Category: Arts & Music

Mommy brain

Posted on by Suki

Moms congregating in groups at parks, breastfeeding support groups, and cafes often find themselves trading stories about “Mommy brain.” You know, B.B. (before baby) you were a high-ranking partner at a law firm and now you can’t remember where you stashed your favorite nursing bra. B.B. you aced calculus and now you stare blankly at a restaurant receipt, trying to remember how to calculate a tip. B.B. you never missed an appointment, but now you’ve rescheduled your haircut twice because it’s not like you were actually doing anything important, but somehow you managed to forget the only hour you’ve had to yourself in the last three weeks…twice.

This is me performing when I was studying at Stanford. I have blogged before about my beloved lime green skirt!
This is me performing when I was studying at Stanford. I have blogged before about my beloved lime green skirt!

You know how most of the time changes like these can go unnoticed, but every once in a while a ghost of your former self comes out to haunt you? That happened to me the other day. I was going through all my various 3-ring binders that I keep music in. Rather than having any sort of logical system (an idea I’d love to bring about but never have), my music binders tend to represent me at various stages in my life.

So I pulled out the binder I used the last time I performed live in a singing/guitar duo. I have no trouble remembering that time: I was hugely pregnant the last time we performed. My singing partner at the time and I had discovered that by random chance, we’d been born in the same town, so we named our little band after the town. I truly meant to get back to performing after the birth, but at 7 months pregnant, I was swollen up so much that my hands had gone into full-blown carpal tunnel syndrome (which my physician assured me would go away after birth, ha ha ha). Somehow, that return to performing never happened, and now that baby I was pregnant with is fifteen years old.

How did that happen? Mommy brain…

Anyway, here I was opening this binder, which was a little snapshot of who I was then, more than fifteen years ago. I was charmed by our playlist, which included a couple of my favorite Disney songs (“Everybody wants to be a cat” and “Cruella deVille”).

But here’s where my realization about Mommy brain came in: Each sheet had the words printed out, and some notes about how we were performing, but no chords. I rifled through the binder, amazed. Did I really perform without the chords written out?

Yes, apparently I did.

I’m in the midst of getting my song-singing chops back, fifteen years on with two kids, carpal tunnel surgery, and the painful process of creating new guitar calluses behind me. The lime green skirt is long gone, along with any expectation that I will ever again fit into a miniskirt, or dare to think I look good in one.

But it’s hard to see that despite what research might say, Mommy brain in my case is real: I really did perform without chords when last I performed. And when I was twenty and singing out on that patio, I apparently had memorized the words as well.

The best wisdom I have read about aging is that it’s important to remember that along with what we lose (chord progressions, words, our favorite nursing bra), we gain (insight, perspective, depth of understanding, appreciation for clothing that stretches and hides).

But when these occasional reminders come about, I can’t help but be a little sad for my loss. I used to be able to perform without chord progressions in my book. I used to be able to perform…without a book at all. I was good at calculus. (If Mommy brain hasn’t ruined me completely, I seem to remember I got an A+.) I did manage to hold everything important in my life inside my physical brain, before Evernote, cellphones, and even Google.

Now there seems to be so much—two kids’ schedules, a whole family’s needs—that I can’t stuff it all in there.

Car keysI just hope that when I get back out there with my new singing partner (who, as far as I know, wasn’t born in the same town I was), people will forgive us. Here we are, two post-baby moms, hers out of the house and mine plummeting headlong toward that end, making music and loving it.

If nothing else, give us a little applause for getting up there.

In spite of Mommy brain, we managed to find our car keys.

 

Little-c creativity in our lives

Posted on by Suki

I recently attended a talk by psychologist Susan Daniels, who lectures and writes about creativity. Her talk was based on a book she’d read, assigned to her college students, and followed herself. (The book, which she highly recommends, is The Creativity Cure by Carrie and Alton Barron. Susan’s book is Raising Creative Kids and I reviewed it here.)

Susan’s talk was about the importance of “everyday creativity” for everyone. Although some of us are involved in creative work for pay, and others of us think of ourselves as “not creative,” we all benefit from using our hands and bodies to do what’s called “little-c creativity.” This is the sort of creativity involved in improvising a new dish while cooking, playing a song on the piano, or making up a game with our kids. It’s pretty humble stuff—not meant to impress anyone else, done for enjoyment and only sometimes with a product that we use or enjoy.

Needle felting
This is a needle-felted landscape (with stormy sky) that I did at a recent homeschool retreat. It was just a simple project in a medium I’d never tried before (and won’t do often because of my propensity for carpal tunnel syndrome!), but it was extremely rewarding for me.

Susan suggests that we can all improve our well-being by not only pursuing little-c creativity, but incorporating it into our lives with intention. In her own life, despite her busy life as a psychologist, teacher, and lecturer, she intentionally returned to painting, which she had enjoyed when she was younger. This is not a career move for her. Although her photos showed that the results of her endeavor could certainly be called successful art, she’s not suggesting that we all drop our day jobs and become professional artists.

Instead, she’s suggesting that we can improve our lives by taking on tasks that we do with our hands only for the pleasure of doing them.

Susan’s talk reminded me of a huge change that I underwent when I started homeschooling. Although I’d done many projects at home with my children when they were little, it wasn’t until we were homeschooling that I initiated and took part in art projects that fed my own creativity as well as my children’s. My daughter loves videos by Vi Hart—Vi’s mathematical approach to art really inspires her. So for a while my kids and I were making scribble drawings and binary trees. Inspired by that, I bought Geometric Graphics, a wonderful book from Key Curriculum Press about mathematically based art, and we completed many projects in that book.

We also had more time for intentional art projects such as collaging gifts, decorating household items to send to their grandmother, making videos based on what they were learning (or just sheer silliness), and lots of creative cooking. We went to workshops run by other homeschoolers and did weaving, painting, sculpting, and other handwork that we would probably never have attempted on our own.

All the while I was thinking that these activities were for the children, but it often occurred to me that I enjoyed them even more. It’s not uncommon when homeschoolers get together to do a project with a group of younger children that the children finish their projects quickly and run off to play, while the moms sit for much longer, chatting together but also applying a lot more effort to their artwork than is necessary to model creative play to children. Clearly, we all felt the joy of incorporating that little-c creativity into our lives.

It occurs to me that this is one part of my life that has changed pretty dramatically for two reasons. One is that my younger and more artistically hands-on child has gone off to school. Although we still do projects together, our output is nowhere near what it was before. The other is that my older child, never strongly attracted to the physical arts, got to the age that he largely pursues his own creative projects, which are mostly independent of me and usually done on computers.

I was ready to feel bad about this as I sat listening to Susan’s talk, but then as I thought back on my year, I realized that after an initial slump of little-c creative activity, I have since started pursuing more independent activities. (Since my work is creative I pretty much daily partake in Big-C creativity, but not in the hands-on, personally fulfilling creative projects that Susan was encouraging.) This year, with some time freed up from homeschooling, I started to play guitar after many years of letting it slide. A friend and I made a list of songs that we started to learn and sing together. After pretty much ignoring what was on our walls and displayed on shelves for years, I have gone on a frenzy of home aesthetic improvement, a little-c creative project if ever I’ve seen one.

I haven’t read The Creativity Cure yet, but based on my own experience I encourage everyone to take a look at their lives and consider whether they are pursuing a healthy amount of little-c creativity on a daily basis. In our professionalized culture, we often feel bad about being an amateur at something that other people are compensated for. Especially in pursuits that can be highly rewarded in our culture, such as popular singing, I often hear people say, “Oh, I’m no good at that so you don’t want to hear me.” Well, heck, people might not want to hear me sing or see my artwork, but I’m going to do it anyway. Susan and my homeschooling role models taught me well that little-c creativity looms large in its ability to make life enjoyable and fulfilling.

Dear 20-year-old self,

Posted on by Suki

Dear 20-year-old self,

I remember the day you knocked on the door of the artist. You were a college student, and you were taking a child language acquisition course. When the professor had given the assignment to find a child to observe, you asked, “How do I find a child?” The people you knew were little older than children themselves, and you didn’t know anything about your professors’ private lives. Your linguistics professor hooked you up with a family visiting from Great Britain, a psychologist, his artist wife, and their baby.

Portrait
Portrait of a Contemporary Young Person by Robin Richmond

You were uncomfortable meeting new people. You never told anyone that—it seemed so stupid that even having to make a phone call to a stranger made you break out in a cold sweat. You’d never learned how to ask for help, and always felt like there were rules that you didn’t understand.

In response to this disconnected feeling you had, you armed yourself against the world. You wore unconventional clothing and got “half a haircut”—long on one side, short on the other. You conveyed a clear message that you were angry, unapproachable. After you broke up with a boyfriend, he told you never to stop being disgusted with the way things are—that, he said, is your best quality. (Good job breaking up with him, by the way!)

Like many 20-year-olds, you had spent your last few years at war with your own body. You knew you could never measure up. Other girls responded with anorexia or bullying other girls; you responded with an avoidance of anything that could be called “pretty.”

Though many other experiences have faded from your memory, the time you spent at the artist’s house with her baby has not. The little girl was adorable. Her favorite word was “PUSH!”, which she would say with great relish when she opened a door.

At one of your visits, you wore a ripped t-shirt that said “Bauhaus,” the name of your favorite band. The artist asked if she could paint your portrait wearing that shirt. She was probably intrigued with the ironic juxtaposition between the art movement and the modern angry girl. You thought that sitting for an artist would be a weird thing to do, and you were interested in collecting weird experiences.

That portrait ended up capturing you in greater detail than any of the photographs of that time possibly could. Not just the visible details are there, but the stubborn, set look on the face, the tense hand, the makeup like armor.

Oh, 20-year-old self, I wish I could go back and answer the questions you never knew to ask. I wish I could tell you that it would all come out OK in the end. You’d learn that life happens easier when you approach new experiences with a smile. You’d learn that your physical self was just about as perfect as it would ever get, so you should enjoy it while it lasts. You’d learn to treasure kindness as an attribute both to nurture in yourself and to seek in friends.

Of course, I know that even if I had a time machine and could go back and say these things, there’s no knowing if you’d listen, or more importantly, understand. We live in a culture that worships youth, but I have to admit that if I had to stick at one age forever, I’d choose now over then. I have in no way achieved the perfection that you thought you could force yourself into, but that doesn’t matter anymore.

After all that effort, I just had to give up and be myself, for better and for worse.

The wonderful world of Diana Wynne Jones

Posted on by Suki

In the past, my kids and I had read a couple of random selections by the recently deceased British author Diana Wynne Jones, but we had never gone in depth into her large body of work until this summer. We were inspired by our book club, when another mom took a guest turn and announced we were going to be discussing Diana Wynne Jones’s work… all of it! We weren’t required to read all of it, but once we got started, we couldn’t stop.

Enchanted Glass
Enchanted Glass was a late novel for Diana Wynne Jones, offering a new world in which magic is woven into everyday life.

We started with The Enchanted Glass, a wonderful little novel that reads like the great beginning to a long series. Unfortunately, Jones died soon after this novel was released, so no more installments are forthcoming. The characters, however, live on in my mind, and while reading the rest of her books, I am getting a sense of where she might have gone with them.

Right now we’re working through all the books in the Chronicles of Chrestomanci, a group of inter-related novels about storylines that take place in a series of related worlds. Most of the books feature the wonderful and slightly ironic figure of our “contemporary” Chrestomanci, Christopher Chant. (Chrestomanci is the title of a British government position in a world much like ours, so the series features different inhabitants of this job.) We love this Chrestomanci not only because he never fails to deliver as a dapper gentleman who is most focused and dangerous to his foes when he starts to look “vague.” We also love him because we get to know him as a boy, and we sense over and over how his experiences stick with him as he deals with all the magic-wielding children who come his way.

Jones’s most well-known series are probably the books related to Howl’s Moving Castle, which was made into a well received animé film that has, if I remember correctly, very little similarity to the book itself! The books are enjoyable and fanciful, if not Jones’ deepest work.

The interesting thing about Jones’ career is that it never took off in the way that her rabid fans think it should have. She was a steady, respected presence throughout her life, but her books have never inspired lines at midnight outside the book store, or high budget films that become the must-see film for every kid.

Part of the reason for this, I think, is how internal Jones’s books are. Things do happen in the books, but the plot is seldom the focus of the book. Instead, what happens inside the characters—both major and minor characters—is the main focus and the beauty of these books. The kids in these books are desperately trying to hang on amidst events that they have little control over. The adults are flawed and real, only sometimes doing what the kids need them to do.

Another reason the books may not generate the fever of a series like Harry Potter (which owes a lot to Jones’ work) is that she made some major marketing mistakes: She doesn’t have a clear line between good and evil in her books; she doesn’t feature one character as the focus; she doesn’t have a single plot line that keeps readers waiting for the next installment. Instead, her books dip into the lives of groups of characters. She has great respect for her characters, even when they do bad things. She creates characters and worlds so vivid that they live in on the reader’s mind, even when she has gone on to a new world and a new set of characters.

Having now read over half of her books, I can’t recommend them more highly for your kids of any age. They draw in little ones who love the beautiful descriptions. They entertain the kids who like humor and offer enough action and pyrotechnics for kids who crave such things. They help kids understand motives—their own and others. They respect children and adults and all the complex situations we find ourselves in.

For me, Diana Wynne Jones’s books are simply some of the best that you could read with your kids. She has been a fascinating companion to have in our car, inspiring a number of great conversations and ideas.

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Blow their minds, Santa Cruz Parents!

Posted on by Suki

I pity my readers who aren’t here in Santa Cruz this Wednesday. It’s not often that you get a chance to take your kids on a free ride through avant garde history.

John Cage and my neighbor, local composer Lou Harrison

The wonderful New Music Works (with whom my choral group, Ariose Singers, performs on a regular basis) is making it really cheap to introduce your family to the outrageous wonderfulness of composer John Cage this Wednesday, what would have been his 100th birthday.

Cage is most infamous for his piece 4’33”, which will be performed on Pacific Garden Mall between 3:34 and (what else?) 4:33 on Wednesday. And earlier at noon, check out a few of Cage’s compositions for percussion orchestra featuring the William Winant Percussion Group (great SF group that often performs with NMW) on Duck Island. It’s all free.

Even in Santa Cruz, it’s possible to live your life believing that everything is what it is and there’s nothing left to discover. It’s events like this that make me know what a great place this is to raise kids. Enjoy, and happy Avant Parenting!

[Read a Santa Cruz Weekly article about this event]

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