Category: Philosophy & Musings

I grew up at Disneyland. Every time relatives visited from the Midwest, we took them there. There was no wearing jeans in those days. My brother Leo and I were four and three years old the first time we went. Mother dressed us up, me in my dotted Swiss pinafore, Leo in a white shirt, and dark shorts and shoes. You enter and leave the Park through Main Street. Sometimes as we walked out through the gate, Walt Disney was sitting on the balcony of his apartment waving to his guests.

Each time we went, we spent a good deal of time buying giant dill pickles from a barrel and listening to the party line at the General Store on Main Street. The Disneyland Band wandered the streets. On that first visit, the director invited me to lead the band. As he tried to hand me his baton, I reached for my little brother Leo, and I waved that baton with our arms around each other’s waists.

As we grew older, we pushed Grandma around the Park in a wheelchair, and she said that was scarier than any of the rides. We always twisted mom’s arm until she went to Tom Sawyer’s Island with us, the only place in the Park where you could wander on your own. We would get mom on the suspension bridge and swing it until she screamed. That didn’t really take much. She was scared of everything. Sometimes we got her into the “Indian canoe” where she swore she “never put all her weight down.”

Disneyland is the perfect fantasy. It offers a glimpse to the past and future. You can totally leave the present behind. Our family changed when we were there. The kids got to choose.

Leo is in 6th grade and I’m in 8th. We share the same recess and lunch periods, play together and go home for lunch together. We run across what was once an orange grove, then a field where we fought dirt clod wars and is now an asphalt parking lot that fills to the brim for five Masses each Sunday.

Usually we kneel as the Angelus rings from the Church bell tower, but all the rules are broken today. We burst breathless into the kitchen where mom is ironing; a starchy steam rising from my father’s dress shirt. A sweet smell, warm of the kitchen, mingling with the yeasty scent of bread dough rising.

The counters and backsplash are tiled blue slightly brighter than Wedgewood. Weekdays when he’s not traveling, Dad makes tall glasses of fresh squeezed orange juice, eggs, bacon and toast for breakfast. Mother’s plugged the iron in on the wall between the nook and telephone corner. She’s wearing a housedress, her hair neatly cut and curled. She turns up her hearing aid as we walk in.

It’s November 22, 1963 and Sister Mary Hope just announced over the Intercom, “President Kennedy has been shot!” We run into the kitchen to tell mother. “Is he dead?” “Yes.” “Good.”

I’d like to say my heart stopped. I’d like to say my own political ideas changed in that instant. I’d like to say the news cracked the shell of prejudice and stubbornness that was my worldview. I can’t.

Since the early nineteen-ninetys I’ve known big changes come to me after depression. Maybe that’s true of my high school-length depression as well. When I return to Bishop Amat High School after my first year of college, no one recognizes me. I can’t vote or drink, and I’m just getting my driver’s license. But I can protest. I can march. I can boycott class. Years later my mother will ask me, “When did you become a Democrat?”

Picture books. I’ve loved them since before Mom read The Pokey Little Puppy to Leo and me. I just learned it is the best selling picture book ever. When I saw this book in the New York City Library’s exhibit about The ABC of It: Why Children’s Books Matter, I was in for a surprise. I sat down on one of their big green blocks and read it for the first time in years.

I thought The Pokey Little Puppy was about how bad it is to be late. It’s really about having adventures, but coming home in time for dinner. Or maybe it’s about minding your mother. Or treating others the way you want to be treated. Or treating others the way they treat you? Not really about being late or being slow or dawdling though. No, not so much.

In fact the book points out the rewards of dawdling pretty convincingly, at least to me. I really think dawdling gets a bad rap. In this story, the pokey little puppy’s nose to the ground dawdling provides clues to strawberry shortcake and rice pudding for supper! I know my dawdling has gotten me down the path of creativity more than once. But that’s not the only lesson in picture books.

A Bargain for Frances by Russell Hoban is a wonderful story about friendship and trust. Where the Wild Things Are is about unconditional love and again, exploring. In the end Max comes home in time to find his supper still hot. I miss having Maurice Sendak on this earth so much!

And one of the wisest authors I know is Arnold Lobel, who wrote Ming Lo Moves the Mountain and Fables. Both books teach lessons about acceptance, parenthood, and positive attitude. All told with tongue tucked firmly into cheek.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor in the library or book store? Lying in bed at nap time? On your stomach in the grass? I think there must be 1000 ways to enjoy a picture book!

–Martha McCormick

“The thing we tend to overlook about adventures is that the people having them don’t know how they’re going to turn out.” How true! Seven years ago when I was hatching Next Step, I really didn’t know how it would turn out. I still don’t. That’s what makes it an Adventure!.

I’ve come to believe that most things are adventures. And looking at them that way opens up all kinds of possibilities that aren’t there when we think we know how the story will end. I bet Jessica Rowe didn’t have a clue where life would take her when she started at the Blanden Art Museum in Fort Dodge in 1977.

Paris has countless examples of the controversy of great art. From the depths of the catacombs to the top of the Eiffel Tower, I was struck by the courage of the French people. disease from overcrowded cemeteries and the collapse of quarry ceilings inspired the funereal art of the catacombs. Many saw the Eiffel Tower, the most iconic symbol of Paris as an eyesore during its construction and long after.

Anna Gaskell, who originated the quote at the beginning of this post, designed a maze for HyVee Hall. I’ve admired it from above and look forward to the tour this spring that includes it. The public art that Jessica Rowe and other have brought to Des Moines adds a sense of adventure to walking, driving or biking around Des Moines.

When I retired, my brother gave me luggage and said, “Don’t forget to travel.” Going on the road keeps my juices flowing. Last Thursday Tim and I took a little road trip to Mason City to explore some local architectural history.

The city recently opened the Historic Park Inn, designed by Frank Lloyd Wright and meticulously restored to the tune of about $20M. It is amazing! Besides the hotel, Frank Lloyd Wright’s Stockman House is a great example of the Prairie School of architecture. On Friday we walked through a neighborhood just east of downtown of well-preserved homes from the late 19^th and early 20^th centuries. The area includes Prairie, Craftsman, and Victorian styles. There are brass plaques embedded in the sidewalks with the name of the architect, the year the home was built, and the style of architecture.

We were pleasantly impressed by the vibe of Mason City. We ate three excellent meals at three very fine local restaurants. I didn’t expect that the local food movement had reached a town in northern Iowa. But Ralph’s is all about it. They are able to get nearly all their meat and eggs within 30 miles, and buy as much other food locally as possible.

Mason City’s other claim to fame is the boyhood home of “The Music Man.” Meredith Willson grew up there, and Tim and I both worked backstage on our high school productions of his famous play. We walked the footbridge over Willow Creek, but Tim drew the line at the tour of “Music Man Square.” Next time.

When we visited Florida last month, I painted two landscapes on the beach. I put my apron over my swimsuit, set up my plein air easel, and voila. Because the scene changes so quickly–people and umbrellas move, the light changes–there’s no pressure to take the time to get it down perfectly. I feel I captured the stormy feeling of the sky, and the carefree attitude of the coast.

A couple years ago, I made a trip to Greece and Turkey I had dreamed about since I was about twelve, and read “The Moonspinners.” My daughter and I explored Delphi, the Acropolis, and Meteora, archeological sites that inspired my childhood interest in Greek myths.

Though famously struggling these days, Greece has preserved its culture, identity, religion and homeland through Turkish, Persian, Roman, German and American occupations.  After several weeks in Greece, I concluded the secret of their survival is complete confidence that the culture that began there will prevail through time.

What’s the point? That getting out of the daily routine gives us new eyes. It opens possibilities we don’t see in day-to-day life. If I’m struggling with a project, even taking time out for a walk can loosen my mind enough to find the answer.

I was actually sad when I attended my last school conference nearly nine years ago. As my daughter grew up, each passing semester offered a new adventure. The year she changed her name, I introduced myself as “Kate’s mom.” The blank stare was followed by, “Oh! You mean Lucy!” By the way, she’s still Lucy!

Spring semester that same year, she was having a little trouble in Spanish class. I believe she may have gotten a referral to the office, or walked out of class one day. She’s always been a big doodler, and one day Mr. Takalo asked her what she was doing, drawing on the palm of her hand. “I’m stippling my eggs.” I can’t blame him for dropping that one like a hot potato.

Doodling is a good way to keep the creative, right side of our brains busy so our left brains can deal with the facts that we need to focus on. This study says doodling may help us remember things better because it requires just enough attention to keep our minds from daydreaming. And daydreaming, that’s the real enemy of attention! I came across this video–Learn How to Draw Snakes and Graphs; it’s really fun to watch and offers some legitimate math related information. I’m still not enough of a numberhead to understand it alll

Enjoy!