Things to Talk About At Dinner, try this exercise...

At one of my baby showers a delightful woman gave me John and Julie Gottman's book And Baby Makes Three because "the kid will be fine--it's your marriage I care about!" (She and her husband also study home, marriage, and family development--she's deeply interested in the growth of all marriages). It's a decent book. Wesley read it also and laughed. "Why do we need PhD.s to study 15 years of couples when prophets have been telling us to love each other since the beginning of time?" Then we said, oh yes, prophets and their definitions--not an agreed upon idea. While I don't put Wesley and I in a category that this book really benefits us (some things we just don't do--like yell at each other, avoid each other, speak different love languages, argue about money, etc. This is because we base our relationship on quality and thorough communication: I'm obsessive about that and he understands and nurtures that obsession. And we're blessed enough to realize that we agree on almost everything once we talk the subject through--even politics. Surprise). But the book is interesting. For example, in the last ten years 91% of fathers are present at their babies' births. Hurray for dads and hospital progression! The primary theme of the book is that as you strengthen your marriage, your entire family will be strengthened. The kids benefit from your continuing love.

So. Some open-ended questions to touch base on:
1. How can I be a better friend to you?
2. How have your goals in life changed this year? (What are your goals in life?)
3. How can I be better to you?
4. What changes would you like to make in our/your lifestyle?
5. What is the biggest challenge for you being a (fill in role: mom, dad, brother, student, researcher, etc.)? What is the biggest joy?
6. What legacy do you want to build for our children? What traditions/stories would you like to continue (both daily and larger)?
7. What rituals do you want to establish in our relationship? (Financial, romantic, holiday, etc.)
8. What renews and refreshes you? How can we do this more?

Wesley's a natural at asking these kinds of questions. And I'm weird. A good combination. Last night we discussed what advice we would give to a daughter or son in a physically abusive marriage: stay or go? (No conclusions really. My violent response was a strong go after I knock the jerk around for a while. But they really love each other. What about the sanctity of marriage? Both are seeking individual and couple help. What about the kids? We wouldn't want our child or child-in-law to be in that situation). In the morning we often talk about what we're reading in the scriptures or Ensign or what we should do because of what we're reading. Topic of the last two weeks has been providently providing for each other, our family, and others around us. Along with comments from Joseph Smith since Wes is reading The Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith for a class. Mostly, we just like talking. This is the reason we go to bed late, why we have to hurry to school, why we miss each other so much during the day--there's so much to talk about and analyze and wonder about.

Will this change once Charles arrives? Inevitably. We'll still love talking and our subjects will expand: should his poop look like this? When should we teach him to ride a bike? How do we encourage his interests without overscheduling him or our family? How will we ever find alone time? Does such a thing exist once kids come? But we're so excited. I've been sleeping in lately because I can't sleep at night anymore and the hope is to "gather strength" for whenever the real contractions settle in. Wesley will wake me up with a kiss, then kiss my belly and talk to Charles. We're both completely smitten by our little dude and he's not even here. (When will he get here? Not today. Hopefully before June 10 and induction dates...).

I'm not really a sappy person, but I think about Wesley (the majority of my thoughts center on Wesley and Charles--another shocker for the world) and then I just revel in how overblessed I am to have a man who wants to jabber with me (or just let me jabber) endlessly about both meaningful and silly things.

A few questions we discuss when silly:
What does your favorite color taste like? What part of nature would you be today if you could? Describe home as a person? What if we named Charles...? How would your family respond if I did...? If you could do anything right now, what would it be, why, and why aren't we doing it? What mix-ins do you want in your ice cream? How do you become more attractive every day?

And we're off.

Abundance

Large as a barge and not quite in charge!

Fourth Genre, Spring 2009

A few weeks ago I finished the spring issue of Fourth Genre, a literary journal of creative nonfiction. So much about this journal I love. Each issue includes a "Roundtable" discussion, variation, etc. This issue the Roundtable is the printed version of an AWP panel who each tried their hand at a version of Montaigne's "Of Thumbs" (to read, click http://essays.quotidiana.org/montaigne/thumbs/) by rolling two dice to determine how they tweaked the original essay and wrote their own. Find a group of writers spanning from Dinty Moore to Brenda Miller to Patrick Madden and you know you'll find some great work. I even tried my own--and made it a journal option for my students next fall. Short essays fill me with joy. Playful short essays fill me with spiced joy.

Along with full-length book reviews, Fourth Genre also publishes Reader-to-Reader capsule reviews which care small celebrations of great reading. These allow a taste of good reading published at any time; they give just enough information that you wonder what else the book might contain. A tantalizing tactic. (I'm tempted to submit some of my own eventually.)

No collection is perfect. My interest varied in the essays collected here. All were obviously "good" and "publishable" but only a few felt lasting. Kim Dana Kupperman's "See Me Slant: Poetry Considers Her Mother" and the companion essay about writing that piece stand out to me as creative and playful explorations in persona and what can be considered "truth"--which is a concept that transcends genres like "nonfiction" or "fiction" (this is a concept some seem to struggle with...I don't get it. How many times have you grasped a moment of truth or revelation because of a fiction? It's probably happened this week. Considered our sundry analogies and parables and interpretations. This is one of the reasons I don't worry about whether scripture is literal or not--what matters is if it is true or not. That is my assessment of all writing: is it true--or not? If not, it won't be well done.) Here's a sampling of a favorite paragraph:

"My mother divided time into stanzas....At twilight we cleaned our pens, repaired the spines of books and my mother hummed a tune for the rising darkness....she rested her teacup on the table, leaned toward me, and told me things she knew. Like the true names of the birds. Or that each person I encountered would be as full of stories as the great library rumored to have stood at Alexandria. That she named me Poetry to keep her body alive, a fleshy dialogue across the ages" (Kupperman 112).

Other honorable mentions: Joan Marcus's piece, "Exalting the Weird" is lovely for its obvious struggle through an idea. No predetermined conclusion, even with conclusive statements at the end. Amy Hassinger's "On Pests" could be an interesting example on incorporating research into the personal. I may use it as an example with my fall students. What I most enjoy about the essay is that it points to humans as the greatest pests...and still embraces us. Geeta Kothari's "Flight" lingers with me, but it seems to be too constructed or something--simultaneously, when I finished reading, I couldn't figure out what was missing. Still can't. That's aggravating as a reader and writer. Still, it is a decent essay.

There are moments when I wish "publishable" could mean "perfect--don't worry about working on this again!" I can see why Montaigne continued to return to his essays; they are his thoughts, his meanderings. Scribbling them out once usually isn't enough. The questions that really absorb us/me can be lifelong obsessions. For the sake of my family, I wish I didn't write so much about them, but family and form are the topics that I can't get enough of--that I'll never figure out. What is order? Why do we attempt to create order? What if our family form doesn't work? Can you make it work? Then I face the difficulty that people may not care about my obsessions. Alas. Why share? Why not? The dilemma of writing is that the act and the product are both perpetual attempts.

One Week

Genesis 2: 2-4
"And on the seventh day God ended his work which he had made; and he rested on the seventh day from all his work which he had made. And God blessed the seventh day, and sanctified it: because that in it he had rested from all his work which God created and made. These are the generations of the heavens and of the earth when they were created, in the day that the Lord God made the earth and the heavens"

What is the significance of seven days to a week? Seven creation periods, seven seals in the book of Revelation, seven years before release from servitude, etc. I've heard it signifies wholeness--but why? Seven days from today, little Charles Lamb (who does not feel very little anymore and daily complains about his restricted space) is due. June 3. On June 3 thirty-one years ago my dad left on his mission. If born on June 3, Charles and I will be 22 years and three months apart--which fits my mold of threes. Regardless of the day, he will be the third grandchild (all boys thus far, unless Charles surprises us and is a girl), born of the third child. The number three doesn't have significant significance, really.

Supposing Charles is born in seven days--I will see the fruit of our labor and proclaim him very good. Perhaps I will rest. Most likely it will be the beginning of further, exhausted creation. Life extends so much beyond the womb.

Whatever day our baby is born I'm sure we will "bless and sanctify"--this is one of the reasons we celebrate birthdays. The generations do blend together more now that I approach parenthood. I'm in a strange waiting stage: our baby could be born today, or he could be born anytime before June 10 (hopefully before...we don't want to be induced). Despite their increase, I don't fully trust my contractions since they've been coming in and out for two months. So we wait, percolate, create--Wesley, Charles, and I--wondering about (and rejoicing in) this work we have made.

Hospital Bag

I hate clutter. Yet. An extra outfit sits on top of our dresser. A list of allergies (primarily penicillin) lies on that. I haven't been ambitious enough to prepare an extra toothbrush, wash some of little Charles Lamb's newborn clothes, or find "games" as suggested in one of my hospital books to pass time during labor (which seems ludicrous to me. Will I really want to be doing anything but breathe on the labor and delivery floor? Granted, once my mom had her epidural she stopped counting ceiling tiles and she and my dad played rummy. Just another outing--eh?). Really, I'm silly. As long as Wesley is next to me, I'll be fine. Gregorian chants and Isaiah are relaxing, but not necessary.

Even though I have a shadowy idea that CharCole could may come early, I avoid packing the hospital bag. I'd like to avoid the hospital as long as possible, but not long enough that my boy is unsafe. He's complaining about the space restrictions these days.

Strange that my baby could be here any time. He's due in two and a half weeks--but that's an approximate. Thankfully, his progress has mirrored his dad's behavior: steady, constant, fairly predictable, with a lot of warning for anything "strange." I'm not anxious (which is weird). I'm happy to keep him swaddled in me for a while longer, or I'm happy to welcome him out of the water. Just not in the next 60 hours or so. After the 19th, he can arrive whenever.

Arrive. Sounds a bit benign. Deliver. Sounds like the excavation of a liver, but I like the implications of mail (male--our Charles! Yes, I'm increasingly sappy...), storks--which are thought to bring good luck--and the specialty of a baby. Deliver to deliverance is a form of salvation. Most doctors will induce their pampered pregnant princess patients about week after the due date because the placenta thins and the baby can be harmed--so even though the womb provides ten months of life, the little one needs to be released from the confines eventually. However it happens, the baby must and will leave the mother's body. (Yes, I still fear that Charles will die soon after birth. People are born every day! People--old and young--die every day, too. Darwin: can you give survival to your children?) No one says, "When I birthed my baby." They give birth--but I think God gives the present of birth to the parents. My siblings adore their sons; birth was given to them.

Birth is not passive.

The Door

Michael Martone recently received a door by general delivery. My name was on it, but I must claim here that it was The Most Feared Essayist's idea. At this rate, I fear she will simply be the most adored, like a kitten or penguin. All fit. Michael Martone is the type of writer who makes an impact on his audience, not just because he's a genius and an amazing writer but because he's invested in the people around him. After interviewing him in March, he sent me a postcard. Who does that? Awesome! He's very personable and independent all at the same time--a person you want to know, not simply an exemplary writer. If you are looking for good reading, though, check out his work.

Collections: Riddles

"One morning we will unwind from each other's bodies for the last time, unaware that one of us is falling faster than the other."

"'The last time I saw my father,' we will begin wanting to call forth some significant moment. "The last time I saw my father..." And then, because simple truth compels us forward, "He was wiping off the windshield." Or "he was rinsing out his coffee cup." Nothing much. No matter. Emily Dickinson heard a fly buzz. Finally it is the small things that break us."

--Rebecca McClanahan, The Riddle Song and Other Remeberings

Earlier this week I finished Rebecca McClanahan's collection of essays that she introduces by writing, "The same questions keep asking themselves." I admit, part of the reason I'm obsessively reading "collections" is to figure out how to create one. The same questions pester me until I think I've answered it four billion times. Like anything with marriage, family, home, and even more specific: pregnancy and place--will my thesis read like a ride with hiccups? Will it be the same idea revisited, revisited, revisited, until my reader is nauseated?

McClanahan's collection relies more on memoir than I write, but it's delightful. The beauty of her language and thoughts allow her to drift into primarily personal experience without needing any justification. (Do we need any justification? I'm preparing to teach a personal writing class and I bring up justification? What do I expect? Absolution? The idea that someone might care about my personal life made public seems selfish--but some argue that writing is a particularly selfish act. Montaigne believed that one could not know the world beyond the self, that the self enabled compassion for the reality beyond us. I try to cling to that, even in my insecure moments). Basically, I loved the book with its essays on relationships, birth, death, belonging--are these what all questions are whittled down to? Perhaps. Why not examine the world as an individual from birth to death, wondering wandering to belong to and for something/one?

I should write a full-out review of the book, so I'm letting it process a bit more before analysis. Read it, you'll enjoy it.