Art Spoiled Culture

In our country we are rich in many things.  We like our luxuries from our big shiny cars to our couples massages to the Italian leather boots we scored for Christmas.  And it's wonderful!  The access so many of us have to so many bright and shiny things.  We love our sexy devices, our imported cheeses, and our bath salts, sugar scrubs, and mud masks.  And as I write to you, dear reader of mine, on my lovely new black, shiny laptop complete with 17 inch touchscreen and all, I feel spoiled.  Very, very spoiled.  But this piece isn't about guilt but rather awareness.  I don't want to talk about money or technology so much as ART.  Art. That short word that beckons more than a million images to mind.  That inexplicable EVERYTHING word!  Tonight I don't want to talk about Picasso or Michael Angelo or Di Vinci.  No.  Tonight I want to talk about whomever it was that designed the embroidered flowers on my IKEA pillow.  Yes.  The one that nearly all of us have, you know?  The one that is sold by the millions?  I want to celebrate THAT artist!  And the ones who paint the greeting cards, too!  The ones with or without glitter.  I am just so ART SPOILED that I sometimes fail to notice that my yoga mat and my sheets and my cups and waste baskets and screen savers and all my adorable printed shirts are someone else's brainchildren!  What a world, huh?!  Everywhere we go!  Everything is dripping with gorgeous ART and here we are acting like that's less than glorious!!  I'm blissing out over here!  No drugs needed and I'm on a total trip!

Life for our ancestors was not so ART SPOILED.  That said, art was one of the first things that distinguished man from other animals.  Cave walls depicting battles, famine, feast, ceremony, hunts...this was the first visual art we know about.  Then came animal hides and the papyrus scroll, hieroglyphs, pyramids, temples, mosaics, immense statues, tiny tea cups.  As a species we've created some truly gorgeous stuff! 

Clothing.  It's a big deal.  It's something we use daily, not just for warmth and comfort, but also for self expression.  The patterns on our scarves and ties and shirts were someone's baby, someone's precious, sacred idea, an idea that "made it."  Old Navy bought it or Dior or whomever.  Point is, it made it OUTSIDE the studio and INTO the great, wide world.  And I, for one, think that's worth more reverence, more appreciation, more NOTICE.  SO!  The next time you're perusing the wine aisle, pretend you're at the museum because, in a sense, you really are.  I don't drink wine but even I love looking at wine bottles.  Not because I have any particular obsession with glass bottles but only because I love the art on wine labels.  Let's notice our wonderful world and celebrate the ARTISTS.  They make our world such an interesting and awe inspiring place. 

 

   

A Day in the Life of a Free Spirit

 

I've often day dreamed about what I would do if I didn't have many obligations.  It's fun to imagine, so fun in fact that I'd like to venture to write about it now.  If I could structure my days myself and do only the things that I deem the most beneficial, the most interesting, the most important, or just the most fun, my day would look something like this:

8:00- Rise and Shine!  Tai Chi then Yoga in the garden
8:30- Breakfast, Tea, Tidy the kitchen
9:00- Get Ready
10:00- Study Scripture
10:30-  Write!
12:00- Lunch with Ely and Aria
1:00- Play with Aria

• soft blocks
• musical instruments
• dance
• sing
• tickle
• splash!
• nature walk
• draw
• color
• read

3:00-  Meditate/Nap
4:00-  Sing
5:00-  Lift heavy objects
5:45-  Swim
6:15-  Brain Exercises
7:00- Dinner with Family and Friends
8:00-  See a show
10:00-  Massage
10:30-  Lights out

What a wonderful day, eh?  Maybe I'll try to live it out one of these days.  Of course, if I could create a make believe week it might include other pleasures like a picnic, painting al fresco, a poetry reading, canoeing, spa day, walking, speaking Spanish, or day tripping to visit museums.  Life just doesn't give me much time for all of these wonderful wanderings and musings.  I work 9-6 if not more.  Life calls for cleaning and shopping and phone calls and paying bills.  Maybe the trick is to incorporate as many of one's delights into a week that one possibly can.  If not the whole day, maybe I might try to get the rising and shining part in, along with the yoga and maybe write for 15 minutes each morning, if not the full hour and a half the dream schedule articulates.

   

Thinking in Circles

 
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  I'm staying at the Fairmont Hotel in downtown San Antonio tonight.  I'm meeting up with a friend tomorrow.  We're meeting at a museum in the morning and we may also go to the zoo.  Her baby is a little older than mine.  My baby is asleep in the oversized chaise chair by the plush, draped window.    

  The American flag flutters feverishly outside my window.  A classic movie featuring Betty Davis, Humphrey Bogart, and Ronald Reagan graces the sleek flat screen which looks a little ironic on top of the Spanish antique armoire with little brass feet, artistic embellishments in wood inlay, creamy marble surface on the top, a lively little green plant slanting toward a window on the bottom shelf.  The theme of the room is decidedly nautical.  I do like it.  The wall wears a monumental painting of a stormy sea, two ships slanting in the violent wind, framed in gold.  I look at the flag outside again.  Very windy out but no rain.

   Across the street people are watching a movie in the park.  I'm still listening to this movie in my room.  The other classic movie just ended.  Another one with Betty Davis just started:  The Man Who Came to Dinner.  The actress who played Glenda the Good is in it.  Makes me think of the summer I was in the play The Wizard of Oz.  I was in the chorus.  That summer marked the first time I fell for a gay guy.  It wouldn't be the last.  One of the hazards of growing up in theater.  

  That makes me think about myself as a child, and all the things I wanted to be one day.  I was always trying to get at something, something I knew not what.  Something instinctual wanted me to get at it by drawing, painting, telling, and writing stories.  I loved my stories, stories about cacti coming to life, girls turning into trees, princes and princesses playing with witches and warlocks, and a little boy who knew how to grow and shrink at will.  I often pretended to be him when I was at church and I imagined myself being able to shrink so small I could fit inside the pocket where the hymnals went so I could take a little nap.  Telling stories was something I did all the time.  I wasn't "practicing".  I was being.  I was living.  And I resented interruptions like dinner, bath time, and worst of all, homework.  

  I never liked school as much as a smart kid should've.  I found it unnecessarily laborious, boring, and too full of danger.  I was afraid of mean kids and often pretended to be one so as not to be mistaken for an easy target.  Growing up with blond hair in El Paso, Texas was a treacherous business.  Which makes me think about being a minority.  I was definitely a minority in El Paso, a city with a Latin American population of at least 95%.  It was interesting and wonderful in many ways, too many to mention for this little entry.  

  Which makes me crave my favorite Mexican food.  I should try and find something good tomorrow.  I'm in San Antonio after all.  I seem to remember a place called Mi Tierra; an impressive, orotund Mexican restaurant, quite authentic fare, multiple vast rooms, each one decorated as a different holiday, dripping with lights of all colors year round.  As you walk toward the exit you find an enormous case of Mexican baked goods.  Oh, my.  Now I'm really craving Mexican food.  Thinking in circles.  

  But what I meant to write about was this room.  Impressive!  Full of antiques.  A miniature boat atop a white cement sconce of some sort "sails" above the crackled, blue desk.  A helm wheel, polished wood, adorns the plush bed drapery, all stripped cream, gold and navy blue.  Makes me think about my father.  He was in the navy way before I was born.  I used to wear his sailor pants and jacket in high school.  They barely fit.  My dad was a real stick back then.  I was pretty slender when I was a teenager, too.  

  One time my Dad read us the love letters he wrote to mom, the ones he wrote while on the Enterprise in the Far East during the Vietnam War.  They were just kids and they were married.  And they are married still.  What a phenomenon.  Makes me think about my failed marriage and my second, my happy marriage.  How can I even use the same word?  The first was fraught with confusion, darkness, and the deepest loneliness.  The second is so sweet, and full, and innocent somehow.  

  Sometimes Ely likes to talk about what ifs.  "What if we had kept in touch all those years ago?  What if we had gotten married younger?  To each other, instead of suffering through our failed relationships and respective divorces."  I don't know.  But something tells me I had to suffer some, to somehow deserve the goodness I now call life.  I think about the arduous nature of my first marriage.  I think about how awful and slow it was to recover after such a long, terror of a marriage to a very unhealthy person.  Maybe it wasn't necessary for me to suffer so.  But it happened all the same.  No sense in regret.  But in all honesty, sensible or not, I do have regrets; more than a few.  I regret not doing my homework.  I regret smoking.  I regret being awful toward my parents.  I regret being mean to my siblings.  I regret punching that sassy girl in the face in high school.  I regret all my meanness, and it was considerable.  I regret never playing sports.  I regret not riding a bicycle more.  I regret never learning to dive.  I regret not taking piano lesson seriously.  I regret not paying enough attention to my inclinations, the artistic ones especially.  I regret indulging my doubts.  I regret doing it still.    

  Looking out my window I seem to notice the wind has died down to scarcely a breeze.  I better say my prayers and read my scriptures and fall asleep so I won't be a bore tomorrow, but before I sign off I just want to say I love this nautical room and I love America and her flag and my sweet, sleeping baby, Betty Davis, Spanish antiques, room service, and Macintosh.  But most especially, I love Ely and Aria.  Good night,

Moon.                               

Becoming a Mommy

   I'm due to give birth on April 25.  You might say I'm a little nervous.  But I've got to admit, I'm SO excited.  It's a girl.  Her name is Aria Marie Allington.  I loved the name as soon as I thought of it.  Aria, Italian musical term for solo, such a lovely name for my sweet baby.  I am so eager to see her little face and hold her and play with her. 
  Ely is the most excited Daddy ever.  He is always buying things for her, getting her room ready, doing research on babies and on fatherhood.  He is also really busy taking care of the Momma, cooking, cleaning, talking to the belly, shopping, and all the while working 70 hour weeks.  Ely is amazing.  I am so proud he is the father of my little baby.  I feel so blessed.
  So, pregnancy.  Yeah.  Wow.  What a world!  Initially it was really really awful.  I was nauseous all the time, throwing up every afternoon and evening, dizzy, cranky, and uber-emotional.  That lasted for four months.  The cruelty of it was how hungry I was.  Imagine!  Crazy hungry and a complete lack of appetite!  Awful!!  I had to force feed soup and watermelon.  I was more tired than I had ever thought possible and virtually incapacitated after 4pm.  I had heartburn that could fuel a rocket, feet so sore they felt like they were full of jagged little rocks, and acne to rival any teenager.  My face started to change colors as huge splotches of tan and brown showed up along my jawline and cheeks, even my nose got a swirl of new color on its bridge.  Hormones.  I've read these splotches will fade after I give birth.  We shall see. 
  So by the middle of the second trimester the nausea eventually subsided.  The feet got a little better with stretching and icing and soaking and wearing orthopedics.  I got the AOK from my doctor to take heartburn medication.  My abhorrence for food subsided.  I started to have fun with my maternity wardrobe.  My growing belly started to thump and tumble inside.  It started getting fun.  We began gathering baby stuff and setting up a nursery.  I still felt tired, emotional, and occasionally queasy but I felt a little more normal and a little more excited and optimistic.
Third trimester is just a few weeks in.  My tummy is growing, my baby is dancing in there, and I'm eating healthy doses of each food group.  My skin has cleared up, no more pimples but the tan blotches remain.  My feet still hurt but I'm still pretty mobile.  I still cry during cute and/or funny commercials.  I laugh a lot and cry a lot.  I'm feeling better than I have in a long time.  My ankles and feet are super swollen.  So are my hands.  Sometimes my face is bulbous.  There is a list of other ailments I'm too shy to list here but let's just say making a little human makes you more human than you ever were before.  That is to say, the wonders and woes of being human are never so apparent as they are when one is making a whole new human.  It is a thrill and a challenge I accept with great reverence.  I often feel inferior but I am eager to develop in all the ways I need to in order to do this thing well. 
  Becoming a mommy is my dearest dream come true.  Aria, I am so excited to meet you, little baby.  Thank you for coming to us and helping us become better people.  We can't wait!                   

Some days....

 

 On days like today, when I come home after a hard week's work, I just want to revert to a childlike state and spend gobs of time playing in the mud, digging for interesting little rocks, examining leaves or something like that.  My soul wants to take me to some stream somewhere, to put my feet in the water a while, to hum little songs that have never existed before. 
  In college I sometimes had days like these.  I wondered what it would be like to study one thing, one very specific thing, and make it your life's work.  Like leaves.  What if you were a leaf expert?  A leaf scientist!  I guess that is a botanist or something.  But I used to day dream about that, like, what if my job was to study leaf sample after leaf sample and catalog leaves and document their similarities and differences?  Wow!  That would be a pretty awesome job.  A peaceful job. 
  Instead I chose a career where peace really isn't the landscape.  There are sweet moments, to be sure, but peace is rare at a public school teaching kindergarten.  There's lots to prepare, lots to execute, lots to assess, lots of fires to put out, band aids to apply, tears to wipe, opinions to ignore, people to tolerate, district initiatives to refuse to adhere to.  There are so many things that happen in a day, every single day.  So much stimuli, it's sometimes maddening. 
  Teachers develop keen filters.  You learn to hone in only on the things that matter most.  So much has to go by the wayside, because it's impossible to do everything everyone expects you to do.  The Federal Government has expectations.  So does the state.  The district has expectations.  The administrators on campus do, too, of course.  So do the parents.  So do the other teachers.  So do the kids.  So do you.  Me.  Guess what?  Sometimes, quite often in fact, these expectations clash.  So what do you do?  Who do you seek to please first?  My default is always the kids.  The kids and me.  We seem to have goals that don't clash that often.  I want them to learn a lot, have a lot of fun doing it, be kind to each other, read, write, talk, play, discover. 
  A lot of what the government says is good for kids just isn't.  Almost everything congress pressures us to do in schools flies in the face of scientific research.  It's so common for elected officials to ignore science.  It's just funny at this point.  But at whose expense are we laughing?
  District "experts" are just as ill-informed as elected officials, if not just out right defiant.  Making decisions based on research is just something these people DO NOT DO.  I really can't say why, though I ask myself why all the time.  Most people in leadership seem to have a real aversion to reality.  It's really so annoying.  Are they just lazy?  Stupid?  Both?
  What would the world be like if we let science make the rules?  What if we honored the hard facts?  What kind of programs could we develop if we designed our academic activities based on what science has shown to be effective?  The truth is, everything you learn in college goes right down a dark drain when you enter a public school setting.  All the things your professors told you were "best practice" are just shunned by schools and even entire districts.  It's too time consuming, they say, or too expensive, or too hard so let's just say arbitrary things like let's "increase rigor" and "differentiate" and see what happens!  Or let's get rid of things like painting, recess, rest time, pleasure reading, singing time, problem solving, and journal writing.  Let's replace those with worksheets, small group chaotic rotations, and arduous phonics activities.  Let's increase rigor.  Let's increase rigor so much that we teach kids how hard learning can be.  Yeah!  Let's teach kids that learning is really, really difficult.  Let's teach them that hard work is the only thing that counts, that if you're enjoying yourself you may not be doing something right, that suffering is "good for you".  Let's make kindergarteners take standardized tests that take 45 minutes at a stretch.  Let's fill the school day with so much developmentally innappropriate stuff that we convince kids, sooner rather than later, that school is a terrible, heartless, uncomfortable place and that the ONLY demographic that can thrive here are the most type A, non-creative, rule following sorts of people; the people who naturally and habitually think as close to the middle of the inside of the box as possible.  I just can't be a part of that kind of goal.  So I don't do it.  Sometimes I get in trouble.  I don't follow the rules so well.  I'm one of those people who left the box a long, long time ago.  That's a whole different planet to me now, a memory, a relic of a reality.  It's risky but, hey, who doesn't crave a little risk now and again.  Besides, it's the right thing to do.  That makes being a rebel easier.
  But some days, instead of breaking rules, ignoring ill advised initiatives, rolling my eyes at the next new idea to rejuvenate our classrooms, I wish I could just examine leaves, for hour after blessed hour.  Let the masses do what they will!  My job is to study leaves.  Ahhh, what a life!              

What's in a Name?

I was born Kristin Marie Ferrell.  I like my name for a few reasons.  I like the way it sounds, what it means, and why my parents named me Kristin Marie.  Besides that, I like what the names mean to me, what they have come to mean over time, and what I've discovered they mean in origin as well.
  Kristin is the Greek for Christian, follower of Christ.  I like that my first name is the first thing I want most to be in life.  It seems appropriate; first things first.  My Dad briefly dated a girl named Kristin in high school during one of the breaks my parents took from their togetherness in those days.  Dad found Kristin particularly interesting because she claimed to have read the encyclopedias, A-Z, in one summer.  My mom confirms, the girl was pretty and smart.  I love this story because I think it's  really cool that I'm named after a smart girl.  It's also kind of a thrill to me that my mom is so incredibly cool, so secure in herself, that she would be okay with one of her own children being named after one of her husband's former flames.  I just think that's such a meaningful  token of female esteem and appreciation, not to mention a sign of complete non-jealousy, HUZZAH!!  What an awesome radical my mother is!  I am so proud.  If more women were that amazingly self-actualized I bet we'd get paid as well as our male counterparts!  Imagine that!  Dollar for dollar!  Female jealousy is one of the societal poisons that rips girls off, big time.  As long as we're working against each other the guys will ALWAYS have a leg up.  It's a chauvinist's favorite weapon and girl's worst enemy.  Think about it.
 My middle name is Marie which is derived from French and means bitter.  I didn't always appreciate this but I've come to think of the word bitter in a number of different ways.  Life isn't always sweet.  In fact, it's the rarity that makes  the sweetness so sublime.  Life is mostly hard, mostly arduous, and mostly perplexing.  Those who can embrace life's bitterness, maybe add a little sugar themselves, stomach the bitterness, maybe even develop a taste for it; these are those who prevail.  And so I endeavour to embrace bitterness.  I do love zucchini, grapefruit, and dark chocolate.
  My last name, Ferrell, comes from the Irish and means "valor".  I love this because I am a fan of all things brash and brazen.  I love courageous people, people who are brave and charismatic.  I am also a fan of a subtler brand of courage, the gentle knowing, the living and the letting live kind of bravery that let's people be themselves and allows life to unfold its little mysteries in its own time and fashion.  It takes courage to be patient and long suffering.  Champions don't always wear suits of armor.  Sometimes they don sweater vests and thick glasses, tweed, Hush Puppies.  Ferrell can also mean "wild".  I was reminded of this a fair few times over the years by hopeful boys with lofty plans for bagging me.  Cute.  (Not so much)  I think of this 'wildness' a little differently.  As human animals we are born rather wild.  It takes years and years to hone our intelligences, make us more soulful and less slothful.  It all depends on what you nurture I guess, the natural man or the eternal self.  So being feral, is just the beginning, a reminder, a place to spring forward.  When I fail to resist some natural tendency toward selfishness I am reminded that I am still partly wild.  Unless I want only to ever be natural I must use valor to react differently to life, to be more than just a stimulus/response kind of creature, one who can exercise tremendous effort toward better things like faith, love, self sacrifice.  It's okay to be human.  I think of it as a condition.  It doesn't define me though.  It's only an experience.  It isn't who I'll always be.  I won't always have a fallen nature.

  A few months ago I acquired a new name, Allington, "The dweller at the place of the Aella people."  I hope to find out more about this English name and attach meaning to it for myself and my life.  For now I like the sound of it and I like how it sounds with my first name:  Kristin Allington.  Sounds downright literary!  Hmmmm.....there we go, then!  That is the name of a writer.  Don't I love providence.  How very English of me.    

   
           

Is etiquette passé?

  I developed and launched an incredible camp this summer called Charm School BOOT CAMP with my dear friend, Megan.  1/2 classical Emily Post style etiquette meets 1/2 self-actualization/self-reliance/ self-esteem building/ assertiveness training.  It was a beautiful success with emotions ranging from serious pensiveness to all out hysterical laughter and almost everything between.  The 21 girls we were fortunate to have in the camp were so delightful as to be described as angelic.  It was so wonderfully fun to discuss manners, charm, confidence, posture, and poise and it was equally fun to delve into the more powerful aspects of the program as well.  For example: goal setting, study skills, women of historical note, friendship skills, and , of course, assertiveness.  We discussed the media and how vicious a liar it can so often be.  We talked about what it means to be cyber-savvy and safe.  We talked about body image, clothes, modesty, exercise and nutrition.  I want to discuss the camp at a later date with more detail.  For today I want to zero in on one important question:  Is etiquette passé?  A relic?  A thing of the past?  Antiquated?  A has been?  A thing for grannies and grampies?  "O-V-E-R"  ???
  Alas, lest the last four generations of Posts turn in their graves, I am pleased to answer the question in the negative.  Of course it's not passé!  I am happy to say etiquette is still vitally important today, perhaps more than ever.  And, what's more, it is our only hope if we are to enjoy a society that honors its citizens, reveres what is graceful and gallant, respects the best in each person, and seeks to offer others comfort, compassion, and care.
  What is etiquette?  The word comes from the French referring to the little signs telling you what to do and and what not to do, where to go and not go.  Back in the days of Louise the XIV the word actually referred to those little signs that said, "Stay on the path" and "Do Not Walk on the Flowers" but we use the word today to refer to the do's and don'ts of how to interact well with others.  You see, etiquette keeps us "on the path", as it were.  It keeps us from trouncing on innocent little "flowers".  In real life these little flowers may take the form of other people's feelings.  I think the feelings of other people are worth protecting and that is why I think etiquette is not only not dead but is a really powerful tool, vital to anyone who hopes to honor or inspire another human individual.

  Etiquette also demands you be clean when it is necessary and appropriate to be so.  Wash your hands before eating and/or preparing food.  Keep animals away from the dining area.  Don't touch people if you're not sure they want to be touched.  Don't touch your face too much, pick at your skin, or teeth, or scratch any part of your body at the table.  Never, without exception, touch your feet at the table.  It's probably safe to keep the touching of your feet to the showers or pedicure time. You might think these are pretty obvious rules but I've been in situations where I've seen these things happening and it has made me feel queasy and uncomfortable.    
  What etiquette IS NOT:  Etiquette has nothing to do with being stuffy.  It's not about being a snob or a know-it-all.  Etiquette is about making others feel valuable, appreciated, comfortable, and cared for.  When we set a gorgeous table, hopefully it isn't merely to impress people.  Hopefully it is to let our guests know that we are celebrating something special with them, that we honor them and are grateful for their friendship, that we think giving them a special meal is delightful and so we put in some special effort to please the eye and the pallet as well.  Likewise, when we use words like "please, thank you, delighted, of course, right away, I'd be honored, and you are very welcome" we are expressing that we feel the person we are talking to is important and worthy of our respect.  Even if it is someone we hardly know it shows our general respect for humankind as well as respect for ourselves.  Even when we are dealing with someone we've previously perceived as offensive, perhaps showing that person respect will provide a disarming effect, if not merely offer him or her a better example.  When people feel respected they are much more likely to feel comfortable and when people feel comfortable it is only then they feel safe.  Only then will a person open up and allow a friendship to bloom.
  Etiquette is about helping people feel safe and secure while in your presence.  Being trustworthy goes hand in hand with proper etiquette.  Keeping harmless secrets to yourself, avoiding idle gossip for the sake of it, being a truth teller; these are all essential to good etiquette.  Using a calming tone of voice rather than speaking clamorously helps people feel secure around you.  Speaking loudly can be very offensive, whether or not the intentions are malignant.  It hurts people's ears and feelings whether or not you realize it.  Etiquette asks us to speak clearly, calmly, and often with conviction.  It is good to ask valued friends plenty of questions and not center on the topic of YOU all the time.  It's great to relate stories back and forth.  We just need to to make sure the topic is never exclusively The Adventures of the Fascinating Me.  Everyone is fascinating.  The person with good etiquette knows this better than anyone.
  To offer a humble conclusion, if I may, etiquette is not old news nor is it exclusively for those who can afford to drive automobiles of western European design.  I am suggesting that etiquette is for all of us.  It helps us relate to each other more meaningfully.  It communicates sincerity and care.  It seeks to celebrate and soften.  When we are displaying bad manners we can damage relationships whether or not our intentions were bad.  Etiquette helps us know what works when it comes to human behavior.  It is reliable because it has been tried by millions of humans over hundreds if not thousands of years.  It is time tested and sound.  It's not about being perfect all the time.  Rather, it's about trying our best to help others feel valued in our company.  I would say that is worth a little effort.  I know first hand that etiquette helps our relationships and fosters respect and admiration.  It lays the groundwork for richness in our interactions and makes real friendship and love possible and that is what makes life worth living.