Judith Peck Books

Judith Peck, Ed.D.

Does anyone remember the joy of folding diapers–no I’m serious? Warm and clean from the dryer, all that was expected of you was to lift a bunch, set this down and with two swift folds, set each in its neat little pile. So easy and productive a task. Has anything since compared with the combined relaxation and usefulness of the enterprise?

Oh never mind the prelims, the poop a mere splash in the pan and a toss in the washer and then off to the warm comfort of the dryer and your receptive arms that will soon hold the chubby, gurgling recipient who receives this fine wardrobe and the extra few moments you smile as you pin with all limbs dancing in air.

Ah, those days! How on earth we gave these soft fluffy things over to plastic, I will never know.  Smart Starts in the Arts

Judith Peck, Ed.D.

The dry leaf leaps across the white frozen surface born by a breeze like the brilliant ideas galloping in my head. But then it stops. Is this to collect itself, in need of another push or buried beneath a soft patch of snow? I wait and for minutes there is no movement, when along comes a squirrel. Needing no more than its amazing self it takes the flat surface full throttle, races up the trunk of a tree without slowing and high in the sky leaps to one branch then another before scampering out of my sight. It knows what it must do and does it all year long, no matter the weather, the wind, who’s watching—dazzled as I am by its daring feats—or perhaps even its age. (Have you ever seen a slow-moving squirrel?)

The lone leaf, disabled, does not move, its previous life lived on a branch and bathed in sun long gone, is surely now imbedded in the snow. Stuck.

But wait. The tree tops sway against the gray sky, a swing clamped to twin trees tilts forward and back without a rider. There is a breeze. The leaf with a lilt in its rise takes off in the direction from which it came, bouncing like a sleigh across a bumpy terrain.

I no longer see the squirrel or the leaf. They go on—or not—as I will them into action. Seeing in the Dark

Judith Peck, Ed.D.

We Should Try It More Often.  Such a blah word, “nice”: a simple, ignorable state of being; a disposition to take little note of; belongs in the category of elevator music.

Being nice to your spouse of partner? Who thinks about that with so many pressing demands to accomplish? Getting kids off to school, getting yourself off to work, assembling dinner (who makes dinner nowadays), and money matters flowing intermittently—soft, heaving, or turbulent as the financial weather of the household dictates.

Being nice seems necessary to summon on occasion, for example when company comes—at least when they enter your home—on parent-teacher night at the school; at the doctor’s office; sometimes, not always, at the supermarket checkout. In other words, with strangers or folks with whom you need to be nice to demonstrate that you are an agreeable person.

Why can’t we be this agreeable person to our loved ones? Agree but disagree agreeably. React not on a dime but a dollar, flat and steady, taking the time it takes to be, well, nice. A smile during this time interval helps that along. But take care the smile does not fashion itself into a sneer. The smile and sneer are brethren—a Cain and Abel brotherhood—and this does not help the neighborhood you want to establish. State your version of the truth at hand and stake your claim to it agreeably, as you might negotiate a deal. Demanding too much or too little can scuttle or skew your intentions.

Nice is difficult, if you are not from Kansas and it is not in your nature, and if you can’t pretend you are greeting company or in the doctor’s office or with your child’s teacher who is capable of making your child’s weekday environment miserable or munificent. But making the effort to be nice in an everyday way has rewards. Try it. You’ll be amazed.  Seeing in the Dark, Arielle’s Story

Judith Peck, Ed.D.

Serenity in a baby occurs when she has no need to focus on her nagging innards. She is then free to perceive the outside world, explore it and begin to make those important neural brain connections. But along with responding to physical needs to create a serene environment, a parent must aim to build self-confidence for this is the basic mechanism with which all achievements are constructed. Accomplishing such independent feats as feeding herself, drinking from a cup, gripping a crayon and moving it across a piece of paper (occurring at whatever stage these do) leads her to feel competent towards attempting the next thing on the agenda. She will look forward to that next thing, approaching it from a position of strength with an expectation that she will manage it. With parental calm and encouragement she will sense that she is going in the right direction even when she doesn’t manage quite so well. From an environment that welcomes her participation, perceptions will form, sharpen, expand and mature. Serenity, perception, self-confidence, From this starting point will evolve the intelligent, creative child. Smart Starts in the Arts

Judith Peck, Ed.D.

Fall is what we do with love relationships, like trip or stumble, or roll head over heels; something precarious. It felt like an accident, surely something I didn’t plan on. Well, he was interesting; not a boring thing about him, always something new and challenging to be with him. No, not that or why not go to the library and find an intriguing character you can spend a week with and then toss in the return bin? I don’t know, it could be because I felt intriguing being with him, I myself a new character.  Seeing in the Dark, Arielle’s Story

Judith Peck, Ed.D.

How to get started creatively in the morning, to start in on the stuff no one else cares about? You feel despicable and cannot stand yourself. Needless to say you have other things that must be done. You have chores, you have some kind of business, you have the array of survivor tasks that bond you to the world at large, and you have loved ones who collectively gnaw at the most vulnerable parts of your frailties. Compounding this are emails endlessly streaming in like wild dreams whose source you cannot control. Longing for a pre-online world is no solution nor is the 75 or 80 times you look out the window as if something out there can ignite a fire or you fling open the refrigerator to find solace. What is the solution? God knows. And that is simply an expression, not an answer. Help is not on the way. Nor is finding the source of your shame, guilt, your crushing despicability. Perhaps as a start: shut off the computer, the iPhone, the door to the kitchen and sit down to make believe you and your yellow pad are once again in the Elysian Fields together. Then write something until the pain goes away. Seeing in the Dark, Arielle’s Story