The Best Way to Learn to Write

One of my professors asked us, on the first day of class, what was the best way to learn to write. Since we were all sitting in a university course trying to do that thing, it was a good question. It’s also a huge industry now, with magazines, books, online classes, organizations, conferences, and distance education programs, all dedicated to teaching writers to write.

I thought back to all the writing books I’ve read, classes I’ve done, and conferences I’ve attended, but the answer that came to me was “reading.” As a young writer, reading a good book would often make me hop to my computer to work on my latest novel.  Now, a good novel has me reading more carefully, trying to figure out what the writer is doing that makes it so good.  Most of my classes are reading classes, where we carefully study short stories and short creative nonfiction (like this really good piece) in an attempt to see what the writer did so that we can do it too.

Other students in my class also suggested reading. Some said writing. One said heroin. Our prof agreed that the first two were good ways to learn to write, but not the best way. In his estimation, the best way to learn to write is rewriting.

I could see his point. Rewriting is often the hardest part of writing. Most of us throw words on a page and then want to consider ourselves done. And with instant publishing mediums like blogs, we can be done—our work is presented to the audience. But many great authors have talked about the importance of revision, rewriting, reworking. Taking those first words as only the seed of an idea and probing deeper—choosing better words, removing excess words, reworked sentences and paragraphs, fine-tuning until it really is perfect.

We could go around asking authors how often they’ve rewritten stories or novels or articles. Maybe some pieces do come out perfect; others definitely need work. I know that I need to put more time into the rewriting process. So the challenge that I issue to you and to myself is to look at those stories or poems or articles that we’ve crafted and ask, “Can it be better? Can I rewrite it?”

What do you think is the best way to learn to write?

Baby's First Shoes

I bend down to pick up the pair of tiny pink shoes, and cuddle them in my hands as I carry them to my bedroom. I set them on the dresser, nudging them together. I’ll put them away tomorrow, because she’s sleeping now, curled up in her crib after a long day of wearing these shoes.

The shoes look tiny there – both fit in my palm. Yet already their soft leather is moulded to her six-month-old feet, the soles a bit worn from her first steps, taken while swaying back and forth at the waist, proudly grinning and clinging to Mommy’s hands. On the leather, I see marks of spit-up that somehow gets on everything, though I wipe it up while she laughs at me.

The toes are shiny from the many times she’s sucked on them, despite my attempts to tell her those shoes have stood on dirty floors, strange chairs, restaurant tables, park sand, green grass, car trunks, and who can remember what else. They enchant her, these changes to her feet, and so into her mouth they go, while she smiles at me from her bent-double position, blissfully unaware that such flexibility is rare.

These shoes, her very first pair, came from her grandmother on the occasion of her baptism. They were big then, a toe’s length beyond her big toe, and stiff with being new. First attempts to put them on her feet were difficult, as she curled her toes and wiggled her feet and wondered what Mommy was doing.

Now they slide onto her feet easily, as the leather has softened and she has gotten used to the process of putting on socks and shoes.

The day that she first wore these shoes was one of the milestones that I actually remembered to record. It seemed a bit strange to be putting shoes on feet that weren’t yet walking. If we carried her everywhere, why did she need them? Was I wanting her to grow up too fast by having her wear shoes? Yet if nothing else, they kept her feet warm, and soon she began standing up, testing out her legs and feet, discovering how her muscles worked, and those shoes began their job.

She’ll grow out of these shoes soon, into the next pair and the next. Part of me wants to hold onto these shoes, these moments. I’ve been warned to enjoy this time when she doesn’t really need the shoes because she isn’t walking yet, to hang onto the moments where she still requires me for mobility and stays where I put her down, kicking her shod feet against the grass, the couch, the rug, the bed or bending double to see if they taste any differently today than they did yesterday. But I know I cannot hold back time; all I can do is walk with her along the way, and buy her new shoes as she needs them.

Sunshine Helps Mommy Study

"Mommy, I putta books by the wall," Sunshine announces as she marches down the hallway, my book bag in tow.

"Okay, thank you," I say.  The bag is almost as tall as she is, but she managed to prop it back against the wall beside the door, where I had dropped it when I got home from school. 

When we finish supper, I take it to the living room and drop onto the couch.  Sunshine climbs up beside me and takes out the pen case.  She loves opening it and closing it, taking out the pens, putting them back and taking out other pens.  I finish reviewing my agenda to see what I need to read and crack open my creative nonfiction anthology.  She asks for the agenda.  I flip it to a page I don't care about (the student association president's address or something similar), and she begins drawing.

Several pages later, I hear her say, "I putta sticker there," and glance over to see that she's covering the anthology in flags.  With a humfy breath—both at her and at myself for not watching her—I rescue the last of the flags and give her the warning again that she can play with my pens, but not my "stickers" or whiteout.  I return to my reading.  I'm only halfway through the essay when Sunshine tires of playing school with Mommy and slides off the couch to take the toy that Lily had been playing with.

It's only the next day, when I again flip open my agenda to look up the short story I need to read for my other class, that I see Sunshine didn't stick to the student association president's page.  She's drawn circles all around my notes about WRIT 100—Post Exercise 3 to Forum and Read "Writing in Scenes."  I smile at it.  I guess if Mommy can write there, she figures she can too.

Writers-on-Wednesday: Tom Reeves

Tom Reeves has been a confirmed Francophile since he first took an unpaid sabbatical in 1975 to travel to France to learn the language, see the country, and pursue a diploma in French language, literature, and civilization. Returning to California in 1978, he eventually realized that while he had left France, France had never left him. He moved back permanently in 1992. Reeves’ love of French language and culture inspired him to create Discover Paris!, a travel planning service that caters to North Americans interested in cultural travel to Paris. His recently published book Paris Insights – An Anthology has been called “the kind of insider’s view of the French capital… that visitors pine for.”

How did you become a writer?
My wife and I live in Paris. We launched a travel-planning service called Discover Paris! in 1999. We soon realized that if we wanted to establish credibility as specialists on Paris, then we should begin writing a newsletter about the city. We named the newsletter Paris Insights and began publication on a monthly basis in February 2000. Our goal was to provide information about the city that avoided stereotypes and was not generally available on the Internet. Hence, I started doing research on the history of the city, its people, and its monuments in the city’s public libraries. I also started interviewing Parisians and writing articles about them.

After a few years, I found that I was spending a great deal of time researching material for the newsletter. I decided at that point to begin charging a newsletter subscription fee, rather than giving the information away for free. I added two new features to the monthly newsletter, one of which is about Parisian chefs and their restaurants. It is called “Le Bon Goût.”

Having published many newsletters over the years, we decided to assemble a number of them into a book and call it Paris Insights – An Anthology. We began by publishing a full-color edition in 2008, followed with a black-and-white edition in 2010, and then a Kindle edition in the same year. The latter two editions are available on Amazon.com. The book has received nine 5-star reviews on Amazon.

I have also published articles about France in France Guide, a publication of the French Government Tourist Agency, and on the Bonjour Paris website.

What inspires you to write?
Paris inspires me to write! I find its people, its history, and its culture fascinating!

Who is your favourite author and why?
Most of the books I read are non-iction accounts or memoirs about Paris. I cannot say that I have a favorite author, but I enjoyed Memoirs of Montparnasse by John Glassco, which recounts the spirit of Paris in the late 1920s; A Movable Feast by Ernest Hemingway, another memoir of the same period; and Crimes of Paris by Dorothy and Thomas Hoobler, an absorbing cultural and social history about the City of Light during the era just prior to WWI.

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And congratulations to Writer Mom, the winner of Come Sunday by Isla Morley!  Picador should be sending you your copy in the mail ASAP.  Congratulations!

For My Mommy Friends

I don't often watch videos on YouTube, though they frequently come my way over email or Facebook.  On very rare occasions, one grabs my attention.  This video was one of those.

Every mom struggles with bad days.  Maybe I've had a few more of those lately, with the stress of settling into a new place and trying to get a lot done while holding Lily and keeping Sunshine happy.  Right now Sunshine is going through a whiny phase that drives me nuts—I want to clamp my hands over my ears and beg her to just stop whining.  At any rate, this video was extremely encouraging to me and I'd like to share it with all the other moms I know.

Watch it.  Often.  Remember it.  May it bless you as it blessed me.

Back in School

The changing of classes seems a bit like a cattle drive: a herd of students swarming out one door and down the hallway while another herd of students swarms in the door and up the hallway in the other direction. I try to dodge past the students joking with their friends and shrugging into their jackets, but there are more students in front of them, so I content myself with their pace until we are free of the door. Then I stretch my legs into a quick stride to cross campus for my next class.

As I do, my thoughts are going in as many directions as the students on campus. I need to work on my oral presentation—I was lucky enough to draw the name of one of the first essays we’ll look at in class, and probably the only essay I wouldn’t have wanted to present on—and get working on the readings. Is Lily napping or crying or playing happily? I could call my aunt quickly to see, but as I finger the cell phone in my pocket—set on vibrate—I decide she would have called if there were problems. I need to get to class, hand in the essay we annotated (unless it’s due next week?) and then I’ll go home for lunch.

I’ve had three days of classes so far and I am thoroughly enjoying being back in school. This semester I'm taking short creative nonfiction, short fiction, and the introductory writing course which covers, in this semester, creative nonfiction and fiction. So far all three classes are tying into each other in interesting ways; creative nonfiction and fiction are linked genres (I usually say that creative nonfiction is nonfiction written using fiction techniques).

Sunshine likes having my aunt to play with on Thursdays and two homeschoolers to play with on Mondays. Lily is still adjusting to the idea that Mommy isn’t around for those two days. On the first day I left her, my aunt said she cried the whole time. (What? My happy, sunshiny baby?) The homeschoolers said she was a bit better (and had a couple good naps) on Monday, but yesterday she was again fussy.

(As if knowing what I was writing, Sunshine just ran up to me and said, “Mommy, you’re home! I don’t want you go to school.” But when the babysitters are here, she doesn’t want them to go home either.)

On Wednesday, Lily had a nice two-hour nap and I had fun studying with Sunshine. We sat at the table and she colored while I read. Then we moved upstairs and sprawled across my bed, and she handed me pens as I highlighted and made notes for my oral presentation (and decided that under the bad language, the writer had a really good point to his essay). It was a fun way to get my homework done and spend some time with her.

There were moments, in our month of settling in here, when I wondered why I was going back to school. This first week of classes has swept away any doubts.  I am thoroughly enjoying the challenge of lectures, readings, and assignments again, the chance to talk to other writers, to immerse myself in something I love—and then to come home, at the end of day, to be greeted by two little persons whom I love as well.

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If you haven't already entered the draw to win a copy of Come Sunday, there's still time!  Check out my interview with Isla Morley as well; leave comments on both posts for double entries in the draw.

I'm also still looking for submissions for the Write Mama blog carnival.  Deadline is next Friday!  Have you blogged about writing or motherhood?  Share it here!

Isla Morley Talks to KBW

I really enjoyed reading Come Sunday and so was delighted to have the chance to interview Isla Morley about her novel.  I was even more interested when I noticed that Isla and I have something in common (besides both being writers)—see my third question below.  And finally, I'm excited that Picador is offering a free copy of the novel to one lucky winner who leaves a comment on this interview and/or my review of Come Sunday.

KBW: How long did it take you to write Come Sunday?
Isla: I was working for the YWCA of Oahu when I started the novel. I wrote on weekends and at nighttime and during my daughter’s naptime, and it took me two-and-a-half years to complete.

KBW: What was the inspiration behind the novel?
Isla: A really bad day, actually. In fact, I incorporated that bad day in the first chapter of the book. A tropical storm had hit Hawaii, and rather than keeping everything dry, our brand-new roof leaked worse than before we’d had it replaced. That night I went to bed feeling very sorry for myself, but suddenly, this woman appeared to me. She was holding a funeral announcement in her hand, and I thought, “Oh, things could be so much worse than a leaky roof.” That woman turned out to be the main character of my novel, and she just kept revealing more and more of her life.

KBW: Like you, I have an English degree and work as an editor. How did you get into your editing career? Do you feel your English degree helped you in this direction?
Isla: I sort of stumbled into the job. I had just come back from living abroad for a year and there was an ad in the classifieds for an editorial assistant. It sounded glamorous, so I applied for the position, and before I knew it, I was opening the mail, making coffee, answering the phone and writing phony letters to the editor. Somehow my name kept moving up the masthead until one day it was under the title “Editor.” Except nobody told me to stop making the coffee or stop making stuff up!

I didn’t learn how to write or edit or juggle deadlines from studying English at University. What my English degree gave me was the gift of critical thinking. Some people’s eyes glaze over when they hear I have an English degree, like I have a stamp collection I want them to see. I’ve even had someone ask me, “Yes, but what is it for?” Yes, it’s true you can’t be a dental hygienist as an English major or even balance a checkbook. But you have a ton of old friends who live in stiff old pages and smell of mothballs and have taught you pretty much how to be a decent human being.

KBW: How do you feel growing up in South Africa has affected you as a writer?
Isla: I’ve discovered things are seldom black or white. People are complex, issues are complex. Victims can have a streak of the villain in them, and villains are capable of extraordinary kindness. I learned very early on in life that things are seldom what they seem. I’ve tried to apply this truth in my storytelling.

KBW: How do you balance writing and motherhood?
Isla: Being a mom comes first. Writing is what I do when my daughter is at school. But I do find that when I have a productive and creative day, I am in a better mood and both my daughter and my husband benefit from this.

KBW: Is there anything else you’d like to say?
Isla: There’s a fortune stuck on my computer that says, “If you have hope, you have everything.” I wish all your readers the kind of hope that sustains them through the rough patches. Thank you for having me on your blog. You’re all invited to follow me on Facebook too.

Leave a comment for your change to WIN a copy of Isla's book COME SUNDAY!  If you already commented on my review, leave another comment here for another entry in the draw (one comment per post please; maximum two entries per person).

Photo credit: Molly Hawkey

Book Review: Come Sunday

I picked up Come Sunday because the Hawaiian/South African setting intrigued me. It was also a story about a mom like me—at least, she’s a mom like me until her daughter is killed. It’s a mother’s worst nightmare and I guess I was curious how a woman would deal with something like that.

Abbe is a pastor’s wife, magazine editor, and Cleo’s mom—not necessarily in that order. In the opening chapters of the book, it’s life as usual: dealing with a gregarious three-year-old who is alternately adorable and annoying, wishing for more help from a husband who is busy with work, and trying to get to work. Then, when Abbe schedules some rare date-time with her husband in an attempt to reconnect with him, the accident happens.

As parishioners come by with more food and flowers than Abbe knows what to do with, she draws into a black hole of grief. She clings to the remnants of Cleo—her stuffed bunny, her blanket, her clothes—and tries to assign blame for Cleo’s death. As Greg tries to move on after his daughter’s death, Abbe’s anger turns on him. Their crumbling marriage disintegrates altogether and Abbe is left alone with only her memories.

Interspersed through Abbe’s telling of her loss and grief are her memories of growing up in South Africa. The memories of her childhood are triggered by something in her present-day story, pulling both stories together until, at the end of the novel, they become one story. Abbe’s father was a verbally and physically abusive man who completely controlled and dominated his wife and daughter. Yet when Abbe returns to South Africa, she learns that even things she saw in her childhood were not what she thought they were.

In a final, climactic moment, Abbe’s memories of her mother confront the woman she has become in her grief and she makes one hasty, violent decision to live again. In the aftermath of that decision, she must rethink her grief and the way she has treated her friends. The novel ends on a note of hope, as Abbe finds true healing and a new direction for her life.

Come Sunday is Isla Morley’s debut novel and, like so many other great debut novels, makes me almost despair of writing. Her talent shines through every page of the story. I loved her descriptions, her sly wisdom, her unique insights into life in both Hawaii (it’s not just sandy beaches and five-star hotels) and South Africa (a place where blacks and whites still aren’t equal). I liked the way each chapter usually ended on a similar note as it began, completing a circle.

This novel was absolutely beautiful, poignant, hard to put down. I'm not surprised that it has been awarded the Janet Heidinger Kafka Prize and was a finalist for the Commonwealth Prize and longlisted for South Africa's premier literary award, the Sunday Times Literary Award.

I’m thrilled that Picador is offering my readers a chance to WIN a copy of this novel (because I’m keeping my copy!). Just leave a comment to be entered in the draw. And be sure to come back on Wednesday, when I interview Isla Morley, and leave a comment there as well for a second chance to win.

This novel was provided for review courtesy of Picador.

Write Mama Blog Carnival

For months, I've been toying with the idea of starting a new blog carnival.  I've browsed through the categories at Blog Carnival and could never find one that was exactly what I wanted (other than the Just Write carnival).  So I have now acted on my idea and created the Write Mama Blog Carnival.

I plan to post this carnival on the first Monday of every month, with the deadline for the carnival being the last Friday of the month before.  If you are interested in participating, please follow the link above to the Blog Carnival submission page and send me your stuff.  Right now, I'm filing submissions under three categories:

Writing Tips for Moms: how do you find time to write while watching your children? How do you balance motherhood with the desire to write? How about writing markets for mommy lit? What other tips can you share with mom writers?

Writing about Mothering: It's natural that, as moms, we write about our experiences. This is the place to share those pieces that come out of our two vocations. This might include book reviews of mommy lit (other mothers writing about mothering) as well.

Moms and Writers: anything that doesn't fit in the above categories, yet is related to being a mom and being a writer.

If you have any suggestions, please let me know as well.  I'm also interested in having different mommy bloggers host the carnival; if you want to do this, drop me a note.  This is a new experience for me and I'm open to input.  I'm hoping to bring together a bunch of mommy bloggers to bless and encourage each other through this fun form of blogging.

Pass this information on to your fellow writer mamas and drop by here in early October for the first edition of the Write Mama Blog Carnival!

Writers-on-Wednesday: Deborah Owen

I stumbled across Deborah Owen's blog a few weeks ago and we've been chatting via email about writing ever since.  She is the CEO and founder of the Creative Writing Institute, a writer's website that offers a free e-newsletter, online writing courses, and more.

How did you become a writer?
I was 13 years old when I heard about a school writing contest for 8th-12th grades, so I submitted a story that centered around a mysterious little Quonset hut (that looked like the two buildings at the top left on this site) that sat behind our property. It was abandoned, but I pretended that a mother and two children lived there.

In my fiction story, it was Christmas Eve and snow lay thick on the ground. I stood outside the Quonset hut and peered through the window at shivering children who asked when Santa would come. One little girl wished for a hair ribbon. The boy wanted a toy car. Their mother said she would be content with food and blankets. I ran home and told Mother what I had heard. My family collected the objects they had wished for and we laid them at their front door early Christmas morning. I knocked on the door and we ran away. That story won third place.

As I look back on it I have to laugh. Where was the physical description? Where was the characterization? And what about the fact that the woman could track "Santa's" footprints in the snow back to our house?

The next time I wrote was ten years later, when I composed stories to read to my children. Again, I quit writing, but 30 years ago, the muse burned within until I had to get it out so I got my start writing for newspapers.

Now I find myself in a strange corner of life. Because of time restraints, I must choose – would I rather contribute my small pittance to society? Or would I rather train multitudes of writers and contribute a lot through them? I chose the latter and thus founded Creative Writing Institute, which is a non-profit charity that scholarships cancer patients. But that's another story.

What inspires you to write?
Anything. Everything. I look at antique furniture and wonder who made it? Who did they make it for? How did it come to be here, before me? I think of story titles and make a few notes on what I want that story to say, and I file it under "Ideas." When I can't think of something to write, I go to that file. And I'm always enrolled in some kind of writing course. The courses sharpen my mind, broaden my scope and force me to make writing a priority.

Who is your favorite author and why?
Oh my. Ted Dekker has some great religious books. In the Circle Trilogy, he masterfully represents both God and Satan in human nature and dialogue. Fascinating and controversial! Right now I'm studying A.J. Quinnell's style of characterization in Siege of Silence. I've never seen such pure genius on characterization.

Explore: Pacific Marine Circle Route

Like so many other families, my husband and I decided to use the long weekend to take a last big trip before school starts.  He showed me a few ideas on Thursday.  On Friday, I said "Let's go" and he said "Where?" and I said "I don't know.  Where can we get in about two hours?"  Lately, Sunshine has been whiny when we're driving and I didn't want to put up with that for too long.  My husband googled a couple of places, I found our camping gear, and we loaded up the Jeep and hit the highway around 5:00.

We drove north from the city on Highway 14, which is a two-lane, narrow, twisty road along the coast.  The speed limit was usually about 60 km/h and there were often places to pull over to let faster vehicles (like the gangs of motorbikes we saw) go past.  Later, when we left the "highway," I joked that the only difference between it and the next road (a secondary highway?) was the lack of a yellow line down the middle.  In places, both roads also narrowed to one lane yielding to oncoming traffic to go over a bridge.

One thing that has surprised me here on the island is distances.  Perhaps it's because the highway, being twisty and slow, was much more interesting than driving the QEII or other highways in Alberta.  Or perhaps it was because Sunshine was actually happy for the two hours it took us to reach China Beach.  We found a campsite we liked and then went to check out the beach before dark.  It was a 1 km hike down through the trees, with several sets of long stairs to help.  After a quick glance at the grey, windy beach, we headed back up to set up our tent and eat supper.

The next day we drove to the day-use area for China Beach and again hiked down the beach.  The weather was cloudy and misting slightly, but the hike from there down the beach was slightly easier and involved less stairs.  At the beach, Sunshine began happily "making sandcastles" or burying kelp.  My husband had been hoping that we could walk along the beach to the other trail and then back to the Jeep, but the rocks prevented any sort of loop like that.  So we went back up to the Jeep and drove on to Sombrio Beach.

The narrow, rutted, gravel access road to Sombrio Beach made us glad that we had a Jeep and surprised at some of the tiny cars that drove down there.  The parking lot was packed; obviously, this was a popular stop on the road—or perhaps the now sunny weather had brought all the locals out.  We grabbed our lunch stuff and hiked the five minutes down to the beach, along with other "beach campers" who were hauling in coolers, lawn chairs, and twelve-packs of beer.

We didn't like the campground at East Sombrio, so we hiked back to the fork and out to West Sombrio.  Here, there were wooden tent pads up off the beach and we used one of these to cook Hamburger Helper for lunch.  Sunshine and I explored the rocky beach, watching the seagulls splashing in the shallows.  She threw rocks into the river and, when she saw others going barefoot, wanted to take off her shoes too.  After lunch, we hiked back up to the Jeep and continued driving.

By the time we got to Botanical Beach near Port Renfrew, I was exhausted (probably a combination of the hiking, less sleep, and dehydration).  My husband was gung-ho to hike out to this beach and I just wanted to sleep.  However, it was only 3 pm so I also didn't want to head for camp.  While he looked at the map, I looked up the Beach in our Frommer's Guide.  Frommer's gave it a rave review, so I decided we shouldn't miss it.  We went back to Port Renfrew for ice cream and water, then came back to hike the Botanical Beach loop. 

While we didn't find anything as spectacular as starfish or sea urchins in the tide pools, we did enjoy the hike, including clambering over the rocks.  Sunshine was remarkably gung-ho for most of the hike and, with help, quite okay with climbing around looking for tide pools in the rocks.  Later, my husband got her playing dinosaur to keep her walking.  Several other hikers smiled at the two-year-old running down the trail yelling "roaaar."  When she got tired, my husband carried Lily and I put Sunshine in the Ergo carrier I was using.

We sat on the beach there for half an hour, letting Sunshine play in the sand with some other kids and just watching the waves roll in.  A blue heron flew past and I played with the settings on my camera to get pictures of the sun over the ocean.  As we sat there, I thought, "This is why we moved here."  Not because I love beaches so much, but because it's another experience.  Something new, something we can't do in Alberta.  For a few minutes, it was fun to just sit there and watch the waves crash.

We left Botanical Beach at 7:30 and drove east looking for a campground.  Fairy Lake, the first one we came to, was full.  Lizard Lake had one spot left, until the neighbours warned us that they were having a very loud twenty-fifth birthday parting.  San Juan was full.  And the ranger at Stoltz Pool had given away the last spot just before we got there.  By then, we were an hour from home, so we gave up on camping and just headed for Victoria.

We'll drive the Pacific Marine Circle Route again sometime and stop at some of the places we missed this trip.  Maybe next time we'll plan our trip slightly further in advance so that we can reserve campgrounds.  Still, it was a fun weekend, a nice get-away-and-see-the-island before becoming busy with school.

Sunshine Says... (Vol 2)

Sunshine seems to have inherited my problem of long legs and a skinny waist, such that most of her pants don't fit very well.  I took in quite a few, but jeans don't take in very well, so I bought her a velcro belt.  The other day, when a new pair of jeans were sliding down around her hips, I took her upstairs to find her belt.  As I pulled it out of the drawer, she cried, "Found a seat belt, Mommy!"

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I was wrapping presents for the weddings that we attended before we left Alberta.  Sunshine was busy at the other end of the table with a snack, watching as I carefully measured and cut and folded paper.  Then she piped up, "Good job, Mommy! Good job!"

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The other day as my husband and I were running errands, we got onto the topic of his itchy eyes.  I began listing the reasons for him to see a doctor about it.  Apparently Sunshine had the same opinion of this as her daddy, because she ordered, "Stop talking, Mommy!"

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Last week, I unpacked our board games from the two big banker's boxes they'd been packed in and stacked the boxes by the door.  Shortly after, my husband walked up to the door and looked at Sunshine's shoes scattered around (she had about four pairs in circulation right then) and asked if there was some way we organize them, like maybe putting them in a box.  Sunshine promptly grabbed a banker's box and said, "I put shoes in a box."

Explore: Fort Rodd Hill and Fisgard Lighthouse

On Monday morning, I packed us a picnic lunch, bundled everyone into the Jeep, and we headed off to see Fort Rodd Hill and Fisgard Lighthouse.  My husband choose the scenic route there, around the coast with an ocean-view most of the way.  He and I enjoyed looking at the huge, beautiful houses but Sunshine got tired of the hour-and-a-half drive.

Searchlight Engine Room

There were plenty of picnic areas at Fort Rodd Hill, though we shared our table with the wasps.  We ate quickly and then headed for the Upper Battery.  Sunshine enjoyed climbing the stairs or running around the hills while my husband and I read the descriptions.

After the Upper Battery, we followed the trail in a counterclockwise route around the area.  The Searchlight Engine Room surprised us, as it's tucked into a hollow in the hills.  In fact, much of the "fort" was like that—well hidden in the hills or underground.  Most of it was also open; there were very few areas that we couldn't go.  In some places, there were voice or video recordings to watch or listen to (though several of these didn't work).

The fortifications here were first built in 1878 to defend the harbour.  They became more important during the World Wars, especially after the bombings at Pearl Harbour.  As new threats emerged, the fortifications changed to meet them.  Guns were updated, anti-aircraft weapons were added, searchlights were powered by different means.  The men stationed here never saw action, however, other than practice drills, and the fortress was closed in 1956.

Fisgard Lighthouse

Fisgard Lighthouse was built by the British in 1860, almost entirely out of local materials.  Exhibits in the lighthouse tell of the keepers who lived hard, lonely lives out there for very little pay.  One woman served beside her husband for eighteen years on the light and was willing to remain alone there as the keeper when he died.  She was told that women were not allowed to be lighthouse keepers.

Sunshine and Lily got in free and admission was about $7 for my husband and I.  The batteries and lighthouse were very spread out, so we took the stroller with us and Sunshine and Lily took turns riding and being carried or (for Sunshine) walking.  Most areas were accessible by the stroller, though taking the Snugli for Lily and letting Sunshine walk might have been easier.

We spent a comfortable three hours touring the grounds—with my husband's military interests and my love of history, it was a fun afternoon.