tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54915928748726572162024-03-12T21:30:08.451-07:00One Green Bee One Green Bee is Becky Green: teacher, writer, and illustrator. I welcome your inquiries and your doodles. You can find more of One Green Bee at www.onegreenbee.com.onegreenbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09149525111820428034noreply@blogger.comBlogger57125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5491592874872657216.post-51710161624848363692017-09-28T05:59:00.001-07:002017-09-28T06:01:53.742-07:00Living our lives<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Annie Dillard writes that “how we spend our days is how we spend our lives.” Our days are big and busy. They are filled with very good things. We have jobs we love and side hustles we enjoy and hobbies we’re learning and a family that craves time together. But we sprint from breakfast to bed. We rush. We wish for margin. And there is one part of the day that bothers us. A lot. Every day, on the morning commute, Oscar asks a question. A wonderful, eye-widening question. Okay, sometimes they are ridiculous: “If ear wax tasted good, would you eat it?” But more often than not, they inspire action research. More often than not he wants to know if the chemical that changes a chameleon’s color can be used for other purposes or if we can cook our own bubble gum or if any of the wildflowers on grampa’s farm are edible and could he dare his cousins to eat them or how can he build his own hydraulic lift at home and raise the dog to the ceiling and also if we ever went to Dia de los Muertos celebrations someday could he paint his own skeleton costume and could it be an esqueleto with a light saber? But seeing as we are on the expressway and have meetings in twenty minutes, and a whole lotta doing ahead and some people only got in half a cup of coffee, we tell him that when we get home we’ll look that up. For four school years, our son has inquired about his world, marveled at his planet and potential projects (and his ear wax), wanted to figure something out from a genuine place of interest, and we have replied with, “When we get home, let’s look that up.” </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And when we get home, because we are tired people in our 40s, and we never got to all our emails during the day, and Oscar is eager to start building that Lego hot dog stand, and we are staring down an overflowing to-do list that we created ourselves full of things we want to do but are so overwhelmed by that we do something else--we do not look things up.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If Annie Dillard is right, and if Gretchen Rubin is correct when we she says, “What we do every day matters more than what we do once in a while,” then it’s more than just Oscar starting to ask big questions.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Our school is turning a lens towards personalized learning, and the last two summers I’ve carefully watched my son through that perspective. I’ve watched how he chooses to learn when unfettered. My summertime boy is a joyful creature. He runs wildly outside, chases cousins barefoot through sagebrush (a plant he’s possibly dared them to eat), investigates snakes, and builds outdoor hideouts with hand-drawn construction paper campfires. He also returns with stacks of delicious books from the library, draws blueprints of booby traps he plans to set for his mother, creates local bakery donut rubrics, and beats me in card games. We are not a family that knows the word “bored”. Like us, Oscar creates and plans and builds. This is a family of makers.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As we learn how to offer our students more choice, agency, and individualization here in Singapore, those morning question deferments really get under our skin. We are bothered by our state as school-year-inside-people, quietly crafting independently away in air conditioning. We are unsettled. It worries us that this magical age of questions and wonder and not rolling-your-eyes at your parents might pass us by---another line on a todo list we didn’t get to. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s time--maybe the best time and only time and most timely time--for a reset. For a todo list that includes planting a garden and planning a canoe trip and heading to the library to get books on chameleons.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Beginning in June, we’re going to live in a tiny house among family pear orchards in a little town in the Pacific Northwest. We’ll settle next door to Patrick’s siblings, two sets of beloved cousins, one cousin-we-call-uncle, an aunt who is actually a first cousin, a magician who is a third cousin, the magician’s daughter who is an artist, the artist’s husband who makes good margaritas, six chickens, two amazing grandparents, one black lab, and several sets of friends (some of whom, yes, are cousins). We’re going to offer to test out your outdoor gear, house-sit your lake home, and drive your campervan. We’re going to be rooted and also nomads. We’re going to see if all those hobbies we’ve filled evenings with can pay the medical insurance. We’re going to teach Oscar to pull weeds and rake autumn leaves and knock down icicles. We’re going to practice our Spanish in Mexico (hopefully in time for Dia de los Muertos) and our physics on the ski hill (Well, actually, Patrick warns me that I’m going to blow out my knee if I learn to downhill ski at 42. But that too is an opportunity for inquiry). </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We are very aware that some of this will be hard. Or frustrating. Or a failure. We expect to get exasperated with one another. I anticipate my role as a homeschooling mom to be one that I welcome ending after nine months. I worry people will interpret our year as a rebellion against school or stable jobs. Are you kidding? No way. We are enormous fans of both, and we plan to return to both. With relish. But as Oscar only has memory of one season (hot), and continues to ask questions despite our apathy at answering, and he seems to enjoy our company, and Patrick and I both have parents we’d like to love on, and North America has some pretty darn good outdoor adventure, and it just seems in every aspect to be the very best and possibly only time to do this---we’re taking a leap to live differently for a year. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At its worst, we’ll be crying for a schedule by June 2019 and relishing heading back to “normal” overseas teaching life. And what a grand worst that is. I chose it 14 years ago, and I’ll choose it again. (Gratefully. Please. Hire me.) I value it, and I’ll miss it. At its best, we’ll have brought the neighbor a home-baked pie, hiked new trails, pickled homegrown green beans, built our own kayaks, expanded our Spanish, hugged grandmas, babysat cousins, illustrated things, written words, talked to people, explored ideas, paid the bills, loved each other and cultivated the margin we crave. I’ll take either option. And I’ll know that we spent every day living our lives. I have no doubts that some days in our 500 square foot cabin will incite sighs and job searching and enrollment letters to the local elementary school. There will be compromises. There will be winter flus. There will be conflict. We’ll all be sharing one bathroom, for heaven’s sake. But I also have hope that we will have mornings where Oscar asks a question, a really good question, and it leads to reading together. And then getting out a map. And hopping on our bikes. And exploring a new trail. And having a picnic lunch that Oscar packed from food we grew ourselves. We won’t have to ask Oscar to wait when he asks. We won’t forget to get back to him. As a family, we will have time and space (well, 500 square feet of it) to seek the answers to all of our questions together.</span></div>
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<i style="font-family: Arial; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">PS. Lest you think we’re all sunshine and rainbows, do know that we expect a little of this:</span></i></div>
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onegreenbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09149525111820428034noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5491592874872657216.post-72104832458032541422017-06-02T17:09:00.000-07:002017-06-02T17:09:45.444-07:00We've got to make our noises<div class="gmail_default" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
I've been thinking on that line from "Song of Myself" by Walt Whitman, "I am large, I contain multitudes." I like to apply it to myself in a way that would make Walt question my IQ. I'm pretty sure he's just reminding us that he writes for all the voices of the world, but I like to think it means that I get to be more than one thing. Aren't we all a little hard wired to resent anyone putting Baby in the corner?</div>
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People love to ask my poor high school seniors what they are majoring in. I want to elbow all of the well meaning askers out of the way. It's the rare student that knows with a capital KN. I try to telepathically deliver the message that I hope they major in adventure and learning and flexibility and change and opportunity. I hope they study responsibility and hard work and buck-up. I hope they examine humanity and find ways to make this mixed up world better. I hope they choose joy over whining and make the best of bad situations. There are going to be so many bad situations.</div>
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When I'm not rolling my eyes at the tradition of locking youthful minds into one trajectory, I'm wrestling with my own notions of success. In my career, I've always sought opportunities to switch grades or subjects. Someone once called me a "job jumper". It felt yucky. Another person, after my shift from the middle to the high school, shook his head and said, "Well, we're not all middle school people." I was horrified. It never felt like I was escaping anything; it always just felt like I was getting the grand chance to learn something new.</div>
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College didn't have "professional temp worker" as an option, and I only had a fraction of a developed brain, so by sheer miracle and divine intervention I ended up in a career that allows me growth not towards more money, power, or accolades (ha!) but towards various fields and options and disciplines. And even then, even though I was getting all sorts of New in my life, time and time again I found myself at the drawing table or the writing desk or reading manuals on how to start a small business. There were pieces of me that wanted to diverge from educational texts to books about design and fonts and creative writing. </div>
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I'd always doodled and scribbled. My family always made things. I didn't consider myself an artist or author. It didn't matter to me to have a label. I just valued making and sharing homemade gifts. But when I was pregnant with my son, eight years ago (oh lordy), it became important to create a finished product. I printed some pretty awful cards and Advent calendars (one of which had the days numbered wrong. Sorry, kids!). But in that half-baked process of evening sketching after day time teaching and waddling down school hallways with a growing belly, I felt very alive and very curious. </div>
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That wonder never left. No matter how sleep deprived I was in those early years of Oscar Gus, there was never a nap time I didn't want to draw or write. And since darling Oscar only slept about 10 minutes a week, I wasn't particularly productive, but I was very focused. I knew what I wanted to learn. I knew there was more to explore.</div>
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And what a good lesson in renewal. On my birthday recently, a blessed no-expectations-41, I vowed to stop swearing. It's not that I'm a total potty mouth, but I've gotten a bit relaxed, and a few mother pheasants have flown out of these lips. And then, about 45 minutes into the day, at 5:20am (for reals), while running to school with my buddies (because I sure know how to have fun on my big day), I saw what I thought was a snake (a fearsome stick). I screamed a holy shamrock, and I broke my vow. In 45 minutes. But, I am large. I contain multitudes. I'm not defined by all my son of a biscuits or my what the hockey sticks. I get to try again. Or I get to be a runner that sometimes swears. Either way, I get do-overs and new selves and tomorrow mornings. I get to steal 10 minutes a day or week to renew. </div>
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This ramble is all to say that after eight years of hodge-podging my multitudes into blogs and instagrams and facebooks and businesses, I've made some peace. They get to be all of me. I get to be Becky Green, "Lady who does lots of things sorta-halfway-okay. Sometimes." I'm jealous of the folks that know they are a brain surgeon or sculptor or great American novelist. Singular focus seems so stable. But, it's not me. My new tomorrow morning is a half-finished website (which is probably very 15 years ago), and a willingness to celebrate my mismatched endeavors: an alphabet book, a sketchnote journal, prints, doodles, teaching, speaking, a half-written novel, an almost-open-again business. I don't do all of it well, but I do all of it. And it keeps me wonder-filled. </div>
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Perhaps that is less Walt Whitman and more Dr. Seuss. And not the <i>Oh The Places You'll Go</i> cliche that all my students are getting as gifts this week. No. <i>Horton Hears a Who</i>: "We've GOT to make noises in greater amounts! So, open your mouth, lad! For every voice counts!"</div>
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Hopefully my noises are fewer swear words and more ah-has. But I've got to make them.</div>
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<i>Very Boring Technical FYI:</i></div>
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<i>www.onegreenbee.com now takes you to my website. On that homepage, you'll find a link to this same blog (</i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">onegreenbee.blogspot.com)</span><i>. The address to the blog is long and unhelpful. Sorry, friends. You'll have to bookmark it. Don't worry--you get to swear under your breath! We are large! We contain multitudes!</i></div>
onegreenbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09149525111820428034noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5491592874872657216.post-66276552207146792322016-12-14T16:45:00.003-08:002016-12-26T23:52:59.202-08:00Happy EverythingHappy Christmas and New Year and no alarm clocks!<br />
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2016 is coming to a close, and we Greens are off to savor just us three. We're bringing paper and pens to make lists and plans and goals. Every year has its cycles of ups and downs, closed and open doors, discoveries and questions. We had our irritations: The colds never seemed to end. Oscar struggled with early school mornings and long school days. I transitioned a business. Patrick and I both pretended turning 40 didn't bother us until we admitted that it did. But we also had some victories: OGG revealed he has hiking stamina. My body cooperated with long distance running. Oscar lost his first tooth; Patrick published his first book.<br />
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I adore the holiday cards coming our way. Cheerful messages. People I want to hug. Stories I want to hear. Everyone beams---happy faces and coordinating clothes. But I always wish I knew what was irritating too. What was funny. What was unexpected and what was hopeful. Many years ago a dear friend said that every time she saw us, she was going to ask how our marriage was. There have been a couple times when that was asked, and Patrick and I took deep breaths. There have been far more relaxed times when that was asked---and we gushed praises. Too often, as one who struggles with small talk, I avoid initiating questions. But her frankness challenged me to be a friend and hurdle over the chit-chat that confuses to ask what is good and what is hard. I cherish those answers.<br />
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As our tribe of three, we're off to talk about those answers. We'll also eat some great Pho and drink French wine and take bicycle rides through rice paddies. We will spend time asking and listening and hopefully laughing.<br />
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Family photos are not our gift. That would require us all to be showered at the same time and also looking in the same direction while not sweating profusely or swatting a mosquito. Never gonna happen. So, this will have to do:<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">HAPPY NEW YEAR!</span></b></div>
<br />onegreenbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09149525111820428034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5491592874872657216.post-50282986536973992142016-11-29T22:58:00.000-08:002016-11-29T22:58:02.812-08:00Oh My Gosh! You're Building the Nativity!Happy Christmas and good job, you! I can't believe you actually stopped by!<br />
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If you received the Green family Christmas card, you're ready for a little Nativity craftin'. <i>(Didn't get one? I blame international postal systems. Wait a week and then email onegreenbee@gmail.com.) </i><br />
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You're going to need scissors, tape, an X-acto knife, and very low expectations. If you're over 21, this is probably more enjoyable with a glass of wine. Go for it. It's the holidays. If you're under 21, thanks for helping out your folks. They owe you hot cocoa.<br />
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Ready?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjb0JXUvsm-RsPxYHl95htyrA4suBKditcbeTgSn90rYt9PXoFpNv43vXcI3zA33M2WZ7L9VayL_0eA2R6z-T-UYCTCaOeJC5gpKWgRSgkiTp15fQ2DVfmlmtPUzyD7xfiixPTnE8bLDA/s1600/picture+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjb0JXUvsm-RsPxYHl95htyrA4suBKditcbeTgSn90rYt9PXoFpNv43vXcI3zA33M2WZ7L9VayL_0eA2R6z-T-UYCTCaOeJC5gpKWgRSgkiTp15fQ2DVfmlmtPUzyD7xfiixPTnE8bLDA/s400/picture+1.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b>Step 1: </b>Impatiently cut out the pieces. You could try bribing your six year old, but he will roll his eyes and remind you that this is "your project, mom." </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-qQ7Whv6KpFhK6AQH2RJBnPhb4OJfTzdJVYYtN7zUs8u-JrgdCArJrgXaxUKS1bs_mtPdCFgHIXsG9b-IPetqXtA92nvu6SBa8BTG5SdSdWsjO1HCXA6q2YfRmm5eyHM1W2TFBKwvNSU/s1600/all+pieces+cut+out+and+supplies.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-qQ7Whv6KpFhK6AQH2RJBnPhb4OJfTzdJVYYtN7zUs8u-JrgdCArJrgXaxUKS1bs_mtPdCFgHIXsG9b-IPetqXtA92nvu6SBa8BTG5SdSdWsjO1HCXA6q2YfRmm5eyHM1W2TFBKwvNSU/s400/all+pieces+cut+out+and+supplies.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b>Step 2: </b>Fold back the sides of the donkey, wise men, shepherd, and manger. Set the star pieces, baby, and ecstatic new parents aside.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaADpxUpCa6G0XlEKA0uX1-xsyviyX_j_iNS5vLPS6G7_2WktJONuEm_e-gp-GgA6tCPc2STkrjSTcqg-j32aseHRrfyhX-vUG3WtmSrtMwj36MZc1YwFhm25Q8QnTqMOpfdh6jOG5rW0/s1600/single+piece+with+side+folded+back.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaADpxUpCa6G0XlEKA0uX1-xsyviyX_j_iNS5vLPS6G7_2WktJONuEm_e-gp-GgA6tCPc2STkrjSTcqg-j32aseHRrfyhX-vUG3WtmSrtMwj36MZc1YwFhm25Q8QnTqMOpfdh6jOG5rW0/s400/single+piece+with+side+folded+back.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>(Keep your eye on the three kings. They either already had a sip of the holiday wine or are poorly designed)</i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7H6XY7vv7q_4AQMNT82VeKap1WAB0j1i79gSKisjWw_z9bIWIExtUqqM0-colkQ0IiCVw3ohgbaUusqlyZPtZ5RS1Mtytq_t92fp32lLqplfe_Nm7yCfM2WtME9mgUsks0ZLAp07p90o/s1600/sides+folded+back+on+a+few+pieces.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7H6XY7vv7q_4AQMNT82VeKap1WAB0j1i79gSKisjWw_z9bIWIExtUqqM0-colkQ0IiCVw3ohgbaUusqlyZPtZ5RS1Mtytq_t92fp32lLqplfe_Nm7yCfM2WtME9mgUsks0ZLAp07p90o/s400/sides+folded+back+on+a+few+pieces.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b>Step 3: </b>Things are getting fancy! Take that X-acto and make a slit along Joseph's arm. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLshPw5AuKIqYgxHtgE1pDJbsGAN53lPA87UmePbz7dNh1Sb9F51sOUkWP5Aj5O-t3_8VMZrDWkERIKiu5TIdqlZsDULs4OyMBYADcypn6wAwGoA6HexO6PjThs3zH0JsxPM5cgfTCaCA/s1600/slit+in+Joseph%2527s+arm.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLshPw5AuKIqYgxHtgE1pDJbsGAN53lPA87UmePbz7dNh1Sb9F51sOUkWP5Aj5O-t3_8VMZrDWkERIKiu5TIdqlZsDULs4OyMBYADcypn6wAwGoA6HexO6PjThs3zH0JsxPM5cgfTCaCA/s400/slit+in+Joseph%2527s+arm.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Fold the sides back on Mary and Joseph and lay the baby in the manger. Much like Oscar Gus at that age, he's probably not as sleepy as everyone told you newborns would be. We'll get him out of that crib soon.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW7ihVg5FPTS44PFQLhikAYL4nITW4q7XxLI29-9T-YJZ8KIegMQDe6Hf3jcEueS7Us0dmkClDBah9yTFiywgGCvFMJD2EoU07nHEu4arui6VuHjqLiMsasDxsA2IIjYM0kUvJUVe4BMc/s1600/all+sides+folded+back+on+all+pieces+slit+in+joseph%2527s+arm.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW7ihVg5FPTS44PFQLhikAYL4nITW4q7XxLI29-9T-YJZ8KIegMQDe6Hf3jcEueS7Us0dmkClDBah9yTFiywgGCvFMJD2EoU07nHEu4arui6VuHjqLiMsasDxsA2IIjYM0kUvJUVe4BMc/s400/all+sides+folded+back+on+all+pieces+slit+in+joseph%2527s+arm.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Time to build a star! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXjNWu6lT0fHhYsRTCm01rEhbUmOlbFM2sqMl368pSVYi9zGsdocoAToZo9j8D6Or66jmIVgkEolcrMCoAVtuXukWWrZ5lnWvFQrBKQ9ti9KwefCKDy6b_Iq1KGZdADfaL80CyJZpWsFc/s1600/star+pieces.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXjNWu6lT0fHhYsRTCm01rEhbUmOlbFM2sqMl368pSVYi9zGsdocoAToZo9j8D6Or66jmIVgkEolcrMCoAVtuXukWWrZ5lnWvFQrBKQ9ti9KwefCKDy6b_Iq1KGZdADfaL80CyJZpWsFc/s400/star+pieces.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b>Step 4: </b>Cut a slit from the edge of the star base to the center. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyHUk9j-Jde2GdlOYocuVppYFfrG7Dfu0KUp3Kap49ptymVZdqN92RmxNKT8tHXuB-GYD9gDA_OxqC7llE22MQXpw1Z95GxsoUomUAT32ul0xuDFmdhLV0w1-uVnCNL-0nhaXXCrD-ja4/s1600/star+base+slit.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyHUk9j-Jde2GdlOYocuVppYFfrG7Dfu0KUp3Kap49ptymVZdqN92RmxNKT8tHXuB-GYD9gDA_OxqC7llE22MQXpw1Z95GxsoUomUAT32ul0xuDFmdhLV0w1-uVnCNL-0nhaXXCrD-ja4/s400/star+base+slit.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b>Step 5: </b>Don't be me. FIRST, take your X-acto knife and cut a slit in the base about the same width of the star handle. THEN, pull the corner of the cut area of the base over a bit and tape it down to form a low (and kind of lame) cone. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3bGjPMBC0Hl-HIrJyJv4n8r3sCyB9z6Wy1QG_QfbI3AybuhECTV1A-16r43FkR-tJ8u-6uburmFq0XBrYGZ76ON1ZoipOkQaBltEsQBQ28FXR3miyID-bjU4zet4wgxe1wd1Qu9abeoI/s1600/star+base+slit+and+tape.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3bGjPMBC0Hl-HIrJyJv4n8r3sCyB9z6Wy1QG_QfbI3AybuhECTV1A-16r43FkR-tJ8u-6uburmFq0XBrYGZ76ON1ZoipOkQaBltEsQBQ28FXR3miyID-bjU4zet4wgxe1wd1Qu9abeoI/s400/star+base+slit+and+tape.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<b>Step 6: </b>Marvel at the simple construction and brainstorm ways you would have done this better. Insert the star in the slit, and voila----a star of wonder!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiygohZokjG2FiwzEe-zlktL50viQAYzMrHvQHw1o9bEQrmiltrjRpdP_wzG1Rzy1qGxnYUCvDIoJV5npBz5lzJiUB7PpekXd0NL24oLpg-c8iI5Wt26PQXNy1OPQELLyRSJUZ_OZBrD0g/s1600/star.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiygohZokjG2FiwzEe-zlktL50viQAYzMrHvQHw1o9bEQrmiltrjRpdP_wzG1Rzy1qGxnYUCvDIoJV5npBz5lzJiUB7PpekXd0NL24oLpg-c8iI5Wt26PQXNy1OPQELLyRSJUZ_OZBrD0g/s400/star.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<b>Step 7: </b>And now, thanks to your sense of humor and determination, you have a miniature Nativity scene. Get that baby out of the manger and into his parents' arms.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTSioodoopOiC_moGelvRlQ_qRtA6aylQZl1rB0bSNq4dFv8b81UKKdo7ANYrkzU9Z_dwxhLv7e1XhTH3LApJaSuDP2nDFfD7a_pBRkhHMNccuw1Gu_ZEb2YNoR6HIH9DLwaCdVMB1V5I/s1600/Baby+in+arms.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTSioodoopOiC_moGelvRlQ_qRtA6aylQZl1rB0bSNq4dFv8b81UKKdo7ANYrkzU9Z_dwxhLv7e1XhTH3LApJaSuDP2nDFfD7a_pBRkhHMNccuw1Gu_ZEb2YNoR6HIH9DLwaCdVMB1V5I/s400/Baby+in+arms.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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And if you're Oscar Gus, invite a few strangers to marvel at the scene. Because we believe that everyone--EVERYONE--is welcome at the manger.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDzrDxi5UAAjAfAEmUhFSsUVAWsus5SqtUA-pWK-VyhFnt87eeqFJUnA4LXQagmb-ghBfzv3SjsRCyKF5VE3vAfkTJLe_5uZRLClLgrZpHBeUDoDrZ5YBwe9r4txtBlNjyHSlakfFuehI/s1600/Last+Everyone+at+the+Manger.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDzrDxi5UAAjAfAEmUhFSsUVAWsus5SqtUA-pWK-VyhFnt87eeqFJUnA4LXQagmb-ghBfzv3SjsRCyKF5VE3vAfkTJLe_5uZRLClLgrZpHBeUDoDrZ5YBwe9r4txtBlNjyHSlakfFuehI/s640/Last+Everyone+at+the+Manger.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Happiest of Holidays!</div>
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onegreenbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09149525111820428034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5491592874872657216.post-28227690208970541662016-11-15T18:22:00.002-08:002016-11-15T18:22:36.677-08:00Singapore ChristmasLucky for my readership of two, I'm interrupting the One Green Bee blog ramblings to encourage snail mail:<br />
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The Singapore holiday cards are in!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWmX8OKsEHi9vcuTx1dQLMynO8IHRzO3X5h50O627sC_2eRGwTYsf5LHFd-anKgx1dy0Vqt4sP0StEIE58uzEizBrzEfEd_N35Q-4oVnt_pq_kyCLWxO3Lz-rc3J6-FtQKlTUmszDkhXc/s1600/Card+packs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWmX8OKsEHi9vcuTx1dQLMynO8IHRzO3X5h50O627sC_2eRGwTYsf5LHFd-anKgx1dy0Vqt4sP0StEIE58uzEizBrzEfEd_N35Q-4oVnt_pq_kyCLWxO3Lz-rc3J6-FtQKlTUmszDkhXc/s320/Card+packs.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Since the Kapok Tree is in transition, One Green Bee printed a limited run and is selling to the SAS community at the PTA Holiday Fair, December 7/8 in the Riady Centre. If you need cards sooner, drop me a line at onegreenbee@gmail.com. Would love to support festive mailings.</div>
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This year, our cards are 182mm X 125mm and printed inside and out: </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQAbQRi56_gcLQQ1H-mgrOTd0vXRsJVQ7lF9eR4UuGiZKqWeupmo9mSdwd20nCIBf2_NJa6s6Hcg8NnSNLOhMd8r7OOIyOV7z6VVPaYfcT-rmiDJgdvIQPtGs7CK9Q5dgEiZfMYV9J6y8/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-11-16+at+10.19.12+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQAbQRi56_gcLQQ1H-mgrOTd0vXRsJVQ7lF9eR4UuGiZKqWeupmo9mSdwd20nCIBf2_NJa6s6Hcg8NnSNLOhMd8r7OOIyOV7z6VVPaYfcT-rmiDJgdvIQPtGs7CK9Q5dgEiZfMYV9J6y8/s320/Screen+Shot+2016-11-16+at+10.19.12+AM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW92fXLLFPRF4dmWiAA8EclfMmAAo-Pe7CHT8AQlq8zoZNs3Q5VXBAlZ15epmWsp-VHghyx75GVNpLkWo95lNKpxTTEtLlH-q7JaxdUI2k4vWMcibpMMqQI186Ddbwp7B09a8GjxHPxtQ/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-11-16+at+10.19.25+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW92fXLLFPRF4dmWiAA8EclfMmAAo-Pe7CHT8AQlq8zoZNs3Q5VXBAlZ15epmWsp-VHghyx75GVNpLkWo95lNKpxTTEtLlH-q7JaxdUI2k4vWMcibpMMqQI186Ddbwp7B09a8GjxHPxtQ/s320/Screen+Shot+2016-11-16+at+10.19.25+AM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8upJ-lPUYHCyrSyjpCoiEPOFn8mBGuRdAIRvksTEDbrL9UoltDoVt5EiOcbSScjjwiivkI4g3YMs6WwSzDXKLLOX8Yf8wFHaugkNuyQzCePMMlTlIJ2ZTCHRyPqk-QpWDB_rkgPHUOAU/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-11-16+at+10.19.34+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8upJ-lPUYHCyrSyjpCoiEPOFn8mBGuRdAIRvksTEDbrL9UoltDoVt5EiOcbSScjjwiivkI4g3YMs6WwSzDXKLLOX8Yf8wFHaugkNuyQzCePMMlTlIJ2ZTCHRyPqk-QpWDB_rkgPHUOAU/s320/Screen+Shot+2016-11-16+at+10.19.34+AM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr7v5dwXJa-QWJOYZvLn8hFNut6FkNzoVCVojffRIWJJjxMO5kRxrkQYh6-3qn0O43bYtFa7kChyphenhyphenPAHemOJ5qupEjhIJ8ZY4XosTfKiVLfW9bgQ21vbi613fY0dvIgeGtUlw71gum9wZM/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-11-16+at+10.19.41+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr7v5dwXJa-QWJOYZvLn8hFNut6FkNzoVCVojffRIWJJjxMO5kRxrkQYh6-3qn0O43bYtFa7kChyphenhyphenPAHemOJ5qupEjhIJ8ZY4XosTfKiVLfW9bgQ21vbi613fY0dvIgeGtUlw71gum9wZM/s320/Screen+Shot+2016-11-16+at+10.19.41+AM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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If you're sending overseas, remember that SingPost offers discounted stamp rates beginning in early December. </div>
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Happy Holidays!</div>
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<br />onegreenbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09149525111820428034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5491592874872657216.post-14208800684082126462016-10-17T22:07:00.001-07:002016-11-29T23:06:28.727-08:00AdultingIt's October and the first graders have been swapping scary stories. When he comes home, my Oscar spins over them. Rather than clinging to my leg and mumbling and refusing to go to the bathroom alone and irritating your low-patience mother, we are working on saying what we are feeling so others can help us.<br />
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I was thinking on this last week as we traveled with new friends. They are just awfully kind and cheerful and interesting and smart and easy, and well--normal. Their kids sit and play and draw and eat breakfast and--wait for it---<i>wash their own dishes</i>. Our family tends to travel solo as we are finicky and strange and possessive about the good coffee, so this was an enormous risk for us, and as the week went on---rather easily---I began to do my own version of mumbling and leg-clinging and refusing to enter rooms alone. Turning something just fine into something anxiety-ridden is one of my special gifts:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRZ9HrzbwPwlqmrSEXzcnouFllnEUKMMOTIoAKsmkZ2fQFef18lwh8Ze9hY6_O47e6rk-UKnb4kErjOS5SBBHzFtK1cXwo7Wu-IxQM3mTTobuTq2mhR7BVsDpCR6dCh349Pcw5BmEYo3U/s1600/thoughts+I+think+with+new+friends.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRZ9HrzbwPwlqmrSEXzcnouFllnEUKMMOTIoAKsmkZ2fQFef18lwh8Ze9hY6_O47e6rk-UKnb4kErjOS5SBBHzFtK1cXwo7Wu-IxQM3mTTobuTq2mhR7BVsDpCR6dCh349Pcw5BmEYo3U/s640/thoughts+I+think+with+new+friends.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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At night I would consider my wonderings and tell Patrick, "I don't think we are asking them enough questions. They must think us so selfish." Or "I'm pretty sure they saw me put Oscar's shoes on for him. They must think we are horrible parents." Or "We didn't leave the house all day. They think we are insane." Sweet Patrick would do what he does best at times like that, which is to say as few words as possible so that I don't latch onto one of them and thus spin questions into oblivion or at the very least, a weary 2:00am conversation.<br />
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Today as I listened to <a href="http://www.onbeing.org/program/mary-karr-astonished-by-the-human-comedy/8972" target="_blank">Mary Karr and Krista Tippett banter about faith and poetry and fear</a>, I wondered if maybe if it was because I was saying possibilities but not true terrors. The truth of it is, those people were gosh darn wonderful. It was easy. I spent most of that week in happy city. The truth of it also is that it's hard and scary to make new friends. It's hard and scary to let people see the real you. It's hard and scary to have an emotional IQ in the double digits. It's hard and scary to share your pot of dark French roast and to not blurt out inappropriate comments all day. It's hard and scary to be an adult.<br />
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Writers I love, like <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poets/detail/mary-karr" target="_blank">Mary Karr</a> and <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Anne-Lamott/e/B0034PEWO8" target="_blank">Anne LaMott</a>, both echo that we need to holler out, "I need help!" And that's what I've been telling Oscar Gus. When your playground buddies tell you creepy things, you can come home, and you can say, "I need help!" Your mom prays with you and talks to you and looks in spooky mirrors with you and reads funny books and hangs twinkle lights in dark corners.<br />
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I need help being an adult. So today I sent off a few emails to some good girlfriends. I sketched for no reason at all. I texted the nice travel buddies, and they must not be too scarred, as they texted back. I read a little <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Art-Before-Breakfast-Zillion-Creative/dp/1452135479/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1476767561&sr=1-1&keywords=danny+gregory+breakfast" target="_blank">Danny Gregory</a>. I took a long walk. I let myself feel hopeful. Mary Karr says, "Daring to hope every day is much more radical than to live in the despair I was born to." So, I shall appreciate my weird and others' weird and live radically and hopefully and trust that if my emotional stuntedness scares off folks, then it's probably best they find other friends who have children that will help with the dishes. We are all just doing the best we can with what we have, and if that means Oscar is in college before he learns to tie his own shoes, so be it. At least he'll be able to make really good coffee.<br />
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<br />onegreenbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09149525111820428034noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5491592874872657216.post-63005519323656199042016-09-04T18:09:00.000-07:002016-11-29T23:09:51.665-08:00What a delightThis weekend, I talked to adults about the power of images to make meaning.<br />
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What a delight.<br />
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My real aim was to encourage the use of graphic novels for increasing reading comprehension, but in the process of creating my presentation, I realized that what I was really talking about was multimodal literacy.<br />
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This making of meaning through words and images is in our every day. Saturday, a dear introvert friend and I were supposed to meet up for a drink. A couple hours before our date she sent a cancellation:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7YFx3Ed3jgVghmL3-1UOymtpBIxzGe9iuu3PXtqhaBsnfnnJcF5tZj5XeTnjX_6NvOLGrbhpAhVxsLHUR0imVGUDAj8WN8HhjrbMhFtx8PdPJk_qGBuAz1jPlNaDNT6oXS4d3-6Td2Ic/s1600/IMG_4482+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7YFx3Ed3jgVghmL3-1UOymtpBIxzGe9iuu3PXtqhaBsnfnnJcF5tZj5XeTnjX_6NvOLGrbhpAhVxsLHUR0imVGUDAj8WN8HhjrbMhFtx8PdPJk_qGBuAz1jPlNaDNT6oXS4d3-6Td2Ic/s320/IMG_4482+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">credit to <a href="http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.sg/" target="_blank">Allie Brosh</a></span></div>
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I replied in kind:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaktKNugKLv4J7_udlxx8aAfhID6_5PPdDTmGXeduk3jarsXTnG2Syw4_u2ySygg0OART7X8vL0ydyil1_4h-53Ookx3HU9uRSDoS-_EpcBGkvbXepoedPTBZSYfgEB4mg7XbxvteN8hw/s1600/often+alone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaktKNugKLv4J7_udlxx8aAfhID6_5PPdDTmGXeduk3jarsXTnG2Syw4_u2ySygg0OART7X8vL0ydyil1_4h-53Ookx3HU9uRSDoS-_EpcBGkvbXepoedPTBZSYfgEB4mg7XbxvteN8hw/s320/often+alone.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">credit to <a href="http://introvertdoodles.com/" target="_blank">Introvert Doodles</a></span></div>
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Earlier in the week, I'd written one of Oscar's teachers to share some worries over how that boy doesn't exactly embrace school and how some his actions could be misunderstood. The teacher replied not with words but with image:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAnBSX0_rqs9z0ZC_90bnfah2A6YVcT-6t41g41frgYSvgQY12ojhCASqY0_yH7lmihfxzekBo21NlFrsgR2wiUq-TeT_mfamDZV5wdcY-TwExw5OHke11viSvW3AbXpumO09FogMFsVo/s1600/puppies+cartoon.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAnBSX0_rqs9z0ZC_90bnfah2A6YVcT-6t41g41frgYSvgQY12ojhCASqY0_yH7lmihfxzekBo21NlFrsgR2wiUq-TeT_mfamDZV5wdcY-TwExw5OHke11viSvW3AbXpumO09FogMFsVo/s320/puppies+cartoon.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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It was such a relief.</div>
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And that's what my talk was all about---empathy. Having a seat at the table. Using images to start something or to grow something and to build relationships with books and words and neighbors and society. I'm a soap-boxer about graphic novels, so I'll save that for when schools are foolish enough to give me the mike, but as I spoke on the power of images to make meaning, it touched a very personal nerve.</div>
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Last night I was reading <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Pastrix-Cranky-Beautiful-Faith-Sinner/dp/1455527084" target="_blank"><i>Patrix </i>by Nadia Bolz Weber</a>; she writes that we have this misconception sometimes that when something is new---it's clean and shiny. It has a new car smell and tender green sprouts. Ha! Usually new is really messy. It's awful. The new sober person trying to make it through the next 16 hours. The new baby bringing fatigue and body fluids. The new school year for Oscar Gus. </div>
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I'm experiencing some new. The Kapok Tree, a beloved endeavor with a beloved friend, has been at a crossroads for several months. It's as successful as we need it to be. And it's certainly fulfilling. But, in order to grow it, we have to go in a direction and that doesn't quite sit right. So, we have a new path in front of us. The Kapok Tree as we know it in Singapore is coming to a close, but some other things are growing. </div>
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And it doesn't feel clean and shiny. It doesn't smell very good. It has a lot of fear behind it. But, as <a href="https://twitter.com/brenebrown/status/315841691812757504" target="_blank">Brene Brown says</a>, "Unused creativity is not benign." It festers. If there's something in there---you gotta get it out.</div>
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Last night I was looking for a visual metaphor of courage to help take on the fear at the changes ahead. <a href="http://www.elizabethgilbert.com/this-quote-is-not-true-listen-up-you-guys-its-time-to-set-the-record-stra/" target="_blank">Elizabeth Gilbert tells us</a> that fear can come along our creative journeys, we need her, but she gets to sit in the backseat. As I looked for visual courage, I remembered this dog:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggYxCxNpWpe88fnhn5gOEY4_mp9rtoMuw8feV5qJ_bqhvEJ09U6Uq8NMh0EKvWlREgbAGXPWtRBMeg-H8TLMU2s7N34TABwGvJBEchUNA4EAlcdxnJWK6YMoXYHn8m7yOSOhMfEsUnKBc/s1600/weela.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggYxCxNpWpe88fnhn5gOEY4_mp9rtoMuw8feV5qJ_bqhvEJ09U6Uq8NMh0EKvWlREgbAGXPWtRBMeg-H8TLMU2s7N34TABwGvJBEchUNA4EAlcdxnJWK6YMoXYHn8m7yOSOhMfEsUnKBc/s320/weela.jpg" width="206" /></a></div>
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Awkwardly posing for her school photo, Weela looks resigned rather than heroic. Her absurd image and her story were published in <a href="http://www.outsideonline.com/1904861/its-just-dog-them" target="_blank">Outside Magazine in 1996</a>. Back then, I pretended the carabiner that held my water bottle to my backpack was really used for scaling rock faces. I was a poser in every part of life--desperate to be <i>something.</i> Anything. A teacher, a good friend, a mountain climber, an artist, a soulmate, a writer. I was struggling with being in my own skin and with having any sort of compass. I wore clogs and corduroy and long baggy sleeves to cover a self that had no passport and no direction and no defined character. After reading that little ol' Weela saved dozens from drowning, lived through a rattlesnake bike, and was a mighty-hero-dog in a little pup's clothing, I hyperbolically (and cheekily) cut out her image and pasted it over my own drivers' license photo in hopes of channeling her grit and determination--or at least having something to make my geology lab partner laugh.</div>
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Last night, twenty years later, I Googled old Weela, and I cut her out again. I pasted her mug on my jar of drawing pens. An awkward talisman. Like Weela, I don't feel particularly ready for my close-up. But the difference between 40 and 20 is that I am not lost wondering who I am. I can send a cartoon to cancel an evening out and not be thrown <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2016/09/05/your-anxietys-fall-tv-lineup-by-hallie-cantor" target="_blank">into a spiral of self doubt</a>. I can doodle something mediocre and not think it's me forever. I can live in the mess and believe in the hope. I can make meaning.</div>
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What a delight.</div>
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<br />onegreenbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09149525111820428034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5491592874872657216.post-81979696794948244982016-05-30T17:04:00.001-07:002016-05-30T17:05:29.276-07:00Keeping PlaceOne Green Bee is going home for a few weeks!<br />
She's going to see lots of trees and trails and sky!<br />
She's going to eat food from the farmers' market! And pick her own raspberries!<br />
Wiiiiiiiiild times!<br />
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Before she goes bananas back in the Pacific Northwest, she has to be organized and pretend she has her act together and leave generous shop owners with little signs that say, "This person is real and does some stuff for sorta thoughtful reasons." Consider the following a place holder for a revamp of the One Green Bee Studio website. When I'm not jogging those trails and staring at that wide Washington sky, I will also hopefully be piecing together a web presence that isn't just me rambling about what I'll have for breakfast. Although fresh homegrown raspberries are kind of the best breakfast in the world.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheGuwN1_Y1FxNnmhK0kAp_SC2zXaz-tiyMqMsUQbexrMXGwfQmp-Mse0PH9sHYcGLPVWPBLnoFM9-XGtfYsQOdB9XRnct58jKrwiOmneoHq6w7cIzR-ChJAcu8Q7CEUhhJNKNfBmhmRtA/s1600/About+the+Artist+May+2016+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheGuwN1_Y1FxNnmhK0kAp_SC2zXaz-tiyMqMsUQbexrMXGwfQmp-Mse0PH9sHYcGLPVWPBLnoFM9-XGtfYsQOdB9XRnct58jKrwiOmneoHq6w7cIzR-ChJAcu8Q7CEUhhJNKNfBmhmRtA/s640/About+the+Artist+May+2016+copy.jpg" width="435" /></a></div>
<br />onegreenbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09149525111820428034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5491592874872657216.post-82369859380521591752016-05-17T16:32:00.002-07:002016-05-17T16:34:59.660-07:00Tiny WishesRecently, a friend and I started to cope with the countdown towards summer through Tiny Wishes. He casually said when leaving the room at work, something to the effect of, "I wish I had a cup of coffee to take with me to this meeting." And I replied, "Tiny Wishes by S." I'm encouraging him to launch a line of cartoons. I'd buy 'em.<br />
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Tiny Wishes started winging back and forth on email. Hopes disguised as complaints? Maybe. But they are amusing, and amusing is healthy.<br />
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I wish my desk chair didn't squeak.<br />
I wish this bagel didn't have raisins in it.<br />
I wish I could remember everyone's name at work.<br />
I wish my Yankee Candle didn't smell like cardboard.<br />
I wish I could dance like Beyonce.<br />
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Okay, maybe that last one isn't so tiny. But, you do whatever you gotta do to laugh your way through the last 17 days until Gramma's.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm3B4Kd04NGPLasZWClxkY_qXFKYqGLveh9MkpVwlVFD1dAJ6LDFybHNTMxXqi4UvdOF3v_g1hXVlVW5GnROowADxvH8_XeSqA3fPtwM3S9xj4vgUm0t_pWGOVJ5Yn3MxB7E8qlLDXXHk/s1600/floral+pears+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm3B4Kd04NGPLasZWClxkY_qXFKYqGLveh9MkpVwlVFD1dAJ6LDFybHNTMxXqi4UvdOF3v_g1hXVlVW5GnROowADxvH8_XeSqA3fPtwM3S9xj4vgUm0t_pWGOVJ5Yn3MxB7E8qlLDXXHk/s320/floral+pears+copy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I wish the hideous floral background matched the pears.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJCR3ijzyqT3a-UBmSFu9Rl5fHLSIwalAvxbfzTbnHGrTffmJmKCo5E6arBuRKZgNxu3dyy8-eP9qcK3__3Y2_PLcfy44xXK3Ab_k5KjnR2X3TrnXD7W2hpNZRyiQYR3_WjCnOYX7psrE/s1600/sunflowers+with+stems+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJCR3ijzyqT3a-UBmSFu9Rl5fHLSIwalAvxbfzTbnHGrTffmJmKCo5E6arBuRKZgNxu3dyy8-eP9qcK3__3Y2_PLcfy44xXK3Ab_k5KjnR2X3TrnXD7W2hpNZRyiQYR3_WjCnOYX7psrE/s320/sunflowers+with+stems+copy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I wish I could look at these sunflowers and see something other than eyeballs.</span></div>
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<br />onegreenbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09149525111820428034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5491592874872657216.post-11281522157798048822016-04-26T04:27:00.002-07:002016-04-26T04:27:32.145-07:00Turn on the ACIt is almost May. And I just want to repost <a href="http://www.onegreenbee.com/2015/05/fish-out-of-water.html" target="_blank">my heat fueled litany</a> from last year. It's hot. It's hot every day and that's really boring. And it's hot at the same time our seasonal work life is ramping up for its grand finale, so the external pressures are mirroring the internal tensions and not every one is being her best self.<br />
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It's time to turn on the AC.<br />
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In Singapore we call it aircon, which sounds to me like some sort of aviation company for prisoners, but maybe that's appropriate. It's time for Aircon to take us away from the boiling temperatures and to keep us going for five little more weeks until we can wake up with lungs full of cool Northwest mornings.<br />
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In the meantime, we'll try to behave.<br />
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I'm behaving by celebrating <a href="http://inchxinch.org/membership/" target="_blank">these good folks</a>. If you have a birthday coming up, it's possible I enrolled you in a <a href="http://inchxinch.org/" target="_blank">button a month club</a>. I'm not sure that's what you wanted, but it's going to be just great.<br />
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I'm also behaving by listening. It's not my gift. I'm really good at being a bad listener. I'm working on it, but I still end almost every social gathering dope slapping my forehead and lamenting, "Shoot! Did it again!" But I'm sincerely trying, and I have patient teachers willing to turn the AC on my hot air and patiently nudge me through more careful exchanges. This last week was full of moments where people needed to be heard, and I hope I carved out some space for that despite the fact we're all sweaty and nervous looking even though it's the weather and not our emotional states.<br />
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It's at this point every year that I holler, "Do-Over!" and wish for a speedy end to the miserable temperatures and the mistakes I've made and the time I've wasted and the frayed edges I've helped unravel.<br />
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But as a dear friend reminded me recently, every day is a do-over. Every blessed morning, whether that be one awash in cool Cascade breezes or stifling inter-Monsoon haze is a chance to listen a little more, behave a little better, and be proverbial Aircon to those around us. Sylvia Boorstein, a favorite author of mine, writes, "every single act we do has the potential of causing pain, and every single thing we do has consequences that echo way beyond what we can imagine. It doesn't mean we shouldn't act. It means we should act carefully. Everything matters." Knowing her work, I don't think Boorstein is trying to scare us into deliberating over decisions or thinking we're particularly important. I think she's just saying that whether you're gritting teeth through the last five weeks of a school year or lying without a to-do list in the grass under the family pear orchard, you're a force for good. For generous and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Gracious-Space-Practical-Working-Together-ebook/dp/B006PUJ10Y" target="_blank">gracious space</a>. For aircon.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimi19zLu_Wmrw1PN5qVbPYrB5DUfPJg0pPkjZQByoZiOKUCzLw7TvTmFPvcpNzUnyDLQxMv4YOZASPoGFiEuz0BVNDEpUZ2P0qiLRShLGa9eQliOq2VdD4jv1h_II40ALcl4gYF0dapgE/s1600/Recolored+Columbia+River+and+Mountains+copy+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimi19zLu_Wmrw1PN5qVbPYrB5DUfPJg0pPkjZQByoZiOKUCzLw7TvTmFPvcpNzUnyDLQxMv4YOZASPoGFiEuz0BVNDEpUZ2P0qiLRShLGa9eQliOq2VdD4jv1h_II40ALcl4gYF0dapgE/s400/Recolored+Columbia+River+and+Mountains+copy+copy.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I can be content where I am and still dream a little...right?</div>
<br />onegreenbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09149525111820428034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5491592874872657216.post-63923637105793898602016-04-06T23:23:00.002-07:002016-04-06T23:28:28.614-07:00Not just one thingI spend most of my day with teenagers. And they are fabulous. They are <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Tomboy-Graphic-Memoir-Liz-Prince/dp/1936976552" target="_blank">reading wonderful things</a>, and they are telling me observations on life I wish I wrote down with more dedication. But every now and then, I get to visit the littles. The littles with the grand ideas. Today I whiplashed between 9th graders and 1st graders, and man---it was fun!<br />
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We talked about fonts, and then we played:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgavOAM5yYsoOIZIU3Fav1jqsZ0vsXycVsXl71SdsrsYS00qzgQzrlaUbzb6pcasd5X3dqbb8Uc99bkSY7dPq1CYNC3GHfoq4UbTUKv5-__DClj34wpRC9rbSbiMDK1SOkebVl3RDj-Yxw/s1600/student+with+font.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgavOAM5yYsoOIZIU3Fav1jqsZ0vsXycVsXl71SdsrsYS00qzgQzrlaUbzb6pcasd5X3dqbb8Uc99bkSY7dPq1CYNC3GHfoq4UbTUKv5-__DClj34wpRC9rbSbiMDK1SOkebVl3RDj-Yxw/s400/student+with+font.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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We talked about images and place, and then we played:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj687LwY3psoJl5p5AwzeLsb1MMii0GC-fNNIWSI9w3zPAYkBWt257J0h4VwV_ZNpwly-UMAXcxPCMJMqWHZcomwUAypcwpDforJstfhYny6btsm2QiTU76Dp6GAvau3yKOAduyB5C-0oI/s1600/Photo+of+my+work+table+in+library.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj687LwY3psoJl5p5AwzeLsb1MMii0GC-fNNIWSI9w3zPAYkBWt257J0h4VwV_ZNpwly-UMAXcxPCMJMqWHZcomwUAypcwpDforJstfhYny6btsm2QiTU76Dp6GAvau3yKOAduyB5C-0oI/s400/Photo+of+my+work+table+in+library.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Those kiddos surprised and delighted me with their willingness to try, to scribble, and to fill pages full of ideas that were judged not on their alignment to any standard but only by my one rule for the day: "Does this make me happy?"<br />
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It made us happy indeed.<br />
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So, brain percolating new ideas and pockets brimming with sweet doodles from sincere seven year olds, I raced back to an afternoon with the teenagers. The dichotomy of my day reminded me of a conversation I had with a colleague when I moved from middle school up to the high school. He well intentioned-ly remarked that, "some people just aren't middle school folk." I was mildly offended, as in my transition from betweeners to teeners, I hadn't for a moment wished to escape any age or to shake off my 15 years working with younger adolescents. I just wanted to learn more and try more and explore more. I worried about how my change was perceived by others and whether or not I could be both teachers. Today affirmed for me that in so many facets of life, we are not just <u>one</u> thing. Just like I taught those first graders that we can be both authors and illustrators and creators and typographers, I have to remind myself that <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/174745" target="_blank"><i>I am large, I contain multitudes</i>. </a> It has taken me a long journey of teaching and creating and living and learning to get to a place where I feel settled in those multitudes.<br />
<br />onegreenbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09149525111820428034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5491592874872657216.post-23820829443741571522016-03-29T20:10:00.000-07:002016-03-29T20:10:01.611-07:00Figuring <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
We are figuring things out. Kaye and I figuring out what to do with our little book:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirMkBZJh261y7rkGz5C9LLQ2fP1431Ryu9fDB9LEWNYSJfCKzsEmQLEDhyRCt3-rHPxkHXBh0KY-dzSoJ4naxhCkCVfzQRcE0WobvtiTPezj2dhd6viy-bQl1XYI3S91uPzagFBiMV__I/s1600/Press+Release+SG+A+to+Z+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirMkBZJh261y7rkGz5C9LLQ2fP1431Ryu9fDB9LEWNYSJfCKzsEmQLEDhyRCt3-rHPxkHXBh0KY-dzSoJ4naxhCkCVfzQRcE0WobvtiTPezj2dhd6viy-bQl1XYI3S91uPzagFBiMV__I/s640/Press+Release+SG+A+to+Z+copy.jpg" width="456" /></a></div>
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What to do with our little selves:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDga772gyDeM9XGmfsy3k25g7IQTxvCtauAJTRq7vOxWjUY54feuBdp7pnnvqVoSCRoNghjUVkmREKSwsJ8UiYg6kwAgRNDUR7reZYbmszuBSsx6QIuoCPNZ2DJLkHYkNYlEfwiv6Z_t8/s1600/The+Kapok+Tree+About+Us.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDga772gyDeM9XGmfsy3k25g7IQTxvCtauAJTRq7vOxWjUY54feuBdp7pnnvqVoSCRoNghjUVkmREKSwsJ8UiYg6kwAgRNDUR7reZYbmszuBSsx6QIuoCPNZ2DJLkHYkNYlEfwiv6Z_t8/s640/The+Kapok+Tree+About+Us.jpg" width="456" /></a></div>
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And what to do with our wee creations:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKdszNJS4eir0mhoIur8gMAjZusgJBiUIJC67LajmUd3v11oKXVQCKXJgCTp-stuDatB6yuGrAfVQuM4vbjb0R6-ZobCmO4clTyEiV7Ricokw4y_rz21H6x58IkZTfaofazBluF6wkLeM/s1600/jumble+of+products.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKdszNJS4eir0mhoIur8gMAjZusgJBiUIJC67LajmUd3v11oKXVQCKXJgCTp-stuDatB6yuGrAfVQuM4vbjb0R6-ZobCmO4clTyEiV7Ricokw4y_rz21H6x58IkZTfaofazBluF6wkLeM/s400/jumble+of+products.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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It's a magical and fearsome and yet also super silly thing to learn so publicly but yet in such good company. Just when we're on the verge of taking ourselves seriously, we spell something wrong, or forget to return a phone call, or get really sweaty carrying cards and books all over a summer-season island. I'm-a-humbled and I'm-a-happy!</div>
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<br />onegreenbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09149525111820428034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5491592874872657216.post-26840198336958395562016-01-10T18:08:00.002-08:002016-01-10T18:11:52.694-08:00Happy New Year"There are years that ask questions and years that answer." Zora Neale Hurston, <i>Their Eyes Were Watching God.</i><br />
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We started this brave new year in Oscar's first visit to New Zealand, exactly ten years after our first visit on a belated honeymoon after a surprise marriage and difficult first year overseas. On that quiet road trip around the South Island, we walked windy hillsides and sat on rocky beaches and paddled blue waters and slowly talked about the lives ahead: Where we'd move, what we'd do, how we'd never have kids. We had a lot of being time. Just us time. Silent time to ponder what would be our normal. And then ten years later we had a trip of contrasts with a rowdy five year old sidekick we couldn't imagine living without helping guide us around the North Island visiting housefuls friends we'd made on three different continents in the last strange decade. Loud children bounced on trampolines and ran down trails and filled tables at dinnertime. Ice cream was eaten by the bucketful. It felt good. It felt normal. </div>
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Our normal has been the subject of great discussion at home lately. Our dear son doesn't want to ride a bike or wear shoes, but he does want to learn to surf and rock climb and build a fortress in Minecraft. Is this okay? Our retirement system is not a solid 401K but is a hodgepodge of plans and savings and unorthodox choices. Is this okay? As we both face 40 in the coming months we are finding our social lives whittled to a handful of lifers that we feel just as close to whether they live on our street or 10,000 miles away. Is this okay? </div>
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"God with one to another, we ask that you interrupt our isolation." <a href="http://www.patheos.com/blogs/nadiabolzweber/2015/12/you-are-not-alone-a-sermon-on-mary-elizabeth-and-being-given-one-to-another/" target="_blank">Nadia Bolz Weber prayed this in one of her sermons recently</a>, and it struck me. My isolation was interrupted loudly by a surprise move to Asia 11 and a half years ago. And then a year later, a surprise marriage. And then five years later a surprise boy-child. And now, my isolation is filled with a tentative business and friends I didn't know I'd make and jobs I didn't think I'd have and a looming but also wonder-filling unknown of what comes next. Normal has never been what I thought it would be, and it has turned out okay. It has been ridiculously challenging at times, and I have been unfairly unkind to it, but it has been okay.</div>
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So new year, we sit in our questions and our community and we marvel. We marvel at what is to come and what answers we will live---even if we don't know that's what is unfolding and even if we fight against it (rather angrily) sometimes. Here's to good art, and good writing, and good travels, and good company, and good intentions. And to letting our isolation be interrupted and our normal be okay.</div>
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And I'll interrupt this a-bit-too-dreamy-self-centered-sort-of-like-some-of-the-follow-your-bliss-blogs-I-make-fun-of-blog post to mention the lack of art I did in the last two weeks but the art I deeply admired. On our New Zealand travels I fell in love with <a href="http://palmprints.co.nz/collections/original-digital-prints/products/sunshine-kereru" target="_blank">Jane Galloway</a>:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5i6G4W3-bxBUZFsoKd8aajDj8UZPh8TrQOsbjG8IFcF3z96-FIVIRwhJIHp1kO372thtJaSsUqi7kkyEg320y26gPzmmIeammgFJSC8I-VAmW70fXDUEUdDG_zXLo8qdR9MxGm42ilVY/s1600/Kereru.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5i6G4W3-bxBUZFsoKd8aajDj8UZPh8TrQOsbjG8IFcF3z96-FIVIRwhJIHp1kO372thtJaSsUqi7kkyEg320y26gPzmmIeammgFJSC8I-VAmW70fXDUEUdDG_zXLo8qdR9MxGm42ilVY/s320/Kereru.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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And all the interpretations of the pohutukawa tree:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKg4lwZG5zR-zRyX3bSQP4sUUNUM1_NJBTOkoKh5hzkKyiUmzuZ0OfdZ6lGluJI-PglLSRKbLPlv72IOq49L1oueHF5OqfOfjkZLDdcS6gvwEBuaMb3wm80UxG9Ejl-6pZl1AeXq1K5vI/s1600/pohutukawa+tofu+tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKg4lwZG5zR-zRyX3bSQP4sUUNUM1_NJBTOkoKh5hzkKyiUmzuZ0OfdZ6lGluJI-PglLSRKbLPlv72IOq49L1oueHF5OqfOfjkZLDdcS6gvwEBuaMb3wm80UxG9Ejl-6pZl1AeXq1K5vI/s320/pohutukawa+tofu+tree.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(loved <a href="http://www.tofutree.com/index.php?route=product/category&path=57" target="_blank">Tofu Tree's art</a>)</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLNEBlZTJ0o8WuBemp9G6gGghRHW79Z5NNtmqPZOPWfa_IqYGPJLxuVm7B4HVzyY6vaOZ3Gbbb39GC0rSjrhgqjmUXaP0GdVcsFR6ngjgIjv0SiLhWz8hd5sp3CoUrsn6JtsnKVaaLCwo/s1600/stamp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLNEBlZTJ0o8WuBemp9G6gGghRHW79Z5NNtmqPZOPWfa_IqYGPJLxuVm7B4HVzyY6vaOZ3Gbbb39GC0rSjrhgqjmUXaP0GdVcsFR6ngjgIjv0SiLhWz8hd5sp3CoUrsn6JtsnKVaaLCwo/s320/stamp.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(and <a href="http://www.waihekeartgallery.org.nz/our-artists/artist-profiles/daniella-hulme/" target="_blank">Daniella Hulme</a>)</span></div>
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Now it's time to return to one's grounded senses and do something really normal like wash some dishes and then step on a Lego. It's all part of the journey to what comes next. Which will probably be a cup of tea and a flippant podcast and worrying over whether or not the loud five-year-old ate his school lunch. Happy New Year.</div>
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onegreenbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09149525111820428034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5491592874872657216.post-66912675225398708432015-11-09T22:35:00.002-08:002015-11-09T22:37:31.505-08:00Gratitude SeasonOh, how I love seasons (exception being the recent <a href="http://www.onegreenbee.com/2015/11/every-day.html" target="_blank">haze apocalypse</a>). I'm being redundant, but I am someone that needs change and rhythms to find her center. And right now, on the edge of the monsoons, I'm feeling that tiny turning of weather with enormous delight.<br />
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Knowing that a big rain might carry my afternoon away, I'm running again in the morning. Longer runs. Some of them have taken me back to parts of Singapore that I haven't visited for years, and a recent one took me past a mighty Kapok Tree.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMmd_Xrlud4CSatwyOmPYSlI60kjjrjndRAHaNpiwJDy3i4bmUM3TtgIfXy1Xc3ieRrblnMZhEZYT2UO2j5wEiSqvKbikV8N-cuuwAH-cvAqA2dwDTQCrOS5u-JU_J-Y_xIZor9bPJpLY/s1600/IMG_0710.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMmd_Xrlud4CSatwyOmPYSlI60kjjrjndRAHaNpiwJDy3i4bmUM3TtgIfXy1Xc3ieRrblnMZhEZYT2UO2j5wEiSqvKbikV8N-cuuwAH-cvAqA2dwDTQCrOS5u-JU_J-Y_xIZor9bPJpLY/s320/IMG_0710.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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As <a href="http://thekapoktreeshop.com/" target="_blank">my new venture suggests</a>, I love these dinosaurs---long brontosaurus limbs stretching their way through jungles and up into wide skies.</div>
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They represent the stretching is happening all over the place. Today, brave Kaye took me to <a href="http://www.thelifestylecollective.com.sg/" target="_blank">the shop </a>that is now carrying our products. I feel like I'm in Form School, learning to say good afternoon and smile politely at kind strangers and not reveal embarrassing details or hide behind a book or pretend I have to go to the bathroom to escape actual human contact. Kaye is long ago a graduate of all-things-socially-acceptable, and her delightful conversations are leading to <a href="http://www.thelifestylecollective.com.sg/" target="_blank">such good things</a>:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrD-_MoYVaR1NNVffp0DC4GmZIcUiIPdiXjW_y_-dDp910uywZbT3ujfTmx4kYL0WxRpofclpEF0GR9iN-jm2xlwmPAp_ebQTkkiWqxNURBWQSjm-IQyPLjJT3OAUk2w0muBtVnB7zSoQ/s1600/The+Lifestyle+Collective+shelves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrD-_MoYVaR1NNVffp0DC4GmZIcUiIPdiXjW_y_-dDp910uywZbT3ujfTmx4kYL0WxRpofclpEF0GR9iN-jm2xlwmPAp_ebQTkkiWqxNURBWQSjm-IQyPLjJT3OAUk2w0muBtVnB7zSoQ/s320/The+Lifestyle+Collective+shelves.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP6KldfGa3ABSSHX-rtkKMNEqXmaAp4f7ZpXF1ek8F8AnyNaW0PsBeXn8dRcL6aCBwOggTKz6oSXL6gJdyvl9IT2zb345WoD-VAgntb_rfDP2fKaa45lpwOGG41KtdLfBaOTowxD7pB9s/s1600/The+Lifestyle+Collective.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP6KldfGa3ABSSHX-rtkKMNEqXmaAp4f7ZpXF1ek8F8AnyNaW0PsBeXn8dRcL6aCBwOggTKz6oSXL6gJdyvl9IT2zb345WoD-VAgntb_rfDP2fKaa45lpwOGG41KtdLfBaOTowxD7pB9s/s320/The+Lifestyle+Collective.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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If only I'd had a PR partner my whole life.</div>
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With Thanksgiving on the horizon, t's a good season to be grateful for Kaye's ability to interact with humans, dark clouds slowing down our day, and trees growing. </div>
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<br />onegreenbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09149525111820428034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5491592874872657216.post-19547031271114705162015-11-01T21:16:00.001-08:002015-11-01T21:16:26.535-08:00Every dayWe haven't seen the sun around here for a long time. And it's not because of the monsoon. So this weekend when <a href="http://www.haze.gov.sg/" target="_blank">the haze</a> lifted and blue skies beamed, it was riotous springtime. We lived on the patio and by the pool. Neighbors hosted impromptu happy hours and Oscar Gus ran shirtless with Minecraft sword in hand between our house, the park, the patch of grass behind our flat, and anywhere else he could get a sunny ray on his back. Good times.<br />
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Later, Oscar asked (as he daily does) when his birthday was, and I broke the (daily) news that it was still five months away. He sad-faced and wistfully dreamed out loud "what if every day could be my birthday?" I referred to the thick haze we've all been choking in and how special these last days of sunshine have felt. Things that come only once in awhile make even the most ordinary events like dinner outside and evening games of tag feel like a party. He stared at me, as he does, and he said what needed to be said. "That's ridiculous. Are you really saying clean air is like a birthday?"<br />
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Oops. Bad analogy, mom. This pollution is not a birthday indeed, and it's made us all so stir crazy that I've apparently lost my sense of normal. So, today, to hold onto the hope of breathing deep on my morning walks, I doodled sunny circles. It's November and time for pumpkins and winter coats in many parts of the world, but here, one degree north of the Equator, we are hoping for the<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2015_Southeast_Asian_haze" target="_blank"> haze "season" </a>to lift and the endless tropical normal of 30C sun and rain and sun and rain to return. Just as Oscar Gus wills a daily birthday.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgICBc-xjK1SEJ1sQ5NZfuwDhw0MtDviwYOHsZHLJFsSxvxl4PnkCx7byMYxk_oHDJ5lkx9yUGRB37ZISCLyTIa7C5YQ4p4Rv-6s6cu5U89IP3f-8lRBQqlDKIuYWqkl5hSG6ZSVDCwbY0/s1600/circles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgICBc-xjK1SEJ1sQ5NZfuwDhw0MtDviwYOHsZHLJFsSxvxl4PnkCx7byMYxk_oHDJ5lkx9yUGRB37ZISCLyTIa7C5YQ4p4Rv-6s6cu5U89IP3f-8lRBQqlDKIuYWqkl5hSG6ZSVDCwbY0/s640/circles.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />onegreenbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09149525111820428034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5491592874872657216.post-35592533061023849172015-10-27T01:13:00.000-07:002015-10-27T01:17:09.462-07:00BooksThere are good books in this house.<br />
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Coloring books from Praha:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS0_amPjNWCSCGS_R-DWoUsx2L0AaBNY6w8NN5ZlOjAApLhy5Eucs04HpVtCL2QYgzusTIYq2PeuLnFMPQ5fb9z6neo6e8p9XJLZHEwGJgCGeAWSlsmtuyTO1ubP5UOMcxKruhvHqfQ6c/s1600/coloring+book.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS0_amPjNWCSCGS_R-DWoUsx2L0AaBNY6w8NN5ZlOjAApLhy5Eucs04HpVtCL2QYgzusTIYq2PeuLnFMPQ5fb9z6neo6e8p9XJLZHEwGJgCGeAWSlsmtuyTO1ubP5UOMcxKruhvHqfQ6c/s320/coloring+book.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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New-to-me children's books:</div>
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And lest you worry about my IQ (some books that actually have words in them):</div>
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It's all inspiration and fodder for <a href="http://thekapoktreeshop.com/" target="_blank">The Kapok Tree </a>that's growing. There were stacks of our alphabet book delivered this week:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhizrcx6foRFIf-lR6D4cNBrph6T9Qm275V6W5PEW2oLIOhfFtjy2Gz9wsd2QxQ9JIiI0_c1sRPbXv79cuZFbC8gtyKNvXcfIZ9VINo47ROhh627hvkqZJBApjHhQ-0H7w2u4Bs8OqhrY0/s1600/book+stack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhizrcx6foRFIf-lR6D4cNBrph6T9Qm275V6W5PEW2oLIOhfFtjy2Gz9wsd2QxQ9JIiI0_c1sRPbXv79cuZFbC8gtyKNvXcfIZ9VINo47ROhh627hvkqZJBApjHhQ-0H7w2u4Bs8OqhrY0/s320/book+stack.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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And coloring cards:</div>
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Hm. So maybe we should worry about IQ. </div>
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<br />onegreenbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09149525111820428034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5491592874872657216.post-37019951280576780232015-10-04T19:39:00.003-07:002015-10-04T19:41:53.720-07:00TeamworkOh good golly.<br />
We've been up to this:<br />
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And this:</div>
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And that is why I need community. On my own, I'm a lady at a messy desk eating pretzels and googling whether or not penguins' feet freeze. With the luminous Kaye Bach by my side, I'm getting my first ISBN on the back of an illustrated book, meeting with printers and publishers and working into the wee hours of night on beyond-my-fathoming illustration projects. The boys are patient as I mutter only half sentences of reply while they shout about the wonders of Minecraft in my ear. They seem to understand the temporary neglect that reaches far beyond this blog. But stay tuned---The Kapok Tree launches the first week of November. Thanks only--and with all my heart--to my patient tribe and to the ridiculously awesome team that is the brains behind this operation. You're a dream, Kaye!</div>
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onegreenbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09149525111820428034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5491592874872657216.post-12523644938762676352015-08-17T22:49:00.004-07:002015-08-17T22:49:36.877-07:00Back in the ChairI have a quote on my desk by <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Junot_D%C3%ADaz" target="_blank">Junot Diaz </a>that reminds me to keep good habits: "In my view a writer is a writer because even when there is no hope, even when nothing you do shows any sign of promise, you keep writing anyway." <a href="http://ualr.edu/rmburns/rb/staffor.html" target="_blank">William Stafford</a> would write in the wee hours of every morning. <a href="http://www.pacegallery.com/artists/80/chuck-close" target="_blank">Chuck Close</a> said "Inspiration is for amateurs; the rest of us just show up and get to work." <a href="http://www.amazon.com/On-Writing-A-Memoir-Craft/dp/B009BDVD2Q" target="_blank">Stephen King has said something similar</a>. The practice of just getting one's bum in the chair on a daily basis is what usually leads to the good stuff.<br />
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Well, my bum has been out of the chair.<br />
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And I'm not one to argue with the likes of Diaz or Close or Stafford, but I am one to enjoy a very good and very long and very delightful break. And break we did. The whole family took two delicious months and, well, stayed out of chairs.<br />
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But I'm back. Daily. And I've got an addendum to those artistic greats' wisdom. Yes, do what you do every day. Every day. But don't underestimate the sabbatical. Sometimes a planned absence can do a creative process good. In my case, it grew a tree.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitpFF2AhJxrcV3-cGvQbC2jNNSKoBvUTsCwzXTfOavCgyQthBk6Tsl9aLiLd4OJK9lY9_cp5LRL6zU41GPzgjaeWXu5P3vDYyaqq6RODNfpikyDOSH6YUq6G8rmNoQlYz0Q0Yklgibi5U/s1600/THEKAPOKTREE+Modern+Sans+rustictree+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitpFF2AhJxrcV3-cGvQbC2jNNSKoBvUTsCwzXTfOavCgyQthBk6Tsl9aLiLd4OJK9lY9_cp5LRL6zU41GPzgjaeWXu5P3vDYyaqq6RODNfpikyDOSH6YUq6G8rmNoQlYz0Q0Yklgibi5U/s400/THEKAPOKTREE+Modern+Sans+rustictree+copy.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I came back to a Singapore that is now the home of a dear friend, and she is savvy enough to map out the way to a business venture, and I am clueless enough to go along with it. So, she does the heavy lifting meeting with printers and potters and fabric makers, and I get to sit right here and enjoy this chair.<br />
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<br />onegreenbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09149525111820428034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5491592874872657216.post-62548975039648691832015-05-27T18:00:00.000-07:002015-05-28T03:56:25.184-07:00Making space<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguNZsOkhnSffR7mUIROXOScsiVJBHYTPX4-UFDW5Mgvf8ifvIBKWnxMhJG6oudyyUfW4puWg0p4u20NwiySMm2AkihMUyT2n2PG3_CdHwCdWDznPift48zAMRXUH834FSwoVxprFTZ4Sk/s1600/flowercluster+white+background+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguNZsOkhnSffR7mUIROXOScsiVJBHYTPX4-UFDW5Mgvf8ifvIBKWnxMhJG6oudyyUfW4puWg0p4u20NwiySMm2AkihMUyT2n2PG3_CdHwCdWDznPift48zAMRXUH834FSwoVxprFTZ4Sk/s640/flowercluster+white+background+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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This morning's walk was bright with the scent of mango season and plumeria blossoms, but I'm making space in my heart for sagebrush and fresh cut grass. We're heading stateside. Watch <a href="https://instagram.com/onegreenbee/">Instagram for image updates</a>, and in August I'll return to both Singapore and blogging with a fresh supply of good coffee beans, flip flops, and Micron pens. Happy summer from One Green Bee!</div>
onegreenbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09149525111820428034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5491592874872657216.post-68972047267192778322015-05-18T20:03:00.000-07:002015-05-18T22:55:56.523-07:00Religious experiencesIt's a question asking kind of time.<br />
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First, the five year old is having a spiritual and scientific crisis. We've been reassuring (and talking completely out of our backsides) curious Oscar that Santa can defy the laws of physics. "Why?" Well, Santa was made special. "I am special too," he declares and tries to walk through a wall. Head bruises and confusion later, there are more questions. "Is the tooth fairy a winged princess or a tiny man elf?" "Why can you not cut water?" If he tries very hard can he "take a nap in fire?" If he jumps with his eyes closed, "will the landing not hurt?"<br />
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Possibly from the walking-through-wall attempts, he appears to share my middle-memory loss and cannot recall the word <i>Bible</i>. "Let's read one more story in that book...what's that book...you know that one book with all the stories...the book about that one guy Jesus and that other guy the Good Samurai?" Yes, I do happen to know that book. And I think it's The Good Samaritan. Almost nightly, I hold up his children's version and ask if that's the one he's talking about, and he's always totally incredulous, "Yes! How did you know?"<br />
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I've been asking my own incredulous questions at a mystical place in Singapore: <a href="http://www.yoursingapore.com/see-do-singapore/culture-heritage/heritage-discovery/haw-par-villa.html">Haw Par Villa</a>. It was started by the<a href="http://www.tigerbalm.com/sg"> Tiger Balm </a>brothers, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Haw_Par_Villa">Aw Boon HAW and Aw Boon PAR</a> (imagine that), and it is a wonder devoted to Chinese folklore, mythology, and Confucianism. My comrades in tourist crime and I had quite the time marveling at things like this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhd3JXgnGX4LCZHh-kCuUVV-0T-RRBnXRczjZ0JphzyC9w8DjMQQ6ZGzgFtVZlUtn1ngNLUbVjII8PvQaf5H6w2IsKl9aBw9gDXw_vQAt3Dx9p6E21Syty835WMje03MeHYENAqQVHFII/s1600/IMG_0041.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhd3JXgnGX4LCZHh-kCuUVV-0T-RRBnXRczjZ0JphzyC9w8DjMQQ6ZGzgFtVZlUtn1ngNLUbVjII8PvQaf5H6w2IsKl9aBw9gDXw_vQAt3Dx9p6E21Syty835WMje03MeHYENAqQVHFII/s320/IMG_0041.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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And this:</div>
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All I have to say about every photo I have is, "what the heck is happening here?" Of course, you might ask yourself that about this quiet moment I took pondering the magic with an alarmingly unwooly ram:</div>
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As one of the exhibits is titled the "Ten Tortures of Hell", I cannot with good sense post the rest of the photos, but you might do some Google Imaging and then make some time for a surreal walk-through. (leave the children at home)</div>
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Thus, this morning, post-Haw Par Villa-ing with questions, spirituality, and sightseeing on my mind, I <a href="http://www.onbeing.org/program/father-greg-boyle-on-the-calling-of-delight/5053">listened to soul-filling inspiration</a> and doodled a beloved site that is equally boggling but far more comforting. It sounds very expat posh/stupid/nauseating/embarrassing to say, "Angkor Wat is just one of our most favorite places!" But the truth is, it is. I'm cringing too, but we have big hearts for Siem Reap and for the clarity and serenity we've found temple touring and teaching there. So, I'm drawing a tremendous place and people love letters:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipkTEPxOala4JHux6a4a7bxFEU-s5m9X68CshKfO8I5mcN0pROx6KjTSoQQndoK7ilnbVsfSdJ34pXkUGKhvkzn9WtB6AlOupqBgPahbqUDfbixvJYdmXJqiQP9b_eCudDnH1r4WIZ7Ws/s1600/Angkor+Wat+Blue+Background+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="548" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipkTEPxOala4JHux6a4a7bxFEU-s5m9X68CshKfO8I5mcN0pROx6KjTSoQQndoK7ilnbVsfSdJ34pXkUGKhvkzn9WtB6AlOupqBgPahbqUDfbixvJYdmXJqiQP9b_eCudDnH1r4WIZ7Ws/s640/Angkor+Wat+Blue+Background+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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And then I'll gear up for what will be asked later about leprechauns, the Easter Bunny, and elves.</div>
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<br />onegreenbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09149525111820428034noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5491592874872657216.post-44381304387089210952015-05-15T06:20:00.000-07:002015-05-15T06:20:02.840-07:00Fish out of waterWe are swimming. Swimming hard upstream against the current that is the last three badly behaved weeks of school when colleagues lose their kindly edges and students think about college and summers and change and fray their rational edges, and the temperature in this country sky rockets to places that leave us all with heat rashes around our literal edges. It is a Desitin applying, staring-into-space-after-work, repetitive-activity-so-time-passes, not-wanting-to-do-much kind of time.<br />
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And I can't have wine.<br />
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Someday, I will write a coffee table book that no one will buy about medical experiences in foreign countries. It will include the Czech doctor that ate his ham sandwich lunch in front of me while I sat naked from the waist down on an office chair. It will also include my April visit to the neurologist for some memory issues where he couldn't remember how to administer the memory test, and so I read both the test and the answers out loud for us (at his request), thus nullifying my results and confirming my waste of money. Later he hooked me up to a machine that checks for carpel tunnel, (<i>"but my wrists don't hurt. That's not why I'm here!"</i>) cranked it up as high as it would go, and then realized it wasn't on. When he flipped the switch, I received an electric shock that is worth pantomiming at summer BBQs.<br />
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Right now, I'm on medications for really boring low-immune-system-needs-a-break kind of things, and they mean I can't have wine. They also mean strange doctor visits where awkward things happen. It is one of the ways we are expat fish out of water sometimes, people with norms we don't even know (like paper gowns for the pantless) are our normal and not everyone else's.<br />
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Wineless and weary, I doodle. I stare. I re-read Oscar the same books, and we wait for these three weeks to go away so we can fly across the pond to home waters. Of course, there we will mess up and use the word "lift" for elevator and wrinkle our noses at what passes for rice, and turn all shades of pink when Oscar reveals his otherness at a picnic and marvels at mysterious foods like caramel corn and tater tots. I guess we are fish out of water just about everywhere these days, but there is something about that feeling of not quite fitting in that is becoming the very norm we need to thrive.<br />
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Swim on!<br />
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<br />onegreenbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09149525111820428034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5491592874872657216.post-85302180806192735542015-04-29T05:46:00.000-07:002015-04-29T06:10:10.678-07:00Getting to the meat of itWhen <a href="http://www.onegreenbee.com/2014_09_01_archive.html">the blog</a> got a facelift about nine months back, I started writing elsewhere, and I mostly used this space to post art. And it was always awkward. What I draw has a story or even if it doesn't, I'm always thinking on story, and so the times I uploaded just images didn't feel quite right, but it felt clean.<br />
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And today, I found myself in an odd place, going through <a href="http://smittenkitchen.com/">a cooking blog</a> that I first discovered when we moved to Prague (before we moved back to Singapore) and Oscar was just a baked ham of a baby.<br />
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Due to certain dietary restrictions around here <i>(Apparently I've been poisoning my man with too much spirulina, spinach, and almond milk. Honestly. The doctor told him, "Your wife's smoothies are killing you.")</i>, I had to look up my favorite whole food, all fat, all natural, add-some-more-butter-to-that-chefs, and start looking for ways to get him healthy again. Too many vegetables apparently can get a guy down. As I scrolled, I found myself back to posts that were from the first days when I discovered the blog and was settling into a new apartment, a new city, and a new role as a mama at home with a discontented child. I felt the whoosh. The whoosh is that wave of tears that the people around you don't understand because you've stumbled across something that can never be explained without looking bonkers-city. There was no way I could turn to another adult and weep out, "See this bacon and leek risotto? I used to buy those ingredients in Dejvicka square using my very bad Czech with a baby Oscar hollering like a banshee on my back! It was terrifying and I miss it!"<br />
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They were also the same weeks I started blogging for the first time, mostly to document what felt like was a life shrunk to the size of dust balancing on a single atom. Those days were tiny and long and dark and gray, and I honestly do not remember much. But I have the posts. And I have the recipes.<br />
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And now, while I plan how to put good fats into my over-ironed over-vitamin-C'ed husband's system, I'm thinking on those days, these days, and this blog.<br />
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The past two weeks have been messy. Full of messy people and lives and responses and reactions. Good friends have been hurting in ways no one can help and good people have been pulled in painful directions. Our own household has been worn down and kind of low on the fun meter. And you know what? That's normal. When you're an adult, you still have rough edges, and they show sometimes. You have a choice: You can sit in the mess and love the people around you no matter how much they've stunk the place up, or you can sit in the mess and bad-talk the messier ones. I choose the former.<br />
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And while all the mess is churning, my community has doggedly chugged on. Rituals continue. Text messages come in. Community saves. I would very much like to give into the agoraphobia that beckons, but I cannot. My running partner brings me far more healing than my podcasts, and sitting by the pool while my Oscar sprays children in the eyes with his super soaker and my neighbors share their hummus does more for my soul than the book I was hoping to read. I love to be alone. I love to be alone in magnificently large doses, and I am more than happy to retreat. For days. But alone does not allow me to give and receive love, to acknowledge and sit in the above messes, and to marvel at the tolerance of children being assaulted by water guns. Life is not about me getting what I want and having space; it is about participating, even when it's reluctantly.<br />
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So today, while printing off recipes for chicken wings and pulled pork and all the things that will restore my husband's depleted soul, I felt compelled to participate in my community in words, and to expose a bit of the mess (I like to tell people I lady-fooded Patrick, but that's sexist and offensive. But honestly--I over-soy-ed the heck out of him).<br />
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So here we are. Roast beef on the menu and only words on the page.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The baked ham in a rare sleepy moment and his always-sleepy parents at the morning Dejvicka market.<br />
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PS: Speaking of mess: Very certain that plastic cup holds a vino sample; they started pouring at 8:00am. Na zdravi!</td></tr>
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<br />onegreenbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09149525111820428034noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5491592874872657216.post-40761122725861564862015-04-21T18:57:00.002-07:002015-04-21T18:57:21.129-07:00Hand-lettering revivalI'm having fun with lettering these days. At some point this week I gave myself a little permission to abandon straight lines. It's been a wobbly-handed, cold and flu, arthritic time, and I embraced it. So, inspired by my not-best-self, I drew a couple gifts, and I think I like them!<br />
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<br />onegreenbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09149525111820428034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5491592874872657216.post-2799593057058620732015-04-12T01:04:00.004-07:002015-04-12T01:06:24.856-07:00Sick day circles<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
My Oscar Gus has been under the weather, so days that were meant for projects turned into days laying on the couch with a fevery little dude. While he took in fluids and inane cartoons, I doodled patterns that were forgiving to bumps from a five-year-old that doesn't sit still well. He's on the other side of his flu and back to school on Monday, but I'm not sure if where I'm at with this drawing is the ending or the beginning...</div>
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<br />onegreenbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09149525111820428034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5491592874872657216.post-66532068480324118592015-04-08T22:58:00.002-07:002015-04-08T22:58:28.643-07:00Fifty-sevenThree days shy of two months from today, I will be sipping a microbrew that doesn't cost $14 while looking out at these mountains. There will be long pants, the last of the sunflowers, morning hikes, slow coffee, and (ridiculously) good people. Yes. We are counting days:<br />
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<br />onegreenbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09149525111820428034noreply@blogger.com0