My first ever plane ride found me seated with my best friend, my siblings and my parents on our way to Washington D.C. My uncle and his family lived near there. We saw the sites and did all the patriotic things. We also spent time getting to know the new twin baby cousins and their older sister. One of the evenings my uncle Gregg made us shrimp; it was simply delicious. I don’t remember how old I was exactly; maybe about nine or ten. I do remember that I loved everything about the trip.

Truth is I have absolutely no negative memories of my uncle whatsoever.

He is gone now. I am sad because because he was still pretty young. I am glad, though, that I only have good things to say about him.

He was jovial and quick to smile with a happy glint in his eye.

He kept his tight curly hair short; though, they told me that during high school it was quite bushy and large.

His lawyering took him from the Midwest to D.C. then to Arizona. My grandparents would have my parents and us kids over for the holidays. Gregg would always call when we were there and the adults would pass the phone around to talk. Since my grandparents had just the two boys my Grandma Houtz always had a contented grin on her face as she hung up the phone.

I am sure that there were unpleasant things about his life, as there are for us all. For me, though, he remains a fixture of fun and goodness. For that I am thankful.

He will be missed.

Now on with the crunchy, munchy, mixed-up life I lead…

• Let’s see if you can pass the pony-tail quiz.

Pony-tail means: a) my hair just got long enough to pull back, b) this morning I was highly unmotivated to do the do, c) I justify laziness when I am going through some stressful stuff, d) all of the above.

Give yourself a gold star if you chose the letter d).

• Let’s see if you can pass the counter top quiz.

The liquid in the image is: a) soup made of herbs native to the Northern region of Napoli, b) tea, c) incense to make the room smell all pretty, d) a decoration to make the room look pretty.

A gold star for the people who picked the letter b).

• Let’s see if you can pass the quizzy quiz.

Why is Angie in a quizzical mood? a) there is a bunch going on in her life right now and she defaults to over analyzing everything and knows that can lead to some destructive conclusions so she tries bring herself out of that cycle through an attempt at humor in the more public arenas of her life such as the @.

You want a gold star for choosing the letter a). Go ahead, you can have one.

Those who are bold enough to ask questions here at the @ are rewarded with my attempt at an answer, most of the time. If said commenter is a family member then their inquiries take top priority to me. It’s just the way I roll. Yesterday on the “Who and Whose” post, my sister, a fellow mother on this rocky path of parenthood, asked a question:

As you can see I replied with a quip and a promise. Standing by my avoidance of the idea of the possibility of attaining the elusive balance I will speak of the instilling of character in our kids.

A familiar list proclaims the traits that we are encouraged to let grow in our lives: love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance.

Let’s look at that meekness bit. A good definition I have heard is: strength under control. That is fine and well. Adding on to that thought I might add that meekness is humble confidence. A meek person knows where and from whom the strength in their life emanates. They are confident in the identity that God has placed in them as a unique being. They add to that confidence and strength the beautiful humility drawn out of a life placed in the hands of the God of love, grace, acceptance and hope.

That answers what we are working into our existence. The question is how do we do it.You know I love lists! Take what you want, leave the rest and add on some practical ideas in the comment section if you wish. I welcome the creative collaboration in the parenting of our children.

1. Model it.
2. Speak of it.
3. Praise it in others.
4. Praise it in the child.
5. Read of it.
6. Show it in picture books.
7. Know what your child does well.
8. Provide outlets for them to do what they do well.
9. Praise what they do well.
10. Know what your child does not do well.
11. Speak with them about what they do not do well.
12. Help them find ways to overcome deficiencies by trusting other people.
13. Help them to see the strengths in other people.
14. Help them to praise the strengths in other people.
15. Let them express creatively their appreciation for others: drawings, writing, phone calls, sharing gifts, genuine smiles and thanks.
16. Introduce please and thank you into your daily vocabulary.
17. Thank the child, sincerely.
18. Let them see you making other people important.
19. Hang their art in your home.
20. Pray together with them confident and humble prayers.

Those are the first few that came to mind. Please do not take this as gospel. Each parent has their own journey to walk. Trust that the Lord is alongside you as you love your kids. May the God of peace be with you all.

Conversations with familiar friends is one of the ways that God gets through to me. Heart to heart and face to face sharing is unmatched heavenly glory here on earth.

One such conversation has been on repeat in my soul for a few days now. Point blank I revealed to my friend a startling fear that had come upon me. She understood. She did not condemn nor belittle the reality of my worry. She did not validate it either. She simply spoke truth to it, to me. I am so grateful for her. I am so grateful for the truth that God has placed in her which she was able to minister to me.

The fear? Irrelevant.

The truth? Timeless.

This is the gist:

“I want my children to know: who they are and Whose they are.”

Yes! That is exactly what I needed to hear!

Who…

This calls to the verse about train up a child in the way he should go and when he is old he will not depart from it. “In the way he should go” refers to “the natural bend”. As I see my children lean towards their specific talents, gifts, abilities, passions and the like I can enable them to explore these aspects of their personalities, thereby helping them to find out who they are. We can foster an environment of confidence and freedom thus boosting self-esteem and celebrating diversity in the uniqueness of all humanity.

Whose…

A high self-esteem bolstered and flourishing can quickly rot to high-minded, slippery-slope pride when not treated with humility under the hand of our Maker. Humble humans who know Whose they are will not seek to separate themselves, rather they will find refuge in the One who can help. They also choose to see others through the eyes of Whose they are, which can only lead to a better society when we know that those are eyes of love, acceptance and hope.

Who and Whose. This is one of those non-negotiables that I am going to instill in my kids’ lives:

1. Learn to love.

2. Love to learn.

3. As parents we will make mistakes. You are welcome.

and now 4. Know who you are and Whose you are.

An upright piano stood in the front room of our house our whole growing up years. All five kids plunked away on the ivories every once in a while.

One afternoon my littlest sister called us all in to listen to a song she claimed to have invented. At the end of her tune my mother lavished her with applause. Possessed with a sense of duty I informed my sister of the truth she needed to embrace.

“All the songs that have ever been written are all the songs that will ever be written. There are no new songs. That what you just played has probably already been invented by someone else before.”

She began to cry. My mother began to scold.

“That is not true, Angie! New songs are written all the time.”

Knowing the pattern in our home I was most likely made to apologize. If it be necessary, I will apologize again. What a simply stupid thing to say!

Since that display of mean spirited inferiority I have thought about those words.

Depending on the emphasis this phrase can mean very different things.

Every song has been written.

First, on hearing this you could think, “There are no new songs to be written.”

If you hear it differently you could derive from that statement, “All songs have been written in some form: be it on paper, on a vinyl record, on a tape, or simply on the heart.”

When I think that there are millions of books in existence I could defer to the inferiority of yesteryear and talk myself out of writing all together. On the flip side I could embrace the truth that since millions of books have been written and millions of books are yet to be written then I can be a part of those. Why can’t my writings be published alongside the piles of papers yet to be printed?

That is my motivation for writing.

Thank you, Shawn, for inventing your sweet little song and singing in spite of your bullying big sister. You are beautiful!

For Joe, Denise, Seth, Jacob, Caleb, Benjamin, David, Josh, Faith, Hope, Joy, Patience, and Mercy Holman

Porch View

Misty Mountains

Rainbow Circus

Night Skyline

And just because I miss you soooooooooo very much…

Butter!

Love,

Considering that 80s and 90s music is now played on the oldies radio stations, and those songs bring back memories of my teenage years, I fear I am in grave danger of dating myself with the pop-culture reference I am about to use.

Does anyone remember the T.V. show “Mork and Mindy”? Robin Williams cut his comedy teeth on this series about an alien that is kicked off of his planet and takes up residence with a young single gal here on earth. The episodes revolved around Mork, the alien, trying to learn how to live on earth. I really don’t remember much aside from the fact Mork came out of a man-sized egg and I always found his seemingly juvenile antics hilarious.

I feel like I am raising a Mork-like creature. She didn’t arrive in an egg, but she operates from the reasoning of a different world than I do. We have known her for about 2 months now and she has been in our home for less than that amount of time. She is curious and a fast learner. At times, though, it is mind-boggling how independent she is.

Mork came to the earth walking, talking and dressing himself; albeit he put his clothes on backwards but at least he put them on. This little girl came to me walking, talking, dressing herself, feeding herself and even potty trained. I have nothing to complain about. She is intelligent, expressive, endearing and healthy.

I just find myself staring at her sometimes thinking that we have welcomed this alien creature into our home. She is trying desperately to fit in; while doing a most incredible job, I might add. Still, the Spanish is foreign, yet right here in my home. I find the mannerisms and attitudes to be vaguely familiar, before always at an arms length, now a part of my family. Even her scent is different. Not to mention the games, her food preferences and survival techniques.

Like Mindy on the show I am, most of the time, welcoming and accepting. At other times she was exasperated and frustrated at the tedious behavior of this new being that intruded her life. I can relate. The comedy comes when I have to cock my head to the side as I watch her do something and I try to introduce her to a new method. In the end the two found a way to make things work and the audience got a few laughs out of it. We are finding a way to make it work here as well.

I think back to when my other four had been with me for a mere two months. They were squishy, didn’t speak my heart language yet, and were very much like an alien to me.

The difference is that they had grown within my belly for nine months. We were in constant, palpable contact the whole incubation period. I held them with my body before they were laid in my arms. They grew in me before they grew on me.

I am sure that with the passage of time this new little alien will grow on me too. There has been something daily that has shocked me. Getting to know her has not been gradual in the least. It has been like inviting a full grown alien into my home and learning to love it with my whole heart.

Like I tell my kids all the time, love is a choice. I truly do love my Kaitlynn with all my heart. I am just waiting for the feelings to come. In the meantime I look for the humor in the day to day.

“Fernando, you said we would get to see the Pegasus today,” I said.

“Ah, yes. You still want to see it?” was his coy response.

“Yes. Tell me how to get there”

“I will show you.”

Once we were back in town the drive to the park where his art is on display took all of a few minutes, not far from my house. I had never been there before. For those familiar with the area we came up Simon Lopez from the Plazuela de Calal Cala and entered to the North after passing Beijin, the park is next to a canal on Awki Tupaji (I am pretty sure) about five blocks up from Simon Lopez. To think that it was so close, yet unknown to me, was like a juicy secret had been kept for just this special moment now whispered in my ear.

The story goes that the piece was done in dedication to a dear friend of Fernando Crespo named Ulises Hermosa when he passed away after a battle with cancer. He was a member of a famous Bolivian folkloric group called Los Kjarkas (clicking that link allows you to hear their music and read some about them). Actually, the whole park where the sculpture stands is dedicated to the memory of this man.

Pegasus being riden by Ulises Hermosa, sculpture of metal by Fernando Crespo 2009, Cochabamba, Bolivia

A view of part of the park that covers about three square blocks of land

The artist Fernando Crespo, Clara and Timothy standing in front of the piece

a view from the front

a view from the back

The signature in the top: "F.C.", as well as the name he is known by: "Tiburon" which means Shark

Plaque with the name of the park: Parque Ulises Hermosa

The inscription on the base of the sculpture are lyrics by Ulises Hermosa (translation follows)

Lyrics by Ulysis Hermosa (hermosa means beautiful)
on Pegasus piece by Fernando Crespo

(Ayer planté un arbolito)

Yesterday I planted a little tree

(Al borde de mi destino)

On the edge of my destiny

(Con el tiempo luminoso)

With the passage of the season of brilliance

(Era feliz y crecía…)

I [or it] was happy and grew…

(…ese arbolito querido)

…this dear little tree

(el que guardaba mis sueños)

That held my dreams

(Ahora refleja mi vida)

Now reflects my life

(Son extraños los misterios)

Strange are the mysteries

————————————

Yes, mysteries are strange. They are also awe inspiring, wonderful and call for reflection.

The End.

Here are the links to the whole story:

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to get Pizza Cones

A Familiar Perfect Stranger

Meandering Adventures

Huayculi or Bust

A Study in Livelihoods

And finally this post: Fernando Crespo’s Pegasus at Parque Ulises Hermosa

The dirt we came from drew us together.

Potting in a pueblo in Bolivia is slightly different than potting in a studio in the States. My mother and father run a successful clay studio called Wichita Pottery from the downstairs of their home. Álvaro, our clay man, alongside his family runs a potting business out of the dirt in the yard of his home.

Almost all Bolivian homes of any economic standing are surrounded by walls. Most of the more humble dwellings are built progressively. A plot of land may start with nothing more than the wall and a room. The family lives in the room and builds as they can adding rooms that all have their own door to what may be called the courtyard. All these rooms with doors to the outside are lined up on the perimeter of the plot. Essentially the growth of the family necessitates the adding of new rooms, each room occupied by a unit within the whole. The grown brother and his wife have a room. The sister, her husband and their small child have another. The grandparents are in one room. The main owning couple in another, and so on and so forth. They most likely share a bathroom. The washing area is in a corner of the property. The kitchen may be in a room, or as is the case with Álvaro’s family, a corner of the courtyard with an open fire.

We were invited over to a covered pit. Álvaro began right away to explain how they treated the dirt in this section of the dusty yard to prepare clay. With a few fell swoops of his pick ax he broke off a chunk of the moist earth and threw it over to the side on a large, plastic, burlap-type bag. Stepping out of the shallow pit he began to stomp the clay. The technical term escapes me. I translated back and forth. My mother explained that in her shop they have an electric machine that does this step of the preparation. After many stomps and turns and flips of the clay Álvaro then moved the large lump to a stone where he began to massage and kneed the clay with his arms. Under the heat of the full morning sun the perspiration and shortness of breath were understood as he tried to speak while working. Now the clay was carried to the wheel. He asked if the wheels my mother uses are electric as well. She told him they are.

He leaned the back of his body against the adobe wall and situated his legs, one braced on a metal bar cemented in place and the other positioned to create torque for the spinning of the wheel by way of rhythmic kicking. The wheel seemed to spin effortlessly as he wet his hands and subsequently the clay from the bucket of muddy silt in front of him. The awning held up by rough poles gave him shade and kept the lump of clay from drying too quickly. Applying the full force of his body the clay began to yield to his movements. Magically concave shapes began to emerge. In minutes he had thrown, spun and cut from the lump with a wire four of his most common pieces. It was simply fascinating. He was delighted at our amusement and gladly offered answers to our many questions.

Then he asked if my mother would like to give it a try. Oh, she was so excited! This is one of the things she wanted to do most in Bolivia. She climbed up and situated herself. She got the wheel going enough to throw a pot. The juxtaposition was intriguing. She invited her grandkids to give it a try. She kicked and they moved their hands over the clay. I even got to give the kicking a go to relieve my mom. It was truly an amazing experience.

We paid him thanks and the fee he asked for. My mom also gave him a clay piece she had made in the States. They brought out little pots to sell, as well. We were all very satisfied with the demonstration and the opportunity to try throwing a pot manually.

On our way out of town the guide suggested we stop at Huayculi’s town square for a snack. He had brought a pork meat called enrollado, hot peppers called locoto and some bread to share with everyone. Then we were on the road again. A bit sad to be leaving the adventure a thought occurred to me.

“Fernando, you said we would get to see the Pegasus today,” I said.

“Ah, yes. You still want to see it?” was his coy response.

“Yes. Tell me how to get there”

“I will show you.”

To be continued…

Click thumbnails to enlarge.