Morning Through the Shadows

I came across a quote written by J.R.R. Tolkien the other day. He said:

"You can only come to the morning

 through the shadows."

Now, I've read Tolkien's Lord of the Rings Trilogy a few decades ago. So, I don't recall who said these words (they may not even be from a work, but spoken by himself, though I think not) but they ring true.

Similar to "it's always darkest before the dawn" and "...though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil" (Psalm 23), they essentially say the same thing.

Tolkien's phrase caught my attention because of the word "shadows." These are the things we think we see, or presuppose, or assume, or pretend are there, or any innumerable things we can substitute for the words shadows. Shadows imply something that is there, but the very thing is unclear. Do we see what we actually think we see?

After going to bed thinking about these words, and how they apply to us -- all of us in all circumstances and walks of life -- I woke up in the middle of the night bewildered and half asleep.

I tend to wake up like this, startled, half-awake and bleary-eyed, only a handful of times a year. But, they almost always occur after my husband has been home with us (or on vacation) for an extended amount of time and then goes back to work, for 48-72 hours at a time. He had been home for days and last night was the first time I was alone again in nearly two weeks.

Well, sure enough, I woke up with a start, wide awake in the middle of the night. And my head was cloudy. The room was dark, but there was just enough light from our digital clocks for me to see the pile of pillows on the bed where my husband would have been.

Now, I knew my husband was gone. But, the way the pillows were situated and the way the blankets lay, it looked like someone was next to me! And again, I wasn't really awake, so I was a little bonkers.

I sneaked a peak at the shape next to me, scared out of my mind. My heart raced, "Who was with me?"

It took me minutes to convince my brain that no one was there, that it was only the "shape" of a person, the shadows of a person. And after finally reaching out to touch the pillows, I realized it was just me seeing things through the shadows, that weren't really there.

Then, I woke up.

I think often we fear what exists in the shadows, because in the shadows things aren't what they seem. Most of the time, our fears never materialize.  They're based on judging what we can see with our physical and often imperfect eyes without looking at it from an objective, neurological point of view.

It takes temerity to actually think that we know what we're seeing, half- awake and bleary-eyed, when the shadows engulf us and dawn hasn't yet emerged. It's foolishness, really. Because, by morning we see things for what they truly are and disparage ourselves for being idiots in the shadows.

It takes light to shed truth onto the dark. It takes boldness to hang on to faith when everything around us seems as shifting as the shadows that loom before us.

Coincidentally, my oldest son is reading the trilogy right now as some summer reading, before his junior year begins of high school. To even think about my son being a junior scares me because it means college in two short years. The shadows of uncertainty and the unreal "what -ifs" appear throughout my mind daily: Where will he go? What will he learn? Can I even handle the fact that he will no longer be my little boy that I can keep track of?

It's the morning we need to zero in on, not the shadows. Ground yourself in the light. The lamp that guides our path. I must dwell on this and ignore the pile of pillows and blankets that seem like an evil lurking, because it's all a false image of reality.

Shadows create misguided trust. Don't focus on the shadows.

Instead, remember that all light -- even the smallest amount-- destroys darkness at its core.

-HJS

Writing to Write Because You Write

There's a much-adhered bit of writing advice that most writers are told, whether it's from a teacher, mentor, critique partner or book.

It's this: To write well, you must read.

And it's true.

It's like studying art work if you paint or sculpt

Or watching dramas or theater if you're an actor.

You have to study the craft in which you create.

As Stephen King said in his perfect book On Writing, "If you don’t have time to read, you don’t have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that” (147)."

Yep.

Also, I think I need to add that one needs to write in order to be a great writer.

I know. How obvious, right?

But, it's not to some. I know "writers" who only write the book they are working on, but nothing else.

They don't write short stories, articles, poems, not even a blog. They don't do any writing other than the latest book they're working on. And edit it. Over and over. Day in and day out.

Where's the growth?

Honestly, I think it's absurd and pure garbage to think your writing will be stellar if you don't write in other genres or types. It's like only reading in one genre and expecting your writing to be superior, even though you write in that particular genre.

Contradiction, then? Well, in my opinion, it hinders writing growth.

Successful writing is an all or nothing approach. To understand romance writing, is to understand how the narrative moves. To understand mystery, is to understand foreshadowing. To understand children's fiction is to understand how to write as cleanly as you possibly can.

You need to read it all to write it all. And you need to write it all (even if you're no good at it) to truly write well.

Not writing in other forms is equivalent to wanting to interior decorate a 1960s mid-century modern home but only using modern items to do this. It doesn't work and clearly lacks authenticity.

You have to blend the old with the new. And in this case, using only vintage would be preferable (to me).

If you haven't read King's book and you write, for the love of all things literary, READ IT.

I think coffee should sort of be a part of the writing process, as well. It literally disappears as I write and I don't recall drinking any of it. But, by golly, it helps!

And here's a perfect mid-century modern moment with coffee in it.

Now...go read everything. And go write everything!

-HJS

Everyday Moments

When I go to sleep at night, my mind literally goes back over the events of the day, chronologically ... but backwards.

I didn't realize I did this until I noticed within five minutes -- and nearing the point of falling asleep -- I was thinking about events that happened in the very beginning of the day.


I'll think about my puppy, following me around when I'm home, and doing this.





Then I'll think about how my husband was painting the entire trellis, and not complaining about it.

And then  I'll think about my son driving me today, and how we both wore camo. (And how we didn't rear end anything.)

It was weird. And enlightening. And a little bit like looking at snap shots, actual photos, of each major event of the day. Even if the major events were really not so major.

And it made me think about how the little things really all add up to big things.

You know how people say that every day goes by and change doesn't really seem an obvious thing, until you look back at the entire year as a whole, and then when we're grasping the entire scene, the whole picture, we see the change.

And the change is huge.

I think this is true. Our lives are composed of little things. And those little things do inevitably end up as big things. It's like weight loss, or weight gain. It's like compounding interest. It's like working on a book a page a day and seeing an entire book read (or written) after many weeks or months.

It's hard to see change sometimes, especially when we want it. Badly. But, that change is happening even if it's slow.

I think God gives this "slowness" as a favor to us, even if we think it's a curse. The step-by-step, slow-as-a-snail pace is truly the only way we humans can cope with anything, though we say otherwise.

Big events, big change, overnight 180-degree-changes, those are hard. Really hard. That can mean death, or life, or moving, or illness. Major stresses. Things we don't want to deal with.

Yet, we beg God to answer our prayers in our time when really, if he's waiting to answer -- fixing the details behind the scenes -- we see it's to our advantage.

He's waiting to grant our request when we can actually handle it.

I joke to my family and friends that the epitaph on my tombstone (or rather my obit in the paper) is going to say "Never Say Never and Timing is Everything." Because, if there is anything I've learned last year and into this year, it's the both of those.

Pride tells me to say "never," when I have no business saying "never" about anything. Ever. Ask yourself next time why you're saying "I'll NEVER do, be, go, have such and such ..."

I asked myself this, too, after I began eating all my "nevers." For breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

My foolish pride makes me say "never." "Well, I'll never drive a minivan." I've said this. I swear I have because I don't like minivans. To me, they're maybe the ugliest vehicle on the planet of vehicles.

(To all my friends who drive them, my deepest apologies).

But come on now. Let's say I had no income, my other car died, I had no money and needed a car. What if someone gave me a minivan. Would my pride say no?

It's almost as if the moment I say "never," God will go out of his way to show me how unrealistic -- and how very ungrateful -- I am.

Jesus (Mr. Perfect, mind you) wasn't here on earth to say "never" to anything. He was the opposite of that, in fact. He would always talk to anyone, always heal, always listen, always care, always love. He's still doing that today. So, why am I saying never? "Never" puts limits on everything.

Including blessings.

It's also pride that makes me think I know timing better than my God I'm praying to.

And we all know that can't possibly be true.

But, this is:

It really is. Even if what we're asking for changes, or if we change along the way.

And I really dislike long blog posts. Because most of the time when I'm reading blogs like this, they frustrate me. I want the meat of the story in less than 400 words so I can gain some insight and move along with my day.

I dislike this post because it's too long. Again, my apologies.

The moral of this post? Never say never, timing is everything, and keeping asking for what you want.

Takes care of just about everything in your life now, doesn't it?

-HJS

Autumnal Changes

Every single time I tell myself I'm going to write at my blog more.

 And every single time I don't.

Regardless, my sis reminded me that I had a blog, and I realized I hadn't said hello for three months; for 90 days; for roughly 2160 hours!

A lot transpires in three months.

And an exceptional amount has transpired in the last few days.

Here's a small rundown.

It's Fall! Glorious glory. Better weather, perfect season for the most perfect layered clothing, best time of year.

When my neighborhood looks like this, how can I not love it more?

The trees look like this:

We look up and see more of this!

We drink more of this (Well, I drink the coffee any time of year, but I'm not sweating while drinking it hot now. So hey!)

A very unforgettable election and voting process just occurred.

My dog's face ↓ pretty much depicts how I feel.

About both candidates.

Note the blue and red in the blanket.
(And note how well they go together!)

I feel lost actually.

I didn't like either candidate, so I don't feel like

I fit in anywhere right now.

I have good, good friends on both sides of the aisle.

I love all of them.

I care much about them.

And I hurt when they hurt and rejoice when they're happy.

BOTH sides.

Even though I have my opinions, and I'll tell you who I voted for if you ask,

I still feel sorrow. Sorrow that we're divided. 

Being a pacifist isn't very popular, and probably impossible to maintain,

but sometimes that's all I want.

I want us all to be on the same page.

But, I will continue to love. And will I continue to hope.

Because with God, all is possible.

It seems right that an election takes place in Fall. It's the old, dying away,

preparing to bring in the new.

Good or bad, change is hard.

But change, and hardships, are what make us stronger.

And that is the goal. To be a better version of us, with every trial
or triumph we encounter. And I believe good will come from this change.

So, this is what I'm focusing on. Still. Because I believe in this. ↓

The Last Week of Vacation

I would try to list all the things we did with the kids this summer to keep them and us busy alongside work and everything else, but instead, I'm just going to show you last week. 

Had to get a Rivercats game in. Our local AAA team is

pretty amazing. And even if our season has been less than stellar,

we won that night.

So there you go.

It wouldn't be summer without a trip to the optometrist, right?

My eyes are slightly worse in the first time of EVER. (I turned 40 recently, that was

definitely a summer event ... that I don't want to talk about. You understand).

But, my wonderful father is said optometrist, so it's always a fun

visit. Thanks Dad!

We usually squeeze in a trip to IKEA.

Random trivia: We bought this exact table and chairs 10 years

ago as a "temporary" fix for the dinette until husband made a better one.

Here's a couple other trivia things to note:

1. We paid $120 ten years ago. Woah. Inflation.

2. We still have this "temporary" table. Using it. Daily. Nightly.

3. IKEA tables and chairs are obviously FAR sturdier than you ever thought possible. Who knew?

4. I'm still waiting on that other table.

5. I'm way more patient than my husband tells me I am. Case in point.

This puppy of mine loves to swim and be with her "brothers." Even when she's done swimming,

she'll watch them play. 

From the comfort of my chair.

We went to San Francisco. Gorgeous view here from

Twin Peaks.

Went to the beach. Boys had never been to the SF ocean.

Even though somehow only I'm in this picture, I swear

the whole fam was there.

Visited this bridge, as we usually do.

It was 55 degrees when I took this picture and

99 degrees in Sacramento at the exact same time.

Not sure WHY we live in Sacramento.

Oh right. Cost of living in SF is one of the worst in the world.

Ah, but the bridge sure is amazing.

Another awesome view of said bridge.

Okay, seriously folks. Who doesn't go to the California Academy of Sciences with their kids

ever until last week and now that my oldest is 15 years old? We do. That's who. So lame of us
because this place is amazing. We only visited the day,
but we could go back for days more.

And might I add that I saved $5 with my student ID!

Woop woop! Haven't saved money with that kind of ID in twenty years.

And here I thought  being 40 was all bad.

(Never mind that the ticket lady thought the student ID was initially for my oldest. Just kidding! But, maybe not. She probably did and didn't say anything ... I could be over thinking this.)

Happy August and I'm going to say it, Happy Fall, because when kids go back to school

even if it's in August and it's 102 degrees, I think Fall and Autumn, and pumpkins and cool, crisp

weather and apples, and fires and sweaters and boots and ... 

My Little Corner of the Writing World

You know, for being a writer, I sure don't blog a lot. I mean, I'm a failure when it comes to this. I started my blogs because, let's face it, what's a writer (or who's a writer, really) without one?

It's like the necessary notebooks, books, journals, pens, computers, PCs -- on at the same time while on my phone as well, but that's another story for another time -- that a writer needs and wants that co-exists nicely with the incessant dialogue or scene setting that goes on in a writer's mind.

It's perpetual. It's never-ending. And it's lovely.

And I have kids. Kids can kind of take every living ounce of strength and will-power out of me, so that I don't want to write. At all. Like, at all all. Like ever again.

Okay, not true. That part just isn't true. But, their constant energy and living their schedules, warrants an IV caffeine drip into my right arm.

So it's ironic and very lackadaisical of me to not be writing here at my blog --my little corner of the world -- for perhaps maybe five readers. As the adage goes, if you're not writing, you're not a writer. This little "corner" should be my go-to. Especially when I'm not writing.

And while not writing doesn't not make me a writer really, in the basics of it, not writing doesn't further my writing skills. Therein lies the problem.

So, why am I not blogging? Am I just lame? Am I taking too may selfies? Is coffee just too much of a priority? (rhetorical question- the answer to that is a resounding "no.")

I'm not blogging probably because I'm writing other things. But, that's so incredibly backwards and ridiculous.

I SHOULD BE WRITING EVERYTHING as much as I can.

Okay. Here's a couple valid reasons (that I've rounded up in the last seven seconds) as to why it takes me darn-near two months between each post. Fair warning: some of you will be reading some new information here that I've not shared before.

1. I write monthly for an online magazine, called Society Letters. (You knew this.)

2. I will be writing monthly for my local magazine, called Gold River Living. (You don't know this. But now you do).

3. I am currently in school, online school, but school none-the- less through University of Wisconsin, Stout. I'm acquiring an online teaching credential. The teaching thing was a long-time coming. Now that the kids are growing up, I'm able to ponder this possibility again, so getting a credential is the next step. And teaching online as a precursor to in-class teaching, could be -- and may be --  the ultimate goal. I haven't decided that yet, either. (You didn't know this one for sure, but now you know).

4. I'm always thinking about my work-in-progress, a mid-grade fiction book that has yet to find an agent. Heck, it has yet to be edited fully and then submitted. Someday. (You knew this).

5. I also have another blog, for my vintage stuff. Blog ◄ (You may or may not have already known this. I blog there twice as much as I do here!!! Once a month. Yeah. Lacking.)

So, there you are. Five reasons I don't blog as often as I should.

←And this furry thing.  She doesn't help ... but she sure saves my sanity.

Having said all that, I hope to be back here soon.

Thanks for your perpetual patience.

-HJS

Boys: Welcome to My World │ Raising Boys

I write for this online magazine called Society Letters. It's a perfect place for women of all ages to come together to discuss life, raising kids, how to improve their marriages. You get the idea.

My editor asked me to write about Things Only Parents of Boys Can Understand.

Naturally, I jumped at the chance. Because if I didn't, my thoughts about wanting to write this post --but not writing it -- would drive me crazy.

So, ↓ here's the article. It's a snap shot of my wonderful life. And one that --if you've had, or have or will have boys -- is a snap shot of yours. Ha ha. Welcome to my world.

Parenting: 5 Things Only Parents of Boys Can Understand

There’s a running joke between my husband and me. And the joke is really on us because, a long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, we both assumed we’d be the best parents, discipline our children to perfection, love them beyond unconditionally, and that everything would be great.

Well, everything is great. It’s dandy. I love my two boys. But, the joke here is that you can’t control children. Or what they say. Especially boys.

Every parent who didn’t have kids and now has them, knows what I’m talking about. I mean, ultimately, we try our best to create and control the environment that they live in as they grow up and mature.

We teach them to do the right things, say the right things, feel empathy, love their siblings, brush their teeth. But, at the end of the day, we can try all we want but we really, really (really) can’t control what they do.

Do yourself a favor and understand that concept. The sooner you realize this -- the not being able to know what’s going to come out of their mouth ever -- the happier you’ll be.

If I had a dollar for every time we grownups look at one another and say, “Write this down, I never thought I’d have to say ...”, I’d be rich enough to hire a Ms. Manners to teach my children the proper thing to say and do around home, school, family, or friends.

But, I’m not rich because I forgot to write all 12, 387 of them down. And Ms. Manners is me. And I’m clearly not good at this. At all. So, while girls aren’t much “better” at being a bit more proper (I know; they fart and belch like the best of the boys) they don’t find it necessary to revel, laugh, joke, or question every bodily function the ways boys do. They aren’t magnetically drawn to dirt. They don’t find the desire to jump off everything.

So. Are boys in your future? Don’t know yet, but wonder and maybe hope they are? Good. Boys are the most wonderful creatures. But, there are a few things you need to jot down to remember so you don’t tear your hair out while raising them:


1. They are always loud
Okay. I know what you’re thinking, “Yeah, well I have girls and they’re loud too.” Yes, yes they are. But girls tend to be louder when they’re around other girls. Boys? Boys are loud wherever they go. Twenty-four-seven. Loud around the dog, around their siblings, around their peers, by themselves! They yell in laughter, in pain, when their brother pants them, when playing video games. They live by the motto “loud means you’re living” and it’s best knowing this the second they breathe their first breath of air into this world.


2. They are always dirty
Try not to be too shocked by this. If it’s clean when he puts it on, it will –not maybe – it will be dirty within five minutes. Dirt comes out of the carpet, from the walls, from their very words, and imprints onto their clothes like a best friend. After fifteen years of boys, I’m still unclear about this scientific process.

But somehow, this theory is true regardless of the cause and effect. Invest in stain remover, buy “Oxy Clean” stock, and call it good. Hand wipes, towels, and washcloths should be in your purse or the trunk of your car, too. At all times. This dirtiness also means they will smell. Just how it is. Prepare yourself.


3. They are always (trying to be) funny
This is obvious. How? Because boys grow into men, and really, you can’t separate the boy from the man. If one trip down the stairs is funny, then how about two and three times tripping down the stairs? If one joke was hilarious, then how about a variation on that joke? There are times when my boys have me in stitches. I love it. And sometimes, my husband has me laughing. Sometimes.
But here’s a tip to teach your budding comedian: new material is funniest. And also remember, as a favor to the boys or men in our lives, laugh. Even if it isn’t funny. For the love of all things hilarious, just laugh. It will keep them (hopefully) trying to find fresh material.


4. They are always making messes
There’s a saying about boys and it’s this: Boys are dirt with noise. This pretty much needs to be on a plaque and tacked up to your wall. When you wake up and see this, you won’t sweat a thing. You’ll know to expect noise and dirt, and if it happens together, well, your boys are healthy!

Warning: boys rooms are kind of equivalent to a lab, a lab of any kind. Medical, science, black lab with a wagging tail. Food will end up in there (even if it’s against house rules), dirty clothes will happen every second, Legos will magically ascend to every inch of flooring. Plan on telling them they have to clean each mess up. Oh, and did I mention boys smell? Yeah. These messes create more smell. Yippers.

 

 

5. They eat. Constantly.
Do I really need to elaborate? Okay. When they’re in their terrible-twos stage, food isn’t such a precious commodity to them. They turn their nose at it, prefer to play, and eat when they absolutely have to. But be prepared for the table to turn. The second they reach seven to eight years old, food is virtually their reason for living. Get a second job. Get a third. Plan your monthly menus religiously. Food is the main course, at every course, and it will be your job to make sure it gets in their stomachs before all hell breaks loose – which, if they don’t eat, is roughly 13 times a day.

And yes, this transcends into adulthood. i.e. your boyfriend / husband.

Oh, and one more thing. Boys for some innate reason that goes beyond understanding (but I think heeds to the days of the Garden of Eden) don’t want to wear clothes. If they do, it’s usually one item. It may be pants. It may be underwear. Maybe just a puffy vest in the winter, or as my youngest says, “My winter tank top.” (I’m another dollar richer for that one… you can’t make that stuff up!)

But, if you have a boyfriend/husband, you already knew this one, right? Less clothing = better living. Or something like that.

This is just a small look into the world of raising boys. And while I still have to say things like “stop arguing with your brother … while you’re naked” or answer questions to “Do fish barf?”, or contemplate my eldest’s son comment of “I want to make a one-hit-wonder. That’s on my bucket list,” it’s obvious that with boys, life is never, ever dull.

So, expect crazy. And expect joy. And expect dirt with noise. But most of all, expect that boys are beautiful in their own way.

I love this sweet chaos about boys. So, teach them as best you can. And most of all, laugh and have fun with them every day. Because if you don’t, seriously, if you don’t … a padded room might be in your future.

-HJS