A quiet Saturday morning

As I sit on the couch in our living room, there is rain pinging on the skylight. Not only do I love rain, and find it a vast improvement on the 100 degree temperatures from last weekend, but these rains are reaching down to one of my favorite places, the Santa Cruz Mountains. There has been a wildfire raging there for the last two days, and it has been threatening the beautiful forests and the homes of people we know and care about. I am so grateful to know that these rain drops will bring much needed relief to so many families.

It may be raining, but that didn't stop the rugged males in our family from keeping their plans for backpacking. You see, this is an extra-special backpack trip. It is the first official outing for our new Webelos member (We Be Loyal Scouts.) That goofy guy on the right FINALLY gets to go off with the big fellas on a real-deal scout adventure. So, the backpack was packed (on Monday), repacked (last night) for rain, and excitement was at an all-time high. Our older, not-so-zippy scouts even found some renewed enthusiasm; the happiness was contagious.

So what are two girls to do when they are home together? No boys. No big girl. There's a lot of work to do (chore-ish work), but there's no yard work, thanks to the rain. We'll sneak out to the thrift store for a quick look-see, and we'll return home for a tea/coffee party. Hot drinks, cozy blankets and rain on the roof are not usually a part of Memorial Week-end, but we're thrilled.

On Sunday, we have the special privilege of attending the Russian Orthodox Church in our community. We've been doing a lot of reading about Eastern Orthodoxy, as two very dear families we know have converted. The liturgy, the beauty, the steadfastness of it all is intriguing. So, we have prepared ourselves with a purchase:

I have never worn a head-covering in church, but we decided it would be respectful and appropriate to wear babushkas. Even though this will be our second visit to a Russian Orthodox service, this is all new for me. I take comfort in the fact that it isn't new at all, though. St. John Chrysostom lived from 345-407 A.D., and the Divine Liturgy book that I have bears his name. In our ever-changing world, there is something special about an ancient liturgy being recited for centuries.

My babushka is ready, and so am I. I will work harder today in hopes that Sunday will come more quickly.

Prince Caspian

I am currently reading Prince Caspian aloud to my two youngest (and anyone else nearby.) I felt the need to read it thanks to a particularly insightful and funny email I received from my daughter in Virginia. After seeing Prince Caspian, and being, to put it mildly, disappointed, she sent a passionate defense of her opinions. She has since regretted her strong views, so I will not post them here, but know that they were brilliant, and I came away thinking that "cute" was probably not a good word to start my thoughts on the movie. A bit of fuel to her flame, shall we say.

I hadn't read or listened to the book for a few years, which in my brain means I never have read it. Oh, I can remember the characters and the big things, but the Lewis-esque subtleties were forgotten. It is enjoyable to read the book again with all these thoughts in my mind. I am almost half-way through, and I am not disappointed in the movie yet. But the waking of the trees and the role of Aslan are just beginning. That's where the problems were most blatant for some movie critics.

I must admit, though, I am not a purist when it comes to books becoming movies. A movie IS a different art form, and a director will, by nature of the beast, put his or her oar in to mix things up a bit. Most of the time I don't mind, though. I was happy that Anne of Green Gables looked EXACTLY like she was supposed to, but The Inheritance is SO much better as a movie. The book doesn't even have the father character in it, and he is one of my all-time favorites.

I found I was in good company. Frederica Mathewes-Green posted an essay last week (here) discussing movies that are better than their books. Now, be prepared to disagree a bit with this one; she chooses some beloved texts in her analysis. My daughter's response to her Prince Caspian review? "Hurumph."

And, just in case you haven't seen this recommendation before, here is a GREAT Narnia resource:


The Chronicles of Narnia, Complete 7-volume set, unabridged audio
Readers: Kenneth Branagh, Michael York, Patrick Stewart, Lynn Redgrave, Derek Jacobi, Alex Jennings, Jeremy Northam.

Kenneth Branagh's reading of The Magician's Nephew is worth the price of the set. But you get Cadfael (Jacobi) and Mr. Knightley (Northam), too.

My husband is the only family member who has not seen the movie. I will go with him to celebrate his final day of school on June 10th. We'll have finished the book by then, and I will be much better prepared to comment. And I won't start with, "It was cute." I've learned my lesson.

Catching the light

Well, it's that time of year again. The wind is blowing, and the sky is sharp and crisp and bright. When the sun starts going down behind the silhouette of oaks and ragged pines, the color of light changes and makes our little hill glow. Every spring and summer, I spend stolen moments after dinner trying to capture the light in a photograph. Each evening I tell myself, "Tonight I can't miss. This is perfectly beautiful. Surely the picture will show it."

And every year I miss. The glow, the magic, is elusive. It is ever-changing. Maybe it changes between the second I focus and the second I push the shutter? I am sure it has nothing to do with my photography skills. I am sure you will agree with me.

After one last try yesterday evening, I gave up and photographed a cat and vegetables. They might not be very interesting, but they did sit still long enough for the shutter to open and close.

The fence provided a nice frame, but where is the light? I guess it is shy. Silly light; I am your best friend. Hide not thy face from me. Pretty please?

Current read-aloud

Watch with Me
and six other stories of the yet-remembered Ptolemy Proudfoot and His Wife, Miss Minnie, Nee Quinch
By Wendell Berry

Tol was overabundant in both size and strength. And perhaps because animate creatures tended to get out of his way, he paid not much attention to himself. He damaged his clothes just by being in them, as though surprising them by an assortment of stresses and strains for which they had not been adequately prepared. The people around Port William respected Tol as a farmer; they loved to tell and retell and hear and hear again the tales of his great strength; they were amused by the looks of him, by his good humor, and by his outsized fumblings and foibles. But never, for a long time, would any of them have suspected that his great bulk might embody tender feelings.

But Tol did embody tender feelings, and very powerful tender feelings they were. For Tol, through many years, had maintained somewhere about the center of himself a most noble and humble and never-mentioned admiration for Miss Minnie Quinch."

Can Money Buy Happiness?

By Arthur C. Brooks
From the May/June 2008 Issue of The American

America as a nation has struggled and striven all the way to the top of the world economic pyramid. Are we suffering from some sort of collective delusion, or is it possible that money does buy at least a certain amount of happiness?

Find the whole article here.


Not an article necessarily expressing my opinions, but one that makes me think. I suddenly have children wondering about how they'd like to make a living, how they'll pay for their summer adventures or college in the future, and learning about budgeting, saving, and responsible spending.

"Do I choose a career that pays well, or do I pursue what I love?" How would you answer that? Probably better than my non-committal babbling. I like being able to pay my bills, but I also know the satisfaction of doing important work; is it possible to do both? Of course...but sometimes we have to learn to live with less than we thought we would. Can we do that with grace and cheer? Ah, important questions!

We'll just keep babbling and reading and thinking. I'm excited to see what our next generation comes up with.

The Illumined Heart

The Illumined Heart: Capture the Vibrant Faith of Ancient Christians by Frederica Mathewes-Green

In communities, at work, but particularly in families, people are put together in something like a three-legged race. God means us to cross the finish line together, and all the other people tied together with us play some part in our progress. They are there oftentimes to rouse our stubborn sins to the surface, where we can deal with them and overcome them - striking them in the head and chest, as St. Theophan says.

Bundled together in families, a giant seven- or nine- or fifteen-legged pack, we seem to make very poor progress indeed, and fall to the ground in a bickering heap with some regularity. But God has put us together - has appointed each other person in your bundle specifically for you, and you for them. And so, "little children, let us love one another" with might and main, and keep hopping together toward the finish line.

Morning reflections from my Virginia Girl

"I took a walk down to the pier and arrived there neatly at 5:55. At
precisely 6:03, the sun slid up over the distant blue hills, burning a peachy orange reflection on the Chickahominy River. It was glorious. I
read for about half an hour, then strolled back home and picked
strawberries until M. picked me up. It was a very nice day."

Note to self:

I will not grab my toothbrush and my copy of Hannah Coulter and try to catch a flight to Virginia this afternoon. I have responsibilities.

I will not grab my toothbrush and my copy of Hannah Coulter and try to catch a flight to Virginia this afternoon. I have responsibilities.

I will not.....

The first swim

Warning: duck post. Some people get teary-eyed when thinking about their ducks on the opposite coast; yes, ducks. The same call and beg for pictures. I am your humble servant, dear daughter.

Dolores is the trend setter, happy to try new things. Tilly was a little less excited.


Dolores quickly got happy being in the water.

Eventually everyone figured out that they could get in by themselves, get cooled off, splash the lady with the camera and flap their wings with vigor. With 100 degree temperatures, the water was just what these duckies needed.

Hannah Coulter

If I could buy up the storehouses I would, and I would give each of you a copy of Hannah Coulter. It is beautiful. Crafted. Moving.

Favorite quotes:

"That was the life Grandmam made for me...It was a good enough life, too. After it was over, I realized that it was happier than I had known. We had, you could say, everything but money - Grandmam and I did, anyhow. We had each other and our work, and not much time to think of what we didn't have."

"When you are old you can look back and see yourself when you were young. It is almost like looking down from Heaven. And you see yourself as a young woman, just a big girl really, half awake to the world. You see yourself happy, holding in your arms a good, decent, gentle, beloved young man with the blood keen in his veins, who before long is going to disappear, just disappear, into a storm of hate and flying metal and fire. And you don't know it."

"I am standing at the gate. Nathan has been salting the cattle down at the edge of the woods below the spring. Now he is walking back up the hill toward the house, toward me. He is walking in his thoughtful way with the salt bucket on his arm, looking around. He is whistling, as I know, over and over a piece of some old tune that will have the rhythm both of itself and of his breath.

I am watching him, but he has not yet seen me. And now he sees me. The expression on his face does not change, but now his intention has changed, he is walking toward me and nothing else. As he comes closer he smiles a little, still whistling. I know that when he comes to where I am he will give me a hug, and I want him to. He looks at me with a look I know. The shiver of the altogether given passes over me from head to foot."

Hannah Coulter by Wendell Berry

Tea Party Flowers

Monday morning

It's going to be a busy day. Long list of to-dos, long list of places to go. What I need is some quiet to get the day started right. But when my husband, blessed man that he is, brought me my morning cup of coffee, he announced the presence of:

So much for a quiet walk in the garden to get a busy day started on the right foot.

Up and at 'em clean up crew!

Interesting to note: we live off the beaten path. Not far off, but far enough that even I, infamous TP artist from the 70's, would never have considered our house a legitimate target. Some people are really willing to put in the extra effort. Wow.

One of the favorite, "Tell me that story again, Daddy!" legends in our family is the "falling from the tree, breaking the wrist, all while cleaning up TP" story. I can only hope that today we don't add to the lore our grandchildren will listen to in the years to come.

I think I'll make myself some more coffee.

Mother's Day

I was sitting in the car the other day, watching my mother on her way to an errand, and it struck me, "My mother is healthy." It was not so five-and-a-half years ago when she moved here. I remember well gathering the courage to ask the doctor, "How long do you think she has to live?" when we were having one of our many update conversations. How grateful, deeply and truly and happily grateful I am that my mother is healthier now, at the age of 81, than she was then. She is a gift to my life, a cheerful presence in my little granny flat, and a companion for my children.

A friend was telling me yesterday of the one word that represented her mother. I could not come up with one word (what else is new?) but I found a plethora of images flying through my mind as I thought on it:

* Stacks of books
* Beautiful pictures and pottery
* Blues music
* Little jars of candy for her grandchildren
* Perfectly.pressed.pants
* Crossword puzzles, neatly completed
* Deep, contagious laughter
* Baked potatoes
* More books
* Loyalty, of the fiercest kind
* Quiet, liturgical faith
* Learning. Always learning.

These are a rich legacy. I am really not good at the pressed pants thing, but as my bookshelves sag, my eye catches the blues and greens in a vase or bowl, when I open my Book of Common Prayer, when loyal love wells up inside me like a roaring lion, I am reminded that my mother's roots are growing deep in my soul. I am grateful to know and love such a woman.

Happy Mother's Day, precious Mama.

“It is not from ourselves that we learn to be better than we are.” Wendell Berry

A walk around the yard

Ducks - the picture of Group Think

The path in the woods

The bounty of the garden

Recommended

Letters from Heaven

Poems by Ginny Eliason Silva
Illustrated by Susan Kelly Von Medicus

From Amazon:

With its beautiful artwork, its accompanying poems, and its many other special features, Letters From Heaven is much more than an alphabet book-it’s a book your children will enjoy for years to come!

The illuminated letters in this alphabet are Irish Uncale Majuscule, an ancient script which was developed during the sixth to ninth centuries. The illustrations are done in the medieval manner using gold leaf on red clay and egg tempera color work. The imagery combines traditional saints, narrative, and symbols of the Eastern Orthodox, Roman and Anglican Catholic Faiths.

Each illumination is accompanied by an original poem reflecting on the spiritual subject being introduced.

A short, simple prayer is included in each letter, which can be used as a meditative reflection on the subject of the illumination.

A special “Symbol Quest” key at the back of the book explains the meaning of many traditional Christian symbols, and encourages children to search the pages of the book to find these symbols.

Children aren't the only ones who will enjoy this book.

Missing her

Jemima is asking rather frantically...

Dolce is demanding an explanation ...

Where is the girl we know and love?

Why isn't she in the poofy bed every night when I am ready to go to sleep?

Why isn't she down in the duck house in the morning, talking to us with her beautiful voice?

Sorry guys. She's visiting a couple of horses named Maximus and Minimus, some psychologically challenged dogs and cats, and the beautiful farm land of Virginia. Yes, it was hard to leave you, but she does have other priorities. Shocking, I know, but true.

You'll have to put up with the bubbly little girl who comes to visit each morning and evening, and the middle-aged woman who staggers around the property with a mug of coffee and/or her camera. It's a skeleton crew, but we're determined to keep the shop up and running while your girl is gone.



In the mean time, just keep sunning yourself in the lavender patch and she'll be back before you know it. Or maybe a little longer than that.

Looking back over the speech season

Speech club ~~~~~~~~~~ Essential Beverage ~~~~~~~~~~ Coach Pals

Speech 2007-2008 - The Recipe

Gather a bunch of speech students (aka: speechies)
Add three speech coaches
Add all the other gifted parents
Spend hours and drops of blood cutting, blocking, practicing, changing and perfecting speeches
Travel hours and miles to tournaments
Lose plenty of sleep in strange beds
Make at least two wrong turns on strange highways on each trip
Discover the secrets of affordable travel food
Leave the cooler of travel food at the hosts' house at least once
Perfect the art of Travel Espresso
Jump and squeal with excitement as students win
Cry private tears of disappointment when students don't win
Spend more hours and blood on even-more-perfecting of speeches
Win again. Lose again. Squeal again. Cry again.

Is all the shenanigans worth it?

Even as I spend a few quiet days savoring the rare joy of being home, I can say, "YES!" Every family decides what they can and cannot do with their time and resources, and this is one of the few activities we have chosen. Our students (both our own children and the others in our club) learned so much through the writing, the practicing, the performing, the winning and the losing. They learned to rejoice with those who rejoice, and they learned to weep with those who weep. They got up in front of crowds and performed when they were sick, tired and afraid. And some of them qualified for the national tournament in June. With the level of competition in our state, that is a huge accomplishment.

We won't be heading to nationals, but I am already hearing speech plans for next year being muttered. Books are being pulled from shelves for potential interpretive pieces; ballots are being studied so that content choices can be stronger for next year's platform pieces; limited preparation categories are being considered and decided upon.

I am a little slower. I am still working my way through the Amazing Laundry Pile, discovering and dealing with neglected corners of our house, and resting a lot. I'll be ready soon, though, because this is something I truly love. I can't stay away for long.

The latest stack

Hannah Coulter by Wendell Berry
(Quotes coming soon. This is a breathtakingly beautiful book.)

The Way: What Every Protestant Should Know About the Orthodox Faith by Clark Carlton

Touchstone Magazine

The Brothers Karamozov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
(Slow, happy reading for me. I am glad to be back to it now that we are home for a good, long stretch.)

Happy trails to you

Farewell, my sister, fare thee well.
The elements be kind to thee, and make
Thy spirits all of comfort: fare thee well.
~William Shakespeare

The tears were few, but smiles were big and hugs were plentiful. The suitcase did NOT weigh more than fifty pounds (whew!) and the knitting needles made it through the security checkpoint.

I got a welcome phone call at 7:36 this morning to tell me she was safely ensconced in her new home-away-from-home. Her voice was exactly what I needed to hear.

"May the road rise up to meet you, may the wind be ever at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face and the rain fall softly on your fields. And until we meet again, May God hold you in the hollow of His hand."