Third Grade and School Singalongs

It was 1979, and if there was one thing that was great about being a third grader at Burton Elementary School is was all the singing. The tradition that continued until at least the 90s, by which time the old school had been torn down and replaced. When I was there, though, each of the two or three classrooms had a well-used piano, and several days a week the two classes would meet in one room or the other to sing our hearts out. We turned the desks sideways to form long rows and sat on top of them. Show tunes, patriotic songs, Christmas carols, songs our grandmothers had sung, songs that had been popular in the distant days of our teachers' youth. A decade later, YouTube suggests, the kids were still singing many of those same songs, but at the "new" Chautauqua Elementary. 

Each kid had a special song or two. They'd jump up, go to the front and help lead/perform the song (usually song and dance). There were concerts, of course, several times a year, and once I remember taking it all on the road to perform at another school. 

Third grade was also the year I really became a reader. I devoured chapter books, memorized poems, and composed stories of my own (which were terrible, I am sure). At some point that year I was tapped to go down the hall and tutor a first grader who was struggling to learn how to read. Craft projects and drawing were also a big deal at school, and that may be where my sister's passion for art first bloomed.

I had not yet begun to dread recess. But I remember the first clues that I might in how I felt when the tether ball went whizzing by my face and when a kid named Eric went out of his way to praise and encourage me as I kept missing balls on the foursquare court. 

That was the year the P.E. teacher, Mrs. Adams, called my mom to come in for a conference. The topic: how my sister and I needed to improve our ball-handling skills. We had both been born without depth perception and were hopeless at games and sports. At the teacher's recommendation, Mom bought us a big, bouncy, red rubber ball to play with. But our driveway was gravel, the road in front of our house a rough pavement with no sidewalks, so there was no place to really bounce or roll a ball except the garage, where we used it to "bowl," knocking down rows of my dad's empty beer cans. His drinking would later become a problem, but this is before that really happened, or at least before I had eyes to see it. At any rate, music and the arts were at least as much a big deal as sports and games, so I had little sense of falling short as I leaned more toward one than the other.

All in all, a very happy year. It brought the dawning of self-awareness and self-possession but came before the rise of self-doubt, social awkwardness, and hopeless crushes on the boys all the other girls liked, too. By junior high my parents' marriage would be on the rocks and my sister and I would become rivals, alternately rejecting and seeking to please one another, bickering, getting on one another's nerves. At this point, though, we were mostly just fast friends.

I wonder what it would take to regain the playfulness of an eight-year-old, the joy of singing and dancing and playing and drawing and telling stories? 

When People Used to Sing

Singing and singalongs were also a big part of life in many of the old-fashioned books I loved as a kid. Betsy and Tacy, for example, performed duets when they were children, and in high school and beyond would gather round the piano with friends and family to sing popular songs and songs well remembered from days gone by. I think, too, of Pa Ingalls pulling out his fiddle. The music we played at home, whether it came from my parents' record collection, the stereo, or my mom's little transistor radio, was often pretty singable; folk music had left its mark. So much of the contemporary music of that time was meant to be sung along with, perhaps unlike a lot of today's popular music.

And we sang a lot at camp. I went to Girl Scout camp, once to a Camp Fire Girls camp, and starting in sixth or seventh grade, five years of music camp. Eventually, as a church-going teenager, I helped with vacation Bible school and went on youth group retreats. But even in less-likely settings singing was part of camp. My sister brought home new songs from science camp. Do kids at camp still learn camp songs? Some of the same silly, singable ones? Or has that gone the way of gathering around the piano, except maybe at church camps?

Churches still sing, of course. But almost all church music, in the places I go, is worship music. You're singing directly to God. It's for him. Gone are the hymnals and harmonies. You rarely hear singing in parts. Even "rounds" and echo songs are gone. The music still stirs the emotions but you aren't supposed to be critical of it or focus on it. It's like it's all a means to an end, setting a stage for something more important than mere music. I get it, I guess, but somehow that no longer feels as much like singing to me. I miss the musicality.

"Praise and worship" music also has little room for storytelling. Complexity, artistry, and narrative are often replaced by emotion alone. But I'd rather come at worship a bit less directly at times. Churches where worship is so central that the singing is incidental feel kind of like schools only using music for educational purposes, like mnemonics. In those third-grade singalongs we sang "Fifty Nifty United States" with its list of states in alphabetical order. But not so we could pass a geography test. We also sang songs that were rich and beautiful, and others as joyful and playful but evidently purposeless as "The Beer Barrel Polka" and "Ragtime Cowboy Joe." 

Why Not Bring Back Singing?

A while back a friend of mine wrote an article advocating for more singing in modern life... including singing at work. Why should children and churches, field hands and fisherman have all the songs? Anyone game for an office choir?

See also, from the archives, a reflection from my Young Life days, Songbook.

(Image from Pixabay)

Now we are cat people.

In February we got a kitten, then 10 weeks old.

At $500, the startup costs for this venture were a little daunting and included a hefty pet deposit and increase in rent for our apartment, various supplies, and a sizable "adoption fee" required by the charity we got her from, as nobody else seemed to deal in kittens.

Yeah, she's a rescue cat, as they call them now. This may be virtue signalling, like making sure people know you compost or are deeply committed to recycling. When I was a kid you'd say you'd picked up a stray, and that's probably just how it happened. Made you sound like a bit of a cheapskate or someone who didn't care about quality. I guess things have changed.

Nala is marked by an M on her forehead, as it turns out all true tabbies are. We joke it stands for "Marti's cat."

I'm surprised how quickly I've become Nala's person. Or one of them. I'm afraid we both dote on her quite a bit.

There's something about touch, about the soft fur and all the purring; it meets a need I didn't realize I had. And taking a break from work to play with the cat or do something for her seems to do something for my outlook and energy level, too.

We talk and think about Nala a lot, but it seems to go further than that. We send each other cat comics. We watch cat videos on Facebook. We watched The Lion in Your Living Room, and I went through a whole series on Netflix called Kitten Rescuers. We lurk in the pet section of Walmart or PetSmart, comparing food or litter options.

Perhaps none of this would have happened if Nala was one of those standoffish, disdainful felines. But she's not. She follows us around, wanting to be petted or fed, and dashing ahead when she thinks she knows where we're going. Sometimes her paws or tail get stepped on; no help for it. She doesn't hide or sulk, though... she's right back there looking for attention.

This cat jumps on my desk and walks into my video conferences for work. (It's a little embarrassing, but always makes my coworkers smile.) Nala talks to us. Sleeps on our bed. Plays games with us... like "how high can you jump?" (see picture) "pounce," and "fetch"! (That one took us by surprise.)

Of course, all the kitty love leaves a mark, and not just on my heart. The claws were too small to do harm at first. As the weeks went by that began to change. Soon our furniture was in danger and I was covered with claw marks. Did a bit of research and ended up buying special scissors to trim her claws periodically. She doesn't like it, but my wounds have healed.

This week Nala is six months old. Happy half-birthday, kitten!

Considering Cohousing

Until a few years ago, many of the grad students at the Christian college campus where we live made their homes in a community called The Village. This cluster of mobile homes out in the woods had been there a few decades. Many of them were pretty run down and plagued by mold and dry rot, but the married students and families who lived there loved the sense of community they shared.

When a complex of new, modern apartments was complete, The Village was closed down and the rotted-out trailers sold, given or hauled away.

The apartments, no longer limited to the same population, include not only graduate and seminary student families, but also older single students, faculty and staff, and alumni like me. They are clean, well designed, and a big step up in luxury.

But no longer do all the residents know one another. Sometimes nearest neighbors still share meals and families with young kids still get their kids together to play, but it isn’t the kind of place you can easily meet people or shoo your little ones out the door and know they will be looked after. In fact, we have policies against that which help protect the children. I was glad those policies were in place when a young daredevil crashed a scooter and broke her arm coming down the hill outside our building not long ago. No, we don’t want the kids running wild. But in The Village, I think they pretty much could. It was a tight community.

What keeps the apartments from creating that same sense of community? In part it’s the architecture. American housing is set up to protect values like luxury, convenience, and privacy. It’s not like The Village, where everyone would see each other coming and going and know who lives where. I imagine some would put up a cute wooden sign with their name in front of their trailer. I suppose I could still put a sign on my door, but with few shared stairwells, who would see it? So, physically, we can't create that atmosphere. We don't have balconies or patios; most can't see each other come and go. While there is a good amount of shared space, many avoid it.

We do have a nice community center which hosts events, formally and informally. There's coffee, and a printer, and some places to study, play games, or hang out. Staff and residents do what they can to foster relationships. The laws and ethics placed on apartment managers require them to protect the safety and privacy of their residents, though. They feel that their hands are tied. No nametags at community events, for example, and they are rather cautious about introductions, though they love to see us meet one another. We also have a Facebook group now. That may help. Our shared faith and values certainly help.

But most who become friends know each other more from taking classes together or working together in a campus office, not from being neighbors. Counseling students, bonded by the forced intimacy of their small classes, stick together. MDiv students meet to study Greek. People form alliances according to their sense of direction or stage of life, along, of course, with their level of interest in forming connections with others.

There are people who never show up at events; they want to go their own way. So that points to another reason we don't have as much community as we might: a lot of people don't want it. That's not necessarily what they are looking for, here.

On the other hand, some of the moms and single students seem to have hoped for more community and find themselves lonely or isolated. We have a lot of international student families. I think it's pretty tough on them, maybe especially if they come from more communal settings. Last year I heard one of the Chinese students say his wife cried every day. She was at home with little children and didn't speak much English. Ouch. I need to try harder to connect with my other Chinese neighbors!

Then there's the size of the place. There are too many of us, too spread out. I'm glad they stretch the net wide enough to include people like me. But the size of the group? You can't be friends with that many people. It’s a lot to overcome.

No, I don't want to move into a trailer park. "The Village" is gone and even if it weren't, I'd find my clean, new apartment a better choice. Yet I wish we could have the sense of community that from all accounts they seem to have enjoyed.

Meanwhile, my dad and stepmom, as they get older they are looking at joining or starting a co-housing community. It’s a trend that has spread to the US from Denmark, in part, where a large percentage of people live in some kind of intentional community. Some buy up houses, tear down the fences, and put up shared kitchens, dining halls, laundry facilities, and gathering spaces. Others take over small apartment buildings and remodel them to overcome that American push for privacy. They plan social events and work parties, plant gardens and hold community meetings. Apparently, in the US, it’s illegal to require residents to commit to volunteer a certain number of hours in serving others, but that kind of thing is encouraged or understood.

A key distinctive of co-housing, it seems, is intentionality. It's there in the architecture, in the number of units, in the way the place is managed, and in the expectations people have in choosing to live there. These things don't tend to come together accidentally through a few people trying to create them, not when others are pushing for privacy. It works best if everyone knows this is what they are opting into from the beginning.

On the other side of my family tree, my mom and stepdad have moved into a retirement community that offers many of the same benefits as co-housing, plus services needed more by the elderly, including multiple levels of nursing care and help with transportation and shopping. On visiting, I thought the amount of interaction one could have was great. Everybody has dinner together every night. You don't have to come every night, but you're paying a lot of money for them to make you dinner every night, so most people are there most of the time. Other services and activities are purely optional, but diverse and appealing enough that people can easily form friendships through them.

Every person or couple has their name on their door, and there are shared hallways. It's easy to run into someone in the elevator or on the way to the dining room, bistro, meeting room, or post office. It's easy to make friends. A newsletter uses people's names and apartment numbers freely, and many wear their name tags to dinner and activities. I like that.

I also saw how it could feel a little pushy. It's not as counter-cultural as full-on co-housing, but it's still a little weird. Mom and I went to visit a nearby church and I wondered if she would want to go back given how many of her neighbors noticed us there and remarked on it when we ran into them later. It's one thing to have dinner with the same people every night (as Mom has begun to do) and be missed if you aren't there or if you eat at a different time; no big deal. It might be annoying, though, if you just wanted to sleep in and people bugged you about missing church or a fitness class, as if you need to do this because it's good for you and why weren't you there?

What's accountability and inclusion, and what's just annoying? Intrusive neighbors could really restrict one's sense of independence. When it comes down to it, being independent is a much stronger value in America than being interconnected.

Would you want to live in co-housing? How far would you be willing to go to share life with others to whom you weren’t related? What things do you think you'd enjoy most about it, and what things would be hard for you? Intergenerational families living together assure me that each woman needs her own kitchen! What else?

To learn more, see The Cohousing Association of the United States.

A Taxonomy of Clutter

The article, found on Facebook, was titled 11 Things in Your Home That Are Making You Unhappy, and I couldn't resist clicking through. Though flawed (inevitably) by the "how to be more like me" bias, I thought the conclusions seemed pretty helpful.

(Remember, "All models are wrong, but some of them are useful.")

It also introduced me to several kinds of clutter. Do you, or people you love, pile up stuff for these reasons?

1. Sentimental clutter: Do you have furniture, knickknacks, or other "treasures" that were once important to you, received as a gift, or passed down through your family? And do you feel bad whenever you see them because they no longer have the magic and you feel guilty getting rid of them or giving them away? Your heirlooms may have become sentimental clutter.
2. Bargain clutter: Who can resist when stuff is free or on sale? Swag from conferences, great deals, and things that seem to good to pass up but don't look so good as time goes by may have morphed into bargain clutter.
3. Abundance clutter: And what about those extra items that you might need someday? If you are so fully stocked, with backups for your backups, that you can't find things or forget what you already have, you might be amassing abundance clutter.
4. Aspirational clutter: A stash of books or magazines you mean to read or an excess of tools or hobby supplies that triggers guilty feelings may be reminding you of the time you thought you'd have (but don't) or the person you thought you'd become (but haven't). It could be aspirational clutter.

What do you think of this taxonomy? "When we understand why we are holding onto clutter, it makes it easier to get rid of it," says one author.

Image found at https://futuristicallyyours.files.wordpress.com/2011/05/clutter.jpg 

Mulch, the local approach

At first glance I thought it was a hay truck, but the hay was more brunette than blond, and the bales were kind of small. Turns out it's not hay, but straw: "pine straw," which is to say, pine needles.

I would think they'd be awfully prickly, but apparently the trees and bushes don't mind. It's good for insulation, reduces evaporation, keeps the weeds down, and (at least according to the folks who promote the stuff) is a great way to beautify your landscape.

By the end of the day the bales had been slung out all around the apartment complex. Today contractors are out with rakes and spreading the contents of those bales thickly around all the bushes and trees. Each item looks like it's growing from its very own giant nest. Apparently this is the finished "look," though it will flatten in time to give the appearance I guess I had stopped noticing; last year's pine straw application.  

Have you ever gardened with pine straw? Just an East Coast thing?

Help. I can't get this to rotate. Sorry!

Hey, we recycle here, too, you know!

I still remember the horror expressed by an Oregon friend who stayed with me for a few days in Colorado, years ago, on realizing that not everyone there recycled. Oh, a lot of people do, but many seem to feel no shame in seeing what they discard heading for the landfill even when other options are available. As I've written before, folks in Eugene tend to recycle avidly, have banned plastic grocery bags, have a cash-back program on beverage containers, and even recycle fallen leaves on a city-wide basis. Many also compost.

So, before coming to Columbia, I did some research. Was rather relieved to find the city had a growing recycling program. Unfortunately, though, the apartment complex in which we live had cancelled their contract shortly before we moved in (on the grounds that the service they had at that point was so limited, it wasn't worth the cost). Everything went in the big trash compactor around the corner. All those bottles and cans, boxes and paper: off to the dump they go!

Much to our delight, recycling returns to Pineview next week. The new service still doesn't take everything and some cleaning and sorting is required, but it's sounds pretty good, and we're working with a company that has a great story.  (I always like that!)

It was more than eight years ago now that Tomato Palms founder Nancy Ogburn read a newspaper story about a previously homeless man who earned enough money collecting and recycling cans to pay the rent on a small apartment. Hmm. She started collecting cans and recycling them, donating the proceeds to a homeless shelter and taking satisfaction not only in helping, in this way, but also in diverting recyclable materials from the landfill.

Over time people began asking her if she could take other kinds of recyclables. A small business was born, built up by Ogburn and her husband, and added a few part-time employees along the way. Now they're growing throughout the region.

The company make the case that often, if a customer really recycles, what they save on garbage hauling and container fees will more than cover the cost of a recycling service. In 2014, Ogburn was named South Carolina Small Business Person of the Year, and the business has won quite a few other awards. Way to go, Tomato Palms.

I did laugh when I asked the manager of our apartment complex to clarify some of the particulars of the new recycling program. She told me that unlike each house having small plastic bins, we'll be given re-usable plastic bags to fill and empty into a "large" container the size of a wheeled trash bin and kept by the complex's trash compactor. I do hope there's more than one! I bit my tongue before telling her that a typical family in Eugene would generally fill such a vessel every two weeks.

We shall see how much Pineview recycles!

There may be a long way to go, of course. See Trash scorecard: Georgia, South Carolina among 'dirtiest' states (Savannah Morning News, 2014).

En route, traveling light.

Before I moved to Oregon a friend gave me "After the Boxes Are Unpacked," a chirpy self-help book for Christian women. It was pretty good, but the way it was written suggested it was mostly for middle class mommy-types whose husband's professional jobs in business or the military brought them the crisis of dealing with moving companies and having to find someone new to style their hair. So while some of the content applied, without a husband, kids, dog, much in the way of money, or any particular concerns about who does what to my hair, I found that much of it didn't.

This move, nearly four years later, finds me fitting the profile a little better. Married now. Acquired, along with a ring and a husband, married-woman things like KitchenAid mixer and a couple of kids to miss and worry about and try to get through college (though they're not coming with us). My nesting/settling/protecting instincts have definitely been more deeply stirred, along with some insecurities I'd rather leave behind. I still don't care who cuts my hair, though. And this time, no moving truck at all. Don't need one. We're traveling light.

I went to Oregon with 25 boxes of books. Whittled that down to 16 for this move. And only three boxes of them are coming with us. At least a dozen boxes of files from my Caleb Project days went into the recycle bin. Hubs sold his moped, gave away the grill, packed away the camping gear, and said goodbye to a large collection of aging electronics. All told, we got rid of about 50% of our belongings (including nearly all the furniture) and left about 30% in storage back in Eugene.

With a mere 20% of our stuff in tow, unpacking boxes in our furnished apartment will not be so daunting. We made it to Colorado where we're lingering a while. Will hit the road again on Tuesday and plan to arrive in Columbia with our two Hondas, Saturday morning. Should be unpacked and moved in by nightfall.   

The Ledger Sheet

(See also Pesky Emotions).

It would be great if the language of gratitude were my native language; it isn't. I still increase my own suffering by interpreting situations with an invisible ledger sheet in hand to record the pain, loss, or disappointment. At times I just count up my losses while overlooking or discounting gains and take the whole thing very much to heart. To change this approach takes a conscious decision rather than doing what comes "naturally" and getting upset.

I'm keenly aware that we moved out of our house five weeks ago and I still don't get to go home, not for another two weeks. We're staying with people when we're not in hotels, and moving from one set of circumstances and relationships to another, without the chance to go "home" to some more comfortable way of life in between. This vulnerable season has brought lot of my insecurities to the surface.

The first morning we were staying in the place where we're currently laying our heads was a rough one. I was the first one up and in my pre-coffee stupor got confused about how things were supposed to be done in this house and ruined the coffee maker. I filled the entire house with smoke, woke the household, and added to that ledger sheet of mine the humiliation of being laughed at by my husband and the folks we're staying with  (who were glad the smoke wasn't from something worse and happy to laugh it off, though of course we speedily replaced the damaged items).

I hate being discovered making foolish mistakes and being laughed at, though. So I took the whole thing very hard and just wanted to run out of the house and never return. Yeah, not really an option. And certainly an overreaction to the event.

Then over the next few days things like that happened again. Not so dramatic, just little situations such as often come when you are staying in another person's home and reminded that they want you to do things the way they would do them. My cross-cultural experience seems to make it worse rather than better as previous parallels come to mind, situations I navigated either poorly or well but where the same emotions surfaced.

So I wondered if there was anything constructive I could do with that. As I reflected on the strength of my own emotional response to these incidents I remembered occasions from when I was as young as five or six and received correction for things I often didn't know were seen by others as wrong or inappropriate. You know, "getting in trouble." At what point did my little brain decide that "getting in trouble" was the worse thing that could happen? How much as this affected the way I see myself, others, and God or how I navigate life even now (at least at times)? And what can be done, even without professional help, to heal the ancient wounds and improve my responses to these "trigger" events?

Deep questions. But probably good ones to unpack if I want to conquer my fears, stop taking myself too seriously, and grow in resilience.

 It's OK, Marti, said the gentler voices I'm trying to listen to more often: your pain and suffering are real and valid and it's OK to be stressed and worn out by all this transition. But are you willing to consider that there might be another way? Yes, I know there is another way, and I'm willing to lay this way down and consider other ways to look at things and other ways to respond.

One of the strategies that seems to work the best is to start a fresh ledger sheet: a list of blessings, gifts, benefits, and wonders. It doesn't take much more than just a choice to shift my gaze to see how this season of transition has been one with blessing after blessing, troubles averted, and unexpected gifts. I'm grateful for so many signs of God's hand on us and ways he's using this season for our good and to bring good things to others as well.

Just writing or talking it out helps put my melodrama into perspective and provides the objectivity I need to carry on. If I don't want to take all this out on others, it helps to keep a journal handy. If I use it to record troubles, it lightens them. If I use it to record blessings, it gives them extra weight.

See also: Counseling (2010 post)

Identity Shifts

My decision to get married a few years ago brought with it a whole kit and caboodle of new identities. I became not just a wife, but a seminary student wife, fire department wife, and guy-with-a-host-of-health-issues wife, as well as a parent. And not just a parent but a swim team, water polo, band, and Boy Scout parent. And as a stepmom, I lurked somewhat in the shadows on those parenting roles, not feeling the full weight of them but also unable to confidently take a place among the moms because the kids already had a mom and she was probably there too. A relief in some ways; a tension in others.

All these new roles might have helped me make friends. That sort of happened. But the circumstances were stacked against me; my background and interests were generally quite different from those of the people in the circles where this new life has taken me. It was hard to find  common ground. I often felt I didn't have time for friends and/or I couldn't be a good friend because I had all these things I had to do with or for my new family, including getting dinner on the table every night and trying to put in a full week of work (not always successfully).

Now Chris is done with seminary. This week he leaves the job that has sucked so much life out of him, and he'll be leaving the fire department soon, too. And his health is pretty good now. We won't have any kids living at home, since home, in its previous sense, is no more. Swim team and water polo are behind us, and we'll be 3,0000 miles away from any band concerts or Boy Scout events... and from the regular round of Wade family birthday and holiday gatherings too.

Yup, just over three years into parenting, I'm an empty-nester! Sometimes I joke about that because I know how funny it sounds. But it's weird funny as well as ha-ha funny. I feel some of the same mix of grief and relief, pride and concern, that "real" parents feel about having the kids out of the house. I'm kind of used to Haley doing her own thing, but I don't want to say goodbye to Daniel!

What will the next year or so mean for me in terms of identity? I'll still be a wife and parent, of course, but the job descriptions are quickly changing and the emotional price tag, which had been so high, has just been drastically reduced. My social calendar is practically empty! But I can have friends again, right? At least theoretically? I know, it's not automatic, and I'll still be working full-time and going to school. But I'm praying for a good friend or several. A supportive small group. A church where I can serve and connect with people in more meaningful ways than of late, and yes, maybe even a book club.

Growing Out, Growing Up

Sharing a kitchen table with a growing, carb-loving, teenaged boy and a man twice my size had its effect on me. Or maybe it was eating off those hefty, 100-square-inch plates we got with department-store gift cards. And leaving behind the community rec. center and the beautiful running trail by the river. At any rate, in the early days of my marriage I traded in old habits for new ones that did not suit my slighter frame and thereby gained 30 pounds in 18 months.

Got to the point I'd had enough of that. I found a doctor to confirm what I knew to be true, lecture me on health and nutrition, and threaten me with a prescription for statins. Yeah, high cholesterol. Went home that afternoon and signed up with a bossy, legalistic, calorie-counting web service to train me how to eat less and tell me how I was doing.

Looks like it did the trick. It's been nine months, and I've just about lost those 30 pounds. Might not be able to get into my wedding dress, but, well, no need to. And can wear most of the other clothes packed away after that first summer.

I may gain it all back, it's true. But now I think I know how to keep the pounds off and have the will to do it. That's a good feeling. I don't have total control of this situation but nor am I completely powerless; I have choices to make but can make them and live with the results.  

People of any age can struggle with weight, I know. Yet in my mind the whole weight-watching thing is very much associated with middle-aged women. So this whole experience, along with all I've encountered as a step-in parent to a couple of almost-grown-up children, has helped me recognize and accept my new place in the human community. No longer a young person, but a member of the society of parents (and other grown-ups).

Funny that it should take so long.

"I am still every age that I have been. Because I was once a child, I am always a child. Because I was once a searching adolescent, given to moods and ecstasies, these are still part of me, and always will be... This does not mean that I ought to be trapped or enclosed in any of these ages...the delayed adolescent, the childish adult, but that they are in me to be drawn on." - Madeleine L'Engle

Pretty things, painful memories, and how I was surprised by wholeness

Shortly before Chris and I got married I went back to Denver to help my old housemate pack up and prepare to move out of the place we'd shared for fifteen years or so. She had been there longer than I had and faced some serious and painful downsizing. Her grandmother's china was on the got-to-go list. She offered it to me.

I was touched by the offer of these treasures and the chance to carry on some of her family history. I didn't take the boxes with me, though, since I was flying. Instead I left them for the moving truck.

We said goodbye, and I returned to Oregon to continue the task of setting up my own new household, itself complicated by the realization that Chris and I had rather different preferences for – well, almost everything, it seemed. We both had sacrifices to make. The wedding registry process was rough. Neither one of us wanted to fight about things like dishes and towels – or wedding music and decorations, for that matter – when there were so many more important things to work out. But we were mystified by each other's preferences in each of those areas and more. I ended up taking back quite a few of the wedding presents one of us said we wanted but the other didn't like. We defaulted to what was functional and plain.

I'm not really a girly girl but was sad to have so few pretty things, and to realize that many of the pretty things I already have would probably have to stay in boxes until, maybe someday, we get a bigger place, or don't have any kids at home.

Some months after the wedding, my roommate's sister had to make a trip to Eugene and brought me the three boxes of china. She also gave me some disturbing news about my old roommate, now living with their mother in Washington. It had been a tough transition for her. As I soon discovered, the china hadn't fared well, either. I opened the first box and unwrapped a few things. How did so many of them get broken? I must have thrown some things away, then, but I pushed the boxes back and decided to deal with them later.

Later finally came just last week. Chris and Daniel were both away for the night. I steeled myself for what I thought would be a depressing task, another scene of pain, disappointment, brokenness.

But it was not. I didn't find a single broken piece of broken china, just one after another that was beautiful and whole!

What had happened? I briefly imagined that Someone had worked a frivolous miracle on my behalf, but I suppose it's more likely that I had thrown away the only broken pieces the first time I opened the boxes, not realizing the rest were just fine.

I was further surprised to realize, as I surveyed our kitchen, that I would not have to re-pack the boxes and return them to the garage. Our spacious kitchen has room. So I began using the most serviceable looking pieces, like the cups that aren't paper-thin and edged with gold! Who knows, maybe I'll have some reason to get out the really fancy ones now and again, too. (Like a visit from my old roommate, who I'm glad to say is doing much better. She mostly just needed the time to grieve and adapt.)

Looking back on those days, two years ago, when Chris and I were struggling to furnish the house, I realize how far we've come in appreciating each other's values, preferences, and perspectives. Sometimes we are even able to find things both of us like! Moreover, love continues to cover: we like to please each other, and that goes a long way to producing kindness, respect, and forbearance. There are lots of things I now do or think about his way, and things he does or thinks about my way. Marriage is certainly harder than living with a roommate. The stakes are higher. But, with time and patience, we're learning how to walk together.

The morning after I unpacked the china, I made breakfast for us both and served it on our "new" plates. I knew better than to offer him tea or coffee in these lovely little cups; he's not a hot-drink kind of guy and wouldn't have much use for cups that only hold a few ounces. But I'll enjoy them. And I suspect he will enjoy seeing me enjoy them, too. 

The diet.

That I had put on 30 pounds since I got married was weighing me down (pun intended). This unprecedented development seemed to warrant another I've-never-done-that-before: dieting. I know lots of people who have gone on diets; more, maybe, that have than that have not. Just like I know more people who have gotten married than that have not. But I didn't know how to diet. And I was afraid to ask. The amount and diversity of advice on how to plan a wedding was overwhelming... of the making of books about how to stay married there is no end. And so it is with the amount and diversity of advice about dieting. Who should I listen to? And how much more time and attention was this going to require from my busy schedule?

I get, now, how people can "let themselves go" after the wedding day. For me, it wasn't a matter of laziness or selfishness, just an inability to fit in any fitness goals with the competing priorities of my family... a family that can put away an awful lot of spaghetti or pizza but isn't so keen on fruits and vegetables. My waistline has gone up three sizes, and my clothes no longer fit!

So, I said a prayer and made an appointment to see a doctor. I told her my problem, and she gave me the lecture I wanted and needed. Watch your portion size, she said. "Who makes the meals in your house?" she asked. "I do." "If they don't like what you serve, tell them fine: they can cook," she said. "Fill half your plate with vegetables... a single serving or carbs... just eat a tiny amount of meat." Inwardly I knew Hubs would find this insufficient, but I started to imagine ways we could navigate this process without fights, without anyone starving.

Here was the kicker: "Check out my cholesterol," I asked. "It was high before and can only be higher, now." Sure enough, reported the letter she sent. It's outrageous. Diet time. Tree nuts, olive oil, but no more than four ounces of animal protein a day. And if I can't get the cholesterol down in the next six months, prescription meds.

We agreed that tackling portion size might be the most fruitful strategy to start with. I remembered the advice my weight watchers friends had given me, and the "serves 4" or "serves 6" on my recipes and grocery store purchases, the ones that never seem to make enough for my family these days. I measured the big, heavy square plates we have, the ones that look empty if I only serve what I was raised to think of as a normal serving size. Well, no wonder. Our 10x10" plates have an area of 100 square inches (ooooh, tough math!). The 9" round ones left over from my single days come to only 63 square inches. All those square meals may explain some of the calorie creep.

I also recalled that one of the most tried-and-true tools of dieting is writing down everything you eat. That provides a reality check, a bit of accountability, and I thought it would work for me. Surely there's an app for it? Sure enough, Google led me to a free (though ad-bedecked) website - probably one of many - that helps dieters track food, activity, and goals. It asked my height, weight, age, and gender, then matter-of-factly informed me what my target weight should be. I can get there by losing 19 pounds, and make it by the end of February if I limit myself to 1400 calories a day (v. the 2000 the USDA uses as a norm). Moreover, if I tell the website what I eat, it will calculate and keep track of the calories and other details and let me know how I'm doing.

Sunday was day one. A family birthday party put me over the top: 1800. Day two kept me hungry but the website gave me an "A." I'm performance-oriented enough that this may do the trick. I'll let you know how it goes.

See also a previous post on how we talk about health choices: Free to Be You and Me

Thomas Friedman, lifelong learning & "curiosity quotient"

In recent months I've spent a chunk of nearly every day scanning for interesting stories to feed the Mission Catalyst Twitter stream. It now has more than a thousand followers. Seems like a good application of what we say on the website, that "our staff read and distill dozens of mission-oriented news sources so you won’t have to, while providing easy access so you can learn more."

Trolling for news so much is doing weird things to my brain; I think need to be more efficient with it and set up some boundaries, as well as prioritizing some less frenetic activities. My former way of life felt more balanced, but I should acknowledge that the housework and cooking that take up time I used to give to reading books and getting out (socially and for exercise) are also, in their own way, life-giving. Anything that takes me away from my computer from time to time is good.

News-sleuthing, though, is a good fit for my bent towards, "hey, have you heard about this?" I love good stories and ideas. Collecting and sharing information with others is part of what I feel like I was born to do. It's great to have a job that capitalizes on cultivating that curiosity and making those connections.

A New York Times editorial from Thomas Friedman says that increasingly, such skills will be required for every "decent job." Lifelong learners have an advantage; such habits help them be more flexible and resilient. That's because whatever we know and know how to do is going to become obsolete faster and faster.

Now, notes Craig Mundie, one of Microsoft’s top technologists, not just elites, but virtually everyone everywhere has, or will have soon, access to a hand-held computer/cellphone, which can be activated by voice or touch, connected via the cloud to infinite applications and storage, so they can work, invent, entertain, collaborate and learn for less money than ever before. Alas, though, every boss now also has cheaper, easier, faster access to more above-average software, automation, robotics, cheap labor and cheap genius than ever before. That means the old average is over. Everyone who wants a job now must demonstrate how they can add value better than the new alternatives.

When the world gets this hyperconnected, adds Mundie, the speed with which every job and industry changes also goes into hypermode. “In the old days,” he said, “it was assumed that your educational foundation would last your whole lifetime. That is no longer true.”

Friedman goes on to say:

How to adapt? It will require more individual initiative. We know that it will be vital to have more of the “right” education than less, that you will need to develop skills that are complementary to technology rather than ones that can be easily replaced by it and that we need everyone to be innovating new products and services to employ the people who are being liberated from routine work by automation and software. The winners won’t just be those with more I.Q. It will also be those with more P.Q. (passion quotient) and C.Q. (curiosity quotient) to leverage all the new digital tools to not just find a job, but to invent one or reinvent one, and to not just learn but to relearn for a lifetime. 

The rest of the article deals more with government and politics, but you can check it out here.

"Artificial Maturity"

Recently had a Twitter conversation with a new follower who referred me to a book that looks interesting. Tim Elmore has been involved in youth ministry for a number of decades. I've used some of his material in the past. His new book is Artificial Maturity: Helping Kids Meet the Challenge of Becoming Authentic Adults. Here's part of an interview with the author (posted on Amazon).

* * * 

Q: What caused you to write the book Artificial Maturity?

A: As I concluded my research for the book Generation iY, I began seeing so many students who were beginning well—then not finishing—in school, work, sports, and other areas. Adults assumed they were mature and ready for a task or commitment, but unfortunately, they were not. I compare it to “fools gold.” It looks real, but it's just an illusion.

Q: What exactly is “artificial maturity”?

A: Artificial Maturity is the result of two realities in our culture today:

• Kids are over-exposed to information…far earlier than they are ready.
• Kids are under-exposed to real-life experiences…far later than they’re ready.

This over-exposure, under-exposure enables them to appear very smart, savvy or confident, but [they] may lack emotional maturity, life skills or wisdom that comes in time.  

Q: Describe the world that kids are living in today. Do the challenges override the opportunities?

A: A shift has taken place between early Generation Y and later Generation Y kids. Although born perhaps less than a decade apart, there are measurable differences:

Early Generation Y (Born in 1980s)

• Highly compassionate
• Technology is a tool
• Activists (They are passionate)
• Civic-minded
• Ambitious about future
• Accelerated growth 

 Generation iY (Born since 1990)

• Low empathy
• Technology is an appendage…
• Slack-tivists (They are “fashionate”)
• Self-absorbed
• Ambiguous about future
• Postponed maturation

Q: What are some key steps that need to be taken for artificial maturity to evolve into authentic maturity?

A: Adults must perform some balancing acts with kids, helping them balance autonomy and responsibility; information and accountability; screen time and face-time (in-person experiences); community service opportunities with self-service time. Two examples are:

1. We must be leaders who are both responsive and demanding. We must offer support but also enforce standards. I describe this type of leader as a velvet-covered brick: soft and supportive on the outside but strong and principle-centered on the inside. We must balance tough and tender leadership.
2. We must relay messages early and later in their childhood and adolescence:

Early Messages (First ten years)

• You are loved
• You are unique
• You have gifts
• You are safe
• You are valuable

  Later Messages (Next ten years)

• Life is difficult
• You’re not in control
• You’re not that important
• You’re going to die
• Your life is not about you

* * *

Readers, what do you think about these ideas?

The distinction between children of the 80's and those of the 90's seems harsh, but (if accurate) may explain why so many young folks lack the passion and people skills I thought their generation was supposed to have. At the same time, I look in the mirror and my "emotional intelligence" is not what it could be. Often my fairly high level of self-awareness holds me back rather than empowering me to respond with maturity; I pick up on things and get upset about them but don't translate the insight or energy into a positive, helpful response.

I have a hunch we all have imbalances like those Elmore describes. Are they more or different among today's young people?

It seems an all-too-common flaw to measure others' journeys by our own, e.g., expecting them to know or do things at the same ages that we did. Both our kids are confident and accomplished in things I never would have tried (and, yeah, would tend not to value), but then they lack what seem to me "basic" skills. Don't get me wrong - I think our kids are great. But I'm still in step-parent culture shock and there are some things about their lives and the way they've been raised that I find hard to accept.

Our son has had his first girlfriend but asked me the other day for help defining what nouns and adjectives were. I think I owe him an apology for expressing too much surprise over his challenges in English class. After all, I well remember my mother's horror when I was his age and did not know my multiplication tables -- as well as the questions (not from my parents, but other friends and family) about how late and little I "dated." What is normal, anyway? Sometimes Hubs and I seem worlds apart on the question. I want to do a better job picking my battles, though. Sometimes it's easy, like accepting the new (to me) way "our family" makes peanut-butter sandwiches. Other times it's more upsetting, like the way "our family" sees adolescent dating.

Perhaps the journey to maturity is one with a variety of routes? 

Do you see a shift between early and late GenY? Do you agree with Elmore's description of this shift? What about his suggestions for how adults should respond?

Cartlandia?

Portland, Oregon – the only big city close to where I live – boasts almost 500 food carts. Most gather in "pods" of at least a few mobile eateries parked together on an otherwise empty lot, sometimes forming a semi-permanent food court. On a rare visit to the city we sought out The Sultan's Kitchen, one of several Turkish vendors and reported to specialize in iskender kabob, my favorite Turkish dish. They did, and we got some.

If you find yourself in Portland you might look for what you long for on the Portland Food Cart map (or yes, there is an app for it.)

Thai, Vietnamese, and Indian options abound and are a safe bet in my book. Here’s a taste of what else you might find.I love some of the names they chose.

Viking Soul Food: Swedish dishes
Adaddin's Castle: Iraqi cuisine
El Sultan: Mexican and Greek food
Eurodish: specializing in Eastern-European-style home cooking
EuroTrash Food Cart: inspired by Spanish and Portuguese cuisine
Pyro Pizza: wood-fired oven pizza and handmade sodas
El Masry Egyptian: Egyptian food including gyros and shwarma
Beez Neez: great sausage cart even serving reindeer sausage
Tabor: Czech food cart featuring the Schnitzelwich
The Swamp Shack: Cajun dishes from a food cart
Big-Ass Sandwiches: specializes in a big sandwich with your choice of meat topped with fries and cheese sauce
No Fish, Go Fish: specialty and seasonal soups along with small "no fish" fish-shaped sandwiches
Honkin' Huge Burritos: vegetarian burritos that are truly huge, even the small one
Cool Harry's Frozen Yogurt: locally made organic frozen yogurt in unique flavors
The Frying Scotsman: traditional Scottish fish and chips
Perierra Creperie: French-inspired handmade savory and sweet crepes
PDX671: Guam-and-Pacific-NW-influenced food
Pepper Box: breakfast tacos and other New-Mexico-inspired foods
Fuego de Lotus: Venezuelan-inspired fare
The Dump Truck: handmade Asian dumplings
Wolf and Bear's: Israeli-inspired food like falafel and hummus
Emame's Ethiopian: Ethiopian food
Island Grill: Hawaiian plate lunch
Weenies From Another World: hot dogs and hamburgers
London Pasty Co: traditional British pasties
Herb's Mac and Cheese: mac and cheese and more
Cake on a Hot Tin Roof: dessert cart
Nong's Khao Man Gai: specializing in a single dish - khao man gai, a rice dish with chicken and spicy sauce
GF Chef: real food, gluten-free

Questions: If you were looking for a great food cart, what would you be happy to find? If you were starting your own, what would it be and why?

An Engineer's Guide to the Grocery Store

Here's the method of grocery shopping which I learned from my parents:

If there was something we were out of, something we needed or wanted, one of them would say (sometimes with a tinge of impatience) "Put it on the list!" There was always a grocery list, and it was usually posted, quite logically, on the refrigerator door.

We were also encouraged to make note of the item desired by adding it to more or less the right part of the list, which was composed in "grocery store order." You see, as long as the produce items were listed before dairy and meat, or frozen foods before bread, the shopper can proceed through the store in a smooth and orderly way.

And of course, one would never want to show up at Thriftway without the shopping list in hand. Certainly, you wouldn't just drop in because you were hungry!

Hubs laughed when I tried to explain this system to him. Can you imagine? "Sounds like something a couple of engineers would come up with!" he said.

OK, yes, I do come from a family of engineers and mathematicians. Maybe that's where I get my skills in research, copy-editing, fact checking, code-cracking and puzzle-solving. Not that I always use those skills, but I can pull them out when needed.

There's a strong streak of creativity in my family, too. Sometimes we do make things up as we go. And by nature I think I'm less systematic than some of my kin. That is to say, I like to develop systems and processes, but I constantly tweak them and sometimes mix things up just for fun.

You know, go into the grocery store and turn right instead of left. Do my shopping clockwise one week, and counter-clockwise the next!

Q: Do you shop more systematically or more impulsively?

Principles of Acquisition

My husband and I recently had a small squabble about how to cook rice. He thought we (I) needed a rice cooker, whereas I resisted, more comfortable with my old-fashioned pots and pans. I had similarly tried to persuade our kids that an ice cream scoop was an unnecessary possession in a house with an ample collection of spoons.

As such household debates have unfolded I've come to realize we operate on different principles. I want to have as few tools as possible, but all of them multi-purpose. (Same girl wants to have one purse or one pair of shoes that goes with everything). Hubs is by no means extravagant - he wants to justify every purchase on multiple grounds. But he does like his shiny tools, and he tends to think anything must be better if there's a cord to plug it in.

Our kitchen has lots of storage space and our wedding guests flooded us with department store gift cards, so the happy solution is that we make room for both approaches. We have the space for both pots and pans, and the small appliances... for universally useful utensils, and for specialized ones.

We got the rice cooker. It works fine and will probably stick or spill less than my rice cooked on the stove. Those ten-pound bag of frozen chicken and a 20-pound bag of rice from Costco should mean there's always something in the house to make for dinner. And since Hubs likes the gadgets, I'll have no qualms delegating the dinner-making back to him - at least in theory. It would help if we weren't both overextended these days. I may have to give in and buy the story about how getting a crock pot would make our lives easier too. So far I have resisted.   

Questions:

1. What household tools and appliances have you found the most delightful? What do you use the most? 
2. Which ones seem a waste of space and money for you? What stays in the drawer or cupboard?

It's in the Bag (or Is It?)

My new bag

Some women are enthralled by cosmetics. Others collect shoes. And some love purses and bags.

If I could say my focus on bags is one of love, that might be a sign of shallow materialism. But what does it mean that I go into minor agonies about the acquisition of a handbag? It is with bags as it is with shoes, for me, I guess - love/hate. I seek not variety, but perfection: One bag that will hold all I need without encumbrance.

Mary Poppins' hold-all carpet bag would be ideal; remember it? Or Hermione Granger's bottomless clutch that effortlessly toted a large tent and many other useful items?

I've always been turned off by large purses. A few months ago a conversation with an imaginative man helped me put my finger on why.

I don't want to carry a big or flashy purse because I don't want to appear "high maintenance"! I don't want to send the message to those around me (or be forced to accept, myself) that I just might be one of those ladies who cannot get along without dragging a huge collection of stuff. Who needs a lot to make her happy. I mean, how shallow can you get? Guys aren't like that. (If you overlook their bulging pockets or the number of apps on their iPhones...)

But my unspoken assumption has been that cool women, women who can keep up with the guys, women who should be taken seriously in the world, they should not need a lot of stuff.

So it is that I failed to pack a right-sized bag for two weeks at school. I just couldn't decide. I brought my computer case as well as my small, unobtrusive purse, but what to do with school books, snacks, and umbrella?

The truth comes out. Perhaps I do need a lot of stuff, after all - maybe because I'm not the cool person I would like to be. I read somewhere that even a normal, healthy person usually underestimates the severity or effects of his/her weaknesses by about 30% (and overestimates strengths or capacity by the same amount). Sobering, eh?

Well, when shopping for anything that might be called a purse, I tend to pick something that would be fine if it were 30% larger. As a result, I often don't seem to have what I'm looking for, or I can't find it because things are crammed in there too tight.

The best answer may be an ergonomic messenger bag or backpack able to hold all I need without being cumbersome.

Well, what was I to do? In the interests of economy, I asked the classmate who kindly offered to take me grocery shopping if she'd stop by the dollar store on the way home. This purse/bag is the result.

I know, it's cheap, shiny, and doesn't quite look like the bag of a person who should be taken seriously. (It's better than the red, alligator-skin one that was also being sold for $5.) We'll see how long it lasts. But it's big enough for the usual purse things along with snacks, gloves, umbrella. Not the books, but I'm realizing that people who teach grad classes pretty much never say, "pull out that book you were required to read and turn to page XX..."

This week I'll try leaving the books and computer in my room and rely on my sleek iPad. And yes, that fits nicely in the new bag.

Reflections on Solitude

When, almost two years ago now, I gave up my cubicle, it was with some trepidation. Not because I thought I'd miss the soft grey walls, squeaky chair, and lack of privacy - or my frequently dysfunctional team of coworkers (sorry, guys). I just had a hunch I might have difficulty getting my fill of people time. Time alone is good too, and some people - many, I suppose - have more trouble finding that. But for me, to feel like things are right with the world also requires getting a good two hours a day with other human beings.

For those of us who are single and working from home, sometimes that doesn't happen.

It all went better than I thought it might, though, at least when I lived in Denver. I had a roommate and a regular list of pleasant and convenient haunts; I frequently got together with friends, and my motivation to participate in church activities, go to the rec center, etc. was high enough that life felt pretty well in balance. It actually worked a lot better for me than the old office-cubicle arrangement, which tended to force me into awkward and unfruitful rhythms and drain me of the energy to take much social initiative. I had a lot of lonely weekends. After I moved out of the office, it was only if I was trying to meet a project deadline - or felt I should be - that I would I say no to meetings and other outings. If I played the hermit for more than a day or so at a time, however, I'd start feeling out of sorts and out of touch.

I left Denver 11 weeks ago, and I've been living alone for just three weeks. (See Experimenting with Autonomy.)

Man, what a long three weeks! Even with the holidays in there.

I do have a lot to do, so I'm trying to stay home and focus on my work.  I'm not being as productive as I'd like to be; it doesn't seem to be working. But I'm trying. Unfortunately my neighborhood offers no reasonable places to "office" any closer than a marginally pleasant Starbucks a couple miles away. I do need to work (and to study), and my work is solitary. I can't just pitch it all and go be social. But being alone so much is driving me crazy. I'm dying for people to talk to.

I guess I really do need those two hours a day with people.

Chris and I do our best to see each other daily, but he and the kids are all busier than I am, so it's hard to get much quality time. And to lean on just one person for it? Well, that's not the best idea. I'm looking forward to living together (being married) in June. I think my need for people time will go way down at that point. Though I will still try to avoid expecting Chris to meet all my needs.

My current housemates, Robert and Linda, come back to the States in early April. So that will probably be the end of my experiment with living alone. I'll be glad to see it come to a close. Meanwhile, between now and then, I'll be on the road about a third of the time. That's unsettling in a different way, and it may keep me from being able to put down deeper roots in Eugene. But it will give me meaningful time with human beings.

If you a person who prays, maybe you could pray for me to navigate this season of solitude with grace and openness.

Leaves

Around the end of 1996 I moved into Highlands Ranch, Colorado, dubbed "Beautiful Highlands Ranch." It was once rolling prairie. The last 30 years have seen the area transformed into a booming suburban housing development which, though unincorporated, supports almost 30 schools, a large post office, great parks and recreation centers, and more.

The whole population of nearly 100,000 people who abide in the ranch are required to submit to a community covenant. Committees patrol the cul de sacs (culs de sac?) to tell residents when they need to paint their houses (approximately every three years) and approve the color schemes. Any changes in landscaping must be approved by the community association; permanent clothes lines and anything else the neighbors might consider unsightly are strictly forbidden. Before the end of next month notices will be sent to any who fail to put away their Christmas decorations for the year, not supposed to be up more than 30 days after a holiday.

It's been 10 weeks since I arrived in Eugene, Oregon. Even with winter coming on, the place seemed so much more alive. There are trees everywhere! But it was autumn, and the leaves were beginning to fall. What do people do with all the leaves? (Compost, maybe?)

To my surprise, the kind of people who in Colorado would have owned snow blowers here have leaf blowers. I don't know, maybe they are the same thing with a different name. (Can you tell I'm more the rake and shovel type?) At any rate, they just blow the leaves from their yards, driveways, and sidewalks and leave them the streets.

Some of the piles of leaves are enormous and have been here longer than I have. Several times I've had a hard time finding a place to park amid the leaf piles.

Such a thing would have been a serious and fine-worthy offense in Beautiful (though largely treeless) Highlands Ranch.

I was discussing the leaf piles with the recent California transplants who own the house where I'm living. They were mystified by this practice as well. Why don't people bag up the leaves? Isn't it the homeowners' responsibility? Isn't there some kind of yard waste pickup along with trash and recycling? Or is it really considered OK to simply leave them in the street?

"They will come," Chris assured me. He was born and raised here. "The city picks up all the leaves."

"When will they come?"

"They've already started. They'll get there when they get there."

Yesterday, a dump truck and bulldozer came down my street, and, working in tandem, picked up all the leaf piles.

(File this under "It's not wrong, it's just different.")