Happy Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving is most definitely a Pollyanna kind of day. Let's look at how it began.

1) The Pilgrims left England because not too many people liked their brand of religion. Countries were pretty big on religious intolerance in the 1600s.

2) They came over on a very small ship, were very crowded on that ship, went through some nasty storms, and were generally cursed at by the seafarers, which couldn't have been all that great, considering they were religious sorts. Also, nobody took baths, sanitation was abysmal, so the place stank for the months they were traveling to the new world.

3) A lot of them died, including children. See #2 above.

4) When they landed in the New World, it was cold, nasty, and the place looked desolate. It was so forbidding and hopeless-looking that it's said one woman committed suicide by jumping off the ship and drowning.

5) They settled at a bad time of year, when few crops could grow. A lot more died during the winter of disease and malnutrition.

It was nothing like Merrie Old England. No green pastures, forbidding dark forests, and natives that were probably not all that friendly. So, why Thanksgiving? Why have a party that thanked God for all they had? Why not think about how awful it'd been and give up in despair? Go back to England? Sure, nobody liked them there, but it wasn't as if they'd die unless they got too out of hand for the government.

Well, some of them were still alive. Some children had been born. And, a nice Native came out of the woods and asked if they had some beer--in English--and though he had to settle for whiskey, he was friendly enough and showed them how to survive better. A miracle, they thought, that they'd meet up with such a guy.

And it wasn't as if Squanto had it all nice and cozy either. Fact: he'd been captured by white men and sold as a slave. After years of work, and finally attaining his freedom, he came back to his land and found...that his family and whole tribe was dead. He was the last of his people. A lot of people would have given up at that point.

So, why did he help out these white folks, and why did these Pilgrims help him in return? It's not like either of them had great experiences with each others' people.

It just took a few white men who cared for Squanto when he was young and healed him of his wounds and illness to make him see that not all white men were bad. And it took a few friendly words in English from Squanto to show the Pilgrims that not all natives were bad. Each helped each other, and soon, each were friends and celebrated survival and increased abundance by sharing and thanking God for making their lives better than they had been. The first Thanksgiving feast was all about sharing: the Pilgrims pulled out all the stops and put what they had on the table. The Natives were invited to feast, but when they found there wasn't quite enough on the table, they went out, hunted up some deer, cooked it up, and put that on the table. A potluck!

Yeah, it'd been bad for all of them, but they could think of things to be thankful for. Things to be glad about.

Survival is good. Increased abundance is good. And looking back at the bad times and knowing that it's not that way any more is surely something to be happy about. The Pilgrims and Squanto had things to share; because of that, they could tell each other that they still possessed something worthwhile. They may not have been rich, but they had things to share and give each other. If they had not things, they had friendships to share. In their hearts, they were rich.

So maybe life hasn't been great, and maybe it still isn't so hot. But seasons change, hands are held out to help, and friends can be made. And, what you have, you can share. Regardless of how little you think you have, if you have something to share, in my humble opinion, you're not heart-poor, but rich indeed.

Have a warm, abundant, and happy Thanksgiving!

--Karen H.

International Scarf Exchange

Since I love to knit, plus tend to stick to scarves a lot since I don't need to think much about them and can watch TV while knitting them, I thought I'd post this URL (click on the title "International Scarf Exchange" above to get to the blog, or click here). I can't find an introduction, but from what I can discern, you sign up (well ahead of time!) to knit a scarf for a "scarf pal" somewhere in the world, make and finish a scarf, then send it to that pal, which has to reach him or her by February.

I've not joined but I might next year.

Also, there are links to free scarf patterns. Very cool!

--Karen H.

Unbalanced

The Alien Child came home today from college for Thanksgiving, thinner, more confident, and hasn't stopped eating since he came home. Perhaps not coincidentally, he arrived just as the hubby and I sat down for dinner. Good thing I made extra.

I commented that he seemed to be more at ease with himself, and he said that he finally understands that being different is okay, and he has figured that not being the most popular person on campus is probably a good sign, since when you look at all the geniuses and high-achieving people in history, they didn't particularly get along all that great with others, and in fact were unbalanced. Look at authors, for instance. They weren't balanced people.

An image came to me of various captains of industry, walking along, ever so tilted, pounding tables and drinking strong black coffee that spilled out one side of their cup.

I righted my cup andI eyed him sternly. "I'm balanced. I have a family, people like me, I do normal things, like go to church, knit, and do bake-sale stuff. Except, of course, I'm tough, kind of like a female Clint Eastwood."

He said, "No, you're unbalanced, too. You just have friends who are as unbalanced as you are, which is why they like you. "

Luckily for him, he mentioned Johann Sebastian Bach and Isaac Newton before I gave in to the impulse to whack him. Newton was man passionate for mathematics. Was he a people person? No. He was not a well-rounded sort. Did Bach work out every day? Or did he sit around writing music all day? Not a balanced life.

I did protest that Bach was married and had children, which was pretty normal, and he also invented the blueprint. The Boy pointed out having 20 children--all musical, for that matter--was not normal, and neither was writing 20 manuscript pages a day of music. Plus, his blueprint invention was done in the course of pursuing music and making a musical instrument. Bach, in essence was obsessed by music, and obsessions by definition make for unbalanced people. I had to concede that writing 20 pages a day was not normal, particularly as how I could never make it past 15 myself without courting ill health, and I consider myself doing extremely well if I manage 8. He rattled off other people of note who led unbalanced lives: Jane Austen, Albert Einstein, Beethoven.

Unbalanced. Well, I suppose being so is not so bad, considering the rest of the folk he considers unbalanced.

He, of course, considers himself unbalanced. I'm looking at him, thinking, okay. No lack of self-esteem there, and maybe more than a little of ego talking. And maybe, just a bit of compensation for the normal rocky adjustments in one's Freshman year of college. He's changed, discovered a few things about himself. He's less judgemental about others than most of his peers, and though he knows he's different, it doesn't seem to bother him as much as it used to.

Changed or not, it's good to have him home again. His hugs are just as huggy, and his face brightened up when he saw us. "I'm glad to see you, Mom and Dad," he said. "I really missed you."

I'm sure he'll change more as he goes through college. But our Boy is still there, and he's as loving as ever. If that's unbalanced, we'll tilt along with him.

--Karen H.

Nice to know I can remember a few things

Like the Japanese language. I was born in Japan, stayed there until I was almost three years old, so that was my original language, until coming to the US. Switched to English within six months, my mother says. I didn't speak it much or take any lessons except for one semester in 8th grade, and one semester or so in college.

But here I am writing this novella set in Japan, and I'm surprised at how much I remember. Such as the difference between a simple "honto," and "honto ni." It's the difference between saying "honestly!" and (in a sympathetic tone) "really?"

I can still construct a simple sentence ("Kore wa nan desu ka?" "What is that?"), and every once in a while other words come to me, and when I call my mother and ask her for verification, most of the time, I'm right.

I'm tickled pink that I can still remember some words and simple sentences. Which makes the process of writing this novella even more delicious. I can hardly wait to be done with it, so I can go through and make some tasteful (hope!) edits, and color it up some, adding bits here and there to make it sound good. I hope the bits of Japanese here and there adds some authenticity.

Gotta get back to writing.....

--Karen H.

I'm baaaack! Kind of.

It's been a good six weeks since the surgery, a bit of a long recovery, but I'm fine now, and THANK YOU GOD I CAN DRIVE THE CAR AT LAST.

I didn't think it'd be such a big deal, but five weeks without driving a car in a place where you have to walk a good mile to the bus stop, which only comes around every half an hour, and doesn't come around but once every couple of hours in the evening....well, it's hell. That's what it is. Bad enough I was walking around crouched over like a primate ancestor, holdiing my stomach so as to keep my innards from sloshing about too much inside. I couldn't walk much except maybe to the mailbox across the street, and I broke out in a sweat doing that.

The doctor wanted me to wait until six weeks went by for me to drive, but I think I did a good convincing act of cheerful, perky patient, and strong--yes, exceedingly strong and full of vim and vigor, that's me!--despite continuing (but improving!) anemia, so she said yes at 5 weeks. Was a bit tricky getting into the car and out again, but it was worth the freedom to go about as I pleased.

Meanwhile, I have been busy writing, writing, writing when I didn't go brain-dead from fatigue, and spinning and knitting when it did. Luckily, I can knit and spin yarn with a less than fully-functioning brain, so produced some nice items for my church's holiday fair. I am boasting, and have even displayed some of the items here:

http://homepage.mac.com/karenharbaugh/Craftitems/PhotoAlbum2.html

And then the writing. I hope to finish the novella ("Dragon Lord" to be in the Dragon Magic anthology, along with stories by Mary Jo Putney, Jo Beverley, and Barbara Samuel) by the end of this week, and the novel for Bantam--now called Midnight Surrender by, please God, December 15th. Wish me luck on that.

I am enjoying the writing when I'm not dead tired. The dragon story is something different: set in 1660's Japan, the hero Japanese, the heroine Dutch. There is a dragon, or ryu-kami, which is a sort of...hmm...animal spirit/god/totem. A dragon-kami. It's SO nice writing something different and in a different time and setting than what I have been writing. I think I have some nice anime and Kurosawa moments in it, if I do say so myself. Looks like I can write much faster if I'm not stuck writing on the same theme, subject, or era all the time.

The other is a vampire romance, set in about 1796, England. The hero is a spymaster and an official in Britain's Home Office, and the heroine is a vampire, an erstwhile missionary and now prostitute. It's a bit complicated to explain...so I don't think I will. :-)

So...back to the treadmill, nose to the grindstone, and all that kind of cliche. I'll be gone for a bit because of all this work, and I don't even want to think of Thanksgiving preparations right now. But once I finish the novella, I'll put an excerpt on my web site. I promise! Ditto the novel.

Meanwhile, if you want to procrastinate by looking at things on the internet, go view my August trip out to Pullman Washington, when my husband and I took the Alien Child out to Washiington State University and abandoned him there. Or, at least that's what it felt like to me, especially after the ungrateful boy said, "okay Mom, Dad, you can GO now!" It's not as if we were dawdling THAT long.

http://homepage.mac.com/karenharbaugh/PhotoAlbum1.html

If you look carefully, you can see the face of an ape in two of the pictures of the Columbia River cliffs. My hubby was peering at them, and exclaimed, "Look, an ape!" Since I doubted apes were native to Washington state, I had to suppose he was looking at something that seemed like one, and sure enough, there it was. So, I took a picture of it.

--Karen H.