K.M. Updike's Blog, page 4
March 21, 2017
The Colors of the Cold
It's 80 degrees outside and I really just can't fathom how we got here, when the world was just this winter white two weeks ago. How the wind howled and snow was a way of life clear from December to March.
People say the winter months are the dead months, where the trees curl inside themselves to sleep, the grass is gone, and the flowers don't bloom and just die a brown and withered death.
I know.
I've felt how the cold can just blow right through you as if this skin of yours was just pure transparent. I know how sometimes you can never get warm, how your fingers just want to break off from the cold and your cheeks will never feel the sun proper again.
I've shoveled snow from dawn till dusk, sometimes I've shoveled the same sidewalks in the same places three times a day, and my legs numbed clear to the bone and it takes an hour to feel them right again.
Yeah, sometimes you just feel dead yourself at the end of a winter day, and you get so tired of being snowed in and worrying about your driveway and getting to work or if your sister will get home safe tonight.
But with all of that, I still love winter.
It may be dead in some respects, but it's alive in so many places all the other seasons couldn't be.
Have you ever seen a winter sunset on the prairie? How the world just turns these shades of blue you can't capture after the sun is gone?
Have you ever heard the silence of a winter afternoon? Heard the hush of your breath into the cold air? Or lifted your face to the winter sunlight?
Have you ever just let the cold wind blow, do its worst, and just let it be itself without wishing it away?
Do you know what country roads look like after a snowfall when the shadows fall long and the dirt shows through beneath? Do know the yellow glowing lights of a car lonely on an empty road through blue-white darkness?
Do you know what blue-white darkness is? It is the color of the evening just before pitch black on a winter night. Just enough light to see the trees, but never enough light to capture it. They are colors you can only ever find in winter. And with colors like that, how can winter be all dead?
Because when the sun sets over a white land the reds, oranges, purples and pinks are a fiery color they never are in summer. The clouds are kingdoms they never are except in winter, and the world is a quiet it never knows except in winter when the warm lights of home hum through the darkness, promise a rest and comfort you never know except in winter.
Have you ever known the complete and utter joy of seeing your windmill nearly buried in snow? Do you know just wonderful this can be?
Have you ever seen how land dissolves into sky and they become each other? How maybe you're not really on land at all but maybe a land that is the sky, too?
Have you ever known the goodness of eating gingerbread cookies, warm out of the oven, on a snow day when work's cancelled and its just you with your people in your home? Then you'd know warm cookies and that glass of cold milk, they just taste different in winter. They're a taste you don't get in summer.
Don't stop loving summer.
But don't go believing winter is all dead when you could get all this.
Love, Kayla
March 19, 2017
The Colors of the Cold
It's 80 degrees outside and I really just can't fathom how we got here, when the world was just this winter white two weeks ago. How the wind howled and snow was a way of life clear from December to March.
People say the winter months are the dead months, where the trees curl inside themselves to sleep, the grass is gone, and the flowers don't bloom and just die a brown and withered death.
I know.
I've felt how the cold can just blow right through you as if this skin of yours was just pure transparent. I know how sometimes you can never get warm, how your fingers just want to break off from the cold and your cheeks will never feel the sun proper again.
I've shoveled snow from dawn till dusk, sometimes I've shoveled the same sidewalks in the same places three times a day, and my legs numbed clear to the bone and it takes an hour to feel them right again.
Yeah, sometimes you just feel dead yourself at the end of a winter day, and you get so tired of being snowed in and worrying about your driveway and getting to work or if your sister will get home safe tonight.
But with all of that, I still love winter.
It may be dead in some respects, but it's alive in so many places all the other seasons couldn't be.
Have you ever seen a winter sunset on the prairie? How the world just turns these shades of blue you can't capture after the sun is gone?
Have you ever heard the silence of a winter afternoon? Heard the hush of your breath into the air? Or the winter sunlight on your face?
Have you ever just let the cold wind blow, do its worst, and just let it be itself without wishing it away?
Do you know what country roads look like after a snowfall when the shadows fall long and the dirt shows through beneath? Do know the yellow glowing lights of a car lonely on an empty road through blue-white darkness?
Do you know what blue-white darkness is? It is the color of the evening just before pitch black on a winter night. Just enough light to see the trees, but never enough light to capture it. They are colors you can only ever find in winter. And with colors like that, how can winter be all dead?
Because when the sun sets over a white land the reds, oranges, purples and pinks are a fiery color they never are in summer. The clouds are kingdoms they never are except in winter, and the world is a quiet it never knows except in winter when the warm lights of home hum through the darkness, promise a rest and comfort you never know except in winter.
Have you ever known the complete and utter joy of seeing your windmill nearly buried in snow? Do you know just wonderful this can be?
Have you ever seen how land dissolves into sky and they become each other? How maybe you're not really on land at all but maybe a land that is the sky, too?
Have you ever known the goodness of eating gingerbread cookies, warm out of the oven, on a snow day when work's cancelled and its just you with your people in your home? Then you'd know warm cookies and that glass of cold milk, they just taste different in winter. They're a taste you don't get in summer.
Don't stop loving summer.
But don't go believing winter is all dead when you could get all this.
Love, Kayla
People say the winter months are the dead months, where the trees curl inside themselves to sleep, the grass is gone, and the flowers don't bloom and just die a brown and withered death.
I know.
I've felt how the cold can just blow right through you as if this skin of yours was just pure transparent. I know how sometimes you can never get warm, how your fingers just want to break off from the cold and your cheeks will never feel the sun proper again.
I've shoveled snow from dawn till dusk, sometimes I've shoveled the same sidewalks in the same places three times a day, and my legs numbed clear to the bone and it takes an hour to feel them right again.
Yeah, sometimes you just feel dead yourself at the end of a winter day, and you get so tired of being snowed in and worrying about your driveway and getting to work or if your sister will get home safe tonight.
But with all of that, I still love winter.
It may be dead in some respects, but it's alive in so many places all the other seasons couldn't be.
Have you ever seen a winter sunset on the prairie? How the world just turns these shades of blue you can't capture after the sun is gone?
Have you ever heard the silence of a winter afternoon? Heard the hush of your breath into the air? Or the winter sunlight on your face?
Have you ever just let the cold wind blow, do its worst, and just let it be itself without wishing it away?
Do you know what country roads look like after a snowfall when the shadows fall long and the dirt shows through beneath? Do know the yellow glowing lights of a car lonely on an empty road through blue-white darkness?
Do you know what blue-white darkness is? It is the color of the evening just before pitch black on a winter night. Just enough light to see the trees, but never enough light to capture it. They are colors you can only ever find in winter. And with colors like that, how can winter be all dead?
Because when the sun sets over a white land the reds, oranges, purples and pinks are a fiery color they never are in summer. The clouds are kingdoms they never are except in winter, and the world is a quiet it never knows except in winter when the warm lights of home hum through the darkness, promise a rest and comfort you never know except in winter.
Have you ever known the complete and utter joy of seeing your windmill nearly buried in snow? Do you know just wonderful this can be?
Have you ever seen how land dissolves into sky and they become each other? How maybe you're not really on land at all but maybe a land that is the sky, too?
Have you ever known the goodness of eating gingerbread cookies, warm out of the oven, on a snow day when work's cancelled and its just you with your people in your home? Then you'd know warm cookies and that glass of cold milk, they just taste different in winter. They're a taste you don't get in summer.
Don't stop loving summer.
But don't go believing winter is all dead when you could get all this.
Love, Kayla
November 13, 2016
The True Love Story of Me & Yarn - A Letter to Grandma
Dear Grandma,
I know your essence and love lay in sewing, but I know you also loved knitting and crocheting, too. I can tell by all the hooks and needles, stitch markers and the two beautiful afghans.
I remember in Colorado you tried to teach Dawna to crochet a doily. I remember I wanted to learn, too. But being only two years old at the time I realize it would have been a hopeless business.
But I want you to know that I've learned since then to knit and crochet.
And I love it.
And since you're gone now, your yarn things have come home with me.
I just wanted to tell you that all those crochet hooks, needles, stitch markers, and that huge safety pin? They're not lying still or forgotten.
I want you to know that the love they once wove together is still weaving its way on. That the legacy you began with a few thin pieces of metal has not stopped because your hands no longer hold them.
I didn't want you to worry that no one would care. Because someone does.
I want you to know that even though you're gone, the work you did and the pleasure these little things brought you are still delighting and are not idle or lying listless, forgotten.
They are still creating, they are still held, they are still weaving your love, your essence, and your memory into everything they make.
I want you to know that you will always be felt through everything I've made with them. Through the countless scarves, hats and gloves. Through afghans and baby blankets. You are as much apart of them as the person who made them.
The needles still click, and someone still counts knit one, purl two. The crochet hooks still slip-stitch granny squares into blankets, and the stitch markers helped me knit my first pair of gloves. They've not stopped since you've gone on home.
And your gifts are still being spread, still warming souls, and making smiles. And this age old tradition, this legacy, didn't end with you in the wake of modern technology and modern ways of life. The old life, the one we used to know, it's still being knit together and casting a big blanket of warmth on the world.
Thank you for all the love, Grandma, and for the gifts that keep on giving.
Love, Kayla
I know your essence and love lay in sewing, but I know you also loved knitting and crocheting, too. I can tell by all the hooks and needles, stitch markers and the two beautiful afghans.
I remember in Colorado you tried to teach Dawna to crochet a doily. I remember I wanted to learn, too. But being only two years old at the time I realize it would have been a hopeless business.
But I want you to know that I've learned since then to knit and crochet.
And I love it.
And since you're gone now, your yarn things have come home with me.
I just wanted to tell you that all those crochet hooks, needles, stitch markers, and that huge safety pin? They're not lying still or forgotten.
I want you to know that the love they once wove together is still weaving its way on. That the legacy you began with a few thin pieces of metal has not stopped because your hands no longer hold them.
I didn't want you to worry that no one would care. Because someone does.
I want you to know that even though you're gone, the work you did and the pleasure these little things brought you are still delighting and are not idle or lying listless, forgotten.
They are still creating, they are still held, they are still weaving your love, your essence, and your memory into everything they make.
I want you to know that you will always be felt through everything I've made with them. Through the countless scarves, hats and gloves. Through afghans and baby blankets. You are as much apart of them as the person who made them.The needles still click, and someone still counts knit one, purl two. The crochet hooks still slip-stitch granny squares into blankets, and the stitch markers helped me knit my first pair of gloves. They've not stopped since you've gone on home.
And your gifts are still being spread, still warming souls, and making smiles. And this age old tradition, this legacy, didn't end with you in the wake of modern technology and modern ways of life. The old life, the one we used to know, it's still being knit together and casting a big blanket of warmth on the world.
Thank you for all the love, Grandma, and for the gifts that keep on giving.
Love, Kayla
October 12, 2016
How to Have a Perfect Autumn Harvest
You just feel it in your bones when you wake up in the morning.It's just the most perfect day to harvest the garden.You stand outside in the morning sun, greeting the day with a cup of tea.You're wearing a sweater but, oh, you know it will be off soon and your skin will be soaking up the sun.
Your hair is a messy knot on your head from sleep and sister's laughter at it can't be equaled.But first, breakfast. And the muffins don't really taste like Peanut Butter Oatmeal and the eggs have a little too many red pepper flakes in them, but your tea is still warm and it's just the right kind of day to be home with your sister.You swipe some music and listen to your brother's Spotify playlists on shuffle.Take pictures.You laugh.
You work those arm muscles within an inch of their strength.You soak up the sun because maybe this is the last day you'll have of it.You decorate your yard, your house, your front door, your mailbox, with the fruit of your labor.And most of all, you're just so happy to be home. To be here. Because maybe in another life you wouldn't have had this. ALL this.
Because maybe there's not anything even just a little bit better than living right here. With this sister. In this home, with this prairie, in this life all around you.
Because maybe even though it's just so ordinary, quite possibly the most boring ordinary there is, it's just plain extraordinary.
Your hair is a messy knot on your head from sleep and sister's laughter at it can't be equaled.But first, breakfast. And the muffins don't really taste like Peanut Butter Oatmeal and the eggs have a little too many red pepper flakes in them, but your tea is still warm and it's just the right kind of day to be home with your sister.You swipe some music and listen to your brother's Spotify playlists on shuffle.Take pictures.You laugh.
You work those arm muscles within an inch of their strength.You soak up the sun because maybe this is the last day you'll have of it.You decorate your yard, your house, your front door, your mailbox, with the fruit of your labor.And most of all, you're just so happy to be home. To be here. Because maybe in another life you wouldn't have had this. ALL this.
Because maybe there's not anything even just a little bit better than living right here. With this sister. In this home, with this prairie, in this life all around you.
Because maybe even though it's just so ordinary, quite possibly the most boring ordinary there is, it's just plain extraordinary.
September 2, 2016
Ode to the Last Days of Summer {In Pictures}
It's a kind of end of summer cleaning day, and it's just kinda overcast outside. Still warm with the breath of summer, but as if the autumn is fighting to come out.
I look at the trees and the flowers and I just see it, in the light of this cloudy warm day, the first signs on a September day. September, the in between month.
The month of the last summer bonfires and star flung skies, the last days of the wind in green leaves, and the smell of fresh cut hay. The month before things just really start changing, and you can feel it in the morning as the harvest moon fades, and the wheat lays cleared and shaven, and the blackbirds wave in flocks over sunflower fields as you drive by on your way home.
And I'm the one who just wants to savor the in between, to let anticipation build for the first, honest-to-goodness, blessed first day you can just really call chilly. And I can look out at the day and I can smile back, because this is the first day of autumn for me.
We just brush by it all too soon, just like Laura Timmins said. We have to write it down, we have to capture it because someday I'll have someone asking me questions, just like I ask them now, "What was it like? Back then?"
And when the seasons tick toward their beginnings, I'll have something to answer them.
I look at the trees and the flowers and I just see it, in the light of this cloudy warm day, the first signs on a September day. September, the in between month.
The month of the last summer bonfires and star flung skies, the last days of the wind in green leaves, and the smell of fresh cut hay. The month before things just really start changing, and you can feel it in the morning as the harvest moon fades, and the wheat lays cleared and shaven, and the blackbirds wave in flocks over sunflower fields as you drive by on your way home.
And I'm the one who just wants to savor the in between, to let anticipation build for the first, honest-to-goodness, blessed first day you can just really call chilly. And I can look out at the day and I can smile back, because this is the first day of autumn for me.
We just brush by it all too soon, just like Laura Timmins said. We have to write it down, we have to capture it because someday I'll have someone asking me questions, just like I ask them now, "What was it like? Back then?"
And when the seasons tick toward their beginnings, I'll have something to answer them.
July 5, 2016
Books I'm Reading This Summer
It's strange how when you have lots of time to read you don't read and when you don't have lots of time to read all you want to do is read, and your to-read list grows by leaps and bounds. But I think I've narrowed the summer reading list down to these eight.Sorry I haven't been around much. I have been greatly enjoying my new job, my boss and co-workers. My computer is kaput at the moment and that's been putting a hold on a lot of my plans. But I hope to get some posts up in the near future.
Happy summer reading, in the mean time!
1.
Six of Crows - Leigh Bardugo
I've seen this book around and it sounded quite interesting, mostly because the plot sounded a bit like a fantasy I wrote a few years ago. But this one sounded more clever and epic. Then my little brother brought it home from a book store and so it has a home here where I can enjoy it at leisure.
Do you like lovable thugs and thieves? Me, too. That's why I'm reading this. So you should, too.
2.
7 Women - Eric Metaxas
This book had me at the introduction. "When I consider the seven women I chose, I see that most of them were great for reasons that derive precisely from their being women, not in spite of it; and what made them great has nothing to do with their being measured against or competing with men. In other words, their accomplishments are not gender-neutral but are rooted in their singularity as women. All of them existed and thrived as women . . ." ― Eric Metaxas, Seven Women: And Their Secret to Greatness
3. Emily of New Moon - L.M. Montgomery
I will admit I bought this entire series at a second hand book store not only because I love L.M.M. but because of Perry Miller. I am not ashamed. After an agonizing watch of a few episodes of the TV series the only reason I continued watching was just to be delighted by Perry Miller. And so I will read the books for, mostly, the same reason.
4. The Highly Sensitive Person - Dr. Elaine Aron
If you like MBTI and personality typing, you should read this book, too.
Are you an HSP? Take the test to find out.
5. Jack and Jill - Louisa May Alcott
I love the simple, delightful innocence of Lousia May Alcott's story-children. The simple, delightful, peaceful innocence of her story-worlds. And I will always love going back in time to the days when children were really children.
6. Anne of Windy Poplars - L.M. Montgomery
I've gotten back on my Anne kick. I just finished Anne of the Island, and now I cannot wait to see Anne and Gilbert's relationship grow. I love discovering all the scenes in the books that were not in the movies and I shall forever bemoan Phillipa Gordon being cut from the films altogether. WHY? I hope there is more of her in Anne of Windy Poplars.
7. Cold Sassy Tree - Olive Ann Burns
I've been looking for a new author to get into and Olive Ann Burns seems like just the one I've been looking for. Southern, grounded. Gritty and real, can't wait to dig my fingers into this book.
8. To Have and to Hold - Mary Johnston
My sister read an excerpt of this novel and had to get the book. A runaway ward of the king who becomes the bride of a gentleman in the American colonies. It was a bestseller in America in 1900 and I cannot believe I have never heard of it till now. The gentleman, I hear, is quite the chivalrous man, and just a bit refreshing.
July 2, 2016
5 Patriotic Things for Your 4th of July Weekend
On a forum I was on once someone asked what the 4th of July meant and how it was celebrated in different families, in different areas. I'll never forget what one young girl said, that it was just a chance for the men to show off their fancy grills. I'll never forget how sad that made me, and I resolved to never let my Independence Day become simply a day to eat food, watch a parade, get candy, and shoot off fireworks.
Happy Independence Day
You Ask Me Why I Love Her?He doesn't say, "Let me think." He says, "Give me time, let me explain."
A Warrior's Pledge"We have always been willing to pay that price."
The Declaration of Independence"And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our Sacred Honor."
The Ragged Old Flag"We're kinda proud of that ragged old flag."
The Star Spangled Banner"Oh say does that star spangled banner yet waveO're the land of the free, and the home of the brave."
May 29, 2016
GO SLOW, CHARLIE
Dear Charlie,
Today was a perfect day. The sun and the sky, even St. Luke's Episcopal Church that looked like something right out of England. I can't believe I've lived here all these years and never seen that little church tucked away on a hillside. 1894 was carved into the sandstone on a corner stone. The front door was red, such a brilliant scarlet and I wished I could see inside.
Hayley obligingly sat in the doorway at the back and indulged my whim, though. I'll show it to you someday. And maybe, just maybe, the doors will be open and we can walk right in and we can stand in its holy place together.
It was just a perfect day. A day when the shade was cool and the sun warm and the waterfall speckles you with refreshing droplets of water so you fairly feel you've been sprinkled with fairy dust.
It was the kind of spring filled with the kind of green that makes the forest and shadowy rock boulders look like Sherwood Forest. Makes your breath go still and your words whisper and everything around you has eyes. And if you don't go slow, if you don't take in the beauty of the moment of a patch of light glowing on a leaf, if you don't stop to listen to the sound of sheer nothing, it's like you might be missing something. Something not everybody get's the chance in a life time to see.Go slow, Charlie. Go slow and listen to the sounds of life happening. And even if you don't have an entire day, just pause, just for a moment, and listen. 'Cause things we don't have often are sometimes right next door, sometimes they're just waiting to be discovered, waiting for someone to notice.
Don't miss those moments, Charlie.
Love, Kayla
May 25, 2016
Author Update | What I'm Writing, Doing, Planning
Well.
Well, well, well.
I sit down to do an author update and as of right now, I haven't written a single word in my current work in progress all May long. Yeah, and we're almost done with May.
This is bad. A bit scary, but mostly really sad.
May is just May. I guess.
What I'm Writing:
For the last few months I've been working on something completely out of my comfort zone: a furturistic sci-fi novella. A very tame sci-fi and I'm not completely sure how futuristic it will seem. I told my friend it's a by-product of The Raven Boys Cycle, and since I devoured the first three books and am still waiting for the fourth, the writing has come to a stand still. Here's a cover I did for inspiration. Nothing is set in stone, it may change, but just so you can get an idea.
I actually do not know what I'll be doing with it when its finished. I would like to entice some beta readers and perhaps put it up for free somewhere. Let me know if you're interested in it and would like to see it!
I have several writing ideas I've been tossing around, both of which involve WWII, maybe stolen petrol, a dreamer, or a priest.
What I'm Doing:
In recent news I've got a summer job. I'm working with one of the best ladies ever at our local high school. I'm going to be painting, deep cleaning, mowing and keeping up the looks of the school. Maybe giving it a face-lift here and there. I've been a tom-boy my entire life and I would rather mess with our broken riding lawn mower than wash dishes, so I'm quite happy with my new job. Also, I love the idea of being a Jack-of-All-Trades. I had these romantic notions of working in a sweet little coffee shop, but the truth of it is work is work and no one job is better than another. Your dose of wisdom for the day.
What I'm Planning:
For most of the summer I'll be posting once a week over at my writing blog . I plan to keep doing some updates and posts here, too, but I make no promises how faithful it will be. I'm also going to Wisconsin in June for an overdue visit with my best friend! Yay! Otherwise, I plan to have a good summer, get some good, wholesome, outside labor in, write, and buy a much needed new mattress for my bed.
Love,
Kayla
What does your summer look like?
May 22, 2016
Why I'm a Feminist, Why I'm Not a Feminist
What is Feminism? It's actually a tough question because it depends on who you ask.There are some good ideas behind feminism. I think a lot of things come about because of a very good reason. But some things change over time without really meaning to.
Why I'm a Feminist
If Feminism means relief for women from oppressive situations worldwide, in all religions, races, roles, and workplaces - then I am a feminist.
If feminism means equality, meaning women deserve to be looked upon as having something unique and special to offer to the world along side men - then I am a feminist.
If feminism means raising a greater awareness and greater protection against the rape of women, and greater consequences for the perpetrator - then I am a feminist.
If feminism means providing for the physical and psychological needs of the female victims of rape and abuse - then I am a feminist.
If feminism is for the making of a kinder, gentler world for all women and girls, alive and yet to be born - then I am a feminist.If feminism means helping all women, rich and poor alike, achieve their dreams, no matter what their dreams may be - then I am a feminist.
If feminism means that a woman is special and unique and her worth is not based on the shape of her body - then I am a feminist.
If feminism is against the exploitation of a woman's body as a sex object - then I am a feminist.
Why I'm Not a Feminist
If it means the public ridicule of a woman who wishes to care for her children in her home without seeking a career - then I am not a feminist.
If feminism condones pornography - then I am not a feminist.
If it means the public ridicule of a woman who wishes to love and serve her husband in the best and most meaningful way possible - then I am not a feminist.
If it means discouraging men everywhere from being the manly leaders of their homes or in their jobs - then I am not a feminist.If feminism means denying the special and unique differences in men and women for the sake of equality - then I am not a feminist.
If it encourages division and war between sexes merely for the sake of man vs woman - then I am not a feminist.
If feminism means that women are superior to men - then I am not a feminist.
If it means that a woman's worth is wrapped up in a college degree and a career - then I am not a feminist.
If feminism is simply a fight for women to run around topless - then I am not a feminist.
If it means the taking of a child's life in preference to the woman's - then I am not a feminist.
Though this is a very basic manifesto, to sum up - I am do not call myself a feminist. I would rather fight for the humane treatment, love, care, kindness, and acceptance of all people, and not in preference to a sex. I know there are heinous, horrible crimes against women, and I will never, ever dispute that. But the well-being and good treatment of women does not begin with trying to change mens' behavior and ideas of women. It begins in the hearts and the minds of all people, men and women alike. And that is not our job. Our job is to be the way we want the world to be. And that begins with you. One person at at time.
To women everywhere - this is for you.
To everyone everywhere - I care.
Love, Kayla
