When was the last time you did something for the first time?

When I am in Trader Joes, I love to check out the 99 cent greeting cards. One of the cards jumped out at me, with the question, "When was the last time you did something for the first time?"

I purchased the card and it sits on my desk. I am guilty of doing things the same, safe way. As I get older, it gets even safer. This is bothering me. I think this may be a key component to the aging process.

When I lived in Manhattan, I made the decision to move to a little farmhouse in Connecticut. Oh a whim, I fell in love with Westport, a charming little town on the sound. I packed up my Manhattan apartment and bought a used car from a friend. I was all set to start a new chapter, new experience. Only one problem, the car was a stick shift and I had no clue how to drive it. I called my mom and dad and told them about my plans, my purchase. When they expressed concerns about the car, my response, "it's no big deal, I'll just learn how to do it."

One of the mover guys drove it out to my new home. I sat next to him and watched him drive my car. I realized it was a bigger deal than I thought. Especially when we got into Connecticut and there was this little rolling action while you waited on a hill at a stoplight. Yikes.

I had a few days off, so I unpacked my belongings and began to make this sweet little house with a wraparound porch, home. There in the driveway sat my Honda Civic station wagon and I had no clue how to drive this vehicle. I took cabs back and forth to the train. I knew I couldn't keep this up for long, I needed to learn how to master the stick shift.

My friend at Clairol, Adrienne offered to be my teacher. That weekend, she came out and gave me my first lesson. We went to a parking lot where I could stall, lunge and roll, without inconveniencing anyone. She was a great teacher, but I had a ways to go before I could set out solo on the hills of Westport.

I got up early the next morning to practice. I put a big sign in the rear view window, "please be patient while I learn a stick shift". The sign worked, people stayed far, far away. Soon, I could do it! What fun it was to whiz around the backroads of my new town. It was such a great feeling to learn something new.

Check out my picture of Gracie taking her first steps. The expression on her face is one that says "wow, look at what I can do!". So, I am going to make my list, of things to try for the first time. There is a big hill outside my house that is perfect for sledding. Gracie and her friends are on it all the time, while I watch safely from my kitchen window. Today, I am pulling on my snow pants and boots and going down that hill. Hopefully, no one will be watching as I make a total goof out of myself.

I'm going to keep the card on my desk and challenge myself to step outside of the box and try something new. Even if I fail miserably or make a fool out of myself, I'll have the satisfaction of knowing that I'm open to possibilities and willing to take a chance on the unknown.

And if I live my life this way, who knows...I may have discovered the secret to staying forever young.

For Christina Taylor Green

I am often asked, "what is your favorite image in the book...what sound do you miss the most?" Until last night, I never had an answer. I would tell people, I love them all, how can I pick?

Now, I know. It is the sound of sheer joy. Children laughing, playing. Surely, of all the sounds, nothing is more precious than the sound of a child discovering his world.

Our role as parents, as aunts and uncles or simply if you love a child, our role is to watch, guide and protect. Is there anything more wonderful than the curiosity, the wide eyed wonder of my daughter and her friends? Even at 15, she still amazes me as new experiences unfold day after day. And through it all, I watch, I guide, I protect.

So, this beautiful girl Christina, who had her life taken from those who love her, how do we make sense of this? For me, it isn't a political discussion, it isn't about the guns or mentally unstable. It is about loss. This time, even though I do not know her, I have been crying for days. I know I am not alone. It makes me realize that my ability to protect has limitations. Life is so fragile, for all of us.

I believe that our children, they represent all that is good in this world. They remind us of living in the moment and all the possibilities of the future. So, dear, beautiful Christina, you have become one of ours and we will mourn you like we knew you. We will pray for your family and for time to heal broken hearts.

I know that I will do what President Obama suggested. I will be a kinder and better person. I will thank God often for Gracie, this incredible miracle that sleeps down the hall from me each night.

When the President referred to "jumping in puddles" in his speech last night, then I knew...the best image, the best sound, is the one that shows the spirit and joy of our children.

God Bless You Christina.

Image Copyright William Huber, 100 sounds to see

I made a donation to the Community Foundation for Southern Arizona in Christina's name. Here is the link: www.cfsoaz.org

A new baby

I remember the first night home as a new mother like it was yesterday. I was terrified. Here was this tiny little creature looking up at me from her cradle in the middle of the night. I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.

I was surrounded by all the comforts a new mother should have, soft little burp cloths, warmers for the wipes, even the cotton blankets were embroidered with Amazing Grace. There was this diaper genie thingamajig that was truly remarkable the way it would carry away soiled diapers.

Mark was sleeping and it was a very silent moment in the middle of a summer night. Gazing at my little daughter, in her cradle...I remember thinking, somehow I'll figure it out and praying a "help me" type prayer. Perhaps this is normal? Kind of a new mom prayer, Dear God, help me figure it out. After the prayer, I remember wondering what my child would do with her life? What kind of person would she be?

What was it like for Mary when Jesus was born? Certainly the comforts were not there and the cradle was a rough, wood thing that was scratchy, the last thing a new mother would want for her newborn child. Can you even imagine the thoughts that Mary was having? She knew this child was going to save all of us...and this beginning, was out of her control.

So, this Christmas Eve, I am thinking about faith. That even when life becomes something very different and unknown, there is a plan for all of us. Just like that blessed Christmas, so long ago when a new mother, not unlike you and me, was chosen to be the one that would bring Him into our world.

My Christmas wish for all of us is this, let us have the kind of faith that Mary had that night long ago and know, that it will be as it should be. Know that when our life is like a scratchy manger, that God is with us and all will be ok. Perhaps this is the real meaning behind Peace on Earth? It is about having peace in our hearts and being thankful.

Silent night...

the sound of my mother's sewing machine

Maybe my mother should consider entering project runway? Her designs dressed both of her daughters all through their childhood. We both won best dressed and it was because of the many hours she would spend working at the sewing machine in the corner of her bedroom.

Mom worked a full time job and yet, she often had a project underway. My childhood memories are marked by the beautiful clothes that she made for events. For the roller skating party in sixth grade, I had bell bottoms with a matching v-neck vest. They had a giant paisley pattern, the height of coolness. For Christmas, a beautiful red velvet dress with white satin cuffs and matching covered buttons down the front. In the summer, I would have pinafore dresses with matching kerchiefs.

High school brought brown corduroy hot pants and dresses for homecoming dances. I remember all too well, the prom dress she made for me. My boyfriend broke up with me three weeks before senior prom. The boy that asked me to go was not "John" and I was so disappointed. Mom made up for it. She bought fabric that had a gold dust sparkle on the surface and a skirt that made me feel like a princess. That was her way of making the night memorable...and it worked. (She never did tell Dad what she spent on the fabric.)

We didn't have the money to shop for clothes in department stores, but the experience of my mom's homemade garments were so much better for many reasons. Together, we would choose a pattern and fabric. Then she would cut it out on the dining room table. Slowly, it would come together as she would run the seams under the presser foot of her sewing machine. RRRRRRRR, snip, cut...I would watch her as she labored by her machine, often at night after working all day.

The picture I posted shows me smiling...most likely at my mom. I had good reasons to smile. These garments were her gift to me as she shared her talent, her time and most of all her love.

I shop for my daughter's clothes in department stores and never once have I found anything that comes close to a Mary Engle original. I wish I had the patience and skill to create from the heart like my mom.

When I was a little girl, watching her sew, I said, "Mom, you are a good maker". How very true and how blessed I am to have a mother that continues to give of her time and talents not just to me, but to all who know Mary Engle.

Merry Christmas Mom. How about whipping up one of those beautiful taffetta christmas blouses for me again?

A note to the boy who came to the book signing

Dear precious boy,

You came to the book signing in Glen Ellyn this weekend and I didn't get your name. You were accompanied by a woman who served as our interpreter. You were signing and I was lip reading. We are both deaf.

I showed you my hearing aid and tried to explain that I am like you. You smiled at me and nodded your head. You handed me your book to sign and watched me write my name. Then we had a short conversation.

I looked you in the eye and explained slowly and clearly, "when I look at the pictures, I can hear the sounds in my mind." Your interpreter quickly signed these words. You paused for a minute and then with a big smile said, "me, too."

What I want you to know is that nothing will mean more to me than your smile. No matter what happens with the book as the world reviews its contents, your critique means the most.

This book is for you and your journey that lies ahead. Always remember, that what makes us different, is what makes us special in this world. And you are one special person.

Your friend,

marsha

My big sister

I have always idolized my big sister.

From the time we were small children, I have always done whatever my big sister told me to do. When she went through her "horse" stage, I was her horse. She would make me go under our little play table and she would feed me oats with sugar on them. I would eat them like a horse, complete with neighing, etc.

When we were in my grandfather's vegetable garden, she told me to take a bite of a hot pepper. She told me "you will like this". I should have noticed she had a naughty smile on her face. She enjoyed terrifying me with her "un-nun-nuh" monster chant. We had a special sister hand routine that we did before we went out to see what Santa had brought to us on Christmas morning.

Dad would give us each a bag of M&M's as a treat. I would gobble mine up, she would suck on hers one at a time. Her bag would still be full and mine would be empty. One at a time, she would take out a candy, stick it in her mouth and suck on it, which drove me nuts. She always ended up sharing what was left of her bag, if I howled enough.

I'm sure we had our fights, but it wasn't often. Mostly, it was the younger sister (me) studying the older sister (Deb). I would sit on her bed and watch her apply her makeup. Straightening her curly hair was amazing. She would tape her bangs down at night with this pink stretchy stuff. Then she had to go straight to sleep because her eyes were taped shut. She could wear neon yellow vinyl pants and a pink velour mini dress like a runway model. God, she was gorgeous.

Everything she did was exceptional in my eyes. She had the lead in the school plays, she always had a boyfriend and a knack for making great friends. Deb was so smart. National Merit Scholar, Magna Cum Laude...my grades were mediocre. But, I didn't care. She was Deb and I was Marty. It was never competitive, it was just sheer adoration.

The years passed and come to think of it, she paved the way for me in so many ways. She taught me how to live in downtown Chicago. She taught me the art of getting a bargain and how to decorate my apartment. She counseled me on the many, many jerks I dated through the years and helped me with just as many heartbreaks.

When I moved to Manhattan, she taught me about ABC carpet, Zabars and where to get a great bagel. She gave me her flash map and her little coin holder for subway tokens. Even though she was in LA, she was never far. She was still my big sister, helping me find my way. I was so lonely in New York and she knew this. Even though money was tight, she sent me this beautiful blouse in a box with a note that said "thought you would like this". She knew I needed a lift and she knew exactly how to do it.

She stood by me when I married Mark. After I had a miscarriage, she cried with me and assured me that everything would be ok. She proved this true when she held my preemie baby daughter. Through the good times and the sad, we are always there for each other. And we have plenty of both.

Life has had many twists and turns for my sister. She was a very successful actress, even played a lead on Broadway. Watching her sign autographs by the stage door, well, how cool is that? But the Broadway actress is now teaching children in the LA Unified school district's drama program. My sister is like a rock star when she comes to the schools, the children adore her. In my eyes, this is the height of her career, where everyday she brings such important learning and inspiration to children that often have nothing.

She has been divorced for many years now, sharing her life with her two teenage daughters. I only wish she was near. That is the one biggest regret that I have with not being able to hear. The sound of my sister's voice, the stream of conversation that has been a guiding lifeline for me. We text, we email, but the conversation is difficult and the distance gets very real when life throws a curve ball.

So, thank you Deb. Thanks for being the perfect big sister. Know that all these years, my admiration and love for you is steadfast. Truly one of life's greatest blessings is the love of a big sister...and all she can teach you about living.

As I celebrate, can't help but think about my Dad

When I was a child, the carnival would come to town. It was a night of magical sounds and colorful lights. My Mom and Dad would take us to this big event on a summer night. All we had to do was walk up the street from the apartments where we lived in Glen Ellyn. It was a huge treat! It was a big deal! My favorite ride was the Tilt-A-Whirl.

Publishing my first book is much like a night at the carnival. I have been looking forward to this day, the official "day" when 100 Sounds to See is a real book. What an exciting day this is!

But can I be honest? What I am really feeling is a tremendous longing for my Dad. My Dad was a gifted man. He was a writer, a singer and community theatre actor. He never ran any companies, or made much money. He lost his scarf and gloves every winter and his car was always a mess. But, he was the perfect father, the perfect protector. He gave me everything I ever needed in this world to be ok.

He made me laugh at his bad jokes and took me to the ball park to watch the Cubs. He shared with me his love of hockey and football and taught me how to skip a rock. He couldn't watch a sad movie and brought my Mother coffee in bed every day of their marriage.

God, I miss him. It has been almost twenty years and I sit here and sob as I write about my Daddy. He would have loved seeing me become an author. If I have any talent at this, it is certainly from Tracy Engle. He was a guy that could write a jingle on command and a poem for any occasion.

So, this day...for me, it is all about you Dad. You always made me believe I could do anything and now I am doing the one thing that I always admired so in you...writing. Now, in your memory, I will stop the tears and start the celebrating! Just like those summer nights so long ago at the Carnival, a huge treat and a big deal!

(image copyright William Huber)