Dormant

Sometimes it looks like things are a little sleepy here at Divergent Pathways. But whenever my blog goes dormant, it usually means it's doing the sleeping for me. Because I'm not sleeping much at all.

Here are a few of the things that are currently keeping me from sleeping (not counting the THREE dinner parties I hosted last week):

Author Haven Kimmel

1. Haven Kimmel. A couple of weeks ago I had a brief lunch (I know, how does this stuff happen to me?) with this favorite best-selling author. (If I were less mature I would follow up that statement with seventeen exclamation points.) Haven—who is completely delightful in person—afterward, at the book-signing, actually asked me to send her the manuscript I'm writing. (Oh, what the heck: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) Opportunity of a lifetime! So I'm frantically whittling away at my second draft, hoping against hope I can have something great to send her, so I don't BLOW this phenomenal invitation!

2. Tell Me Who I Am. Six of my essays are being published in this collection, a book scheduled to come out in March. The other writers are stellar and it's an honor to have my work nestled beside theirs. I also volunteered to add the cover art and a handful of interior illustrations to the mix. (Just so you don't think I'm completely insane, I offered to do this BEFORE the Haven Kimmel opportunity presented itself; otherwise, no way. But I'm keeping my word.)

3. Story at Home Conference. I'm speaking at this event, March 9-10, in Salt Lake City. It encompasses several of the somethings I'm passionate about: Storytelling, Family History, Blogging—and the combination promises to yield something symbiotic and wonderful. I'll be speaking about Balance—which actually made my husband LAUGH when I told him my topic! But I assure you I'll be honest and forthcoming about my failures, as well as my one or two successes. Please join us! The December discount package is still available! 

4. Jeff's schedule and projects. Mr. Wonderful is working on a couple of super-secret new media projects right now. I'll let you in on the secret as soon as it's safe to tell. Plus post a link or two. In the meantime, think MOMEDY (mothers and comedy) and know that I'm trying to sleep vicariously for him as well, since he gets home at, oh, roughly 4am most nights. (Notice that the juxtaposition of "a.m." and "night" is an oxymoron.) Busy guy. But that's the price I pay for being married to a handsome, hilarious genius. (And Jeff's speaking at Story at Home too.)

5. Our 12-year-old is singing along to a catchy tune whose chorus is "Black-on-Black Murder." I even caught myself humming the chorus last night. What the--?!?  When did MURDER become an acceptable topic for mainstream teeny-bopper music? I'm ready to take out my own homicidal tendencies on a few music industry execs right now! I looked up the lyrics online, and to their credit the song is protesting racial violence and extreme wealth. But still, how uplifting a message can a song deliver that starts out, "Bloody, bloody MURDER?" (Speaking of Kanye, if you want a good laugh, check out this video instead.)

Just writing all this put me in such a tranquil state, I had to go take a nap. And I dreamed I was on a trip, and I was completely unprepared. Couldn't find my paperwork, lost my airline tickets, forgot my luggage and had to rush back for it, didn't pack enough snacks and had to raid the airport's stash. I'm noticing a theme here.....

Can you see why I'm losing so much sleep right now?! I do try to stop in and visit your blogs as often as I can, although I'm not leaving as many comments as I used to—which, frankly wasn't a lot to begin with. But—and I mean this—I would LOVE it if you'd send me a link when you write something spectacular or revealing or hilarious that is NOT TO BE MISSED! Because even when I'm dormant, I hate to miss out on the action, especially when it's your best work! Please email me a link when you share something you'd like me to see and comment on. Anytime. Even 4am.  :)

Nostalgia on Auto Pilot

Yesterday I passed my old car on the freeway. It wasn’t my EXACT old car. But it looked just like it -- same body style and color as well as make and model. And I felt this inexplicable fondness as I followed it up the highway. It even made me a little wistful, but not sad. It’s just that every time I see another bluish-greenish-grey Honda Pilot on the road, or even in a parking lot somewhere, I still see us. I see our family. Our life, changing lanes right there in front of me.

Taken on my birthday weekend, an impromptu trip to the Grand Canyon, circa 2005.

I see our trip to Newport for Thanksgiving, our trip to Los Angeles to see Earth, Wind and Fire at the Hollywood Bowl, a trip to Colorado to explore the Garden of the Gods, and a handful of trips to Sun Valley, Idaho for family reunions. I see us house-hunting and making a big, interstate move. But not just the big stuff. I also see a hundred trips to grandparents’ homes to rough-house with cousins. I see us piling all Josh’s belongings in--literally filling every inch of space from the floor to the roof--to move him home for the summer. I see the back crammed with art supplies, ready to take me off on a painting adventure...to Wyoming, California, Cayucos, Kayenta....wherever the muse awaits. I’m amazed that there can be so much nostalgia attached to one car.

But then I remember my very first car: a spanking-new Toyota Celica, gunmetal gray and shaped like a bullet. It symbolized freedom, independence, success. I bought it right after I got my first real job as a designer. Jeff and I did most of our dating in that car, and we drove it back and forth from Salt Lake to Los Angeles so many times we had every stretch of I-15 completely memorized. The Celica was also our honeymoon getaway car (after we washed off the shaving cream and streamers and oreos). 

And once, I spilled a quart of homemade ice cream in the trunk. I promptly cleaned it up, not realizing some had seeped under the mat and into the wheel well. In the full swelter of summer, it quickly created the foulest stench imaginable; like vomit on steroids. Yet I couldn’t find the source to save my life. Or my gag reflex. Once we discovered the epicenter of the stink and vacuumed it up, we tried to disguise the remaining odor with one of those cardboard tree-thingies from the car wash. The scent was called “Spring Magic,” which we quickly learned was a euphemism for “retch-triggering old-lady perfume gone viral”. It smelled even worse than the original odor it was supposed to mask. We still remember, because it made us so nauseated we finally had to pull off the freeway and throw it out. 

And then I remember how quickly the Celica disappeared. Early one morning we were on our way to stake choir practice. Francis Dauzat came out of nowhere, still on his pain medication from last week’s surgery, with a patch over one eye, and turned right in front of us, allowing no time to stop. There we were, a mass of mangled steel and broken glass, but no one was hurt -- not even the baby our friend Karen was carrying inside her. I remember calling the insurance company and the agent responding, “Frank again?” That’s not a good thing when you’re on a first-name basis with the folks who process insurance claims. And just like that I lost some of that freedom and independence, replacing it instead with a 4-door Mazda, and motherhood.

But I don’t miss that sporty little Celica quite as much as the white Subaru Wagon with the red and blue stripes on the sides. My heart still skips a beat if I see one of those babies on the road. Because that was the white stallion my prince rode in on when he came and swept me off my feet. That car meant, “Jeff is here.” That was the car I saw parked in front of our house when I was came home from a date with a different guy. (Total Ginger Grant/Eva Grubb moment.) As soon as my date dropped me off I ran searching for Jeff. And fortunately found him. That was also the car that met up with my Celica at the exact time at the exact same intersection. We both instinctively stopped right then and there and jumped out of our cars, and met in the middle of the intersection, falling into an embrace, followed by The Kiss That Could Stop Traffic. Little did I know, that same car, just seven months later, would be our wedding present from Jeff’s parents. Years later, long after we were married, my heart would still skip a beat whenever I saw the Subaru pull up, because it meant Daddy was home from work. It meant “Jeff is here.”

And now? I love our new car. Love it. (Except for the neck-contorting “head rest,” which is actually tricky sales copy for “torture device.”) I love the way it handles, and the clean interior, and the fancy backing-up camera. But I’m not nostalgic when I see it pull up. It’s a little too new for that. So far, I just love that the way we acquired it felt like a total miracle! And although that’s a terrific start, I know we haven’t made nearly enough memories in it yet. But we will. 


Linking up to Just Write with my friend Heather of the EO.

Room in My Inn

Last Christmas a mother robin built her nest on our front porch, tucked away in the limbs of a little artificial pine tree we keep lit there during the holidays. I loved seeing Mama Bird swoop down and watch over her precious blue eggs. I loved hearing her sing to them in the mornings. But most of all I loved that she saw our home—our porch—as a safe place, a sheltering space.

I’ve been giving a lot of thought to making space these days. In just a couple of weeks my younger sister and her family will be landing at our house for a night or two as she prepares to give birth to their sixth child, a baby boy. I love the idea of making space for them, making space for extended family, making space for the delivery of a newborn...especially at this time of year!

That same sister is contemplating making room herself. Not room in the inn, mind you, but room in the van! Their van seats seven...and baby makes eight. This is weighing heavily on me. I know they don’t have the means to purchase another car, no matter how used. Yet they have the faith to bring another child into the world. I’m racking my brain for any way I can think of to help them. I wish I could just give them my Honda Pilot. But life’s not that simple.

I have a particular affinity for this youngest sister. She is a hero in every sense of the word. She has overcome the most daunting of obstacles...smiling. She has born the most unbearable burdens...laughing. She has brought people together...remembering. She has created a beautiful home, a beautiful family, and a beautiful marriage...out of the shambles! She is amazing.

Sisters

So the innkeeping I’m contemplating is this joyful expectation, this anticipation...and I’m grateful that we have enough room. And that we have wonderful people coming, in all shapes and sizes, to join us and fill our space.

I’m thinking about other spaces too. My inn these days is crowded—both with people and activity—most of the time. So is my car—both with people and junk, typically. But the most noticeably crowded space, and perhaps the one that matters most, is my time. One of my heroes declared, “In family relationships love is really spelled t-i-m-e.” I am convinced that today’s metaphorical inn-where-there’s-no-room is not our homes or our hearts but our schedules. Another of my heroes stated: “your sacrifice could be setting aside the time in your busy lives....” Making room involves a sacrifice.

I’m pledging today—on this first day of the last month, as we wait for miracles, and long for fulness, and anticipate gifts—to make room. Make room to worship, make room to ponder, make room to listen, make room to love, make room to pause, make room to forgive, make room to serve. Make room for Him. In the most crowded space in my life. So I can be filled.

“The Holy Ghost ‘satisfies and fills up every longing of the human heart, and fills up every vacuum. When I am filled with that Spirit, … my soul is satisfied.” 

—Eliza R. Snow

Please chime in and tell me how you’re making room for Him this month.

—And if you have any ideas on how to make more room in my sister’s car, I’d love to hear that too!

____________

Congratulations to Lara, who won my Book-for-Every-Person-on-your-Gift-List Giveaway! A box of ten books will be on its way to her shortly. (How fitting that I announce her win on this post about making room, since the name of her blog is Overstuffed!)  :)

And thank you—wonderful, generous, bloggers—for helping us meet and exceed our goal, raising over $10,000 (5.7 scholarships) for single parents last month. This will change lives. I promise.

Also, don't miss Luisa Perkins' excellent and unsolicited review of What Think Ye of Christmas, here.

And finally, I'm linking up with wonderful Heather of the EO who somehow keeps me writing with her Just Write series.

Because I have been given much...

It was one of those rare moments when time stands still. I was fifteen. An eighty-something-year-old voice on the other end of the line whispered furtively, "Grant's here."

The whisperer was my amazing piano teacher, Becky Almond. Becky had spent most of her life "concertizing" in New York. One of my favorite things about her apartment was a tablecloth on which she had embroidered all of the famous autographs she had collected over the decades: Arthur Rubenstein, Victor Borge, Leonard Bernstien, Count Basie, Carol Channing...virtually any big name you could think of from that era. This same woman loaned my family a Mason & Hamlin grand piano for me to practice on, because she saw promise (and because she loved my mother!).  "Grant" was Grant Johannesen, international concert pianist. He regularly stopped at her apartment whenever he was in town because he loved her pianos. They had become great friends. Becky had called to invite me to her downtown apartment early the next morning to listen to him practice the piano.

Somehow I got myself to her apartment at six o'clock on a Saturday morning. Becky met me at the door, still wearing her pink nightgown, and held her finger to her lips as she ushered me silently into the back bedroom. "He doesn't know you're here," she warned with a conspiratorial wink. She and I stood silently, leaning against the wall, listening to an undisputed genius work out difficult passages, preparing for his next performance. What I heard was awe-inspiring. But an even stronger lesson was how much Becky cared about me as her student.

It wasn't the first time a teacher had done something unexpected to show faith in me and my potential, but it was certainly the most memorable. Later, she hired Grant to give me a private master class, helping me refine a Beethoven concerto I was learning. She quoted my mother a reasonable price...then subsidized the rest of the price herself. An amazing mentor.

Since then has come a long line of help to further my education: A four-year departmental art scholarship to University of Utah, a scholarship to Otis/Parsons, a scholarship to Cambridge, a scholarship to the Monterey Bay Watercolor Workshop. And I was helped along and encouraged by so many wonderful mentors.

Fittingly, I find myself in a mentor position now. I teach watermedia courses at Utah Valley University as well as privately. I love working with students -- seeing the light go on, seeing growth and progress. I love their energy and eagerness to learn.

One thing that surprised me about teaching was the number of non-traditional students—mostly mothers going back to school to finish their education. Another thing that surprised me is that this group of students would be among -- almost without exception -- my finest students. They work doubly hard, are extra enthusiastic, seem to appreciate their education more...and also in many cases have the biggest obstacles to overcome. Amazing.

In honor of my favorite teachers and favorite students,  I'm giving back this month. 
You'll want to take a peek at the gadget squished into my sidebar on the left. I'm donating to a scholarship fund for single parents at LDS Business College, and I encourage you to do the same.

And, in honor of Thanksgiving (and avoidance of Black Friday) I'm giving away. I'm once again giving away a copy of the lovely Christmas book I illustrated, What Think Ye of Christmas—not just to you, but to everyone on your gift list (up to ten). This is the deal of the year! Worth up to $100. To enter, you'll want to leave me your gift list in the comments below. (e.g. My sister, my BFF, my kid's piano teacher...etc.) For a second entry, click on the gadget and make a donation of any size to the scholarship fund there. Additional entries granted for Facebook statusing, twitter tweeting, blogposting, Amazon and Goodreads reviews of the book, and liking the book on Facebook (link at left). And one more bonus entry for reading and commenting on the story of how the books came to be, starting with the link in my sidebar titled, In the Beginning....

And finally, I'm announcing last week's giveaway winner: Luisa Perkins. Luisa was the first to respond to last week's post, and I find it so fitting that she was selected by random.org. Last week she gave so much, put so much energy into campaigning for Variant to benefit Rob, and now the Universe has conspired to answer that good karma and give back. Luisa is the winner of this giclée art print, currently selling for $95. (Gallery price $190.) Congratulations, Luisa!

"While Shepherds Watched", from What Think Ye of Christmas, by Jana Parkin

Can't Hide My Exhibitionist Tendencies

If you've read this post or this post, you already know that I'm not too keen on exposing myself — in fact, when it comes to my face and my physique I'm quite the opposite of an exhibitionist. I avoid mirrors, hide from cameras, and prefer to be fully clothed at (nearly) all times.

But when it comes to my artwork, I'm letting it all hang out this week!

First, an exhibit of most of the original art from What Think Ye of Christmas just opened at Provo Art and Frame. It will be up for the rest of the month, with a reception and book/print signing on December 2nd.

Among the framed originals you'll see there are:

And because my friends there aren't taking a standard gallery commission, I'm able to sell them all at a 30% discount. I LOVE being able to pass that savings on to you!

I'll also have gorgeous giclée prints of twelve of the paintings on display and available for purchase at the Salt Lake Family Christmas Gift Show this weekend. These are identical to the originals at a fraction of the cost. I'll be signing books and prints there Friday afternoon and evening and most of the day Saturday. We have a great offer on the books: Buy Four, Get One FREE (cash only) and free autographing. The author will be there too.

And, because I know you can't resist a sneak peek, I just entered these two paintings in a regional show (the Western Federation of Watercolor Societies, hosted in Las Vegas next spring).

Crown of Thorns

David, Downcast.

To celebrate, I'm giving away one giclée print: your choice of the paintings from What Think Ye of Christmas, here. Go there, click on the thumbnails to view the larger images, choose your favorite, then come back and tell me which one you'd like to win. Additional entries granted for facebook posts, liking and sharing, twitter tweets, and any other social media vehicle of your choice. Value up to $125. Contest closes one week from today.


(Mary Ellen, I haven't forgotten that I owe you one too, and I have it for you now. Yay!)


*****


Thank you to everyone who participated in the Book Bomb yesterday. We succeeded in taking Rob's book, Variant, from number 6,000-and-something to number 57! In just 24 hours!  Big win!  I also have a winner of the book I illustrated, What Think Ye of Christmas.  Today's winner — first giveaway of the season — is Janice West. And I know she truly loves the book. She bought one last year -- and then came back and ordered ten more! Hopefully she'll find a good use for this copy as well. 

Book Bomb: It's Lit!

(pun intended)

My friend Luisa just alerted me to a great contest and a great cause.
For the next 23.5 hours, we're trying to take Rob Wells' new YA novel, Variant, to the top of the Amazon bestseller list. All we have to do? Is buy a great book. And then maybe buy a few more copies to give as gifts.

This benefits the author, Rob Wells, who is a talented author and dare I say—friend? Just a few weeks ago I spent a couple of hours with him over lunch, picking his brain about all things writing and publishing, and he was so very generous and encouraging with his advice and expertise.

But Rob has recently been diagnosed with panic disorder, a condition which I know can be debilitating. He had to cancel his national book tour as a result of his illness. And he was recently laid off from his job — which could elicit a whole different kind of panic altogether. Now a group of friends is rallying around Rob to help take his novel to the top of the charts. Today. But we need your help.

The good news? Is you can't go wrong. It is, by all accounts, an amazing book—with suspense and action and even romance—literally something for everyone. My favorite quote — again, from Luisa: "I just read Variant in one euphoric gulp!"  —That would be a great endorsemnt for the back of the book!

And what could be more fun than shopping on Amazon, knowing it's for a great cause? Here's your link.

I'll also sweeten the deal by giving away a book of my own: What Think Ye of Christmas, the book I illustrated, will go to one fortunate person who comes back and comments that they bought a copy of  Variant today. I'll add an additional entry for every facebook post, twitter tweet, and message in a bottle you send off to sea. Just drop me a tally in the comment box and I'll see to it that you receive an additional entry for each.

Pretty soon I'll have all your Christmas shopping done for you—before December even hits!

I Cannot Imagine a Home Without Story.

When I was a little girl, my beloved grandmother told us a favorite bedtime story every time we slept over. I loved listening to her silvery voice tell us the old-fashioned tale "Cozette" so much that I asked for a tape recording for my 25th birthday. Grandma also told us silly stories about our dad when he was growing up: how he got a baby chick for Easter and named it Hallelujah. How he put two kittens in the fridge, and a duck in the dryer, and rode a horse bareback. How he misbehaved. We LOVED this youngster image of our dad that only Grandma could share.

My grandpa told us stories that would raise the hair on the back of your neck: How he and his friends spit on a horseshoe for good luck, then he tossed it over his shoulder and sent it crashing through the school window! How he had a part-time job playing the organ at the silent movie theater. How great-grandpa Cort once shot a bear right between the eyes. How his father outsmarted a town official in order to gain restitution for a Japanese immigrant who’d been swindled. And how he himself spoke out against the Japanese internment camps during World War 2. 

My grandpa on my mom's side used to SING us his stories. He loved the Christopher Robin songs by A. A. Milne and delighted us over and over with his adorable boyish renditions. It was pure magic to hear him sing these timeless stories.

My mother told us stories of her own family: How she was raised by her grandmother, whom they affectionately called Marmee (Marmee, like the character she was nicknamed for, was a strong young widow with four spirited daughters); How her youngest brother spit out a now-famous string of the naughtiest words he could think of: P.O. Poop Out Stinker Bum!; how her father took them sailing on the Great Salt Lake, sang solos in the Messiah, had his own radio show; how her mother worked at an advertising agency in Los Angeles and how Grandpa called her his Happy Heart; how she wrote magazine articles under a pen name, and authored a children’s book. 

Mom also read to us night after night...The Cookie Tree and Miss Suzie and Why Mosquitoes Buzz in People’s Ears, plus timeless classics from her own childhood: Epaminondas and Thunder Cave.

My father told us stories of his own childhood adventures -- ones I’m sure he never told his mother: How he and his friends found a dead body on the capitol grounds; How he found a leather pouch full of money under a tree and inadvertently interrupted an FBI stakeout; how he and his friends let the air out of the tires of a whole fleet of police cars parked at the capitol building one night; how an unstable kid named Ikey threatened to kill him; and how he discovered a hermit cave—and the hermit who lived there!   Dad also made up hilarious bedtime stories about spaceships and astronauts.

My husband is the King of Story. He writes screenplays, teaches screenwriting, directs movies, creates webisodes, and exhausts every possible outlet for storytelling (as evidenced here). He reads wonderful books out loud to the family -- The Tale of Despereaux, Walk Two Moons, and Watership Down. He also makes up fabulous stories about our kids and their friends and their secret superpowers. He lives and breathes story.

Which is why he’s been invited to speak at this conference: http://www.cherishbound.com/blog/storyathome/

It’s presented by Cherish Bound.  http://www.cherishbound.com/

And hosted by FamilySearch. https://www.familysearch.org/

March 8-10, 2012.

Save the date, and I’ll save you a seat!

          --But wait, there’s more! (No Ginzu Knives...)

            I’m presenting there too. I’m speaking about balance. Or rather, how to juggle a lot of dangerous objects projects without maiming or injuring yourself. Something along those lines.  

I believe there are few things as powerful as STORY to unite us at home. I’m so

excited about this conference and a chance to explore something so important and

entertaining and beloved. I hope to see you there!