Beth Kephart's Blog, page 43

My mother's brother and mother. Such love we had.

Images of two people who shaped my childhood and taught me so much about grace and love.

Found.

Cherished.

remembering a Mayor Nutter moment in Philadelphia

Philadelphia. I love her. I write about her. I celebrate her. But don't think that I can't see. This can be a hard-knock city. It doesn't always love you back.

Today I'm remembering a moment I will forever cherish. Dangerous Neighbors, my Centennial novel, being featured as part of a First Book celebration. Mayor Nutter, standing beside me, signed my books for 120-plus young people who had never owned a book before.

I was honored.

I always am.

five stars for Handling, soon available in its fourth (and updated) edition

So very grateful to discover (thanks to dear Starla) these words today from Jennifer Louden, a personal growth pioneer, national magazine columnist, TV guest, and teacher.
Thank you, Jennifer Louden, for your thoughts on the books you've lately loved, and for including Handling in the mix.  Handling the Truth by Beth Kephart
(Available at Amazon and Powell’s)
Kephart’s writing is swoon worthy and her insights incisive but what makes this a book worth owning is the way she shares her shivers of insights into how to do the tricky work of memoir writing. She puts into words what feels like the most slippery thing I’ve ever tried to do. 5 stars! The fourth edition of Handling, new updated, is due out within days.

At Andalusia, with the young people of Project Flow and Aqua Squad

Indeed, it was hot. Indeed there was more water percolating up from our own skin than flowing past in the Delaware River beyond. But for three hours yesterday afternoon, at the gorgeous historic Biddle estate, Andalusia, I had the great pleasure of working with the young environmentalists and active citizens of the Fairmount Water Works' Project Flow as well as the teens of the Texas Aqua Squad.

Together we explored the grounds, hunted for magic, metaphor, and simile, collected turkey feathers, studied a recreated grapery, discovered portraits of George Washington and Napoleon Bonaparte, searched for colors, listened to the 1886 words of Biddle's Aunt Kitty, pondered departures and returns, and interviewed one another.

To those who spoke as shadows, the color red, the everything of green, an albino snake, and so much more, to those who listened to their partners so well that they could tell their stories for them, to those who said I can't and then discovered I can, thank you.

Let's be weird together. Always.

(With thanks to Ellen Schultz and Connie Griffith Houchins.)

reconsidering my life as a gift giver

I have been an inveterate gift giver, a trait I inherited from my mother. For as long as I can remember, I have scoured my world, looking for that something someone else might want or cherish. As a child I made the gifts—bead rings, macrame necklaces, collections of polished stones, photographs from the pin-hole camera I built as a third-grade project. As I got older and began to work—at the family garage sale, at a Hilton Head gift shop, at a sweaty insurance company, through every semester at Penn, right up through the birth of my son and then, within twenty hours, right after—I thought of my paychecks in terms of two things: the bills I had to pay (if indeed I had any bills to pay; I didn't at the age of ten) and the gifts that I could buy for others.

It has given me great pleasure to give. But this summer, working with my father on sifting through the innumerable possessions of a long-loved family home, I have begun to think differently about things. I have begun to capitalize the word. And I have thought about all the Things I've bought for so many people throughout the years. Where are those Things now? Did they become, after the initial glimmer, trouble? Something to put away. Something to store. Something to work around. Something to consume—space.

Yesterday, celebrating our son's birthday in NYC, I do what I always do when I arrive (can't help myself)—I cleaned. Not because he doesn't do that himself—he does, of course. But because it is part of my mom genetics. As I worked my way through this studio basement apartment, I saw the too-many shirts I have bought him in the past, the too-many shorts he would now not ever wear, the too many.

I've loved and I've given, but—what of all this too much, too many?

We show our love in many ways. By being there, by listening. I want to find more ways, going forward, to show my love by giving only that which is absolutely needed, or to give something I have made, or to make it possible for someone to experience something they might not otherwise experience. A considered meal. A show. A day in a museum. A trip to see a friend. A trip simply to see. A clean space. An open window.

I'm sure I'll falter along the way. But I want to get better at this.

Less stuff. More experience. For their sake.

Happy Birthday to this kid ...

who is no longer a kid, who has brightened my life immeasurably, made the days count, given me just cause to try and to try again better. This one who does not believe in failure, who amasses friends at every turn, who sets out toward a dream, who seizes the day, who is working a dream job for a dream company in his dream city, and who reminds me (when the world seems unkind) of all the beauty in it.

Next time it will be better, he says. And next time he is right.

To celebrating with him in just a few hours.

Living to Write (or, it's what we do with the downtime that matters): in Adventures in YA Publishing

When Adventures in YA Publishing invited me to write a craft essay, it took me some time to center in on a topic. The truth is, I haven't been writing a whole lot lately. I've been spending time with my father. Spending time with my friends. Thinning out my house to be sure that it holds only things I feel are essential. Reflecting on this career, this publishing life, next steps.

Turns out, that waiting and living was my topic after all. Today, at YA, I'm thinking out loud about what we do with all that time when we aren't actually writing. How not writing (at least for a while) has improved my books. How not writing makes us more alive to what might (at some point) be written about.

My full thoughts are here. Thank you, Adventures in YA Publishing.

a first award for my husband, the potter

How proud I was this evening to accompany my husband to the Wayne Art Center (about which I have written here), where he won a first award—a student award—for his work, "Industrial Landscape." This is an evolution of work that is exquisitely considered and well made, and a happy validation of the long hours he spends planning and building these pieces.

For a glimpse at an earlier collection, please go here.

So I got all dressed up. Wore heels for the first time in forever. Almost fell off the heels. Had fun seeing two of my own pieces on display. Which I'd entered just for fun, though, once I got there and saw the serious talent, I died a thousand deaths, then decided to stop dying and had the aforementioned (twice) fun. I don't think I'm good at this. Seriously. It's just — a community. I love the community. And sometimes the glaze does nice things.

So, hats off to my husband. I honor the originality of his vision. And the care with which he builds things.

On Finding Grace and Papal Visits, in Today's Inquirer

Not long ago, in Krakow, I discovered the living legacy of Pope John Paul II. I reflect on that, and on the anticipated arrival of Pope Francis to Philadelphia, in today's Philadelphia Inquirer. The story can be found here.

With thanks, as always, to Kevin Ferris and the thoughtful design team at the Inquirer. And with thanks to dear Karolina, whose impassioned stories about her childhood home, Krakow, led me across the waters to that beautiful city. And with thanks to Philadelphia, this city that I love.

Launching LOVE at the Free Library of Philadelphia, Radnor Memorial Library, and Main Point Books

Love will be available in September from Temple University Press, in time for the Pope's Love is Our Mission visit to Philadelphia. I'll be launching the book officially at the Free Library of Philadelphia on October 7, then celebrating again at Radnor Memorial Library and Main Point Books.
It would make me happy to see you. 
Look for my story this weekend in the Philadelphia Inquirer's special Papal Visit issue.
October 7, 2015, 7:30 p.m.
Launch of Love: A Philadelphia Affair
Free Library of Philadelphia
Benjamin Franklin Parkway
Philadelphia, PA

October 20, 2015, 7:30 p.m.
Radnor Memorial Library
A Celebration of One Thing Stolen
and Love: A Philadelphia Affair
114 W. Wayne Avenue
Wayne, PA 19087

October 25, 2015, 4 p.m.
Love: A Philadelphia Affair signing
Main Point Books
1041 W. Lancaster Avenue
Bryn Mawr, PA