the bee hive chronicles

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Category: kids (Page 1 of 3)

#52 – More Magic

April 27, 2022 /

The first summer Bee Hive was open (the store opened in November), was the summer that coincided with the initial sensation that was The Hunger Games. At the time, dystopia was what our kids needed – and the books were coming fast and furious. I can not say that any of them were as good as The Hunger Games, but they served a purpose. Stories based in the future where young badass, usually female, protagonists kick the butts of the always cruel, always evil, and most certainly corrupt – authorities. To me, it felt like a world that our kids needed to escape to. To wrap themselves in stories where the young underdogs rise up to take out the very power that held theirs back – was, and is, intoxicating.

After a couple of years of dystopia having a pretty good run – things in real life got pretty grim. Too…dystopic. For real. The U.S’s administration changed hands, and, almost instantly, so did the genre of choice.

From dystopia…

to…fantasy…

Really excellent fantasy.

Alternate worlds. Sweeping powers. Shape shifting. Portals. Creatures and witches and spectacular magic and epic journeys. None of which remotely resembles what is happening in this world.

Not even a bit.

Glorious escape.

Recently – due to a fairly recent trend in reading – I have beefed up the Bee Hive’s selection of Young Adult murder mysteries…

The bloodier the better.

(The why of this is not something I am quite sure about.)

Dystopia has also made a comeback – the biggest since The Hunger Games summer.

Not terribly surprising.

But…

Magic and fantasy – still rule.

In my house – it is what we are completely honed in on.

Delighted by.

And, grateful for.

After the His Dark Materials trilogy, The Girl That Drank The Moon was followed by The Time of Green Magic and we are now – and I have wanted to do this one forever – happily being enraptured by The Hobbit. (All hail the great and glorious reining king of fantasy.)

But…

The magic, for me, has not just been confined to stories.

Truly, magic is never confined just to made-up tales.

And, I have always known that. All you have to do is witness a rainbow to be reminded that we are surrounded by some seriously mystical stuff.

But, recently, after reading The Time of Green Magic by Hillary McKay where one of the main characters is a drawing of a spotted cat from Chauvet Cave come alive – magic started to really pop out everywhere for me.

“All you have to do is witness a rainbow to be reminded that we are surrounded by some seriously mystical stuff.”

Putting dirty clothes in a washing machine – pressing a button and then taking clean clothes out = magic

My son’s huge, warm, bursting-with-love hugs = magic

Thinking of a person you haven’t seen in a while and then bumping into them = magic

My daughter running the challenging (and unpleasant) 800 meter with rhythm and ease = magic

A project or creative endeavor coming to completion in all its glory = magic

Connecting with people over books, music, movies = magic

A full moon rising with mighty intention on the horizon = magic

Homemade pizza = magic

The Bee Hive = magic…

I totally get the need for the different genres our kids are attracted to and why.

Worlds that are futuristic, violent, sterile, strange, unjust, wild – serve a purpose for hungry imaginations that are in need of something…other…then what the present moment holds…(or perhaps resembling?)

And, it is true that Katniss Everdeen’s very impressive archery skills may be seared into our heads forever.

But, won’t we always be drawn to the fantastical?

The mystical?

The wizard. The force of nature. The washing machine – that make us stop for a beat in wonderment?

There is a reason we are surrounded by magic in stories and otherwise.

It is what softens the edges. Brightens the dark. Keeps us bold…

And, watching.

For whatever…

is around the corner.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

#50 – Healing The Future

December 13, 2021 /

Was 2021 better than 2020?

Often times, when we hold years up to one another in comparison, we are pretty clear on which were good ones and which were maybe not so good.

Right now though it doesn’t feel so much like time is passing in its usual linear way, separated so specifically by the arbitrary lines in the sand of months and years; but rather that we are in the midst of an experience that blurs lines of the usual markers. So, for instance, when we wake up on January 1, 2022 – it may be a new calendar year – but, we will still be in the middle of the same story. The one that’s been being told for the last several months, or, for this moment of time.

There are many threads that run through this moment – collectively and individually.

One of the collective threads, that actually proceeds this moment, doesn’t just taint this block of time, but, is crucial to our future. Everyone’s future. Everywhere.

Dr. Vivek H. Murthy, the United States surgeon general, has recently released a 53-page report warning of our youth’s mental health crisis.

As stated in The New York Times:

The report cited significant increases in self-reports of depression and anxiety along with more emergency room visits for mental health issues. In the United States, emergency room visits for suicide attempts rose 51 percent for adolescent girls in early 2021 as compared to the same period in 2019. The figure rose 4 percent for boys.

Though there are potentially many attributes that have gotten us to this point – social media, screen time, the fact that progress in improving climate change, racial injustice, income inequality is terribly slow – the point of the report is that we need more people out there dedicated to finding the answers to exactly why our kids are suffering so profoundly.

What does appear to be one consistency is the feeling of loneliness reported by our kids.

The New York Times:

The current generation of adolescents express heightened levels of loneliness — more than any other age group — despite spending countless hours connected over media.

The thing is – these kids – our kids – are the fiercest tools we’ve got.

They are our future.

They are the ones to save this planet. Produce real and lasting change with racial and social relations. Create ways forward for improving financial equality and the stopping of gun violence.

We need them. More than we’ve probably ever needed a rising generation before.

Leaving them to their devices has clearly had devastating effects.

We have got to do better by our beautiful kids.

Media and pop culture are beating the hell out of this young generation’s feelings of self worth. Rather, shouldn’t we be rising them up? Empowering them and supporting them to become the badasses we so desperately need them to grow into?

We don’t know when this moment will be over.

But, we can’t let it get the best of us.

We certainly don’t have the option to allow it to continue to get the best of our kids.

At this point it seems that rather then assuming our kids are okay – we should probably assume that they are not.

And that we need to…

nurture, encourage, engage, validate, nourish, praise, and love the heck out of them.

See them.

Hear them.

Handle and care for them like the precious commodity that they are.

We have got to heal them.

Soon enough, the power will be all theirs.

We have got to groom them to become the super heroes we are going to need them to be.

 

 

 

#48 – Call Me…If You Get Lost

July 31, 2021 /

As I have sort of been readjusting my eyes back to the light after the last several months and gaining perspective on…so much…One of the biggest things that is glaring to me – is the state of our kids. Not just the little kids who struggled through remote learning and being away from their friends – though that certainly was heinous. But, our big kids…

Anyone who has been through adolescence knows, firsthand, that it is no joke. There are endless landmines to dodge and weave your way through. The issues come fast and furious: family, racial, financial, sexuality, self-esteem, academic pressures, peer pressures, societal pressures, and, often, where you will get your next meal or sleep that night. This is content that fills many, many middle grade and YA books. Except – this stuff doesn’t just live in books.

It has become a rare conversation with people with kids that isn’t about some sort of concern or challenge that their kids are having. Depression, confusion, anger, family problems, addiction…

The kids in my own family – both my children and close relatives – in the past few months, have experienced very real painful experiences that have sent them on gut-wrenching emotional roller coasters. They are incredibly fortunate to have counselors on speed dial, if they need it, but youth mental health is in such a precarious state at the moment, that child therapists have become impossible to nail down.

According to Mental Health American (the leading non-profit in this country dedicated to addressing mental health issues);

Young people are struggling most with their mental health. The proportion of youth ages 11-17 who accessed screening was 9 percent higher than the average in 2019. Not only are the number of youth searching for help with their mental health increasing, but throughout the COVID-19 pandemic youth ages 11-17 have been more likely than any other age group to score for moderate to severe symptoms of anxiety and depression.

9.7% of youth in our country have severe Major Depression. 60% of youth with depression do not receive treatment.

It has become a rare conversation with people with kids that isn’t about some sort of concern or challenge that their kids are having. Depression, confusion, anger, family problems, addiction…

This is a state of emergency – one that can not be glossed over. Or, turned away from.

Most nights when I am making dinner – Olive always asks what she can do to help. Recently, Cash has also started offering his assistance. I am often rushing, trying just to get dinner on the table for my two hungry kids, that I usually answer – Thank you – I will let you know… Cash’s response lately has been, “Ok, just call me if you get lost.”

Yes.

Call me…

If you get lost…

Would it be helpful to just let our kids know that if they get lost, or are feeling lost – that they can call us?

That we have their backs?

That they don’t have to be lost – alone?

I am no mental health professional. Not even close. But, I have experienced that obstacle course that is adolescence. And, I can say that growing up, I most definitely did not feel seen by the grown ups in my life. I had great, close friends – but, I can’t help but wonder if the support of grown ups could have eased the loneliness and confusion that I inevitably went through.

I know the other day, when Cash had tears welling up and was super anxious over something that he had to face – when I looked into his eyes and said, “Hey, I have your back”, the fear in his eyes melted a little, and he mustered up the strength to go forward.

Feeling that you are not alone, should you get lost, goes a long, long way.

For all humans.

I think we are all hopeful that once our kids are back to in-person school full-time, with their people, doing the things they love again on a regular basis – that the issues that result in anxiety, depression, uncertainty, confusion, etc, etc – will mellow out and we can go back to “normal”.

But should we consider whether the state of emergency that our kids are in, manifested before or during the pandemic? Whether, perhaps, the calls were dimmed by all the “normalcy” – and, then when things got quiet – the calls got really really LOUD…

It may be impossible to know. And, generalizations ridiculous to make. At least by a book store owner who is just speculating in a blog post.

Regardless – “normal”, pandemic, or otherwise,

it may be worth – on a very regular basis – reminding  our beautiful, hurting kids to,

Call us…

If they get lost.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

#47 – The Space In-Between

June 21, 2021 /

The last couple of months have rendered me speechless…And sort of – frozen. In this in-between space of…PTSD. And…a desire to go forward.

Somehow the world went from being shut down and living in fear. To – kids not wearing masks at birthday parties and grown ups not wearing masks while shopping at Trader Joe’s. In just a matter of weeks.

The extreme pivot has left me dizzy. Kinda confused. And…100% unprepared.

My family is still living with the residue of Covid. Very few summer plans. A short break due to Public Schools going back early. And mask-wearing in solidarity with my son, who is too young yet to be vaccinated.

The Bee Hive is also in the thick of the residue. The store hours are shortened due to not being be up to speed with employees yet, events are still on hold, and masks are required in order to keep our young customers safe.

It is really easy to feel the pressure of going back to the way it was.

Like – right now.

And yet…

There is the PTSD.

Truly.

Aren’t you exhausted?

I am.

Totally.

And, Olive and Cash have slowed way down. They need their down time for sure. They are pretty content with a day at home – a movie, yummy food, a walk – they are good. No need to pack their days at the moment.

Honestly, rather then going toward social situations or reverting back to any sort of manic, over-scheduling ways – I am feeling the need to take it slow. Allow the experience of the past year to sink in. And then – process it. And then – figure out how I want things to shake out from there. Perhaps there is a path where the pre-Pandemic, mid-Pandemic, and post-Pandemic moments – can morph into something new, and manageable.

Perhaps quality of life can be made a priority. Rather then an afterthought.

I have written in past posts that I don’t think the Bee Hive will ever be the same as it was. And, that is true. At this moment, it is more beautiful, more resilient, more inclusive, more community sustained – then it ever has been. The Bee Hive has come out shinier and more abundant from all that transpired in 2020. For a lot of reasons.

“At this moment, the Bee Hive is more beautiful, more resilient, more inclusive, more community sustained – then it ever has been.”

The last several months was the savior that Bee Hive so desperately needed…

I do have people turn away from coming into the store when they see the mask signs in the windows.

I would love to burn my masks too.

But…it continues to be the reality of the Bee Hive for now. And, for the foreseeable future.

And – it really is okay. If people turn away.

Because, just like you.

And me.

The Bee Hive made it through. And, will continue to do so.

At its own pace.

 

 

 

 

 

 

#45 – Lessons of 2020

December 28, 2020 /

I think, at this point, the world is exhausted of this year. And, truly – logistically, it is time to bid it farewell. Just about 366 days – lived and gone. A fresh set of days, weeks, and months – waiting in the wings. For better or for worse. But, I feel it is safe to say – we would all love for the this new block of time, to be for the better…

As with most – this year kicked my butt, for sure. But, it also showed me, taught me – so much. How to convert a brick and mortar book store into an online book distribution center, for one. How to never assume I can run said book distribution center alone during the holidays – even during a Pandemic, is another really big one. Who my people are. Both the Bee Hive’s beautiful tried and true; and in my personal life – those that consistently showed up for me – even if sometimes I’ve been too crazy or pooped to show up for them. How amazing, resilient,and delightful Cash and Olive are. But, even for all their amazing-ness, resilience, and delightful-ness – they still absolutely need their people, their friends, their tribe. And, that without that – 10-year-olds get really sad.

I have been given a screeching-loud wake up call about how my lack of action and speaking out made me complicit in the despicable state of Race Relations in this country. I have been taking a hard look at my own tendencies and it is a long-overdue slap in the face for me. One that, I hope, will stay with me, and keep me mindful, conscious, and present about something that I just can not and will not tolerate in myself.  

One night of continuously texting photos to a friend and professional bread-baker, taught me a much needed lesson about the importance of hydration in bread baking. His patience and insistence – more, more, more – made it finally click for me after many, many years of cooking and baking – that there is no such thing as too much moisture in dough. It has transformed my life! And my baking! Not just my bread, but pizza dough, cinnamon rolls, pie crusts – are so much better. I continue to work on my bread, because it has provided a source of great yumminess and comfort for my family this year, but also, because of Covid and my friend needing to be extra careful – he hasn’t tasted my bread yet. And, when he finally does – I want him to see – I was paying attention during those late night tutorials.

As with most – this year kicked my butt, for sure. But, it also showed me, taught me – so much.

My daughter has been learning Latin this year. And, it turns out, has quite an ear for it. Cash and I, sort of, have been learning alongside her as she teaches us with her very drawn out, slow pronunciations. I am now referred to as mater and Cash is referred to as fraterculus. One particularly memorable afternoon, as the three of us sat around the kitchen table drinking tea – Olive brought out her Latin workbook and taught us all sorts of very important words – like tunic and wax tablet and writing plume. I was delighted to learn some Latin! I asked Olive – what about How are you? or Good afternoon? Yeah – nope. Nothing like that. Right! I learned – by way of my very bright daughter – what a dead language truly means. And that sometimes, tunics and waxed tablets are all you really need…

This was a year that really reminded me – drilled into me, really – the importance of books and movies and music. Movies for entertainment (thank god) and escapism. Books – for me, who spends my days surrounded by all things books, it was a year that reaquainted me with actually reading. I’ve craved it. I can’t get enough. During a time when I have been often exhausted, and sometimes a tad depressed – stories and characters, truly in the thick of the human experience, have been the only place I wanted to be. Books have always been company for my deeply introverted nature – so validating and soothing. This year, that’s been magnified by 100%. And, I think, probably saved me from going down any really dark hole. Music, for me has been a total distraction. I can not stop looking for the perfect song for whatever playlist I happen to be working on – and there have been many. Music has been complete poetry for me. And, a much needed balm.

The lessons haven’t been all bad.

But they haven’t been all welcome.

The day after Christmas, I got word that one of the most wonderful people I have ever known, passed away that morning. I immediately sunk to my kitchen floor and wept. And, I couldn’t stop. As I grieved in a way that actually surprised me in its depth – it occurred to me, that I was just one of many many many many people who have experienced the loss, the injustice, the confusion, the disorientation of all that this year has taken…stolen. In that moment I was profoundly moved by how few have been untouched by 2020’s long-reaching tentacles of death and pain, heartache and suffering.

It has been enough – I think.

Enough lessons.

Hopefully, this new year – this new block of time – will be a little less about lessons. And, instead, move us closer to living again.

 

 

 

#43 – Purgatory

October 2, 2020 /

I am third-generation Italian. Along with the natural inclination I have towards food – both cooking it and eating it; and, an admiration for pretty people on Vespas — I also inherited parents who experienced extremely strict Roman Catholic upbringings. And, who – even though they cringed every time they had to step into a vestibule – still sent my sister and I to Catholic school and had us go through the motions that good Catholics do – First Holy Communions, ashes on our foreheads on Ash Wednesday, Christmas Eve mass….There was much that put the fear of god in me about the faith that dominated my childhood, but the thing that truly stands out, to this day, was the idea of Purgatory.

The Purgatory that I heard about in Sunday school catechism class, is sort of an uncomfortable stop-over between this life and where you go next.

Webster’s definition of Purgatory:
(in Roman Catholic doctrine) a place or state of suffering inhabited by the souls of sinners who are expiating their sins before going to heaven.

There is no going straight to heaven…not until you get clean.

If you had the opportunity to read the beautifully creepy Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders – he was incredibly creative in his conjuring of a gruesome hold-over zone – but in his case a Bardo, which is Buddhist.

Webster’s definition of Bardo:
(in Tibetan Buddhism) a state of existence between death and rebirth, varying in length according to a person’s conduct in life and manner of, or age at, death.

Same idea but you are on your way to rebirth rather then heaven.

Regardless, in two vastly different philosophies, there is a belief in an in-between place. A place where you are neither here nor there. A place where you gotta sit with things, until you can pass Go.

Purgatory has been coming to mind a lot for me lately.

I always felt creating an in-between world between lives seemed pretty cruel. Like waiting for test results, or a college acceptance letter, or if you’ve been approved for a loan.

Or the outcome of a particularly crucial election

Or for a vaccine to be made

Or….

Very much like this moment in time.

I am not sure if what is on the other side of this chafing dish is heaven or hell. Or, how long it will take to get there from here.

I feel in the meantime – while I am hanging in the Bardo – my skin is a little thinner.

The next book in our queue to read together at home was Stamped: Racism, Antiracism, and You: A Remix of Stamped From The Beginning  by Jason Reynolds and Ibram X. Kendi. When I pulled it out for the first time to read – my heart just wasn’t in it. And my daughter asked if, just for that night, we could read The Penderwicks. Ok – so, we have listened to every Penderwick book at least twice on road trips and read each book, together, at least once. Cash and Olive have read by themselves, each book, at least twice. I am certain between the three of us we could recite each of the five books verbatim. (For those who have not had the pleasure, The Penderwicks is a delightful series of books about a family of four girls growing up on the east coast with a widowed professor father – who is often spewing Latin. Over the course of the books their family blends and grows from their father remarrying and other various lovely people coming into their circle. They eat tomato sandwiches, vacation by the sea, play music and soccer, grow up, fall in love, get in trouble, and burn a lot of stuff in the kitchen. They are beautifully written and truly charming). So Stamped remains on the shelf, for now, and we continue to indulge in The Penderwicks. “The Penderwicks are just so…happy,” signed Olive.

While Limbo Land has been a challenge of a lifetime – and I feel as if I am biting my nails more with each passing day – I am grateful to be able to wrap Olive and Cash up in The Penderwicks. Grateful for the beautiful change of seasons and the excuse to make green chili stew, and Frito pie, and pumpkin muffins. For the N.B.A. and the fantastic show they’ve been putting on for us (I am not sure what we will do at my house when life inside the Bubble comes to an end.) And, bread. Yay for the bread baking journey. Knowing that there is a fresh loaf of bread waiting to be consumed – can completely turn a day around.

I have been dreaming about the Bee Hive and how — some day, some way — it will be transformed to be of service to more people, create more connection, and have a wider scope – a broader reach. This is my hope for the store. And, the Hope that is getting me through many current moments.

Purgatory nor Bardo, I don’t believe, are meant to be pleasant.

The drawn out Unknown. The uncertainty of fate. The isolation.

The good news is – neither Purgatory or Bardo are permanent states. They are layovers. At some point you find out if you are going to heaven or hell. Or, what life you will inhabit next.

We will move on.

What life will look life after Purgatory/Bardo is, of course, a mystery.

I am keeping my fingers crossed…

that whatever we move on to, has vacations by the sea and tomato sandwiches.

I would even take some Latin here and there.

#42 – You Are Amazing

August 22, 2020 /

The day started with money unexpectedly being drafted from the Bee Hive account. Legitimate, but, an unplanned for expense. Money that was to cover a check written for another bill payment that would go through at any moment.

The good news continued to trickle in from there. Results of the financial challenges of this moment in time, culminating in an email saying that my PPP loan application was declined because it was never signed. (And yet, the DocuSign email saying my contract was complete sits in my inbox.) Money that I was planning on helping with those financial challenges of this moment.

As the unfortunate discoveries stacked up, I felt increasingly more debilitated as the day went on. By the time we sat down to play a game of Clue before Cash and Olive went to bed – it was all I could do to sit up. Between turns, I sprawled on my back on the floor. Not a great strategy for solving who did it, with what weapon, in which room. And, certainly not something I think I have ever done before – just check out to the point of a sprawl. (“Mommy is acting weird”) And, yet – these are not “ordinary” times. And – I felt utterly defeated. And, sort of – out of my body, with the lack of control over it all. Not that you really ever have control. But this is a, when will it end – will it ever end – will I ever feel comfortable with how things are, ever again – type of swirl of sensations. To the extreme where, all I could do was sprawl.

As we were getting ready to read (The really wonderful Stargirl by Jerry Spinelli) – Cash held out his hand to me and said, “Mommy. You are amazing. Say it, Mommy – I am amazing.” I looked at him. All of the guru-like wisdom wrapped up in his ten-year-old body combined with abundant sweetness, and I said, “Cash. YOU are amazing.” And he burst into tears. I was so surprised. “What? What is it sweetie?” I asked. He said, “No one has said that to me in a long time.”

And, that was it.

I snapped out of it.

I wrapped Cash in a huge hug and said it over and over – You are amazing. And, then I grabbed Olive and told her the same thing (although she already knows how amazing she is). And, right there I vowed to never let anything…Bounced checks. Disappointing news. World pandemics. Ever get in the way of my kids knowing how beautiful and amazing they are.

It has been a long ride now of stress and anxiety and uncertainty and fear for everyone on the planet.  A constant intake of sometimes-suffocating poisonous fumes.

And yet.

We are all still amazing.

Our kids are still amazing.

And. It feels really good to hear it. And say it.

And it may just be all we need – to snap the hell out of it. That toxic fog.

The realization that – more then ever – we need to see each other. Hold one another up. And love each other.

And now. I tell Cash and Olive each several times a day – no matter what kind of day it is – You are amazing.

And, we all say to ourselves – I am amazing.

And, not to say that it will never happen again, but…

For the moment, anyway, my sprawling has been contained.

#40 – SHAME

June 26, 2020 /

For many days, I stewed in a mix of emotions. Thick and mucky. And – uncertain – as to what the muck would strain out to be, if it wasn’t all stewed together.

So, I reached out to a friend. A long-time friend who I think knows me pretty well. One who has similar values as I do. And, who is honest in calling things as he sees them. He is not one to sugar-coat things. He was my person. The one I knew who would help me sort out my muck.

Our meet-up was very – of this moment. We sat outside on a bench overlooking a Santa Fe waterfall, in the early evening, and ate homemade bread. (Because, the quarantine may be over, but my bread-making obsession continues….)

I tried to speak. Articulate. Make sense. But, I was saying a lot of nothing. He started expressing himself…Despair. Shame. White Privilege. How are we still here? Where had he gone wrong?

Yes.

That was it. How are we still here? And, where had I gone wrong?

I started sharing with him my deep-seated shame. My upbringing in a racially divided city – the one that hosted the heinous Rodney King incident – with extremely intolerant parents. My vow – at a very young age – to fight the injustice. The hate. The fear and violence. I was going to be on the front line.

How did I get so off-track? And, how has absolutely nothing changed since the 1992 Los Angeles Riots? Since the last several hundred years?

We – my peers and I – were supposed to be smart and powerful and determined – make the difference. Be the change.

My friend reminded me that there are many, many people in this country that Black Lives don’t Matter to.

Right.

I shared with him the number of books on race that were being special ordered through the Bee Hive – and throughout the country. Distributors have not been able to meet the demand. Which is amazing.

“But”, I said, “Now is not the time to read! We’ve got to take action!”

He laughed at me. “Says the book store owner.”

Another person told me that I need to be like a grain a sand. And meditate my way through this.

There have been many things in my life that I have tried to take the grain of sand approach to. And, I truly do believe, in a lot of cases, it is the way to go. But, I am not evolved enough to be a grain of sand in this moment. And, honestly, I feel like right now we’ve got to be talking. To each other. Our families. As James Baldwin said, “Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.” Man – we have A LOT to face. And own up to. We have been turning the other cheek for a long, long time. Shouldn’t we be working hard to create a shift? Rather then this just being a moment – this is an opportunity to be  a collective Movement – for long-overdue lasting change.

“And, there is the shame. That which has lived with me for my lifetime.”

So. How?

Personally, I am not leading any rallies, or changing any laws, or making any speeches. Damn it.

And, there is the shame. That which has lived with me for my lifetime.

What do I do? Where do I go from here?

Once again…

My attention goes to my kids.

My friend, the-discussion-over-bread one, suggested that, because of white privilege, it is impossible for white kids to be colorblind.

Ugh. That is something I am still mulling over…

I do know that my daughter knows more about black history at this point then I do. And, that she has read so many books from such a variety of different people’s perspectives that she has developed a fascination and respect, rather then fear or discrimination, for people who don’t look, or speak, or have the same background as she does. I have huge admiration for her scope of perspective at age 12.

My son’s idea of a crew of gods would be the NBA. He studies the players – not just their strengths on the court – but where they come from, their backgrounds, and family histories. He LOVES THEM. And knows, probably more then he should, about the good and the not-so-good, of a lot of the players personal lives. Cash’s bottom bunk is a cave – a shrine – to African American athletic power and beauty.

A long-time music fan (see #7 – The Rock History Schooling Of A Seven-Year-Old) at the age of ten, Cash plays the Blues on the piano; is a fan of old-school Hip Hop (just like his mom); and I recently introduced him to John Coltrane. He was smitten at first listen to A Love Supreme. He is now super-into learning as much as he can about the history of jazz.

His favorite grown up friend is Black.

As I write this, I feel like a white person making concessions for years of complacency,  Well, my kid likes basketball and has black friends!

And, yet.

I do feel that raising anti-racist kids — or raising kids to be people who see us all as just…human — is possibly the strongest super power in our arsenal.

Familiarity. Respect. Knowledge. Admiration. Openness. Understanding. Curiosity. Aren’t these the things that nurture a feeling of equality? Of Love? Of Oneness?

The unknown creates fear. Which seems to, in turn, create raging hate – that continues to be passed down from generation to generation.

Knowledge is Power. And, in my experience, is the only thing that breaks cycles.

A couple of months ago, my daughter and I were having dinner together. We were discussing the characteristics of the different generations that have come before hers. She asked me what distinguishing characteristics make up her generation – Generation Z. I said that I didn’t think there was enough to go on quite yet for there to be any discerning factors.

She replied, “Maybe we will be the generation that changes the world.”

I didn’t tell Olive this, but – I am planning on it, actually.

I want my kids to be living in a world that they are proud of.

One that reflects how they, right now, see people of color. With love, equity, and awe.

But mostly…

I want them to be badass warriors.

That have no shame.

 

(This post is dedicated to my friend, and all those friends, who are helping us get through the muck that is this moment in time. Thank goodness we are all in it together. May our conversations continue…🧡)

 

 

#39 – Saving Lives

May 13, 2020 /

The last few weeks have been a blur of filling orders, and, answering math questions.

And, trying to stay present while doing both, usually, at the same time.

As the rest of the world, the Bee Hive, and my kids’ schooling, look nothing like they did back in the beginning of March.

The website that I implemented last summer – with the intention of it helping the Bee Hive come back from the downturn of 2018 and 2019 – has helped sustain the store during the Pandemic of 2020. (There have been many outpourings of gratitude to Bookmanager – the Canadian company that created Bee Hive’s awesome website and ingenious ordering system – over the phone, recently.) However, going from pretty much completely a brick-and-mortar store – to pretty much a completely online store – pretty much over night – has not been without its challenges.

The kids distant learning in the background has truly added to the kookiness of it all…

There have been orders that have been duplicated. Skipped. Charged twice. Forgotten. Remembered!

I feel now, into week ten, I am getting it down! This online stuff.

And, I have been truly fortunate to be able to see some of Bee Hive’s customers – from a good six feet apart or so – when they have been by to pick up their orders. To exchange love and support.

(Man, I sure miss you all…)

“There have been orders that have been duplicated. Skipped. Charged twice. Forgotten. Remembered!”

And, while the online ordering and social distancing go against what a community-oriented business trying to encourage connection among us humans is all about – the Bee Hive is being sustained – in a very minimal sort of way. It is all I can ask for in this moment in time. And, every single night before I go to sleep – I say a prayer. For another day.

The distance learning on the other hand….

Well, there are the math questions. But, also, the frustration. Sadness. Anger. Disappointment. Confusion. Loneliness and feelings of isolation. The hours of screen time. Just…painful.

At this point, things are starting to open back up again.

God, I would love nothing more then for the world to get back to “normal”. To run an independent kids’ bookstore with events and customers in the store, browsing, and chatting. Connecting. To hold our writing workshops this summer. And, have all the things happen in Santa Fe that bring all those wonderful free-spending visitors to town who love the Bee Hive, and who’s love for it boost it during the summer months.

Except.

I really need Cash and Olive to be able to go back to school.

I mean, honestly, even with the taking care of orders and answering math questions at the same time – I could selfishly have my kids with me all the time. I love their company. Even when it is angsty. (I believe that I have mentioned in this blog that my daughter is 12…)

But. They so need their friends. And, their activities. Their sports. And, the lives that are all theirs. The ones away from me that are spawning them into the gorgeous humans that they are blossoming into.

I am hopeful that the Bee Hive’s lovely customers and community will continue to use the website to get the books they need. And, be okay with curbside pick-up. For now.

Because, no matter who says it is safe when – I will continue to stay closed until it is clear that the Bee Hive opening back up again would not be a part of the problem.

And, would not aid in prolonging our kids in any way, from going back to school.

And, their worlds.

There are many approaches to saving lives in our crazy world as it stands now.

I am voting firmly for the one that will get our kids back to their tribes.

Back to each other.

As soon as possible.

 

 

 

#38 – More

April 9, 2020 /

The news, the universe, this moment. Is more surreal. Unbearable. Confusing. Heartbreaking. Painful. Difficult. Tragic. Not – of this world.

My inclination, more and more, is to look ahead. Beyond. Into the future. To wonder. Speculate. Worry.

When – more then ever – I need to stay here. Right now. Present. Focused. Adapting. Accepting.

My patience is more apt to be tested.

My daughter’s 12-year-oldness, more supremely annoying. (Has she always been this annoying?)

My son’s frustration more…uncomfortable.

I am – more – tried. To the bone.

And, yet.

The breeze blowing through my open window is more – symbolic. Of Spring. Movement. Freedom. Open-ness. Connection – to the outside world.

The view from the top of Sun Mountain is more clear. Sparkly. Still. The glimpse from above of the school campus my daughter will be attending next year more a vision of hope. A symbol of a new beginning. A time – different – from right now.

“The breeze blowing through my open window is more – symbolic. Of Spring. Movement. Freedom. Open-ness. Connection – to the outside world.”

The unspecific meals we’ve been eating and the basics that fill my cabinets – beans, rice, oatmeal – feel more like a beautiful abundant bounty.

The melodic music on my playlists touches my soul more – sharply. And yet, like a balm.

Virginia Woolf – To The Lighthouse – which I am reading to discuss with friends – is more profound. Perfect. Brilliant. Even more so then when I first read it in college. And, was in desperate need of Virginia Woolf and her stylistic writing, thinking, and strength in her subtle, yet powerful and important observations. About human relations. The intellect. And this life. Our life.

Those friends – who I am discussing Virginia Woolf with – our sisterhood of four – are more of a softer place to land. Through email, text, and Zoom – we validate each other, support one another, and hold space for our challenges and beautiful moments. The connection, more then what I could have imagined when we unexpectedly discovered our bond one memorable night out together.

I feel Bee Hive is more important. Necessary. Relevant. Then ever. To be of service to the community that has supported and loved the store – more of a gift then ever during a time when libraries and schools are closed. Each day that my distributors continue to ship books and UPS and Fed Ex continue to deliver them – more of a sigh of relief. Though I continue to hold my breath. And hope. And pray. More.

Though it is quiet, everywhere. My rare and precious moments of peace and stillness are, more and more, the restoration that keeps me going. To stop referreeing. Reinventing. Restructuring. Reasoning. Rolling with it. To put my guard down. Stop washing my hands. Moving out of the way of others. And, being in constant protection mode of my children, the Bee Hive, myself, and the world that once was. That place. That place of calm. Is what fuels me. For more.

And, more. Gratitude. For the opportunity to go another round. After this one. Because, there will be another round. I have no idea what it will look like. Or, when it will be. Or, how we will get there.

But, my thought is – it will be…

More.

 

 

 

 

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