Chrisy Ross

Setting Sail

Chrisy Ross — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 20:45:30 +0000

When I was eight I had two pet hamsters, Mike and Tina, named after the most popular and beautiful second graders I knew at the time. The hamsters seemed happy with their view of my small bedroom on 20 Woodcrest Avenue in Winchester, Indiana. But they didn't live long.

One 1970-something spring afternoon, I decided to decorate Mike and Tina's house with flowers. I chose tiny Lily-of-the-Valley from my mother's garden, propping up a few of the delicate stems in the corner of their cage.

The next morning the hamsters appeared to be sleeping in. I opened the cage door and gently poked Mike, then Tina. They didn't wake-up and they felt stiff.

My mom arrived on the scene seconds after I called for her. She confirmed my fear—Mike and Tina were dead. Before she left to find a small box I could use to bury them in, she noticed the flowerless stems on the cage floor.

"Chrisy, what are these?" she asked as she picked up the stems.

I told her about the pretty white flowers, and how they were just the right size to decorate a hamster cage. I told her that Mike and Tina loved the flowers, actually nibbled on the blossoms, so I had picked more from the garden for them before bedtime.

"Were they Lily-of-the-Valley?" Mom asked.

"I don't know."

We walked to the backyard and I showed her the flowers. That day I learned that Lily-of-the-Valley, while delicate, fragrant, beautiful and the perfect size for a hamster's cage, is also poisonous. I had accidentally killed Mike and Tina.

*****

One evening in early December 2011, my son, Parke (14), held his pet parakeet in the palm of his hand until the sick bird died. Parke was in no way responsible for Wren's death, but I could tell he felt like there was something he could have done...should have done. Parke was an exemplary bird parent. He spent time with Wren daily for almost four years, teaching the little bird to trust him, whistle tunes, and say a few words.

In hindsight, there were signs Wren wasn't feeling well leading up to his death, but Chris and I were traveling, life was busy and the signs went unnoticed. I'm the one home during the day while the boys are at school. I now recall hearing less mid-morning chirping as I put laundry away in the boys' rooms.

Parke's sadness over losing Wren was radically deeper than what I felt when my hamsters died. I had only owned my pets a few short months and they'd seemed slightly afraid of me—the experience was troublesome, but abstract. Wren's death—the dying—was heavy and real for Parke. It was painful to watch him feel. (I have his permission to share.)

Parke and I talked about grief, death, healing, heartache, religion, and belief systems—all topics we'd discussed prior.

*****

A month earlier I had purchased a sympathy card for a friend who'd lost her mother unexpectedly. I made note of the beautiful Henry Van Dyke quote on the front of the card before mailing it. My intention is not to compare the loss of a person with the loss of a pet. But as I think of the people I've loved and lost, and as Parke thinks of Wren, we both find a measure of comfort in this...

I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength and I watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come down to mingle with each other. Then someone at my side says, 'There, she’s gone.'

Gone where? Gone from my sight...that is all. She is as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side, and just as able to bear her load of living freight to the place of destination. Her diminished size is in me, not in her: and just at the moment when someone at my side says, 'There, she’s gone,' there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout, 'Here she comes!'

And this is dying.

--Henry Van Dyke

The MorphOsuit

Chrisy Ross — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 15:29:48 +0000

Redmond (6) gave me his Christmas list a solid month before the big day. There were only a few items on the list, one of them a "morphosuit".

"Where would Santa find a morphosuit?" I asked.

"I don't know, but he will. Or he'll make one. Santa can do anything."

I assumed the suit was something created in Redmond's imagination. A magical cloaking device that would allow him to become invisible, fly, float, battle bad guys, or just look cool.

As Christmas approached, I reminded all three boys that they should refine their lists—add or eliminate items—and to remember that just because they want something didn't mean they would get it. They understood. Except, Redmond refined his list to two items and one of those items was still a morphosuit.

"What's a morphosuit?" I finally asked him.

"I don't know."

"Where did you see one?"

"In the Thanksgiving Day Parade . . . on TV."

I found out that Redmond saw people in the parade wearing solid color spandex-y suits. Blue and green specifically. He was intrigued, asked his older brother, Parke, what they were and Parke told him morphosuits. And so was born the desire to have one of his very own.

I chatted with Parke about the suit. Turns out he wasn't making up stories—something I had suspected. The suits were legit. Only, the spandex get-up is called a Morphsuit, not a morph-O-suit.

Santa came through for Redmond on Christmas morning. Our boy quickly overcame a feeling of slight disappointed that the suit was black, not purple, and then he was overjoyed. Especially when he discovered the purple wig, orange sweatbands, and silver glasses.

Morpho-Boy!Mary can't stop staring.We spent the rest of Christmas day adjusting to the sight of a little kid running around the house covered from head to toe in black.

Morpho-Boy coming through!

Playing with his Leap Pad Explorer (the other item on his Santa list) at the dinner table.

Playing Wii

Fighting over the Wii remotes.

Mary still can't stop staring.

But my mom will still kiss him.Now we all want one.

The Creepy Christmas Monkeys

Chrisy Ross — Sat, 10 Dec 2011 16:25:14 +0000

"The tree looks beautiful as usual, honey," Mom says with a smile as she begins her annual ornament placement assessment, preferring to stand so she can stretch her legs after an 11-hour drive, a celebratory glass of champagne in her hand. I become aware of my heartbeat as I watch her patrol the perimeter of the tree, scanning every branch with mystical speed. We both know what she's looking for and after several years of acting out the same scene, we're overdue for a well-deserved Academy Award nomination. Next week there will be a repeat performance.

My parents travel to our home every Christmas. The same conversations and events take place within the first two hours of their arrival.

The Drive
We talk about what time they left in the morning—alarm went off, bags loaded, and wheels up by . . . early. How Dad almost had to change his route at the last minute due to weather. We discuss the condition of the roads, the traffic, and the price of gas. Where they stopped to eat and how long each meal took. "Your father's finally agreed there's no need to rush and inhale food. He doesn't push me anymore. It's actually a pleasant drive, now."

The Cargo
Dad and Chris carry in laundry baskets full of wrapped gifts. Mom rearranges the gifts already under the tree so she can display the packages she carefully transported and that, don't forget, arrived without a tear in the paper or a misplaced bow. Not to mention, the contraband. "Your mother threw her little jacket and sweatshirt over the beer you kids wanted. If we get pulled over . . ."

The Ornaments
Mom purchases special ornaments for the boys every year. A common tradition in many families. Annual gifts of Christmas pajamas or ornaments seem to be the American way. She surveys the tree, locates the superheroes, the teddy bears, the Wizard of Oz heads, and she pauses . . . "Chrisy. Where are those BEAUTIFUL monkeys?"

"They're somewhere. I don't know. Keep looking." I try to look busy brushing pretend dust off of couch cushions.

She finally finds them, hidden like a bird's nest, high and near the trunk of the tree. We both drop the facade. "Why do you do this? Put those monkeys where we can see them," she requests using her Cut-The-BS tone.

"Mother. They're disturbing. They scare the kids."

She reminds me how much the monkeys cost, and that she purchased them from that fabulous boutique in Scottsdale, you know, the one you like . . . they're works of art. The boys, she says, originally enjoyed the monkeys but my attitude has influenced them. Then she redistributes ornaments so she can place the monkeys—the heavy, creepy monkeys—in a prominent place.

You tell me. BEAUTIFUL or creepy? My mom doesn't read the blog, so you can be honest.

Creepy Monkey With Cymbal

Creepy Monkey With Trumpet

Horrifying!I invite you all to this year's performance next Thursday evening at approximately 5:30 PM Mountain Standard Time.

Twenty-Two Years

Chrisy Ross — Fri, 04 Nov 2011 14:52:48 +0000

"Marry me. We can go to Vegas this weekend," he whispered.

We'd been dating for less than six months in the fall of 1988.

"I can't. My parents will kill me if I elope. We need a little more time." I ached.

My parents wouldn't have killed me, and sometimes I regret my decision to not jump in the car that night, drive from Phoenix to Vegas and exchange vows with a young man who was crazy for me. I was crazy for him, too. We married a year later.

Even though I was 23 years old on my wedding day, I wasn't experienced in the ways of hair and make-up. The bridal magazines showed sophisticated gowns, fancy updos, and make-up suggestions that weren't me. I chose a Laura Ashley raw silk dress. It was simple and youthful. I did my own hair and make-up.

After getting dressed and trying to primp with my two bridesmaids—dear friends who respected and understood my wedding style struggles—I met my parents in a room before the ceremony. My dad said, "You look beautiful."

I asked, "Do I look too casual?" He laughed, but I was serious.

And away we went.

Chris and I exchanged traditional wedding vows in front of 100 guests, then we climbed a hill for some pictures. At the time I remember thinking we'd made a mistake by scheduling photographs after the ceremony. We missed some of the reception and I felt anxious, although guests didn't seem to miss us. We wanted the traditional element of surprise when I walked down the aisle—a groom's first sight of his bride on their wedding day. Now I don't regret either decision. We don't view our wedding photographs often, but I'm glad we have them.Sweet Wendy was with me for the entire ride. We were roommates when Chris and I began dating. We both miss her friendship. She's the one who took the photos of Chris carrying me over the threshold on our wedding night.

The morning after our wedding, Mom and Dad hosted a brunch for out-of-town guests at their home. Chris and I made a brief appearance before heading out on our honeymoon—a few days in Sedona, Arizona, at the Sky Ranch Lodge. As we were getting ready to leave my mother indicated she needed to speak with me privately.

A few days before the wedding I got sick and was prescribed antibiotics. I was also on birth control pills.

"Honey," Mom said. "A nurse from the doctor's office left a message yesterday. Antibiotics can interfere with birth control pills. She said you might want to use a backup method."

Awkward. And a little late.

Happy Anniversary, Chris. Just so you know, next time you whisper a request that involves Vegas...Yes.

Boo.

Chrisy Ross — Tue, 01 Nov 2011 13:50:00 +0000

Mary, our dog, is the only other female in the house. Chris and the boys play with her, cradle her Schnauzer snout in their hands so they can make eye contact as they speak sweetly to her, and provide appropriate human/dog affection. They...touch her. I don't do any of these things. But, Mary adores me. Pines for me. Will do anything to please me. Like allow me to dress her in costumes.

She was Uhura for Halloween.

Mary was a little disappointed that she didn't fill out her Starship Enterprise uniform as well as the original Uhura. My friend and Mary's seamstress, Julie B., said next year we can fix that. Falsies. Mary smiled.

The boys are great about participating in what has become a family tradition—a Halloween costume theme that includes Mary as the token female character.

The older boys chose to change out of their Captain Kirk and Spock costumes for trick-or-treating. But Redmond enjoyed being Scotty. Might have something to do with the Taser.

Duke was an elf. We're not sure what Parke was. He wore a mask from his Theater class and a black robe. We called him "creepy guy".

**********

Chris walked around the neighborhood with our boys and I stayed home to man the door. We had close to 200 trick-or-treaters. One group of little girls who I didn't recognize lingered for a bit. I commented on their costumes and asked if they were having fun. Finally one of the girls asked, "Are you the lady who wrote that book about Mormons?" She looked like she was eight-years-old.

"Yes," I said. "That's why I'm giving out full-size candy bars."

No Joke

Chrisy Ross — Wed, 19 Oct 2011 16:52:18 +0000

Did you hear the one about the Lutheran, the agnostic, the Jew, the Mormons, the Seventh-day Adventist, the women and the atheist? No? Good, because it's not a joke.

Just a group of kids, two of them my sons, playing Apples to Apples, talking, laughing, even discussing politics. They don't agree on everything — their opinions clearly influenced by conversations they hear in their own homes — yet they patiently listen to one another. They think about what the other guy just said, their average-sized egos not overinflated by flimsy experiences we think we win, and try to problem solve. For a bit. Then someone says, "Wanna go back outside and play Capture the Flag?" So they do.

**********

Book Update: to Mormons, with LOVE is now also available at DeseretBook.com and the Kindle store. Other epub formats will be available any day.

Welcome!

Chrisy Ross — Thu, 29 Sep 2011 16:44:14 +0000

Let me take your jacket. Help yourself to a beverage and some food. I hit Costco, so there's plenty more. The facilites are down the hall and to your left. Please make yourself at home and roam around. You might find evidence of construction in a few areas, but the sawdust will be swept away soon. I was excited to officially open the doors and share the new design.

If you like the look and feel of this new space, all of the design credit goes to Elan Morgan — Schmutzie — co-founder of Ninjamatics. If you like the header photograph and live in or near Utah, give photographer Justin Hackworth a call to see what he can do for you.

That's all. I think this is the part where we're supposed to engage in light conversation. Pull up a chair. How are you?

The Book

Chrisy Ross — Thu, 29 Sep 2011 16:01:53 +0000

NOTE: This post appeared September 28th on CSquaredPlus3. Last post before the move to ChrisyRoss.com.

This isn't the final book wrap, but it's the only file I have to share. It's 95% of the actual.

I shared the Amazon link (pre-order the paperback, and Kindle format coming soon!) on Facebook and have tweeted news about my book...once. It feels funny to self-promote. In the same breath, I'm proud of the project and the content concept.

To Mormons, With Love is written primarily for an LDS audience, (Apologies to my mother's bridge group if you've been misled. She was confused.) but I believe there's cross-over potential. Several nonmember friends pre-ordered the book on Amazon. I'm flattered and moved by their blind trust and support. If you're not LDS, but have Mormon friends, neighbors, or a general curiosity about life in a predominantly Mormon community, you might enjoy my story and message. It's a quick and easy read, but tremendous thought is behind every word, illustration and design element.

I was asked to write a feature article for LDS Living based on the book. The article will appear in the November/December issue. To say that I'm honored and thrilled for the opportunity is an understatement.

Darrell Driver turned my illustration concept into a beautiful piece of cover art. And Justin Hackworth provided the lovely family photo, complete with irritated family members.

Very shortly, like in a matter of hours, my new site will be complete. Ninjamatics, founded by Elan and Aidan Morgan (Schmutzie and The Palinode), did a fantastic job redesigning my blog. I'm so pleased. I don't want the project to end, because it's been such a pleasure working with Elan. A few of you have already taken a peek at the site because it's not password protected, but give me a minute, and I'll share it with the rest of you.

CSquaredPlus will have a new name and different look, but I'll continue to blog in the same manner—sporadically and about personal things. I'll also promote my book, but not ad nauseam. I promise. If you're a current subscriber to CSquaredPlus3, your feed will automatically be transferred to the new URL.

I'm excited! And nervous...

What's Going On

Chrisy Ross — Sun, 21 Aug 2011 16:26:01 +0000

Several of you already know. I wrote a little book. I don't talk about it much in larger circles because 1) there are many people who have written books. Seems to be another new black; 2) there are many people who have written very good books who haven't been published, but should be; and 3) the process of writing a book, seeking an agent/publisher, or even self-publishing takes a long time. People who don't write or are unfamiliar with the process are impressed at first, and then they begin to lose interest as months turn into years because your book is not at Barnes & Noble, the giant advance all authors get didn't arrive, and The Today Show hasn't called. It's like you're the little writer who cried, "Wolf!", or the couple that announces they're pregnant before the bed has been made.

Well, the bed is made. My little ditty of a book will be available October 1st on Amazon.com as well as on the shelves of a few local bookstores. It's a niche book titled To Mormons, With Love - A little something from the new girl in Utah. It's bubble gum, but not the kind rolled in large sugar crystals. Nor is it the sour Warhead variety. Just pleasant to chew. I hope a few people like it.

There's more to share...the supportive, small publisher that believes in the project; the process of writing, listening to critiques, rewriting, and how the book ended up in its shorter, nichier (not a word, but it works) form; an upcoming feature article I wrote for a popular LDS magazine; and the importance of your local arts council. All of this later.

Today I'd like to direct your attention to an artist whose work I'm crazy for. His name is Darrell Driver and you can check out his art at www.darrelldriver.com or click here. I love his balance pieces, the colors he chooses, and his funky interpretations of...everything. I dig his wife, too.

Darrell agreed to create the cover art for my book. I wanted one of his beautiful signature balance birds, holding a daisy in its beak. The bird is a humble, polite messenger. The daisy is a simple offering.

After sketching my ridiculously uncomplicated concept no less than 15 times, this is what I faxed to Darrell...

His version is much lovelier, of course. Some cool folks are using Darrell's fabulous art to create the final cover design. It's getting exciting. The handful or two of you who still read this blog will get a sneak peek very soon.

He Says Collecting, I Say Hoarding

Chrisy Ross — Thu, 21 Jul 2011 16:07:19 +0000

Our five-year-old son loves stuff. Talking with friends, having two older kids, and remembering my own childhood quirks, I know it's not uncommon for children to keep trash and trinkets. Forever.

This child, the five-year-old, knows where every broken plastic toy, shred of ribbon, deflated balloon, popsicle stick with a joke he can't read, and object stolen from his older brothers, is located. When I stealthily purge a few of his items, no matter how deeply buried they were beneath the latest additions, he busts me. And hell hath no fury like... you know what I mean.

"Mom! Did you throw away part of my collection?"

"Honey, I donated a few things you don't play with. There are children without toys who would enjoy that... stuff."

Recently, I thought to myself how well our youngest son has been maintaining his room. Other than a few dozen lego creations displayed on his dresser, things appeared to be in order

The five-year-old has a bathroom attached to his bedroom that is basically unused. He bathes in the master bathroom, brushes his teeth in his brothers' bathroom and doesn't require much lavatory drawer space regardless.

While putting laundry away, I was tipped-off that there might still be a problem when I opened his closet. Balloons from his father's birthday that he claimed to have released to China!

I entered his bathroom, pulled back the shower curtain and found this:

Then I opened a couple of drawers and discovered my little hoarder is still struggling...

And, yes, I recognize we all have a junk drawer, but come on.

I'm both sad, that he's going underground... and proud. I enjoy a worthy adversary. I'm also impressed by his use of semantics.

Anyone else have a young, or not-so-young, "collector" in the house?