Mrs. Mallard stepped out to cross the road. “Honk, honk!” went the horns on the speeding cars. “Qua’a-ack!” went Mrs. Mallard as she tumbled back again. “Quack! Quack! Quack! Quack!” went Jack, Kack, Lack, Mack, Nack, Ouack, Pack, and Quack, just as loud as their little quackers could quack. The cars kept speeding by and honking, and Mrs. Mallard and the ducklings kept right on quack-quack-quacking.
                                              from Make Way for Ducklings
                               written and illustrated by Robert McCloskey
                                                          The Viking Press, 1941
     I’m practicing my prioritizing skills. As my mom’s old refrain rings in my ears, I try to do what I have to do before I do what I want to do. Some days that works out better than others. Lists help.
     I am pretty good at list making. Actually it’s the only way I feel productive. I smile when I see crossed-out items on my long (or not very long) list. Sometimes my list includes
brush teeth
clean cat boxes
make dinner
Those are the days I know I need to move more, call more people on the phone and quit playing solitaire. I don’t have a lot of days like that.
     On this 75th anniversary of the publication of Make Way for Ducklings, I’ll line up my ducklings, just like Mrs. Mallard did as she crossed the busy streets of Boston on her way to the Public Garden. She had important priorities.
           She kept her ducklings safe.
           She taught them how to look for food.
           She celebrated their (and hers and Mr. Mallard’s) lives by cozying up in a warm nest at the end of a busy day.
With my own priorities "rowed up," 
            I’ll speak up for vulnerable Americans.
            I’ll deny the legitimacy of bigots and other haters.
            I’ll celebrate my completed do-list by cuddling up on the couch with my arm around my husband, grateful for him, my girls and their families, and my very ability to feel grateful.
                                                                   --stay curious!

     Antonio looks up the drainpipe. “Well, maybe this is the real Appleblossom, and the other Appleblossom was just acting!” He takes a moment to consider. “That’s the problem with being the actors of the animal world. How are we supposed to know what’s genuine and what isn’t?” 
                                              from Appleblossom the Possum
                                                        by Holly Goldberg Sloan
                                                  illustrated by Gary A. Rosen
                                         Dial Books for Young Readers, 2015
 
       My grandfather spoke a version of “Fake it till you make it.” Spoken from a self-made man who learned English as a second language and everything else about this country as a young man, I paid attention.
       When I was little, my mom told me I could be anything I wanted to be when I grew up. When I was little, I believed that. I think my mom believed it, too. Or at least I think she wanted to believe it.
       My mom was a stay-at-home mom. She served as room mother for my brother and sister and me (not all at once, of course!). She volunteered at a hospital, answering their phones. She was my Girl Scout leader for six years, until the girls in our troop all went our separate ways. Then she trained new leaders. She knew how to give back.
       But my mom didn’t get to be what she wanted to be. Mom wanted to be a professional, maybe a psychologist or an executive at a big company. She liked to be in charge and she was good at that. She worked as a secretary, mostly, but not until the three of us kids were grown up. She was a full-time mom.
       I had lots of my own ideas about what to be when I grew up. I wanted to be an architect. Wouldn’t it be so cool to build a bridge? Then I found out that involved lots of math, not my best thing. I wanted to be a teacher, but I found out that involved controlling kids as much as teaching them. I wanted to be a famous author. I kinda still do. I’m finding out how hard it is to be a new voice in a world full of voices.
       I never wanted to be a nurse. I have the highest respect for those professionals who deal with blood, sadness, fear and bodily fluids on a daily basis.
       When I was little we all still thought a woman could become president someday. That was way before 1984, the first recorded use of “glass ceiling” (according to http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/glass%20ceiling).
       Since then, I’ve seen strong women in powerful places. And strong women put in their places. It’s time to turn around (yet again) and put my best face toward whatever life puts in front of me. And look for unexpected opportunities. And work hard for my granddaughters’ futures.
       I’m still wearing purple. Thanks, Sam!
 
                                                                   --stay curious!

Fall smells
Purple:
old leaves, crushed berries,
squishy plums with worms in them.
Purple: the smell
of all things
mixed together. 
                        From: Red Sings From Treetops: A Year in Colors
                                                      written by Joyce Sidman
                                             illustrated by Pamela Zagarenski
                                 Houghton Mifflin Books for Children, 2009
              
     Purple is an idea color. A brave purple heart, gently scented lavender, strong grape wine.
     A person’s face can turn purple with rage.
     Some familiar phrases include: A purple cow something remarkable, amazing, unique, stand-out, eye-catching, unusual. Purple prose large exaggerations, lies, and highly imaginative writings. Purple speech signifies profanity.  Purple haze denotes confusion or euphoria.                       According to bourncreative.com purple combines the calm stability of blue and the fierce energy of red. Who decided these are political colors, anyway?
    Purple is the color of a bruise. I think even the political winners are feeling pretty bruised up. I will wear purple, not because I’m old. Not because purple is an awkward color to match. Not because I even *like* purple. Anyone who knows me knows I’m drawn to yellow. 
     I will wear purple to show I’m proud of my bruised self. I’ll wear purple to show I can entertain ideas other than my own. I’ll wear purple to show I’m willing to compromise. 
     I’m not willing to sit back and see what happens. I’m purple enough (with passion, not rage) to work to make our country one we can be proud of. One that provides opportunity, fairness and security. 
     I will wear purple until the bruises start to fade. Then I’ll wear chartreuse, that greenish yellow that bruises turn when they begin to heal. But I *really* don’t like chartreuse. Guess I’ll have to go shopping!
 
                                                                   --stay curious!

       Even at day’s end, a president’s work is never done. A president must show she can keep her head in a crisis.
      “A disaster, WOW! Oh my. It’s much worse than I thought. A Disaster Area if ever I saw one.”
      A president must lead by example, even if it means cleaning up her own room. Disaster contained. The nation is at rest.
                                                        from Madam President
                                        written and illustrated by Lane Smith
                                          Hyperion Books for Children, 2008
       
       I’ve said to many people and to myself that this blog is not political or controversial. I want to share my memories, say what I have learned so far, be conversational. Not influence anyone about anything.
        But today we vote. What we do this day will impact our lives and the lives of our children and grandchildren. 
       My third grade teacher, Miss Rice, asked us each to memorize a poem. We could choose the poem, but it had to be at least four lines long. I'm sure she gave us some choices, but I don't remember that part. I chose "Who Has Seen the Wind?" by Christina G. Rossetti. We had to learn a little something about the poet (I don't remember that part either) and recite it in front of the class. I still remember most of the first stanza. (There are three.) 
       Through the years, other poems have come into my life and head. Some stuck there. Most did not. One that *did* stick is "The Red Wheel Barrow" by William Carlos Williams. 
​       In case you don't know the poem, here it is:
                         The Red Wheel Barrow
    so much depends 
    upon 

    a red wheel 
    barrow 

    glazed with rain 
    water 

    beside the white 
    chickens
       I love the way he draws his scene right smack dab onto my brain., every time I remember it. 
       William Carlos Williams wrote lots of tiny poems like this one. He used them to show relationships. He used them to evoke emotion. He used them to show us how to get out of our own heads and experience the world. A world full of possibilities, of wonder, of pure joy.
        Today we vote. In honor of election day, I'm sending my parody of William Carlos Williams’s famous poem.
                             The Blackened Oval
    so much depends
    upon
 
    a filled-in
    oval
 
    blackened with contemplative
    thought
 
    beside a well-known
    name
 
                                                                   --stay curious!

​...She must seek to understand. She must understand the laws of cause and effect and unintended consequences. She must learn compassion and curiosity and awe. All of these things. We have to instruct her, Glerk. All three of us. It is a great responsibility.
                                         from: The Girl Who Drank the Moon
                                                        written by Kelly Barnhill
                                                Algonquin Young Readers, 2016
​
    I met someone recently who told me her 6-year-old grandson’s definition of apathy: I don’t know and I don’t care. I said, "Astute! Concise! Profound!"
     Apathy and responsibility are opposites.
     As responsible people, we know about our world and we care, too. But knowing and caring are only two legs of responsibility's triangle. Without the third leg, doing, balance is tricky to say the least. The doing leg is the leg I have the most trouble with. Doing puts me “out there,” makes me accountable, requires more than lip service.
     But what I really hear when I think about responsibility is my mom’s voice reminding me (over and over): First you do what you have to do and then you do what you want to do. It sounded a little sing-songy in my 5-year-old brain. It sounded especially sing-songy in my 15-year-old brain, even my 35-year-old brain didn’t like it much.
     I was so bothered by that nagging refrain, I promised myself I would NEVER use it on my own kids. I think I may have re-phrased, but I kept my promise, sort of. Because, now at an age that I used to think of as old, I know my mom gave me the best advise anyone could give anyone else any time. Now it makes sense. 
     It has to do with setting priorities. It has to do with nurturing the next generation. It has to do with being responsible.
     It’s the difference between being child-like and childish. The difference between being confident and arrogant. The difference between being helpful and intrusive. 
     My mom took her responsibilities seriously. She taught me how to set priorities, how to stay child-like, how to be helpful. I’m still working on the confidence thing.
     Her sing-song phrase sounds like in harmony, now. Mom and I are singing together and it sounds pretty good to my inner ear.
 
                                                                   --stay curious!