Archive for February, 2009


Anne Morrow Lindbergh Texts

February 22, 2009

Good communication is stimulating as black coffee, and just as hard to sleep after.

-Anne Morrow Lindbergh

Does good communication include texting? Because if it does, my soon-to-be teenage daughter will win the communicator-of-the-year award.

Last month’s total? Eighteen hundred. It’s true. You read that right. Eighteen hundred texts…in one month. No more allowance for her. She’ll be shoveling the drive for a long time to come.

To her credit, it was her first month of texting, and she had no idea the phone company charged for both in-coming and out-going texts. Neither did her parents. Feel free to slap us around, but we knew nothing about texting and naively assumed neither did she. We gave her a phone strictly to be used for communication with her parents. Right. Slap me again.

So what does a pre-teen text 1800 times? I checked.



“what’s up”


“how RU”

“good. U?”


“what chairlift RU on”




“where’s Pete”

“who cares”

“M likes him”



This stimulating conversation racked up 16 texts, not one for free.

Why not just call and talk? “Because then people hear you,” she answers.

In the world of cyber space, we’ve become a growing society of no talk. We can email. We can facebook. We can text. We can blog. We can do everything but talk. It’s easier, says the cyber generation.

A friend of mine told me her high schooler texts so he doesn’t have to have a conversation with a girl. Makes sense. Who wants to be told, OMG to his face?

While texting may eliminate a stutter and sweaty palms, where will it lead us? Will we live in voiceless relationships? While it might be nice not to hear my husband ask me where the car keys are, do I really want a relationship of silence? Well okay, maybe some days.

Not only is the texting price tag absurd, but 1800 texts a month takes time. It eliminates the opportunity to talk. It causes carpel tunnel. Texting while driving? Don’t get me started.

A good conversation for me, is indeed, a lot like black coffee. It makes me think. It makes me laugh and sometimes cry. Conversations teach and probe and make us reflect. I realize teenagers are a breed of their own, but I hope texting is a short-lived phase for our kids.

Even if she falls on her face, I hope my daughter can learn to talk to a boy. Or a girl. Or her parents. OMG.


Albert Einstein Plays Candyland

February 16, 2009

All knowledge of reality starts in experience and ends in it. Propositions arrived at by purely logical means are completely empty of reality.
-Albert Einstein

Phew. Because by the end of the day, I definitely have no means to think logically. Unless of course, you count killing my daughter at Candyland. If only.

My nephew is on a train hopping his way across Europe right now. While I wouldn’t trade landing on Goody Gumdrop Mountain for an Italian gelato, I can dream.

What an experience, people tell Peter. And it is. If nothing else, traveling provides us with experience. The experience can be grand and worldly, or not. I remember when my little ones were tiny and unable to nap without the roll of the wheels. I’d get in the car and drive to grand places, like Kremmling, Colorado. There’s not much in Kremmling, Colorado, but let me tell you, it gave me the experience I needed. A glance into a different life, an escape if even briefly, into small-town Colorado cowboy country, offered me a break from screaming, overly tired tots.

Traveling, if even in our minds, grants us the privilege of escape. The experience we gain can help us remember who we are and where we are going. If we are blessed with the means to fly to London, great. If not, traveling to the town next door provides an experience in its own right. Living life, rather than thinking of it through “purely logical means” does teach us to grow. Besides, who has the time to think logically anymore?

I’ll spend my time being sent back to the Peppermint Stick Forest.


Reap Pearls of Wisdom

February 11, 2009

Living at 10,000 feet (yes, there are 4, count ‘em 4, zeros on that number) has its challenges. Like snow on rose bushes.

Okay, so technically, I live at 9035 feet, but come on, call it close enough. Just don’t tell a local. They’ll think you’ve gone soft.

I grappled with what to call this blog. Confessions of a ski mom? How to earn publishing rejection letters? Spiritual matters for a new world?  Please, do roll your eyes.

Finally, my best friend slapped me upside down and said, “Write all of it…it’s your journey. Write what you know best.” So, snow and ice it is. Thank the Lord for friends.

In the future, my blog entries will begin with one of life’s pearls of wisdom.

Pearls. Really? What makes them so wise? Who came up with that? What does my life have to do with pearls? No one in this mountain town wears them. I can’t scuba-dive off a mountain to find one, and besides, how do you know if they’re real? So, my pearls of wisdom will henceforth be lovingly adorned with snowballs. Affordable, beautiful, one-of-a-kind snowballs. Besides, can pearls make an 18-wheeler flip on its back while rolling down a highway? Snow can.

My life’s journey began way back when. I know better than to say on a blog. It started in Toledo (home of the Mudhens), wound me round the world, and spit me out in Colorado. And here I write: children’s fiction, multicultural curriculum, morning pages, notes to my husband (someone needs to remind him to put away the kids’ laundry) and of course, letters to Mom and Dad. And, a book, shamelessly plugged here, Soul Sunday: A Family’s Guide to Exploring Faith and Teaching Tolerance . . .

I’m hoping a blog will reach loyal friends, family, colleagues, and a couple of unknowns looking for a few good laughs to lighten the load.

Plus, it will force me to find some snowballs of wisdom along the way.