tollipop

starling

Hello, dear reader, how are you?  It's been a lifetime and an age.  I'm not sure if this will reach you, but I finally wrote that book I was telling you about. It's called Starling, it is my valentine to this breathtakingly harsh and beautiful world, and it's written with all the love in my heart.

I'm not actually sure if anyone receives updates to this blog, but as of yet I've made no official effort to market Starling and it seemed to me Tollipop was a necessary and fitting first step.  I do keep a rather poorly attended account on Instagram called @kirstencramwriting where I've been making updates.  

Starling is only available through Amazon at the moment, though I occasionally leave copies around town for some story lover to hopefully find.  If you happen to read and enjoy it, please tell a friend.  While I know a broader effort to promote the novel is needed, somehow I can't help but feel word of mouth is the most meaningful endorsement. 

I hope you are well, I hope you are seeing the beauty in life through all the upheaval and change of these past intervening years.  

I know it's still there.  

hello

Hello, dear reader.  It seems strange to be here, like a faint echo, like passing through old, forgotten corridors.  I know it's been awhile since I last wrote, partly from the magnitude of a demanding school schedule, partly from the difficulty of life events, but in the last few days several blog comments popped up out of the blue and a lovely note arrived in the mail, reminding me of this place and how the vines have grown up over it. 

In the past year I've had occasion to wonder about the merits of social media and whether it does more damage than good. One of my original concerns in writing this blog was for the way glossy pictures and a focus on lighter topics can convey a false sense of perfection, an idyllic veneer.  While I've never been deluded about the imperfect nature of my life, it seems the road has been particularly rough for my family lately and it's made me feel rather quiet and still.  The pity in this is if anything was worth reading here, it would be my thoughts on how to face these bleaker moments.  But I recognize the wisdom of privacy, that perhaps we are sometimes better served by keeping our joys and sorrows to a more personal realm.  

I'm grateful for the many good things that make life beautiful.  My friend recently shared a quote from Martin Luther: God writes the gospel not in the Bible alone, but also on the trees, and in the flowers and clouds and stars.  I've been thinking about this and how it has been profoundly true for me ever since childhood.  To this day, the glories of nature assure me of deeper spiritual realities that will outlast the highs and lows that come and go, the steady hum of chaos.

I do think eventually I'll have to make an end to writing here, which is perhaps something of an anti-climatic statement given it's been almost a year since I last wrote.  It was a touching surprise to receive your several expressions of warmth, a reminder of what this place has meant to me.  It seems fanciful to say aloud, but this did feel like a place and it did seem we visited here as friends.

It always will.  

love is the remedy

Dear reader, there are so many things I should be doing right now but I need to stop and spend a moment here, even if briefly.  The other day I went for a run and my thoughts turned to how much my world has changed in the past two years.  Sometimes it seems as if I'm trapped in one of my beloved snow globes and someone is shaking it, hard.  Life is still filled with goodness and beauty, but it has also trifled with my capacity to handle everything that's been coming my way.  Lately, it's rattled me to the core.  

As I ran along, wondering what to do with all this desperation, a memory came to mind of something nice I once did for someone.  Suddenly, I started recalling when life felt simpler and such gestures factored more routinely into my day.  It made me think: couldn't I possibly find the time to do something like that again?  Given I felt I was drowning in the various concerns and responsibilities on my plate, this seemed like a rather incongruous conclusion. But I did it anyway...and I tell you, I've been feeling somewhat better ever since.  

This morning I came across these words from Thomas Monson, president of the LDS church: Love is the very essence of the gospel, the noblest attribute of the human soul.  Love is the remedy for ailing families, ill communities, and sick nations.  Love is a smile, a wave, a kind comment, and a compliment. Love is sacrifice, service, and selflessness.

Love is not a new concept, of course, but somehow this revelation came to me out of the ether, like a long forgotten dream. Showing love to others, whether in large or small ways, is always significant. There's a power in giving and receiving it that seems able to transform one's outlook or way of experiencing reality, even when nothing about the reality actually changes.  

We're in the month of February, dear reader.  I've always had a special place in my heart for the pink and frill of valentines, the handwritten note, the tiny gesture, the infinite possibilities of love.  I'm reminded now, too, of how it strengthens me to look for extra ways to put love out there, perhaps especially when it seems the most illogical move would be to take on one more task.  

I once read a biography of Mother Theresa and was deeply touched by her memories of childhood, of her mother who kept the family table open to anyone who was hungry from their little Macedonian village.  I don't know if I'll ever live up to such an example of goodness, but I can see it's in giving of myself that I'll be strengthened to deal with everything else that's going on, that something better and more beautiful happens when we find ways to reach out to others and let them know we care.  

makeover

Dear reader, it's no good. I'm not going to get to that whimsical post about wardrobes and makeovers, as promised. Even though I did tag around with my glamorous girls over the Christmas break and purchase some daring pots of lipstick and rouge, I can tell I'm not going to use them.  Alas, I know myself too well.  And I'm not going to find the time to update my wardrobe to any noteworthy degree, so I won't bother telling you about that, either.  

That's what imaginations are for, dear reader.  You really would not believe how put-together I appear in my head--part Merchant Ivory heroine, part wild bohemian, part perfectly suited to whatever the current situation demands.  

In this case, the current situation demands a tad more professionalism than I've mustered in the past twenty years.  It demands I wear items of clothing whose names alone can make me cringe: pants, blouses.  Shudder.  

I'm facing a busy semester of school as well as other sobering realities of life, and I'm afraid it may be awhile before I get back to this place.  It exists like some forgotten forest in my mind, a secret corner in which to retire with my thoughts or look over an exquisite array of words, stringing them together for my whim and pleasure.   Sometimes I find myself in the company of your comments and it truly feels like a friend has come to visit.   I hope that's what Tollipop is for you--a place to escape (or make peace with) your sobering realties--somewhere that engages your imagination and allows you to be as you see yourself, a secret corner in which to enjoy your solitude, or perhaps a conversation with strings of words that whisper and glisten in the sun.  

xo, new year

Dear reader, the house is rather quiet today.  Jonny got on his flight this morning, Roger is at work, and the girls have returned to school.  Sophie and Jakob are with us until the weekend (!), but at the moment they're fast asleep. I went for an early walk with Winnie, and while she remains nearby it's all she can do to keep her eyes propped at a bare squint.

The past few weeks have been filled with fun and family, rest and relaxation. I've sat back and marveled at it all--how we are "suddenly" at this stage of life with growing-up children and conspicuous change, and how quiet I sometimes feel as I watch it unfold.  I wish I could untangle my thoughts and make sense of these things.  It doesn't always seem possible to be such a seasoned adult, to occupy this seat at the table.  In some ways I feel like an ancient soul and yet...still not sure if I'm old enough to be doing what I'm doing.  

A cold bit of comfort I've picked up over the years: life doesn't seem unduly concerned about whether I feel old enough to handle what comes my way so perhaps I shouldn't be, either.

Moving on to the new year, then: a dubious goal I have for this blog is to try and write about lighter things.  I honestly wonder if I can do it.  Every time I come here, and without the slightest intention of doing so, I manage to snuff the fun out of the party by dwelling on the most sobering topics known to mankind. I do it in real life, too, at all the right moments: post office lines, dentist appointments, meeting people for the first time.  It's just who I am, dear reader, it's part of my cachet.

My school semester will be starting soon and with it a counseling practicum...and it recently occurred to me (not for the first time, mind you) I possess the wardrobe equivalent of an unkempt teenager masquerading as the school librarian.  So even though I KNOW there are weightier concerns in the universe, I may pause from these matters to consider my ongoing lack of sophistication (made even more apparent these days by the leggy girls who stalk around my house with their lipstick pouts and inadvertent ways of reminding me why I never got asked to prom), and the need to remedy the situation by trying to look like someone people might actually consider consulting for help as opposed to offering it.  

If I were a betting woman, I'd lay odds my next post hammers down upon the meaning of life rather than what one might wear besides ill-fitting t-shirts and jeans...but you never know.  

I might surprise us both.  

Hello, dear reader, how are you doing at this beautiful time of year?  

I say "reader" out of habit, though it seems a bit disingenuous since I so rarely write something to read these days. It rather seems I should greet anyone who comes to visit as a long-lost friend and indeed, if you're still here, that is probably what you are.   

My head is filled with the wonders of life, as usual.  School is out and my children are home for the holidays.  I've enjoyed my return to university beyond my wildest dreams, but I'm glad for this break and the rest from a busier schedule.  

Last Tuesday, Izzy was in a serious accident on her way to school. Though her car was demolished from every angle, the driver's side was left unscathed and she walked away from it with minor injuries.  I've been trying to compose my thoughts on the matter since it happened...the quiet numbness I feel whenever life lays bare the stakes of what is most dear to me, my awe at Izzy's resilience, this daughter who has struggled with grave challenges the past several years, the deep humility I feel in knowing she was protected from what could have been much worse, and the inevitable awareness that sometimes such deliverance isn't given, and what that means to me in terms of how I view life and choose my path accordingly.

I'm struck by the thought the only guarantee in this unpredictable world is the extent of my faith in God.  I say this with respect to those holding different beliefs, but I've learned for myself this is my steadiest footing: to believe in Him with a resolution that allows me to be grateful when my prayers are answered according to my requests, and to turn to Him for greater strength when the answer brings disappointment or breaks my heart for what it is unable to grant.   

looking back on october

 

Hello, dear reader, how are you?  Won't you take a minute to exchange pleasantries?  Perhaps tell me something about your day? 

My head has been filled lately with thoughts about my thoughts--how I think, how my thoughts affect my perception of the world around me, and how changing my relationship with my thoughts (a phrase borrowed from a textbook) changes the way I experience reality.  I've been thinking about language, too--how the words I use to describe events can heighten or allay anxiety, how a turn of a phrase can ameliorate or worsen what is actually going on.  I don't know if I've bothered to mention it here or if I've just assumed you can telepathically read my mind, but I'm pursuing a graduate degree in counseling and it has added a whole new dimension of awareness, curiosity, empathy and concern about the importance of mental health and my hope to one day have something of substance to offer people who struggle with these issues.  

That's all of us at some point, by the way.

October has been beautiful, dear reader.  I haven't been out to the desert once during this beloved month and season, a less than ideal circumstance, but I hope to remedy the situation soon.  My snakes are doing well.  My grubs are robust and content.  My children have a slightly more complicated existence, but I accept the fuller range of experience that comes with being human.  It's not always easy, but it keeps me in a constant state of wonder and awe.  And occasional shock.  

I've slowed down my thinking lately, or perhaps I've become more selective in the thoughts I entertain--trying to be aware, trying to be more connected to myself spiritually, trying to listen more deeply than before.  It's had an interesting effect, because while life hasn't altered its busy pace and troubles haven't gone away, I feel steadier in my step. 

I'm always wishing you the best, dear reader.  Even though this place is something akin to being abandoned, I still feel its magic.  Words are magical to me.  They're like chimes in the wind, and deep, resounding bells.  Perhaps because I come here less often the magic holds deeper sway, like stepping into an old, distant dream, half-familiar yet filled with the unknown.

It's November now, and I don't want that to get away from me.  I want to wear sweaters and drink tea, I want to pretend I'm curled up with a mesmerizing book that will actually be a textbook, I want my family to be well, and I want to take walks with our little white dog who refuses to sit on my lap.  

i dream of september

Dear reader, hello.  How are you at this beautiful time of year?  As always my mind is swirling with thoughts, perhaps more so than usual with the occasion of my dad's death a few weeks ago.  There's not much I want to say about it except that I'm filled with an awareness of great, refining emotions...of gratitude, hope, and peace, of a sense of mercy that stretches my heart beyond the span of all I can see.  

I'm filled more than ever with an awareness of myself and the life I'm living, of the people within it, of the person I want to be.  

I still have every one of my struggles.  But I feel more accepting of the ones I can't change, more aware of their limits as opposed to their power over me, more willing to coexist with them while guarding the assurance I still have access to a sense of balance and contentment, no matter what else is going on.  
It's been busy lately, with my return to school. Something I read in one of my textbooks, written by Irvin Yalom, resonates deeply: "We may exist in a mindfulness of being, a state in which we marvel not at the way things are, but that they are."  

Some version of this thought has been threading through my mind unconsciously for many years now, but more consciously as of late: the utter wonder of being alive, the idea we are spectators in this experience, that we should take each step with a degree of awe...and while it is good and necessary to be engaged in what goes on, there is also some value in recognizing the distinction of being the one who is watching it happen, of distinguishing between oneself and the incredible nature of what we are passing through with each moment of the day.

Lest I give the impression of possessing some sudden, unflappable zen...no.  I'm still me.  Still unable to keep a fraction of my life organized.  But I am also changing, and something about watching more carefully from a vantage point has allowed me to have deeper appreciation and make greater sense of what I see around me.   I am more grateful for the spectrum of life's plot twists in general.  I somehow feel more able to accept what does not make sense to me, namely the great suffering I see in this world.  I don't mean a passive acceptance of these things...I mean, a deeper trust that there is meaning and order in the universe, a great, compassionate presence, and that my attempts to do better and be better somehow allow me to feel more hope than despair. 

Dear reader, I do not come here often enough, but every day I send my love out into this world.  I think of it, I pray over it, I trust in the goodness of humanity and the incredibly reassuring beauty of this exquisite planet.  

I'm wishing you a wonderful fall season, with all its accompanying sights, smells, and sounds.  Here in the desert it's more subtle, but I take pleasure in every change I see. 

Happy September, each and every minute, to you.  

hold on, summer

Dear reader, I hope you're having a beautiful day.  The season will be changing soon...well, not so much in the desert, but elsewhere.  It changes here, too, in subtler ways.  You have to go outside often to notice the details, something I love about this place.  

We just got back from a trip to the beach, an incredibly fun chance to connect with loved ones as summer begins to wind down and the thought of going back to school becomes a little less abstract.  While there I was asked several times about living in Las Vegas and it left me feeling, as if often does, slightly confused about my response.  First off, I must say it was a tough question to field as I looked out over the glorious blue ocean, the heat of the desert still fresh in my mind.  It has always unnerved me how some people can gush on about their love for where they live while I must find my way to it haltingly, like a child groping about in the dark.  It seems small and ungrateful, and that shames me.  

It's true some places are easier to love than others...but I've noticed some people are more easily content, as well.  

If I had a choice between living exactly where I wanted or being more easily content, I hope I would choose to be more easily content.  Since no one has offered me that choice, I'm left to work on the option that's within my control. This is what I think of, then, when someone asks if I like living in Las Vegas: nature's changing details that require a careful eye to behold, the desert's particular beauties, my family and friends who live here, Sprouts and Ramen Sora, the International Market, the library, the reptile store, winter weather, trail runs, and the pang of happiness in my heart when I hear my children call this place home. 

It seems there's no end to my love of these things.  

I'm sending my very best wishes, dear reader.  I hope it comes easily to love where you are, no matter where that is.  I hope you have a good dinner tonight, a pleasant conversation, and perhaps the time to enjoy a walk.  I hope you see a mesmerizing shape in the clouds, or stop to watch the sunset.  I hope all of this and more...a million beautiful details, with the eye to see them all.  

thoughts

Dear reader, last year around this time I found myself driving down the Trans Canada highway with Izzy, on complete sensory overload due to the lush beauty surrounding us and my memories from long ago.  I wish I could do that every year--just jump in the car and drive to my childhood home, but I don't relish the circumstances that made such a getaway possible.  It was quite the bowl of lemons and the road trip was our attempt to make lemonade.  

I must say it was a pretty good drink.  

A few thoughts have stared me in the face this past year, helping me make better sense of the troubles that come and seem totally beyond our control:

"In all of living, have much fun and laughter.  Life is to be enjoyed, not just endured."  

~ Gordon B. Hinckley

"Cultivate an attitude of happiness.  Cultivate a spirit of optimism.  Walk with faith, rejoicing in the beauties of nature, in the goodness of those you love, in the testimony which you carry in your heart concerning things divine.

~ Gordon B. Hinckley

"There are times when we will experience heartbreaking sorrow, when we will grieve, and when we may be tested to our limits. However, such difficulties allow us to change for the better, to rebuild our lives in the way our Heavenly Father teaches us, and to become something different from what we were—better than we were, more understanding than we were, more empathetic than we were, with stronger testimonies than we had before. This should be our purpose—to persevere and endure, yes, but also to become more spiritually refined as we make our way through sunshine and sorrow. Were it not for challenges to overcome and problems to solve, we would remain much as we are, with little or no progress toward our goal of eternal life."

~ Thomas S. Monson

This summer there have been no epic road trips, though we've managed a few shorter getaways that offered their own great delight.  On the other hand, we've made a notable acquisition of the most darling hognose snakes, thanks to my husband's newfound interest in husbandry and the species.  For me it's a longer held fascination, dating back to childhood when I tried to catch every ribbon snake who crossed my path.  

This summer, then, is less a grand, outward adventure and more one of quiet, inner contemplation.  Both ways suit me so well I can hardly tell which I like best, though I do close my eyes and see the lakes, the mountains, the highway, my beautiful Okanagan valley.    

I'm left not knowing how to summarize, on what note to end, to say how good life is and how the bonds of faith, of family and friends, the beauties of nature, our creative efforts, and the gestures of kindness we give and receive make all the difference.  I don't claim to have mastered anything, but I do recognize this as the source of true satisfaction.  

I may drive all the way to Canada or sit in a room, gazing upon a snake with the most charming upturned nose.  Everything else, all of life's ups and downs, may be going on as well.  

In the end it somehow seems the same to me, beautiful in different ways, and I hope I'm grateful for it.