In Memory of Ruth

Ruth Scott was one of those members you can't miss. She was older than many of us at the Writing Mamas, somewhere in her seventies, and she spoke energetically and with wisdom. She also spoke often. That's the part that sometimes created detours in our meetings that slightly infuriated me (yes, I'll admit that) -- but usually her stories and insights were memorable for all of us. She was real and thoughtful and had depth of perspective that was special.

Occasionally, she commented on the Writing Mamas' blog site. One of my favorite comments ever came from her. I had written that I couldn't stop crying for the multi-layered losses a high school friend had endured, reflecting on how fiercely we pray not to lose those closest to us. Ruth commented:

I find it amazing that anyone is brave enough to have a child, to love another, as loss is always a possibility. Yet without the risk what is life. I know everyone has a sorrow. I go out everyday trying to not add a burden to anyone as I know they may already be overburdened. We are all interconnected in everyway. Beware that fear of losing someone can cause anxiety and over-protection and this too can be destructive. Ruth Scott

She had loved, lost, risked, gained, and survived - and had powerful thoughts on how to meet our challenges.

Ruth died last week, unexpectedly, quietly, in her sleep, after spending the holidays with all of her children and all of her grandchildren.

Here's her essay, which The Marin Independent Journal published yesterday at the request of The Writing Mamas.

Read it. You'll catch a glimpse of what we all loved about her, and what we will dearly miss.

***

HOW IT IS: FIRST TIMES CAN'T QUITE COMPARE WITH LAST TIMES
By Ruth Scott


At 39, I had cancer.

During the week before surgery, I was walking down the street in Mill Valley holding the hands of my 4-year-old daughter, Ann, and my 7-year-old daughter, Alison.

In their other hands they each held an ice cream cone. I remember extreme awareness of my surroundings as I thought to myself, "If this is all there is, then I am blessed." At that moment I saw every leaf on the tree before me as individual, unique and important, yet interconnected to the whole. I've never forgotten that moment. I later heard someone describe a similar feeling that they had experienced with psychedelic, acid-type drugs.

I could understand why they would want to have this experience again. Life with cancer had given me a blessing. I felt centered, free to be in the moment.

Twenty years later I had my second cancer. One of my thinking processes at these times was to accept death, and try to learn its lessons. I wrote, "Thoughts of death bring sweet return, when from them more of life we've learned."

If you do not live, you have little use for this lesson, but there is always the chance that you will have time to practice what you have learned. I admit that I have learned many more things than I have been able to put into practice. I believe it was Goethe who wrote, "A seeker of truth is a student of death."

I believe this is true.

I created a game, a habit, of looking at or experiencing things as if it were "for the last time." We go through life learning new things, doing them for the first time. First we learn to see. Our eyes do not focus so vision must be practiced and learned, and it really is exciting if only we could remember. You can watch a child take his first step and see the joy and excitement it brings. We may record his first spoken word.

There is a different excitement and joy that comes from doing things and seeing things for the last time. There is a sense of appreciation and thankfulness, a gratitude for having the experience that a "first" cannot compete with.

To watch my grandchild take her first step is magnified and appreciated for perhaps I will never again experience that moment when a child launches herself into the bipedal upright stance. I savor the moment as I do all the times in the last few years that I have skied down the perfect slope on a clear winter day for the last time.

This summer I jumped off a cliff on Long Lake below Mt. Elwell, again, for the last time. The height scares the grandchildren; the cold of the lake challenges me, but it's there and the "last time" makes it seem easier, not so cold. "I won't have to do this again," I say, and I jump. My grandchildren may return at 75 and remember, saying, "Well, Grandmom did it, so can I."

Perhaps, I'll inspire from the grave what I could not inspire in life.

I climb again to my favorite pine that grows high on a rock over Big Bear Lake. It is alone, and one cannot see any soil around its trunk, only rock. Year after year this pine is still there, facing winter storms, the cold and the weight of wind and snow, and still it survives, bonsai, and beautiful. I come back every year for the "last time" receiving comfort and strength. "If you can make it, I can make it," I say to this tree, my friend and inspiration.

I can walk through Mill Valley for the last time and it's amazing what I see and review and I am renewed. It is enough to have had each experience and if it is the last of the last times I am fortunate to have appreciated each moment in time.

First times you can only have once; last times you can experience over and over again.

***

Click here to read more of her writings.

A Bone Thrown

Just so folks don't think I've stopped blogging completely, here's a mini-update:

We're saying leisurely goodbyes to friends down in Marin in these last weeks before our move to Ashland.

Last night I got to say goodbye to the Writing Mamas over snacks and wine after salon, earlier in the week we said goodbye over meals to Scott/Toni/Jade, Kelly/Richard/Maya/Emily/?, and Celine/Leandro/Vincent/Amelie.

The kids have had chances to play with (say goodbye to) their pals, Nick, Mia, Josh, Abby, Makayla, Gia, and Jade.

And today, Jacob, Dane, Josh and Mick are at the batting cages, while Aubrey and I are headed to the library, Starbucks, and Ross to buy a birthday gift for Gia.

In the meantime, the apartment is about half-packed, if I had to guess -- and lots of excess has been taken to the Good Will or to the dumpster. That makes me very happy.

That's all for now...

Are You Up For A Review?

I received this email from a fellow Writing Mama who has joined the competitive world of novel publishing. If you feel like playing the game with her, read her novel excerpt (an amazon.com download that will cost you $0 -- yes, zero) and write a quick review. It doesn't have to be splashy.

Here's her email:

Good news - my novel made it to the semifinals in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Awards. The selection for the next stage will be based on public reviews. It's cool to get a page on Amazon, and see the power of the online community. I got my first review from a book lover who's interested in China. I'm tickled; she found my book among the 420 mainstream entries.

I'd love it if you have a chance to read the excerpt and write a review. It's a fast read, and I could use your support. Grand prize is getting PUBLISHED. (Let's hope we all get a piece of the publishing pie this year!)

The reviewers get to win prizes, too. Check out the main contest page at www.amazon.com/abna.

To download In the Lap of the Gods, chapter 1:
* Go to my page at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00124CO2U
or search for the title on Amazon under Books ("official ABNA entrant")
* You can download the excerpt easily after signing in. It's free.

* Go back to the bottom of my page to post a review.

One hundred finalists will be selected by **** FEBRUARY 19th ****

BUT - it's probably best to post your review in the next ten days, since somebody has to *read* them all. Gotta love those deadlines!

-Li Miao Lovett

Camp Food

Dane and Aubrey have been making food in a cooking class at camp* every day. They've made banana-strawberry milkshakes, berry cobbler, banana pancakes with strawberry topping, and spaetzle. Every afternoon they excitedly recall ingredients and procedures for us.

Here is a "recipe" they created themselves this morning (Sunday) for breakfast. They wrote it down so I could make it myself sometime. Here it is:

two Rise Cakes crubld. - Ster it - Put serl in - Brown ShuGr - milk - razins - ster - then-eat-up.

[rise = rice, crubld = crumbled, serl = cereal]

Be sure to let us know if you try it. We'd have two very happy cooks here.

*Dane and Aubrey attend Mill Valley Rec Center's day camp 9-noon M-F. I work 9:30-11:30 with pre-schoolers at the camp, and in addition to my wages, my kids attend their camps for free. They're attending 4 weeks of this day camp, and 2 weeks of Splash camp in August, which will be from 9-4. These are fabulous camps and we are really, really lucky.

In other news, Friday night's Mama Monologues was a huge success. If you want details, email me!

Here's the flyer for the event I'll be attending tonight.
I'll be reading my mini-essay, "Moustache Revolution."

THE WRITING MAMAS SALON

The Mama Monologues Spoken Word Event @ Book Passage

Friday, June 22nd, 7-9 p.m.
Book Passage, 51 Corte Madera, Calif.
Event Info: 415.927.0960
Directions and Parking: http://www.bookpassage.com

It’s Mothers’ Night Out!

The Writing Mamas Mama Monologues Spoken Word Event @ Book Passage will feature salon members reading their personal essays and blogs about motherhood. Leave the kids at home, come for a laugh out loud evening, have some wine – girlfriend, you deserve it – enjoy delicious food at the Book Passage café, and share what motherhood is really all about.

Joyce Maynard, author of the best-sellers, At Home in the World, To Die For and Internal Composition, and mother of three! will be our guest celebrity Writing Mama! ! !

To learn more about The Writing Mamas Salon, contact: Dawn Yun, dawnyun@ writingmamas.com, 415.233.2483 or visit http://www.writingmamas.com.

Price: Suggested donation: $10, all profits donated to charity.

Please pass this invitation along to friends and family, and enjoy a Mama’s Night Out!!!

With Joan Blades


Joan Blades, co-founder of moveon.org and momsrising.org, spoke at my writing salon last night. She believes that grassroots movements are key to making political changes. You might remember what moveon.org did for the presidential bids in 2000?

Moveon.org started back in 1998 with the simple and direct petition around the Clinton impeachment hearings: "Censure the president and move on." They urged Congress to quickly take care of business with the impeachment hearings and be responsible for other significant issues at stake for the nation. What started out as an email Blades and her husband sent to 100 of their friends, is now an organization that has 3 million members. (Read more about it in Wikipedia -- try googling her name or the term "moveon.org.")

She recently co-authored a book with Kristin Rowe-Finkbeiner called The Motherhood Manifesto: What Moms Want -- and What To Do About It. Look it up on amazon.com or on her website, momsrising.org, to get specific information. She's got big (significant, meaningful) ideas about how we can care for our childen and families better -- particularly in the areas of healthcare, childcare, and flexible/fair employment opportunities for mothers (love that combination of flexible and fair). Again, her point is that changes can only be made with starts at the grassroot level.

Moveon.org might have started as a movement among liberals or democrats, but momsrising.org hopes to "overcome economic, cultural, and political boundaries" by focusing on problems for all women, mothers, children, and families. They're currently at 80,000 members.

Jan (Mick's mom) came with me last night, and even as a conservative, she felt momsrising.org and Joan Blades could help make a tremendous difference in the way our nation cares for families and children. I also brought my friend Amy who is on the board/startup of a new non-profit called The Children and Nature Network (cnaturenet.org), another movement that could be a significant contribution to the political and social climate of our nation.

WRITING NEWS


I get to read my essay, "That Bike,"* for KQED, THE San Francisco NPR affiiliate, during their local 2-minute "Perspectives" segment!

It airs 3 or 4 times on the day it runs.

Google "KQED perspectives" and click on their audio archives for samples, or on submissions to get a better idea of what Perspectives is -- sorry, Blogger doesn't let me give you a quicker link from my Mac.

*On an earlier blog I called the essay "About A Bike."
---

Here's what I emailed the editor, Mark Trautwein, this morning with my tightened up essay attached:
Hi Mark,

I'm a Writing Mama [he knows of our writing group, which is a bonus] sending along "That Bike," a possible essay for Perspectives. It's about a boy's stolen bike and the legacy it left.

Thanks for your consideration,

Anjie Reynolds
Marin City, CA

---

Here's what I got back an hour later:

Hello Anjie

Thanks very much for sharing this with me. It's a very sweet and touching piece; it would make a terrific Perspective.

I have some problems with the top of the piece to discuss, and I'll need to have you do a timed read over the phone. So please give me a call -- 415-...-..... You'll need to get hold of me either today or next Tuesday because I'll be leaving town for a couple of weeks after that. If neither day works for you, let me know and we'll work something out.

Thanks.

Mark Trautwein
Editor, Perspectives

---

Here's what I wrote back (immediately!):
Hi Mark,

I'm so glad you like the piece and I look forward to discussing it with you.

You can reach me .... I'm available today and Tuesday, so somehow we should be able to talk.

Thanks so much for your time,
Anjie

[Yeah, you didn't really need to read that email, but I couldn't help myself -- I don't want to leave any part of the process out!]

---

Our phone conversation was really fun. (By the way, he has one of those deep, rich, typical radio voices, which threw me for a loop -- I guess since I'd never heard him on the station, I figured maybe he didn't make the cut and was mousy or lispy!)

His editing suggestions at the beginning of the piece had to do with making sure listeners could immediately a) place the piece geographically, and b) place Dane's age and the time frame for the experience. That was taken care of with a couple quick line edits.

When I read it to him on the phone it was exactly 2 minutes, so he said I should come to the studio with a couple phrases I could cut if need be.

Other than that, he just had positive feedback. He said he was just telling a group last night that if writers could tell stories well, they'd be on their way to having a good Perspectives piece. He said my essay told a simple story very well and made it very meaningful -- that I did just what he was trying to tell them to do. *sigh*

I have an appointment to record the essay at the KQED studio in downtown SF next Wednesday morning. He then emailed me his edited version of the essay (which I fully approve of -- how cool to have it edited FOR me!) so I'll have that in tow. He said they'll provide parking in their garage, unless I bike :)

I'm not sure when it will air, but I will definitely post it as soon as I know. It should be sometime within the next couple of weeks, and you'll be able to listen to it here in SF or via the website.

---

Oh, yeah, this isn't an Oscar's speech or anything, but for the sake of documenting the process, I should mention that Karen (Url) and Mick each saw about 35 drafts of this essay and heard several hours worth of (pathetic!) talk. I also emailed a few fellow Writing Mamas to get tips on how to pitch my essay. I'm figuring out that more will happen if I just ask questions (of people I think can help) and listen to feedback.

Choosing a partner was easy; deciding on a last name was the hard part.


A MARRIED NAME

After our ceremony, Mick and I ran from the church out into the dusky October night. The groomsmen had decked out our truck with wicked looking plastic Halloween scythes that criss-crossed the back window with streamers, and they painted “I want to DO Micky, DO Micky—don’t break my heart, Micky” on the hood. As we waved goodbye, scooting ourselves across the vinyl seats, our marriage certificate slid to the floor. It wasn’t until we returned from our honeymoon that we found it, crumpled and smudged, somewhere between the gearshift and the passenger-side mat.

A couple weeks later, I finally brought it into the house. The date and the place were blurred, but the rest of the writing was legible. It was then that I realized that nowhere on the certificate did it say my married name. In fact, it had my “maiden” name, Anjie Seewer, written twice. The first time, the pastor predictably misspelled my name (“Anjie Sewer”). The second time, it fills a space requiring my full signature. I’d signed my name as I’d known it for 26 years: Anjanette M. Seewer.

As a kid, I used to watch the older girls in my church be transformed by the prospect of marriage and a new name. It seemed to start with the obligatory wedding shower.

The women who threw these showers had names like Gladys or Faye – and they typically had large breasts, wide hips, and tightly permed hair. They all dressed in what seemed to be a uniform of floral print blouses and polyester pants —and the showers they threw were inevitably kitchen or bath themes.

Only occasionally would the shower be personal, thrown by the slightly younger generation of older women in the church -- a bleach blonde Vicki with prominent roots or a scoop-necked Kathy with deep, deep cleavage. At these showers, I’d have the rare opportunity to watch the bride-to-be smile and blush as she held up pink slip nighties or red teddies, while I sat there secretly dreaming of a man’s touch on my bare skin, the drop of that thin satin strap off my shoulder, that unbearable meltdown into blissful surrender.

At the end of the shower, when she’d opened her last gift, we’d gather around the bride-to-be and tape together all the wrapping paper into a stiff and crinkly patchwork wedding dress, forever sealing in our minds the image of the soon-to-be Mrs. Larry Felder or Mrs. Jim Rogers -- the woman with the new name and purpose.

I don’t go by Mrs. Mick Reynolds, although, admittedly, some of my junk mail screams that (and it always seems to be the mail that comes with multiple sheets of address labels inside). But I do go by Anjie Reynolds, and in these ten years following my wedding, I’ve tried to come to terms with choosing that name.

I wanted to shirk the patriarchal implications of taking Mick’s last name (besides, Anjie Reynolds sounds so domestic and sturdy, like Debbie Reynolds or Reynolds Wrap), but I also like the concept of being unified in name, in belonging that way – especially when kids came into the picture.

Once, early on – before I’d officially decided upon a last name– I considered keeping “Seewer” as my last name. Not only had it been my name my entire life, (and an interesting one, at that – “No, that’s Seewer, sewer with an extra e”) I also liked the connection to my Swiss heritage. I found myself thinking “I’m proud to be a Seewer, it’s who I am…” when I realized “Seewer” is only half of my heritage, and that I hadn’t even considered my mother’s side. Maybe I should include her maiden name too. And that’s when it hit me. My mom’s maiden name is her father’s last name. And her mother’s maiden name is her mother’s father’s last name. And her mother’s mother’s maiden name is but another father’s last name. No matter where it goes, it’s some man’s name.

Sometimes it feels like I just gave up after that; however, if there’s anything I’m learning in these subsequent years about being a woman, a partner, and now, a mother, these choices aren’t always necessarily about giving up or giving in, they’re about giving it the best you’ve got.

Everyone I know has given it the best they’ve got, and many of them have chosen differently than I have: Nate broke the mold and took his wife’s last name, which has earned him the dubious nickname “The Missus”; Aimee Nelson kept her last name but her grandfather says she’ll always be Aimee Engalls to him now (and he’s her paternal grandfather!); Karen and Mark each kept their last names but when they had children, their daughter took her last name and their son took his, which they tell me can be a bit of a hassle; and of course, there’s the whole crowd of women who hyphenate or use their former-last-name-as-their-new-middle-name (which is what I did – although you’d never know it except to see my driver’s license). Everyone seems to attempt to merge as fairly — although not always necessarily as succinctly — as possible.

I know names are powerful. Why else would I be sweating this? Why else would it seem like choosing my children’s names took as much effort as birthing them? I mean, there’s something to be said about the rhythm and poetry and image a name evokes.

I’ve been daydreaming lately, though.

In the daydream, I see a young woman who’s just finished unwrapping all the gifts at her wedding shower (a bath-slash-personal shower, if you must know – I needed new stuff)…. Anyway, she stands in the middle of the room, surrounded by Gladyses and Fayes and Kathys and Vickis and Aimees and Karens. And they’ve all worked together to tape a wrapping paper wedding dress around her. Except the wrapping paper isn’t just wrapping paper – a smudged and crumpled marriage certificate is there too, and instead of tape, it’s all stuck together with these annoying address labels. And as she stands in the middle of the room, she allows that image of herself to settle in their minds for a moment, only to take great pleasure in loudly tearing that makeshift cover away, pulling it apart to reveal the rhythm and the poetry of the person inside – because, after all, like any document that could ever bear her name, maybe it’s all really just paper.

Oscars, Schmoscars. I want to write about The Marsh!

Yesterday's Writing Mamas Spoken Word Event at The Marsh in San Francisco went FABULOUSLY.

It was an intimate enough setting -- a dark little local theater in the Mission district with a hundred seats and about 3/4 of them filled -- and every single essay was wonderful.

I had two girlfriends there (Amy and Renee), and they admitted they were a little skeptical (my friend Amy's father is a much-revered, published writer and she has a critical ear for writing), but they were completely engaged the entire 2+ hours! They laughed out loud (often) and even cried when moved to do so. And, beforehand, they were sweet enough to tell me they were nervous for me, and that they felt like I was their child, ready to risk something -- so I felt loved and supported tremendously. But, then, after I'd finished, they were impressed and excited and wild for me, took me out for margueritas and chatted freely and happily about how the event ranked as one of their favorite activities in months -- they only wished they'd invited all their girlfriends. So, it was really, really fun.

Writer Jacquelyn Mitchard was there (from Wisconsin -- how funny that the only two Jackies I've met are from WI, and they're both adorable). She sat through the entire show, and I didn't even know who she was until she read, but I'd spotted her as this incredible, bright presence in the audience whom I could tell was having a blast. Then, when she got up (last) to read, she told us she felt like she was among her peers, and that any of us could be published. She then gave us her email address and asked us to email her, b/c she'd sat through the reading thinking of a publication for each of us to send our work to. I already wrote her this morning. (Oh, and she mentioned my essay at a private salon last night, referring to when her children chose their last name. She also signed my book, and when I said it was Anjie with a J, she said, "Oh, yes.. Anjanette!" Yeah, I could've died, reduced to a sappy little teenager.)

I'll post the version of my essay that I read, but I have to say, the essays my peers wrote were phenomenal. Topics ranged from poking fun at Marin mother culture and mother's clubs, to becoming a closet potty-mouth after becoming a mother (that one was absolutely hilarious), to tending to a newborn baby with profound heart defects on Thanksgiving day, to offering the perspective on motherhood on the other end of the spectrum (from our 72 year old member).

Dawn Yun (the Writing Mamas founder) is still working on the proposal for the anthology we hope to publish.