Penny J. Johnson's Blog, page 142

Mothers in Nature

On the campsite next to us, a huge snapping turtle laid her eggs. We suspect she might be the same turtle my husband “saved” the week before by carrying her in a plastic garbage bin and depositing her in the river. If it was, we experienced a Grapes of Wrath moment as this disrupted turtle traveled her intended path despite our best intentions. If not, she allowed us a front row seat to her maternal contribution to the world. I counted eight eggs, but I am sure there were at least a dozen or more. According to Wikipedia, snapping turtles lay between 25 and 80 eggs in a season. We may not see the young, since in our cooler climate, they may hibernate beyond the nine to eighteen week gestation. Nevertheless, this mother’s delivery process fascinated me. I could predict the next egg by her breathing pattern. Each time she buried the egg with her foot until it became unseen even from a different vantage point. When she finished, she filled the hole thoroughly. Had I not witnessed this, I might have guessed it was from the casual digging of a child. Yet under the surface, life has begun. We may see the results of the mother turtle’s efforts. But, she will not. Her mothering goal for this group of eggs is done. She stretched her cramped legs, shook the sand from them, and ambled away in her portable home.

Later in the day, my sons and I observed two families of Canada geese. Having recently read about them in Character Sketches Volume I from the Institute in Basic Life Principles under the heading Loyalty, we reviewed what we learned. If two males battle for the attention of a female, she still has the final say on which will be chosen. It is not always the winner. But, once the choice is made, Canada geese mate for life. Together they protect the life of their young even to the death. As we watched the two families congregate on the shore, the parents hissed warnings as we walked up the path. After they entered the water, they separated into their individual families. One gander even shoved the tail feathers of the other to widen the distance, maybe even to scold him for suggesting the onshore excursion. The perturbed gander’s wife edged forward in case her husband needed backup. Then at a comfortable distance, the families made their way through the river bay.

My sons and I continued our walk, and my youngest slipped his hand into mine. I squeezed it and held on the rest of the way.

My Favorite Part of Poetry Class

On Friday, our home school poetry class met for the last time this school year. I asked the boys and girls ages seven through nine what their favorite part of the class was. Their answers included:

Writing Poetry

Unlike myself, these kids did not seem to struggle with writer’s block! Most weeks, they greeted me with notebook pages flapping and asked with enthusiastic jumping if they could show me their latest poems. They dazzled me with their insights. I wish I could post them, but sharing their work with the world is their privilege.

Reading Poetry

We enjoyed reading several poems and books this year.

Sharon Creech’s Love that Dog and Hate that Cat: This series tells the story of Jack, a young boy who learns how to write and appreciate poetry while gaining insight about the animals and people in his life. Young readers and writers will be inspired by the poems of William Carlos Williams, Robert Frost, Edgar Allan Poe, Alfred Lord Tennyson, and many others.
Rip the Page: This book provides a plethora of writing ideas along with definitions, exercises, letters from authors, and blank sheets for writing and ripping.
We shared books from our bookshelves and from the library.
We acted out Blake’s The Tyger and Frost’s horse on a not-so-snowy afternoon. A  hay ride helped us appreciate The Pasture. We followed the examples of Carroll in making up words, of Shelley in writing fifteen-minute sonnets, of Frost in walking paths well-worn and those less travelled.


Making Scrapbooks for Our Poems

The kids created scrapbooks of their poetry and artwork. Best of all, these scrapbooks were made from cardboard or folded paper tied with string. They decorated the pages with stickers, candy wrappers, bottle caps, and drawings along with poems they had written or ones from authors they admire. They inspired me, too. Years ago, my mother purchased a blank book for me. Its exquisite parchment paper and filigree cover seemed too precious to fill. But, with the encouragement of unhindered creativity, a new project has begun.

Breaking the Rules

Although the boys especially liked this “rule” for the class, both boys and girls enjoyed the freedom from standard conventions of grammar, rhymes, and rhythms when it came to their poetry. Yet, through their exploration of their individual voices and their study of poets, they often wrote more to convention than they realized.

I did tell them there is one rule they cannot break–revision. I passed around my small collection of published poems before handing them two bursting mailing envelopes of drafts and a binder filled with notes from my mentor. I cautioned falling in love with their words and encouraged seeking insight from a mentor and trusted readers. Revision is simply playing with words, I explained. Momentary protests arose, but requests to resume class as soon as possible quickly followed.

All of It!

I could not agree more!

Unlikely Friendships by Jennifer S. Holland

For my animal-enthusiast son, this book made for a fabulous bedtime read-aloud. Each story tells of animal friendships born out of struggle and survival. The classifications of species appear as sidebars, adding a scientific element. The stories were short enough for the one-story nights and engaging enough for the just-one-more nights. I have no doubt he will read these stories again on his own.

Wonderstruck by Brian Selznick

One of my nieces chose this book for us to discuss together. So, I read it with my nine-year-old son. We finished the 629 pages in three sessions of what he dubbed “crazy reading.” Selznick combines a written story with one told in pictures. Both forms of storytelling make for a stunning page-turner. This would be an excellent book for reluctant readers, budding artists, and anyone who enjoys “crazy reading” a long book that does not take long to read.

Birthday Wish

Today would have been my grandma’s 88th birthday. My mother and I celebrated Grandma’s birthday by meeting for lunch.

I brought Mom the boys’ French assignment for this week, which was to write about their great-grandmother. What a blessing they know more about her than her birth and death dates! They know tea time was every day at 2:00 p.m. They have heard about the kitchen drawer full of candy bars for the grandkids. Her memories began fading long before they were born, but their memory of her happy, friendly nature is as crisp as her linen tablecloths and more priceless than her silver butter knife.

Mom brought a gift for me as well–Grandma’s Betty Crocker Cookbook. We studied the food-dotted pages of her favorite recipes. We found the sugar cookie recipe she made daily for neighbors, door-to-door salespeople, and anyone who stopped by for tea. Her fingers touched every pudding pie page. The unused, unbent tab dividers sit at the end of the book. I plan to leave them there.

They will mark a new memory of her, a wish on her birthday come true.

Camouflage

"Mom, see that woodpecker?" said my nine-year-old son this morning, pointing to one of our birch trees.

At first glance, I did not see it. I looked at the other stand of birches. As I have done so often to him, my son turned my head gently toward the first tree and pointed again. Admittedly, it took a few more minutes of his excited encouragement before I spotted the Downy Woodpecker. His black and white speckled body melded with the paper birch bark. I glanced away once and thought he had flown away until I saw he had moved up the tree. The soft birch bark muffled the pecking, unlike days earlier when I heard him before I saw him on an oak. It reminded me of a picture-find puzzle. But, even if my camera were at the ready, I doubt a still picture would reveal the hidden bird. Only his bobbing head gave him away and even that could have been mistaken as a loose piece of bark. For several minutes, we spied on him as he ate his breakfast.

"Why didn't you see it right away, Mom, but I did?" asked my son.

"I'm not sure," I said, "but I'm glad you were looking!"

Driving Lessons

This week my fifteen-year-old passed his drivers' permit test. After my initial excitement, I reflected on this next step in our journey and could not help comparing it to my firstborn's first steps.

My husband and I encouraged our son to walk between our outstretched hands. We caught him when he stumbled. When he fell, we hugged him and pressed him to try again. We cheered and clapped the day he took steps on his own. But, when he started running a month later, I slumped exhausted on the couch, wondering why I had pushed him to this next stage. Had I prepared him enough for every failure and tumble? Had I prepared myself for the extra work it would be for me as I chased him up and down the stairs? Hadn't it been easier to carry him everywhere, knowing he was safer in my arms than on the path? In those toddler years, my personal energy drained daily, and I longed for days to refill my tank.

Now that he is older, he notices when my emotional gauge is low and often suggests I go fill up with some personal time. My control of his life-wheel is gradually being turned over to a very competent, cautious, and compassionate young man. When the time comes for him to back out of the driveway on his own for the first time, I know I will not be there for every misstep. But, I certainly will cheer inwardly every time he walks in the door into my waiting arms.

The Done-Did List

After a series of "here-there-everywhere-days," I decided not to expect much from myself once Monday came. Yet, by the end of the day, I realized I accomplished more than I do on most days when I have a to-do list.

Our two Labrador Retrievers received grooming, baths, and pedicures. I also sanitized their bedding.
My youngest joined me in washing the bathroom lampshades.
We vacuumed under and behind the furniture in my room.
I changed the sheets on the bed.
I cleaned the windows and ventilated the room.
Everyone worked hard on their school work because I was too focused (or distracted?) to keep them focused (or distracted?). Anyway, everyone worked hard.

Then we had lunch.

My middle one, my youngest, and I went for a walk to the coffee shop to finish English class and to collect subject matter for nature drawing.
I made meatloaf and mashed potatoes for dinner while the middle one and the youngest listened to a book-on-tape.
My oldest cleaned the bathroom.
I scrubbed down the kitchen while dinner cooked.
I enjoyed reading a book at the hair salon.
My husband and I watched our Monday shows together after the kids went to bed.

I have concluded my high expectations for myself and others often yield fewer results and little satisfaction. Added to my morning to-do list–at least for Mondays–is "nothing." At the end of the day, it is much more satisfying to write a done-did list.

The Island of Dr. Moreau

Having seen the grotesque movie adaptation starring Marlon Brando and Val Kilmer, I am relieved I could read the book with both eyes open. Although certainly not a favorite, its commentary on egotism and base instinct makes it relevant today, securing its place as a classic. It was interesting to read this book alongside Unlikely Friendships by Jennifer S. Holland, a series of stories about wild and domestic animals forming friendships through tragedy or survival instincts. Certainly, Holland's is the more uplifting of the two, but Wells storytelling far surpasses. 3 stars

A Personal Parable on Customer Service

I recently stopped at a pizza place to pick up fifteen pizzas for an overnight event for my son's church group. The pizzas had been pre-paid under the name of the coordinator. Happy to help, I arrived at the pizza place ten minutes early, hoping to arrive at the church before the 7:00 pm dinnertime.

Customers lined the walls of the narrow waiting area. Strained-faced teens answered the constantly ringing phone. Overheard communication down the pizza assembly line indicated at least a ten-minute wait for the order. My son and I squeezed into the impatient throng of patrons.

Twenty-minutes later, an irate man stood and spoke over the din.

"You said seven minutes. It's been thirteen. You've gotten my order wrong twice. Give me the next two pizzas for free or give back my $13.59."

The stammering service rep explained they could not hand out someone else's pizzas for free.

Not relenting, the man threatened to continue his rant unless they returned his $13.59. The register opened, and the door slammed as the man left.

Moments later, someone from the assembly line shouted, "Was that the guy who ordered the two large pepperoni with extra cheese? I was just about to start his order."

"How long have we been waiting?" whispered my son.

I hushed him with a smile.

The weary service rep asked for everyone's name to get a sense of who ordered what and when. I stated the name of the coordinator and the number of pizzas.

"That order isn't finished yet?" called the same voice from the assembly line.

Within five minutes, the order was finished. As I gathered pizza boxes into my arms, the person belonging to the voice came out from behind the ovens.

"Please call tomorrow. This order took way too long. I want to make it right for you."

Clearly, managerial authority had spoken.

I told her someone would call in the morning. With the help of the now-relieved service rep, the fifteen pizzas were loaded into my car. My son and I drove to the church, making it just five minutes late.

Aside from the obvious relief of receiving the pizzas and reaching our destination, another thankful thought entered my mind. Earlier in the day, I racked my brain trying to think of an object lesson to share as a bedtime story for the girls I would be supervising. I had one in mind, but it seemed stale and overdone. Now, I had a fresh one to share courtesy of God's faithful and timely delivery.

I made sure to mention to the coordinator about the manager's promise to rectify the delay, hoping the church would be reimbursed for the sizable cost. The next day I received an email, stating the reimbursement was in the form of two free pizzas. The coordinator offered them to me as a thank you. I returned to the pizza place to receive an unrequested reward, which my ravenous sons appreciated by proof of picked-clean boxes.

Since this personal parable took place, I have thought about the meaning of customer service. The $13.59 guy demanded his free pizzas when his order was mishandled and delayed. His frustration was understandable and justified. But, he left with his money returned and no pizzas. My son and I left with our fifteen pizzas and ironically received two free ones because we demanded nothing. We learned receiving good customer service depends on customer response and serving others without expecting anything in return yields reward.