think everyone should wear name tags to say hello to each other, so I’m probably in the minority on both fronts.)

I realize this task could be a bit daunting, so I’ll start:

IF THIS HOUSE COULD TALK

~ Enthusiastically unpacked boxes when we first moved in on Halloween Night 2016, but can’t seem to get to those last 9 boxes which will probably sit in the hallway for 5 years, or until we move again.

 

~ Empty Nesters who dote way too much on our labradoodle to fill the void of our grown children living independently without us — which is the whole point of parenting, but no one told us how much we were going to miss the kids… sigh.

(Seen here behind his “human toddler fence” in the driveway)

~ Often forget to close our blinds at night because we’ve never lived in such close proximity to other homes, so very possible to stand outside and watch us flit around in pjs and dance to AIN’T GOT IT LIKE THAT when it comes up on Apple Music or Alexa or Pandora or Spotify… or even the tired old radio.

~ Weeded the yard religiously through June, but by the middle of July, decided to live in harmony with the weeds and the invasive bittersweet vines.

~ Grateful stewards of this wicked old house (1796) who welcome friends, family, neighbors, and all former stewards (living & spectral) to stop by for a glass of lemonade on the patio anytime, and share your stories… 

SO WHAT WOULD YOUR HOUSE SAY? 

 

 

 

 

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I Hear You

A few days ago, I was weeding my garden… something I do occasionally during the summer. But this summer has been different.

For the past 22 years, since my children were very young, I’ve lived in quiet neighborhoods. 

But now I live in a small city, and my neighbors’ windows are wide open just a few feet away from me and my weeds. 

In the past, when I weeded our quieter yards, I heard only the birds and maybe some kids playing in the distance.  

Now I hear private conversations, and sometimes painful arguments, all around me.

For a writer this should be a gold mine of information. 

But for me, it isn’t.

It’s upsetting to hear how people are communicating. Or failing to communicate. Mostly because I’m reminded of my own inabilities to express myself effectively, and the hurt I feel when I’m not being understood.

A few days ago, while weeding in our noisy neighborhood, I heard a particularly difficult argument between a young man and his mother.

Eventually, the young man became so upset with his mother that he yelled over and over: “You aren’t hearing me! You aren’t listening to me!”

Of course, most of us don’t want to listen when we argue. We just want to be heard.

So it’s incredibly challenging to slow down, cool down, and try to figure out what the other person is feeling.

Especially for those of us who experience life “passionately” and react emotionally.

Let’s face it, we’re all on edge lately . . . feeling angrier at the world, and with each other, than we ever remember feeling in the past. 

 

Maybe we could all use a few tips on how to meet each other somewhere in the middle:

From “The Art of Effective Communication” by Marzena Bielecka…

“Clarify what you want from the other person. Be specific and use positive language. People are more likely to listen to your arguments when you say what you want them to do instead of telling them what they shouldn’t do.”

 

“Feelings can be tough, but you can’t expect anyone to guess how or what you feel… Be as clear as possible in communicating your needs, expectations and feelings.”

 

“People often focus so much on winning the fight and having the last word that they actually forget what they’re fighting about. Accept that being right doesn’t matter and that arguing for the sake of determining a winner will never be constructive.”

 

“Every single person sees and interprets the world differently. Therefore, to communicate effectively, avoid evaluation and focus on the facts… When you evaluate things, another person can feel judged and nobody likes that.”

 

“Most conflicts are provoked to attract someone’s attention. Instead of shutting the person down, ask questions and make an effort to actually understand the other person, even if you’re angry.”

 

“If you don’t know yourself well, how can you expect others to guess and fulfill your needs? It’s impossible to find a constructive solution unless you understand what’s motivating your feelings and behaviors each moment… Spending quality time alone, free from distractions, will enable you to connect with yourself and make it easier for you to interact with others.”

 I hear you. I’m listening to you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Love Letter

When you love some one or some thing or some place, it can be difficult to express or even understand the depth of your emotions.

When you love the intangible, something more abstract and conceptual, it can be nearly impossible to convey. 

Some sing about it, others paint or sculpt or dance, but many of us feel the need to tell a story.

The Island of Beyond
is
my 288-page love letter to Childhood Summers in Maine.

As an author, nothing is more rewarding than hearing from a reader (no matter their age) who sends that love back… 

“Hi Elizabeth, I had picked up a copy of The Island of Beyond at last year’s Book Expo America. I just read it and was totally moved. What a beautiful story you have so masterfully written. I am 66 and recently retired from [a major publishing company]. I was writer/producer of the Author Videos. One of the main rewards I came away with was that young adult novels can be enjoyed at any age. Occasionally I am rewarded with a major gem. As a gay man in a 37 year relationship I could identify with BEYOND in many ways. No one has ever captured the honesty and pureness of a young boy’s coming-of-age heart as you have with Martin. He has his confusion without a paralyzing fear. He has strength to continue developing into whoever he will become. If I had this book as a young reader, it would have contributed so much to my early development. Thank-you for a powerful, important, entertaining and memorable gem of a book. I hope it finds itself into the many young readers’ hands who will benefit from the day of opening.

Take care, Larry”

And what a delightful surprise to receive cheers from these 5th graders in Pennsylvania!

 

 

 

This summer, I’m looking forward to connecting with many more readers around the world, starting with my favorite place: Maine! I hope you can join me at one of Sherman’s Maine Coast Book Shop & Cafe’s six bookstores in July…

And check out my calendar here for more upcoming events!

THE ISLAND OF BEYOND  (Ages 9 – 13)

Awarded National Council of Teachers of English (NCTE) 2017 Notable Children’s Book!

2017 Maine Literary Award finalist!

Selected by the New York Public Library as one of the Best Books for Kids and Teens in 2016!

A favorite book of the year on the Island Writers and Readers 2016 Holiday Book List

Chosen for Curious City BESTIES 2016 List!

“I was riveted by this book. I didn’t want to put it down for fear of losing time with Martin.” (The Lit Pub)

“If you read only one middle grade novel this year, make it The Island of Beyond.” (Kid Lit Reviews)

“This is a real page-turner with lots of character questions raised to keep readers interested. Highly recommended for mid to late primary.” (Children’s Book Council of Australia)

“[The] deeper meaning of this novel is profound, and it deserves a place in modern children’s literature.” (South Africa: Bookpleasures.com)

“The timeless quest for love and acceptance will resonate with all readers… Quietly powerful.” (Kirkus Reviews)

Order from an independent bookstore  HERE
or from Amazon HERE

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One Size Doesn’t Fit All

Whenever I go shopping, I always keep an eye out for clothes that my adult daughter might like, because:

She looks great in clothes, so it’s fun to dress her, and
I prefer shopping for her far more than for myself, and
Clothes for 20-somethings who work in Boston are much cuter than clothes for 50-somethings who write in the woods of Maine.

My daughter wears a very small size — a size I haven’t worn since I was 14 years old. However, I can always tell what will work on her by taking clothes into a changing room and holding them up in a mirror.

One day, I pushed my cart filled with clothes for myself and for my daughter to the fitting rooms at our local discount clothing chain. 

 

Like most stores, a sales clerk has to count through the number of items you have and give you a corresponding number.

On this particular day, a very thin, energetic sales woman took my items one-by-one to count, but paused to study them as well.

“That looks comfy!” and “Love that blue!” she declared each time.

I found it a little unnerving, but appreciated the support… until she got to the pile I had selected for my daughter.

“Ohmygawd! These are never going to fit you!” she announced at full volume.

I swear, at least 10 people turned around and stared at me.

“They’re for my daughter,” I mumbled and grabbed them out of her hand.

Through the years, this woman seemed to be stationed at the dressing rooms almost every time I entered that store. You could hear her voice continuously across the racks of discounted knit tops and yoga pants hollering, “Hey good looking!” and “Awesome knee socks!” to people passing by.

I realize we all have to do what we need to do to keep our spirits up, but this live-out-loud lady scared me.

I dreaded going to the dressing room whenever she was on duty, and risk further public humiliation. Instead, I often opted to buy clothes outright for my daughter and me, returning them later if they didn’t fit. An inconvenient solution, but a safe one.

Then one day, I noticed she hadn’t been on duty in a long time, and I soon found out she no longer worked there.

For awhile I felt guilty about how relieved I was to hear of her departure. But eventually, I convinced myself she had found a far better job for someone with her unique personality – like softball coach or reality TV star.  And I stopped feeling guilty, or even thinking about her at all.

Until last fall.

My husband and I had recently moved into our new house in our new neighborhood. It was a chilly November day and I was walking the dog down our new street to our new park.

Suddenly, a window on the third floor of an apartment building above me slammed open and a very thin, energetic body popped out into the cold windy air.

“Hey!! I’ve never seen a dog like that!! What is it?!”

I swear, at least 10 people turned around and stared at us.

Needless to say, I now prefer to take the long way to the park.

 

 

 

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Didn’t Get the Memo

We humans absorb piles of information as we grow from childhood into adulthood. But once in a while, some erroneous detail slips through the cracks of our fact gathering, and we carry childish misperceptions into the grown-up world. 

For example, years ago I heard a woman on the radio say she had no idea that unicorns weren’t real until she made a comment at an office party. Her boss (or someone) had just returned from a safari overseas and people were asking him about the incredible animals he had seen. She chimed in and asked if he had spotted any unicorns. 



Of course, her coworkers assumed she was joking and laughed loudly, but (unfortunately) she didn’t catch on… and wanted to know what was so funny. 


Someone once told me she never understood why her luggage always arrived at the airport after her own arrival. Why wasn’t it already there waiting for her on the baggage carousel if she had dropped it off two hours before her departure?  


Eventually, on a cross-country flight, she sat by the window and happened to notice her suitcase being loaded into the bottom of her plane… and finally put it all together.

I have to confess, I’ve carried more than a few childhood inaccuracies all the way into my adult years, but one in particular stands out. 

Our two kids were very young when we lived in Atlanta, and at the time, our daughter attended the local neighborhood kindergarten that was connected to a church.

One April evening at the dinner table, she had questions about Easter which her teacher had covered that day at school. 

What she really wanted to know was this: How did people way back then spread all these religious messages across the land if they could only walk and talk? No one had cars or phones or computers, she wondered, so how could they possibly communicate and share their beliefs with so many people?



That’s when I said, “Well, don’t forget they had their bicycles.”

My husband immediately cracked up… until he saw the expression on my face. 

“You’re not serious?” he asked. 

“Um…” I paused and thought about it. 

For some reason, I had always pictured bicycles as part of the busy biblical landscape along with crabby donkeys and itchy tunics and noisy outdoor markets.

Perhaps, as a kid, I had seen a playful depiction of the carpenter’s son on a bike that had mistakenly stuck with me?

“…I mean, they had carts with wheels, so maybe they could have had bicycles?” 

As soon as I said it, I realized how ridiculous it sounded.

“Bicycles have only been around for a couple hundred years,” Daddy gently explained to the kids, but mostly to me. “They’re complex machines, even though they may look simple.” 

“How come Mommy didn’t know that?”

“I think I did (sort of) know that,” I replied and smiled, “but I guess I wished they’d had bicycles. I mean, imagine life without a bicycle?!” 


We all agreed that would be worse than riding your crabby donkey in an itchy tunic through the noisy market to school.

And just in case you’re still wondering, rabbits aren’t capable of laying chocolate eggs or — for that matter — any kinds of eggs.
You’re welcome.

 

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Sunrise or Sunset

I’ve always wanted to be a person who wants to get up to see the sunrise… but the truth is, I don’t love it.

My husband and I recently stayed with good friends in Florida. On our last morning, everyone in the house agreed to get up early and watch the sunrise on the beach.

Now, during our wonderful winter getaway we enjoyed a variety of activities including:

Kayaking through the mangroves


past pelicans


and even a friendly dolphin


…walking for miles


dining out


exploring



and lounging


in between lots of poking around…


So I thought to myself, here is the perfect opportunity to reassess my sunrise viewing vibes.

After all, the sun rises late this time of year and I’m in the tropics (not freezing New England), and the gorgeous, sugar-sand beach is a just a stone’s throw over the palm trees… Perhaps this time, I’ll relish the experience and be inspired!

The six of us left a bit early to grab coffee on the way, and were soon settled into low beach chairs five minutes before the highly anticipated event.

We were quiet. Reverently awaiting the sacred dawning of a new day.

Soft ribbons of pink and purple glowed above the liquid blue horizon. Then red, orange, and gold appeared.

Suddenly, there it was.


“The SUN!” we cheered.

Yep, the sun.

Molten, blinding light reminding me of all I have to (need to, want to) do… and how little time I have to do it.

Telling me to hurry up and get on with the work of humans by interacting, producing, and attempting to meet expectations I will never fulfill.

Sigh. All my discomfort flooded in – the anxiety and obligation about having to go! Go to school, go to work, go to appointments…

The truth is, I prefer dusk.

When the sun sets, I relax.

For me, nothing compares to watching that warm, simmering orb dip down behind the Maine foothills… a sublime experience. The day is done and the darkness — the world of dreams — may begin.

When the sun rises, the spotlight flips on!


When the sun sets, the spotlight gently turns off.

I look up at the black sky and feel comforted by the moon and the stars and all that came before and all that lies beyond.

Don’t get me wrong — I’m very relieved and grateful every single morning to see the sun appear. But I’m now positive — without a shred of doubt — that I’m much happier experiencing it from my cozy, dreamy bed.


So which do you prefer?

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