WHAT'S YOUR PASSION?

This week I'm working on a chapter--for my YA novel--that I have simply titled "Passion."

Did you know what you were passionate about when you were twelve? Are they the same things that they are now?

My obvious passions are my religion and my family. Here are some minor ones:

THE STORY. It's always about the story and has always been so. Even commercials on TV have a story. My favorite is the Arby's "last day of school" one where the faculty is just as happy to be out of school as the kids and they all end up at Arby's. I have it recorded and watch it several times in a row. It cheers me up.

PLUCKING MY WHISKERS STRAY EYEBROWS: They shall not live.

FINGERNAIL POLISH: On September 1st I will have worn it every day for a year.

THE COMPUTER: I can read the story, compose the story, and keep in touch with my friends. Not Facebook. Not Twitter. Just email, which I love.

SLEEP: I just need to get some earlier.

LUNCH OUT WITH FRIENDS: Where I hear their stories and tell them mine.

MOVIES: Again, the story. And the popcorn.

CLEAN HANDS, CLEAN FACE: Repentance for the soul, soap for the face. And my daughter-in-law's lavender lotion, which I put it on my face and then put my hands to my nose and breathe deep for a full minute. Then I go to sleep happy.

That's enough for tonight.

What are your passions?

A STORY FOR TUESDAY

Today, Gilmore Girl, Tuesday and I played. Gilmore Girl had a couple of quick errands to run. Tuesday and I didn't want to go so I stayed in the car with her and told her stories. Here's one:

There was once a little girl ladybug who was different. She had an orange body with blue spots.

She didn't go to preschool because she was afraid the other ladybug children would laugh at her. She didn't go out to play because she was afraid children would laugh at her. She wore a coat to church on Sunday, even in the summer, because she was afraid people would laugh at her.

Soon she was old enough for school and her mother said she had to go. The little ladybug with an orange body and blue spots said she was not going to go to school. She cried and threw a tantrum--several tantrums--and then she sulked.

The Friday before school started her mother got a whole stack of paper, two dozen markers and a pot of glitter. She worked late into the night. When she was finished she left the house and stapled the papers on trees. She stapled the papers on bulletin boards. She taped the papers on the windows of grocery stores and on the door to the school and outside the city hall. When she came home she kissed her little orange girl with the blue spots and went to bed.

On Monday morning the little girl threw a tantrum--several tantrums--and then she sulked but her mother would not change her mind. She ate a breakfast of aphids and put on her coat and said she was ready. Her mom made her take off her coat and said, "You don't need that. So what if you aren't like everyone else? Be brave and show others who you really are." And then she took her daughter's hand and they left for school.

The little ladybug kept her head down and so she didn't see the people on the street curtsy when she passed. When they got to school the Principal curtsied and welcomed her, calling her, "Your Princess-ness."

The little ladybug looked up. Her eyes showed the white all around--that is if ladybugs have white all around.

When they got to the classroom the teacher curtsied and said, "Welcome, your Majesty."

The children all stood up. The girls curtsied and the boys bowed at the waist--that is if ladybug children have waists.

The mother smiled and pushed the little ladybug a bit and then everyone crowded around the little ladybug with the orange body and the blue spots and said, "Will you be my friend?" And of course she would.

When the momma ladybug left the school she took the paper off the door of the school and off trees, grocery stores, and the city hall. She stuffed them in the garbage can and put the lid on top. One paper fluttered to the ground. It said:

"Of Royal Birth." There was a glittery picture of a king and queen ladybug with orange bodies and blue spots.

The paper said, "Everyone is of Royal Birth. Some are more easily recognized than others."

And so it is true. All the ladybugs, men and women ladybugs, children ladybugs and baby ladybugs were or royal birth, just like you are, Tuesday. You are of Royal Birth because of your Father in Heaven. Everyone born on earth is of royal birth. They may look different but they are all Heavenly Father's children and should know how wonderful they really are.

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Then I heard a little voice from the back seat that said, "That's good, Grandma."

And she's right. It is.

BEIJING CHINA--THE OLYMPICS--THE CHINESE PEOPLE

Beijing, China. We have heard more about the pollution than anything else. The opening exercises are focusing on the history...at least so far, we are only an hour in.

It is an amazing display with unbelievable choreography. The technology is amazing and yet, some things that I thought were computer-run were human-run. Beautiful humans. The amazing drummers were told to smile more. Why, I wonder? Does China want to change their image with a smile. Do they think I will buy Chinese dinnerware because of a happy citizen's face. It's nice to see them smile but it's a "no" to the dinnerware. To change their image they must be strict in what they import. Internal policies too, need to be addressed. No longer will they be cloaked. This opens their country for worldwide scrutiny.

15,000 performers, each one whose life will be changed because they were chosen to be in this Olympic opening ceremony. For some it will be the highlight of their lives.

These Chinese people, these billion plus people, are all being changed for the better or the worse, just like you and I, every day of their lives. When we think of the Olympics we think of the athletes but it's not the athletes I am thinking of tonight. I am thinking of the woman, living in a hill town, squatting so seemingly effortlessly, over a charcoal fire, making her family's meal in one pot. The Olympics is not an important event in her life tonight. Seeing her family fed is. I see in the young man who leaves his family farm to go to the city and work in a factory so he can send money home. I see the young girl who lives in an orphanage because she was not born male, waiting for anxious parents from another country to get the papers in order so she can have a family.

Each number is a person, has a face, has fears and hopes and dreams. Each person has myriad experiences that are unique to them only. Each has a story. How I wish we could hear them, these stories of people not so different from us.

Let the games begin!

MY PERSONAL HISTORY GROUP

Today was my personal history group. Six of us today. Six wonderful women--yes, I'm including myself in the wonderfulness, if I don't believe it how can I be it? How can I be better if I don't think I'm worth being better for?

Here are the stories we heard today. I will not divulge much of their stories, not enough to compromise their privacy. I am giving them new names too. Here we go:

Meg didn't get married soon. She didn't get married later. She got married late. Too late to have babies. Today we heard the first bit of the romance story. Funny. Sweet. Tender. I want Meg to write this into a novel. She could do it. She's educated and I see authorship in her but don't know if she does. Who am I to say, anyway? She is writing it for her husband's grandchildren--her husband died about four years ago--she had him such a little bit of time--but I want the world to hear her life. It would be a wonderful read. Because she was single for so long she has done a lot of fascinating things the rest of us haven't had a chance to do.

Deedee read poetry, free verse, I guess it's called, beautiful poems for her grandchildren on their birthdays, telling of their lives, their passions, their disappointments and their faithfulness to their religion. She told them that she and her husband loved them. There is nothing like the love of a grandparent. She loves those children and told it wonderfully well and gave such a great summation of their lives. I know the children will treasure this poetry written by their grandma.

Julie--my favorite name, my sister got it first--told of when she was a kid and had surgery. She had a photo to show the cast, from chin to hips, her head turned permanently--for six weeks--to the right. When the cast was off her neck muscles were so weak she couldn't hold her head up. It was like a new baby's. This woman has to be reminded we need her and I am the designated nag. She is independent so I have to nag a lot to get here with us, where she belongs. And yet she is the first to tell those of us who struggle to be independent that we shouldn't be, that we are all connected, we are all one. We have to remind her to listen to herself.

Me, I'm calling myself Gabrielle from an earlier post--I read my Grandpa and the Chocolates story and then the first few paragraphs of putting it in a six year old girls voice for a book I'm thinking about writing. The group was nice about it, told me to remove the last part of the last line and it does read better. So it ends, "We sat there together for a long time."

Dani read a funny story about getting up with her baby at 1:00 (AM), 3:00 (AM), and 5:00 (AM) EVERY SINGLE NIGHT. She said she does well on not enough sleep until one night the baby decided to only get up once. The next day Dani was cranky because she said, "I got too much sleep." She told--in dialogue--all the unreasonable things she told her Kindergarten boy to do because she was too cranky to be nice. It was so funny. I would love to see it in a magazine. Young mothers would howl with laughter.

Ella Enchanted read about a blessing she wanted so very badly simply never happened. She retreated to her bedroom to grieve and told in detail the steps. We grieved with her. Finally, and for the first time, she accepted whatever God had in store for her. Truly accepted his will. It was a breakthrough for her, to accept with complete faith. I won't tell the end of the story as it is her story to tell. It gave us all something to think about.

So, there you have today's Personal History group's readings. I wish I could have a personal history group with each of you. Wish I could know you and learn from you and learn to love you as I do my friends here.

May God bless each of you this night and always.