1st Annual Evangelical Blog Awards

You can learn a lot about your blog audience by having a site meter. Time zones are a favorite for me, and the map has me wondering who in Alaska, who in Asia, WHO is reading A Circle of Quiet? Another favorite factoid is who is referring folks to the blog. I started looking through the list of referrals and came across something that shocked me. I have been nominated for the Best New Evangelical Blog category at Evangelical Underground. Isn't that nice? Anyone going to confess to the nomination? Thanks, whoever you are.

Parenting, blogging, and privacy

Please put me out of my misery if A Circle of Quiet becomes a place to spew all my supposed parenting angst on you. PLEASE. Just leave and never come back, because it would be a total waste of your time, my time, all time. This article in the New York Times got my blood boiling this morning. Some quotes:

The world's most thankless occupation, parenthood...

(I could not disagree more.)

People who get married, especially people in their 30's, and then have kids, are used to being the center of attention...

(Correct me if I am wrong, but isn't this a problem?)

what is being expressed in these Web sites "is the deep, evolutionarily acquired desire to rise above invisibility, something parents experience all the time."

(I am a parent. I do not experience this all the time. Period.)

"If you only went by what the magazines and parenting books said or what your relatives told you, you'd think you were a neurotic freak who was doing everything wrong,"..."Blogging makes parents more relaxed." But the question is, at who's expense? How will the bloggee feel, say, 16 years from now, when her prom date Googles her entire existence?"

(Put the magazines down. Walk away from the well-meaning relatives. And, remember that your family is filled with PEOPLE. People tend to value their privacy. People have feelings. People will READ what you write if it is on the web. There is always a face peeking over my shoulder, and that is how it should be. My family deserves (and has) my respect, no matter what kind of day they are having. I appreciate the same from them.)

To set the record straight: We're human here. Anyone who searches shelves for p.m.s. related products provides some emotional variety in her home, right? But, for crying out loud, it is my job as the grown-up to provide stability, a listening ear, an interest in the younger people in my house, and the willingness to leave the Me-Me-Me of decades past where it belongs (in the past.)

Thanks, M'mv , for the article link/shot of adrenaline. Who needs caffeine when you can get annoyed at the New York Times?

William Carlos Williams (1912 -1962)

The Red Wheelbarrow

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens

********************************

Confession: I do not get this poem. I can still remember sitting in a college lit. class thinking, "What is THAT?" It has been a source of joking with my English major husband, and I hesitate to ever say, "It depends." The expected punch line is delivered, "upon a red wheelbarrow," and I give a little chuckle. Chuckle, yes. Comprehension, no.

But, in the spirit of Fake It Until You Make It, I post The Red Wheelbarrow. Or, put another way, this is my Field of Dreams post: "If I blog it, it will come."

The visit

We had the best-kind-of friends come for a visit today. It's always a treat when a friend from long ago (the Best Man from our wedding) marries a gem, and then they have children that are equally delightful. We don't take that combo for granted!

After we did the final wave good-bye, we found this note in the downstairs bathroom:

Thanks for a fun time.

When you brush your teeth, remember you make us smile.

When you wash your hands, remember how much good, clean fun we had with you.

And when you flush, remember how nice it is to get rid of our cares and hang out with great friends.

This note will be framed and hung on the wall to remember that friends are a gift, especially friends that make us think and help us laugh.

Thanks, Best Man and Wife and Cute Children. We love you, too.

Art and Nature Journaling

Nature study is something we started early in our home education journey. We weren't very systematic, but we loved watching and identifying birds, noting the changes of the seasons, and attempting to identify flowers, trees and other natural wonders. But, I was sorely lacking in any ability to draw, and that always kept me from regular nature journaling.

Two years ago, at a home education conference, I met Barry and Saundra Stebbing of How Great Thou ART Publications. The curriculum hall was packed with people and all I could hear was the constant barrage of promises of the Perfect Curriculum. I was finding it all to be suffocating. As we stopped at the How Great Thou ART booth, I found my way to the corner. On the table were a few of Barry's art journals and I opened the front of one book, Farm Journal IV, and found myself swept away. Starting with a photo of Barry and his dog, and moving through the sketches, writing and painting that filled the pages, I was transported by the reflection and the beauty. I had to be pulled away from the journal, but only after confirming that Barry and Saundra would be teaching art classes in our community in the next month. Four of my children and I joined the class, and we learned a bundle in three days. Barry is an old-fashioned teacher and is very no-nonsense in his approach. He encourages drawing lines, ellipses, and circles (over and over and over again.) We loved the class.

Since then, I have adopted Barry and Saundra as my personal journaling mentors. I have used Barry's book, The Student's Guide to Keeping an Art Journal for guidance, and his curriculum at How Great Thou Art to learn drawing basics. The Stebbings will be in our area again this year, and all five children will join me for the class. We are looking forward to it.

Why art journal? The biggest advantage I have found is what it has done to my ability to notice and really see what is around me. This skill is invaluable to any relationship (especially with children) and helps with attitude adjustments on a regular basis. In the summer, when the hot weather is tempting me to become a cranky beast, I can still find things to draw. Whether a flower, the color of a vegetable leaf or the changing leaves of the oak trees, I can find pleasure, even in the summer heat. I am amazed at what I learn by sketching my children. I see the shape of their face, the bruise on their shin, the flood pants (when did he grow so tall?), Daddy's blue eyes in a little girl's face, or the gaps that are still in my son's mouth. It makes me stop -- and see. I try and draw and write something each week, and I have every intention of finishing a whole journal...eventually.

Some other recommendations:

For nature specifically, I highly recommend Nature Journaling: Learning to Observe and Connect with the World Around You, by Clare Walker Leslie and Charles Edmund Roth. Topics include: Getting started (with a sampling of journal styles), journaling through the seasons, and learning and teaching nature journaling. I like to see the different styles of the two authors -- it reminds me that part of the charm of an art journal is that each person is unique. Quotes: "Why do people keep journals? Well, we just do. Some people keep track reading the daily newspaper. Some keep track with the evening news. Some call their neighbors, or chat at work. I keep my place by putting my connection on paper." "The natural urge to ask questions, look for connections among observations, and reflect on what you saw and what was in your mind at an earlier point takes the journal to another level. Recognizing patterns in your observations can lead to a better understanding of the world around you." Hmmm, sounds like why we blog, too.

For sketching of the human figure, I recommend the human body model that is pictured above. It helps you see the proportions without the distractions of personal features. I sketch this little wooden model often, especially since it can be put in many different poses (MANY different poses. Trust me!)

My final book recommendation is one of the favorite things I have gleaned from Mental Multivitamin. The Art of Making and Using Sketches (G. Fraipont) is a little volume of advice (and sketches, of course) for the budding artist in all of us. It was written sometime in the 1800's, but my copy has no date. This quote set me on the search to find a copy (and it will be a search, if you are interested): "The art of making a sketch is, in fact, the art of recording by a few strokes of the pencil or touches of the pen the remembrance of a thing we have seen, or the impression of a scene we have imagined." Another quote: "Numerous as are the subjects which the vegetable world has yielded, and will yet yield, to the painter or sculptor, the mine will never be worked out, for Nature is so lavish to artists as to renew perpetually the documents she so freely bestows on them, and so generous as to be ever ready to lend fruition to their enthusiasm...In the country, wherever your road leads you, over whatever ground, you will come upon ten, twenty, a hundred, subjects to sketch for foreground; the least blade of grass, the humblest trail of foliage, is a joy to draw." Oooh, I love this little book. As one who is still reading about the Napoleonic Wars, I laughed at this opening line in the preface: That this little book is from the hand of a French artist will make it none the less acceptable to English students." It is most certainly acceptable to this American student.

My final words of advice: Just give it a try. Drawing is a discipline, and if you want to learn to draw, you do have to draw (duh, right?) Practice, don't give up, and do a little each week. It can bring you some joy, and eventually it can be a volume filled with your own work. Priceless.

A Common Reader

This is a great book catalog, but I just found these resources on their webpage:

Reader's Calendar

Curious Word of the Day

To request their book catalog, click here.

Another Robert Frost recommendation

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
Illustrated by Susan Jeffers

We have spoken of this poem before here. This recommendation is a picture book of the poem, with lovely illustrations. Mostly black and white, but some splashes of pastel on each page. Says the illustrator: "I wanted to put my pictures to Frost's magical and mysterious poem in the same way that a person wants to dance to an irresistible piece of music." A great introduction to the poem for children (or grown-ups who love picture books. Like me.)

Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)

IF

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream-and not make dreams your master;
If you can think-and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings-nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And-which is more-you'll be a Man, my son!


Recessional
(A Victorian Ode)

GOD of our fathers, known of old,
Lord of our far-flung battle line,
Beneath whose awful hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies;
The Captains and the Kings depart;
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

Far-called our navies melt away;
On dune and headland sinks the fire;
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe,
Such boastings as the Gentiles use,
Or lesser breeds without the Law—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard—
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding calls not Thee to guard.
For frantic boast and foolish word,
Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord!

Typing Alone

An article in National Review, by Mark Oppenheimer.

"Our students have lost the space in which to act with purpose, which I think of as narrow but deep attention, not quite obsession but a healthier version of it. The ideal is now versatility, four years of learned attention deficit disorder (except in sports, where the three-sport dilettante has been replaced by the highly directed thoroughbred one-sport stud). As activities have multiplied, the curriculum has diversified, which is both a cause and an effect. Choosing from a menu of activities — academics, sports, student government, community service, etc. —students spend less time on academics, and what time they do spend is forcibly divided among various disciplines or "distribution groups."

"While I do worry that Americans are less capable than ever of sustained attention, I am less concerned with what our hyperactive world is doing to our personalities than with the values underlying these changes, this intentional slide toward hyperactivity. What does it say about our view of the good life? A college that once required a narrow, classical curriculum and now requires ten times more breadth; and whose student culture diminishes study time in favor of myriad extracurricular activities; and — what's more — whose mission used to be avowedly religious or patriotic and now is only "to prepare students for their roles as citizens" or some such formulation — such a school has no strong notion of its own purpose, and no vision of the purposeful life it means to prepare students for. Well-rounded and liberal is a perfectly nice way to be — I hope it describes me — but it connotes no particular meaning or calling or purpose. It's a way to be, not a reason to be."

As someone thinking through various and somehow-related questions such as: my children's potential college choices, the value of the introverted in our society, and the way I spend my days (and the way I don't), this article was timely. No pat answers, but great discussion material for us. It's a keeper.

The End of a Long Day: The Recipe

When the mood balancing mist doesn't work, here's another option:

1. A glass of Fitzpatrick wine
2. A good laugh: Jeeves & Wooster - The Complete Third Season
"This is my only chance to assemble a disreputable past!"
3. Early bedtime (no link necessary)
4. A great read: The Name of the Rose, Umberto Eco

Aah, that's better. And, tomorrow is a new day.

Quotes

Here is some inspiration I have gleaned from other blogs:

Found here: Abiding

"People forgot that the human soul can enjoy a thing most when there is time to think about it and be thankful for it." ~GK Chesterton

Found here: Good Coffee, Good Music, Good Books

"A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful, which God has implanted in the human soul." ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Found at Quiet Life at the beginning of the new year:

"Obstacles cannot crush me. Every obstacle yields to stern resolve. He who is fixed to a star does not change his mind." Leonardo da Vinci

"Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work." Thomas A. Edison

Reduplicatives

Just another plug for the great fun that is A.Word.A. Day. This week's category is Reduplicatives. What? You don't know what a reduplicative is? Well, you better click that link then.

A look back

This article is filled with details on the life of George Gershwin: "Jazzbo: Why We Still Listen to Gershwin" (The New Yorker)

I have not listened to much of Gershwin's music, but this leaped off the screen nonetheless. Why? Well, I have a friend that is a huge Gershwin fan. I have sat in his different living rooms and heard him play many pieces that Gershwin composed. This last Christmas, my friend's children made a CD of his piano music, including many Gershwin pieces. It is especially poignant because this friend can no longer play the piano. He is on the slow-fall that is Alzheimer's.

I first met Dr. Fitz in high school. New to a church youth group, the Fitzgerald family was very welcoming. I spent hours with Mrs. Fitz, learning about the bible and laughing. When I hear the term "busy bee," I think of her. But, Dr. Fitz had a role in my life that was just as significant. My high school years were ones from which my dad was almost completely absent. Dr. Fitz filled that gap to the extent that someone outside my family could. He added me to the note writing list when I was at camp with his wife and son, he made sure they found me in the foyer at church at the end of Christmas Eve service. For someone who was practically forgotten by her father, being remembered was incredibly healing. I have kept their letters and pictures as a reminder of what a gift they were to me during that time. When I think of the Fitzes, I think of the stability they provided me. They filled in a gap I wasn't even aware was there.

When I married, they were out of the country. But, as soon as they returned, we were invited to their home. When our children began to arrive, notes from "Mom and Pop" Fitz became notes from "Grandma and Grandpa" Fitz. We have both experienced tragic deaths in our families, and found comfort in each other's words and care during those first dark months.

Now that Alzheimer's is at work in Dr. Fitz's life, I know that our days of talks and piano playing are over. I know that their days must be ever-changing and rather frightening at times. I am so grateful for the years that we have had as friends, and appreciative of the fact that I now have this CD of Dr. Fitz's piano music to honor his talent. He will always have a place in my heart. Maybe I will even become a Gershwin fan myself.

A view of my strange life

Warning: this post will include discussion of beauty products and p.m.s. You may just want to move along. You've been warned!


Carnage 

I'm not sure what you find when you walk into your bathroom. When I entered our downstairs bathroom last night, a little sleepy, I jumped out of my skin to see this collage of carnage in my bathtub. It looked like one of my cats had taken down the shark and the lobster, but it turned out to be a stuffed beaver. What? You don't get such elegant decor at your house? No shark named TODD in your bathtub? Many a time, Todd has found his way upstairs to the inner sanctum known as My Bathroom, and he has been my tub pal. Right next to my Bath & Body Works Aromatherapy PMS Relief supplies.

Okay, this is my attempt at revealing the vulnerable side of myself. In December, I happened to be feeling a bit of hormonally induced lunacy, and I walked into the local Bath & Body Works for a couple of Christmas presents. In my search for the perfect scent of lotion for a friend, I came across the aromatherapy section. I was about to quickly pass by when these words jumped out at me: Mood Balancing Mist. Wow! All these years of attempting to navigate through p.m.s. when ALL I needed was some MIST! So, I bought the little bag of samples. I was a vulnerable person, and they got me! I don't regret the purchase, though. They smell great, and they also function well as a sort of warning device. I can put the bottle on my husband's side of the bathroom counter, advising him that it could be an interesting day. I think that is awfully considerate of me, don't you?

I do love fragrance. I have worn Clinique's Happy for years, although don't think I had any idea that I could actually spray on happiness...I'm not completely crazy! Last week my daughter and I buzzed over to the Clinique counter for a few make-up items. I have left Happy behind, as a cost-saving measure, but they had a free sample of their new fragrance, Happy to Be. This is the marketing buzz on the card that came with the sample: "A different kind of floral: dewy, shimmering, spontaneous. Liking who you are, where you are. Happy to be." Wow. That perfume can do a LOT for you. I may have fallen for the p.m.s. stuff, but this is taking it a step too far. At least it was free; it was worth every penny.

Henri J.M. Nouwen

Reaching Out

"Don't we often look at the many events of our lives as big or small interruptions, interrupting many of our plans, projects and life schemes? Don't we feel an inner protest when a student interrupts our reading, bad weather our summer, illness our well-scheduled plans, the death of a friend our peaceful state of mind, a cruel war our ideas about the goodness of man, and the many harsh realities of life our good dreams about it? And doesn't this unending row of interruptions build in our hearts feelings of anger, frustration and even revenge, so much so that at times we see the real possibility that growing old can become synonymous with growing bitter?

But what if our interruptions are in fact our opportunities, if they are challenges to an inner response by which growth takes place and through which we come to the fullness of being? What if the events of our history are molding us as a sculptor molds his clay, and if it is only in a careful obedience to these molding hands that we can discover our real vocation and become mature people? What if all the unexpected interruptions are in fact the invitations to give up old-fashioned and out-moded styles of living and are opening up new unexplored areas of experience? And finally: What if our history does not prove to be a blind impersonal sequence of events over which we have no control, but rather reveals to us a guiding hand pointing to a personal encounter in which all our hopes and aspirations will reach their fulfillment?

Then our life would indeed be a different life because then fate becomes opportunity, wounds a warning and paralysis an invitation to search for deeper sources of vitality. Then we can cast off the temptation of despair and speak about the fertile tree while witnessing the dying of the seed. Then indeed we can break out of the prison of an anonymous series of events and listen to the God of history who speaks to us in the center of our solitude and respond to his ever new call for conversion."

New music

What a bonanza! Our recent order of music arrived in the mail today, and that was almost as good as an amazon.com box of new books and an afternoon latte. Right now we have Vivaldi's Cello playing, featuring Yo-yo Ma's remarkable artistry. The drive to our afternoon walk was filled with the pounding drums and the strings of Master and Commander. What powerful music.

Vivaldi's Cello, Yo-yo Ma

Simply Baroque, Yo-yo Ma

Linus & Lucy: The Music Of Vince Guaraldi, George Winston piano solos

All The Seasons of George Winston, piano solos

Celtic Circle 2, Various Artists

Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World [SOUNDTRACK]

To comment or not to comment...that is the question.

I am in the midst of a rigorous and enjoyable debate with a dear friend and blogger about comments. You may have noticed there is no place to comment at the end of my posts. This is intentional. But, my friend is applying logical arguments and subtle pressure to have me include the comment feature on A Circle of Quiet.

The jury is still out. But, I am wavering.

If you have strong opinions, one way or the other, please note my more natural method of communication in the handy dandy sidebar (email address: acircleofquiet@ethixs.com) and load on the pressure. Remember, my nickname is Boundary Queen. But, even the Queen needs to have a well-used gate in the wall, and this may (or may not) be one of those times.

We shall see.

Happy Friday!

**Saturday update** Thanks to those who have written. After a good night's sleep and some interesting email correspondence, I have decided to keep things as they are. BUT, I did add a link to my email address in the sidebar to your right, and I even encouraged you that I DO want to hear what you are thinking and learning. Believe me. I mean it.

Off to walk.

Quotes on Education

These inspired quotes were found at PEDABLOGUE, a finalist in the BOB (Best of Blog) Awards in the education category. A worthwhile destination.

"Curiosity is the very basis of education and if you tell me that curiosity killed the cat, I say only that the cat died nobly." -- Arnold Edinborough

"It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it." -- Aristotle

"Most teachers waste their time by asking questions which are intended to discover what a pupil does not know whereas the true art of questioning has for its purpose to discover what the pupil knows or is capable of knowing." -- Albert Einstein

"The larger the island of knowledge, the longer the shoreline of wonder."
-- Ralph M. Sockman

Joanne Jacobs

Joanne Jacobs's website offers a fresh look at the world of education. This article jumped off the page today:

F is for Fat

"...I think schools should concentrate on teaching academic skills and knowledge before trying to take charge of every aspect of children's well-being."

Some links for today:

"Among the Evangelicals: How one reporter got religion" (Columbia Journalism Review)

"Evangelicals were no longer caricatures or abstractions. I learned to interpret their metaphors and read their body language. From personal, day-to-day experience I observed what John Green at the University of Akron has discerned from extensive research: evangelicals were not monolithic nor were they, as The Washington Post infamously characterized them, “poor, uneducated and easy to command.”

"The Laughter of the Philosophers" (First Things)

"What I gleaned from these pages, in part, is that for Kierkegaard the roots of the comic lie in the inherent contradictoriness of human nature: soul and body, freedom and necessity, the angelic and the bestial, eternity and temporality, and so on. Moreover, I learned how profound a difference Kierkegaard saw between genuine humor and mere irony. That is to say, irony can certainly recognize that the incongruities that throng human experience typically frustrate the quest for truth; but, having seen as much, irony is then impotent to do anything more than unveil failure and vanquish pretense. Humor, on the other hand, is born from an altogether higher recognition: that tragic contradiction is not absolute, that finitude is not only pain and folly, and that the absurdity of our human contradictions can even be a cause for joy."

"Buyer's Remorse" (Wilson Quarterly)

"...a good deal has been written about materialism, and magazines such as Real Simple (filled with advertising) have sprung up to combat it. But few of us would argue that we’ve become any less consumed with consuming; the latest magazine sensation, after all, is Lucky, which dispenses with all the editorial folderol and devotes itself entirely to offering readers things they can buy."

"Then, too, there’s a personal price to be paid for affluence: Because we’re so busy pursuing our individual fortunes, we endure a dizzying rate of change and weakened community and family ties."

"As if to dramatize Puritan ambivalence about wealth, New England later produced a pair of influential nonconformists, Horatio Alger, Jr. (1832–99) and Henry David Thoreau (1817–62), whose work embodies sharply contrasting visions of material wealth; for better or worse, we’ve learned from both of them."

Learning to knit

My daughter is teaching me how to knit. She was taught by a friend last year, and she has learned very quickly. She's made several scarves and is about halfway through her first sweater. She makes it look very, very easy.

Knitting is hard. I cast on the same fifteen (insert inappropriately colorful language here) loop-de-doos (no technical knitting jargon here) many, many times. My boucle yarn, the colors of rainbow sherbet by the way, just kept slipping off or bunching up. I got cranky. Someone called me Mme. DeFarge. My knitting future was looking bleak.

I went to visit with a new friend the other night, and we were both working on our knitting. Well, actually, I was starting and re-starting my project. Finally, she kindly asked, "What are you doing? Oh, just KNIT, and trust that it will look fine. If the first row looks strange, just add fringe." How comforting it was to know I could add fringe. Now I have three rows of my scarf DONE, and I can see that it will be lovely.

It has been eye-opening to be taught a new skill, especially by my daughter, as I am my children's primary teacher. Learning can be hard, and we create enough frustration within our own selves; we don't need our instructors getting wigged out by us. My daughter kept sweetly saying, "Wait, Mom. You forgot this", and I could try again. She NEVER lost her patience; she ALWAYS encouraged me. I realize that I have a lot to learn about teaching from this remarkable girl. She picked up knitting without much trouble. Wham: A Scarf. Wham again: Half a sweater. She can talk while she knits. She is amazing. And, she is patient with her mother. Wow.

I will try and remember these lessons as I teach math, reading, writing/re-writing, or whatever difficult subject comes up today.

And, I will keep in mind that I can always add fringe. Just knit! That's my motto.

P.S. On a practical note: Buying wooden needles is on my errand list for this week. They come highly recommended to keep those loop-de-doos from slipping. I am sure I will be a Skilled Knitter with them. (Humor me, please!)

Bird watching

We were unable to locate the female red-winged black-bird at the lake, but we had our own bird show closer to home. We live just up the hill from a pond that attracts a variety of water fowl. A blue heron, ducks, Canada geese, and white egrets are all regular visitors. Today, though, there was a duck casualty that had washed ashore. As we drove past, there was a huge red-tailed hawk sitting on top of the dead animal. We stopped to view him, and realized that there were four vultures in the trees just above. Then, another hawk swooped down and scared away the red-tailed one. It may have been a Cooper's hawk or a Sharp-shinned one. It kept swooping, and then soaring back into the trees, making identification difficult. There was a third hawk, of the unknown variety, that was also higher up in the trees. We must have sat in the van, watching this dance of the carnivores, for five minutes. Eventually, the hawks flew away and the less-respected vultures came to do the dirty work. Definitely time to move on.

Walking around the lake

We love to take walks. Our favorite spot is a lake, smack dab in the middle of a semi-suburban neighborhood, but it feels like you are in another world. Bird watching is excellent there, with red-winged blackbirds as the most common sighting. We also have been able to see the changing landscape, through seasons and years. Some of us run, some of us walk. Some of us sit, but then we run to catch up with Mom as she walks.

We started walking and hiking with our children when they were in snugglies. The baby backpack was worn to shreds by the time five children had grown out of it. This is a great place to build walking endurance for children. It is level, but more than a mile all the way around. Not a tough walk, but long enough to build some perseverance.

I think we'll head back today. Yesterday, I spotted a bird I had never seen before. I will bring my favorite birding book (Birding - Nature Company Guides) and see if I can spot it again.

**Late breaking news: I just checked my bird book. The bird is a female red-winged blackbird. It is brown and white, with no black and no red. But, it is nonetheless a red-winged blackbird. Never would have known without my trusty volume. We'll see if we can find her when we walk this afternoon.**


Our favorite walking destination.



Taking a break.

Soundtrack for a Tuesday that is a Monday

Just call it a mother's intuition, or maybe the voice of experience. We are going to need a little musical assistance this morning. My choice? What years ago my children dubbed Happy Violins. Vivaldi has been my companion for long drives, late night cram sessions and general mood setting since high school. This is my favorite:

Vivaldi: Four Seasons

A second round of coffee wouldn't hurt either. Sure, it's decaf, but it still points me in the right direction each morning.

Shades of White

This poem is written by Jean in Wisconsin, the creator of the blog Shades of White. Even though my turf is rarely covered with snow, I love this poem and the peace it exudes. Read it slowly. Inhale. Exhale. Aaah.

The stillness of a landscape draped in the silence of an early morning snow...
The sky and earth blend in shades of white
Bringing all that I can see from my window into uniform serenity.

A snow-covered world is a balm that penetrates bone and marrow, soul and spirit.
My soul is set free in quiet song. It brings to us a time of rest.

Lay down the great burden of hurried life and step lightly onto the stage.
The room is silent, empty.
Laugh and cry; dance. Unveil the depths within.

It is time to be set free.

The reservations are made!

One of the highlights of last summer was a week-end at Yosemite National Park. My husband, three oldest children, and brother-in-law all climbed to the base of Half Dome, where the ant trail of people (pictured below) was too long for them to climb to the top. It was, however, a great introduction to the Half Dome climbing experience.

Well, my husband hit the National Park reservation phone line at 7:00 this morning, and VOILA, we have reservations for another adventure. This June we are going mid-week, and the plan is to hike to the TOP of the Dome, sans brother-in-law, unless he can be persuaded to come west again. (How 'bout it Unk T?)

The younger two children and I spent the Dome day bike riding in Yosemite Valley with my very-wonderful sister-in-law. She and I rented bikes we dubbed the Groovy Schwinns. We had a blast, and the scenery cannot be beat. This year we plan to hike with the Dome Team up to the Mist Trail and we will then bid them farewell. I'm not much for heights, and will do my duty as the happy camper (read: Worried Mother) until they return, sore and proud.

Our Dome Team trained for the adventure last year, using what they called H.E.C. (Half Dome Exercise Club.) They ran up and down hills and they ran the stairs at the local high school. Already, the boys are planning their regime, are deciding what water carrying devices they will use, and are choosing their clothing options. Our reservations are for June; good to know they know how to plan ahead.



Not ants. People.



Yosemite Valley. WOW.



June will be here before you know it. Will you be ready? This guy is.

Emily Dickinson (1830 -1886)

The Goal

Each life converges to some centre
Expressed or still;
Exists in every human nature
A goal,

Admitted scarcely to itself, it may be,
Too fair
For credibility's temerity
To dare.

Adored with caution, as a brittle heaven,
To reach
Were hopeless as the rainbow's raiment
To touch,

Yet persevered toward, surer for the distance;
How high
Unto the saints' slow diligence
The sky!

Ungained, it may be, by a life's low venture,
But then,
Eternity enables the endeavoring
Again.

Listening to Your Life

"To try to express in even the most insightful and theologically sophisticated terms the meaning of what God speaks through the events of our lives is as precarious a business as to try to express the meaning of the sound of rain on the roof or the spectacle of the setting sun. But I choose to believe that he speaks nonetheless, and the reason that his words are impossible to capture in human language is of course that they are ultimately always incarnate words. They are words fleshed out in the everydayness no less than in the crises of our own experience."

Listening to Your Life, Daily Meditations with Frederick Buechner.

The dinner table

It all started with a discussion of our snowman. We were describing it to my mom, and we came to the explanation of the nose. I declared that it was a Proboscus Snowman, but no one knew what that meant. I knew of Proboscus Monkeys, and just transferred the name to our snowman with the disproportionately large nose. "What does proboscus mean, Mom?" Out comes the dictionary. Full definition:

proboscus: a: the trunk of an elephant; also: any long flexible snout. b: the human nose esp. when prominent.

Okay, does anyone else find this to be a very funny word? We were laughing hard, but we tend to be a little odd about words around here. I moved on to other words on the page and came upon this one:

probang: a slender flexible rod with a sponge on one end used esp. for removing obstructions from the esophagus.

Now, this is not a multi-volume dictionary from Oxford University Press. This is your run-of-the-mill Webster's Collegiate Dictionary. What possessed them to put a word with such LIMITED use in their dictionary? No alternative, more ordinary uses for the word. Just some sort of surgical instrument. Maybe I will come across this word in my reading in the near future (used by Dr. Maturin, of Master and Commander fame, perhaps?) and I will know its narrow little definition. Once again, we laughed. And then, we laughed because we were laughing. You know how it goes.

All because we get entertained by reading the dictionary at the dinner table. It sure beats some kinds of conversation that can surface when we circle round. Words are fascinating creatures.

Many happy returns of the day

Yes, I know it is Martin Luther King's birthday. But, on a much more personal note: On this day in history, 1927, my dear mother was born!

There are many things that I admire and appreciate about my mom. Of course, we are not living in la la land here. I am fully aware of the things that didn't go well in my childhood. But, plainly put - big deal. This is not the place to complain and spew forth any venom, and 99.9999999% of the time it is a waste of energy and enthusiasm. I just can't do it anymore.

Back to the admiration: Mom reads, voraciously and always. While I was growing up, she devoured every mystery story in our local library. Now, she still reads mysteries, but loves biography and autobiography, some novels, and reading books about food. She subscribes to Smithsonian and Newsweek magazines, and even shares them with us! She is an interesting person, and continues to learn and grow.

My mom has the most wonderful laugh. One of my roles in life is to crack the jokes, and she fills the house with her laughter. I love to hear it.

I learned a love of beauty from my mom, too. The kind of beauty that chooses a watercolor print, in a simple wood frame, to be the accent in a room. That notices the intricately painted teacup or the beautiful grain of wood on a table. Sometimes this is an expensive pursuit, but most often it involves finding the beauty that is available, and taking the time to enjoy it.

Mom dislikes birthdays. She is not against aging; she doesn't like to be the center of attention. So, we quietly celebrated with burgers and fries (a rare treat for a person with heart disease) and my oldest made cream puffs since she doesn't like birthday cake. Then she went home, content to be quiet and read. And that's dandy. It is, after all, HER birthday. Just bring out the cake and the streamers when it is mine, okay? This is one of those ways that we seem very unrelated to one another. I'll take the books, the laughter and the beauty, though. Those are precious gifts to me in this season of life.

Here's to you, Mamasan. We love you so.

We found the snow, and it was incredibly beautiful



The sled-o-rama

The To-Do List

There are lists of things to do, and then there are Lists Of Things To Do. Some days and weeks can look like this:

1) Cook
2) Clean
3) Call to have window repair estimated
4) Call to have carpet spot-removal done
5) Pick up car from major, unexpected repair
6) Clean the chicken coop
7) Correct math papers
8) Buy new coffee pot (quickly)
9) Learn how to repair hole in wall
10)Buy more ibuprofen

But not this weekend. Shun those home repairs. Trade in the weekday shuffle for the weekend waltz. Pull out the movies, pile up the books, brew up some french roast and let the week-end begin!

Our week-end list:

1) Eat Taco Salad
2) Watch David Copperfield
3) Oldest dear daughter to teach mother how to knit
4) Play football with the children
5) Work in art journal
6) Walk around the local lake
7) Find snow and play
8) Grade papers
9) Read, read and read some more
10)Sip and talk and laugh and play and sip some more

Yes, grading papers can be on a fun list of things to do. As my teacher/husband says, it has to be done and it is kind of fun when you actually have the time. The alternative,finding time where there is none, would go on the nasty to do list.

We'll still be cooking (everyone under forty at our house is growing and starving most days) but that's okay; we work pretty well as a team. Plus, the house is clean and the laundry is caught up (I know, the day is young. But, it will be there waiting when I am ready to acknowledge it.) The seatwork is almost finished and we can move on to reading Midshipman Quinn. With two children involved in a competitive speech and debate league, there will be a fair amount of drama, of the planned and sanctioned variety, and we still need to watch more of Return of the King extended DVD. I can't wait, so off to it.

Happy Friday.

Soundtrack for a headache

James Galway's Meditations is the perfect partner for a cold, gray day; one of those, "Shhh, Mama has a headache" afternoons. My latte is made, Galway's music is playing, and my pile of reading is waiting.

Whether in Illinois or Jordan, California or Ontario, may you be safe and sound in your corner of the world.

My corner of quiet

A Sea of Words

In the same way that this book gives insight into the world of Jane Austen and Charles Dickens in 19th century England, A Sea of Words, by Dean King helps make better sense of Patrick O'Brian's Aubrey-Maturin novels (and any of the various books of this time period.) Includes a large glossary of words, pictures of different ships, maps and more. I made it through the first two O'Brian novels without this, but only because my curiosity isn't as rabid as my children's. I anticipate rapid fire questions in the weeks ahead, and I am prepared.

P.G. Wodehouse

We are Bertie and Jeeves fans at our house; nothing makes my fourteen year-old laugh harder. Who was Wodehouse? For one biographer's thoughts, check here:

The Whole Jolly Lot (The Washington Post, January 11)

Ebenezer Jones (1820-1860)

Rain

More than the wind, more than the snow,
More than the sunshine, I love rain;
Whether it dropped soft and low,
Whether it rusheth amain.

Dark as the night it spreadeth its wings,
Slow and silent, up on the hills;
Then sweeps o'er the vale, like a steed that springs
From the grasp of a thousand wills.

Swift sweeps under heaven the raven cloud's flight;
And the land and the lakes and the main
Lie belted beneath with steel-bright light,
The light of the swift-rushing rain.

On evenings of summer, when sunlight is low,
Soft the rain falls from opal-hued skies;
And the flowers the most delicate summer can show
Are not stirr'd by its gentle surprise.

It falls on the pools, and no wrinkling it makes,
But touching melts in, like the smile
That sinks in the face of a dreamer, but breaks
Not the calm of his dream's happy wile.

The grass rises up as it falls on the meads,
The bird softlier sings in his bower,
And the circles of gnats circle on like wing'd seeds
Through the soft sunny lines of the shower.



The next storm approaches

Growing up

The youngest member of our family has learned to tie his shoes. It's a red letter day! We celebrate you today, Junior Mint.

The Classics in the Slums

(City Journal)

"Lancashire weaver Elizabeth Blackburn (b. 1902) conceded that "our horizons were very limited and our education, linked up as it was to our economic conditions, provided little room for the cultivation of leisure pursuits. But I left school at thirteen with a sound grounding in the basic arts of communication, reading and writing. . . . I had gained some knowledge of the Bible, a lively interest in literature and, most important, some impetus to learn." If the objective of public education is to create citizens who never stop learning, then Elizabeth Blackburn's school succeeded brilliantly. When she went to work in the mills she memorized, by the rhythm of the looms, Coleridge's The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Shelley's "Ode to the West Wind," Milton's "Lycidas," and Gray's Elegy."

"While studying Greek philosophy at night, Joseph Keating performed one of the toughest and worst-paid jobs in the mine: shoveling out tons of refuse. One day, he was stunned to hear a co-worker sigh, "Heaven from all creatures hides the book of fate." "You are quoting Pope," Keating exclaimed. "Ayh," replied his companion, "me and Pope do agree very well." Keating had himself been reading Pope, Fielding, Smollett, Goldsmith, and Richardson in poorly printed paperbacks. Later he acquired a violin for 18 shillings, took lessons, and formed a chamber-music quartet, playing Mozart, Corelli, Beethoven, and Schubert—not an uncommon hobby in the coalfields. And he never forgot the electric thrill of pursuing books and music: "Reading of all sorts—philosophy, history, politics, poetry, and novels—was mixed up with my music and other amusements. I was tremendously alive at this period. Everything interested me. Every hour, every minute was crammed with my activities in one direction or another. New, mysterious emotions and passions seemed to be breaking out like little flames from all parts of my body. As soon as the morning sunlight touched my bedroom window, I woke. I did not rise. I leaped up. I flung the bedclothes away from me. They seemed to be burning my flesh. A glorious feeling within me, as I got out of bed, made me sing. My singing was never in tune, but my impulse of joy had to express itself."

The mission

Outer Life has a humorous post about decluttering today which gave me a nice morning chuckle. My mission is to do the same this week, but I am taking on the whole place, not just my piece of it. Every now and then the junk just sneaks up on us, and our house suddenly feels small. To some people's standards, considering the size of our family, it is small. But, it's not true. We have a massive mansion compared to most of the world, and I am determined (some anonymous family members would say irrationally so) to find our way back to the amount of stuff that fits.

This probably says more about the state of my brain than my house. But, I am in this house A LOT. So, I need a clear view. Sweep the counters clear, find all those lego heads and lincoln log pieces that rolled under the couches, get rid of the extras...and then, don't start up again. Ah, there's the rub. One day at a time, right?

So, I am off to surreptitiously carry black garbage bags out the laundry room door. No regrets, no looking back.

Things gleaned from the blogosphere this week

Megan and Murray McMillan

"How do I begin to lay down my own master narrative, which I'm fiercely committed to, and pick up the threads of another narrative, and just help out in whatever way I can? Is that what mercy looks like?"

Just the other day, my mother was watching our life from the kitchen table and she mused, "There is always a sub-plot going on around here." Now, this related to the enthusiastic help offered when I asked for a volunteer to get the Christmas boxes. This required going into the attic, which is the picture of excitement for my children. If I could have them wash dishes, muck out the chicken coop, or clean up their messes IN THE ATTIC, all would be enthusiasm around here.

Since then, the idea of sub-plot has been growing in my mind, especially as it relates to raising children. We (the parents) have a vision for our family that includes the influences we bring in through books and movies and people and experiences, plus the commitments that our family makes with our time, money and energy. But, children develop their own ideas of books, events, and commitments that are worthwhile. I think a part of the challenge in parenting is figuring out when our family story requires the main plot, and when the weaving of a sub-plot will bring a richness to the narrative. The family chronicle, to reach its intended richness, must include all the individual stories that are being told within it.

Megan's reflections gave new language to my thoughts. How often have I set aside my master narrative for life, in order to do the work that was right to do? There are other arenas than home and family that would have been a more natural environment for me. But, the story of my life has become a vibrant narrative; the Author of my life is weaving a sub-plot that keeps the story alive.


On a lighter note:

Rivendell Press

The History of Coffee

1453: Coffee is introduced to Constantinople by Ottoman Turks. The world's first coffee shop, Kiva Han, opens there in 1475. Turkish law makes it legal for a woman to divorce her husband if he fails to provide her with her daily quota of coffee.

1732: Johann Sevastian Bach composes his Kaffee-Kantate. Partly an ode to coffee and partly a stab at the movement in Germany to prevent women from drinking coffee (it was thought to make them sterile)the cantata includes the aria, "Ah! How sweet coffee taste! Lovelier than a thousand kisses, sweeter far than muscatel wine! I must have my coffee."

I have loved coffee since my first set of mid-terms in college. My family drank it black, so I never understood the little creamer and sugar thingees that were brought to the table. Back in the days when grounds were the only purchasing option, I found Medaglio D'Oro, the espresso grounds that made a Real Cup Of Coffee. A friend named my coffee D.G. coffee (my maiden-name initials), and it was always said with a bit of awe (or was it fear? or disgust?) Well, it was t-h-i-c-k. My husband's nickname is Latte Man. When my children were little we taught them: "What does a cat say?" "Meow." "What does a dog say?" "Woof." "What does a coffee grinder say?" "Grrrrrrrrrrrr." It's just part of the family.

Now, divorce is no laughing matter, but the Turkish law made me laugh out loud. My husband only travels one week a year, and it is an annual shock to my system to realize that there is no french roast under my nose. A cup of coffee, hand-delivered by a fine man, is my idea of an alarm clock.

Mental Multivitamin

"Knowing them makes me want to be the best possible version of me. Even when it means staying up past my bedtime and feeling fuzzy in the morning."

My children inspire me in the same way.

Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844 - 1889)

Pied Beauty

Glory be to God for dappled things -
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings
Landscape plotted and pieced - fold, fallow, and plough;
And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.

Life

"The temptation is always to reduce life to size. A bowl of cherries. A rat race. Amino acids. Even to call it a mystery smacks of reductionism. It is the mystery."

Listening to Your Life, Daily Meditations with Frederick Buechner.

A more sobering article from the New York Times

Today's email of New York Times headlines had this article:
Frantic Famlies of the Missing. Please don't stop praying for those impacted by the tsunami disaster. Grief is so painful. But, to not know what happened to a loved one, to not have their body for burial and ceremonial grieving, this can be pain on a whole different level.

Oatmeal

Hey, the New York Times says that we are cool! We rarely, if ever, get into the hip crowd, so we will take it when we get it. How do we rate such an achievement? We eat oatmeal, almost every morning. Even better than just eating oatmeal, we favor the steel-cut option and the old-fashioned, rolled variety. These two came in first and second in the taste testing, with all those quick and instant varieties getting labeled, "Acceptable" or "Oatmeal gone awry."

We, of course, eat our oatmeal for fiscal and nutritional reasons. When one compares the cost of a 50-lb sack of oatmeal ($28.76) to the box of cold cereal from Trader Joe's (between $2.00 and $4.00 a box), you just can't beat it. Think of the books, the trips, the music that can be purchased with the savings! Just one way that we have done the one-income life.

But, now we are cool. Who would've guessed.

New York Times, Jan. 5

If I only had a brain

Why can I zip through the SET Daily Puzzle one day, and the next (which would be today) I just stare at the screen. That sixth set eludes me. I know it is there, but WHERE? Then, it appears. Why?

Why do I sometimes call my children the wrong names? I named them myself, didn't I?

Why can I remember a grade school friend's birthday...a friend I lost touch with after high school? Go away, useless information.

But, this marvelous brain is also filled with recipes I never consult, book quotes I recite, memories that no one else remembers, and the details of our world that keep it running smoothly.

The human brain. Somedays I just have to wonder.

Boundary Waters

Our Thursday routine is to run errands while three children are at piano lessons. One stop on the Thursday route is the lab where Mom has blood work done. Yesterday, in a decaffeinated stupor, I grabbed a National Geographic and started reading. The words "Boundary Waters" jumped off of the page, waking me from my dazed state. I came very close to naming this blog Boundary Waters. My nickname among friends and family is Boundary Queen, and it is a title I treasure. I have come to know and appreciate my limitations, and to see that life is enriched when we live within boundaries. My days are only twenty-four hours long, and that is enough. The days of my life were numbered before time began, and I can rest in the fact that my time on earth will be long enough. Somehow, accepting all of that has been freeing. When I say, "No," people know that I mean it. Even more importantly, when I say, "Yes," they know that I mean it. I do not have any desire to have it all, be it all or do it all.

We have dear family and friends that live in Minnesota, but have never been to visit. Now, the Boundary Waters have become intriguing to me. One of these days, we will take our Road Trip Family on a long one, heading east, to where Boundary Queen and her loyal subjects can marvel at the beauty on the edge of our country.

The National Geographic article and Jim Brandenburg's book appeal to me for many reasons. The Boundary Waters are one. But, I also love photography. The pictures featured in National Geographic are beautiful, and the book has more. Plus, the study of nature, through the rhythm of the seasons, is worth reading about.

The article: Boundary Waters, National Geographic, June 2003

"So I decided to photograph every day of it. From June's summer solstice, when the light stretches from 4:30 a.m. to 9:30 p.m., to September's autumnal equinox—93 days I sought it out, taking in all that a day delivered. I traveled from Uncle Judd's Creek, which tumbles into a waterfall just outside my window, up into the lakes of Canada's Quetico. The gift of a misty July morning was a great blue heron crowning a black spruce. Yes, there were days wretched with black flies and mosquitoes, but those mosquitoes pollinate our glorious orchids, and I'm sure the flies have a higher calling too."

"Sig Olson understood that 'without stillness there can be no knowing.' Once you've experienced the singing wilderness—here or wherever the natural world reigns, you can carry it with you to the noisiest city. As Sig wrote in my copy of one of his books: 'May you be somewhere where the singing can be heard.'"

The book: Looking for the Summer, by Jim Brandenburg

What American Teenagers Believe

A conversation with Christian Smith
Interview by Michael Cromartie
Books and Culture, January/February 2005

"...the language of faith as something like a second language in our culture. And how do you learn a second language? You learn a second language by listening to others who know how to speak it well, and having a chance to practice it yourself. I don't know how much teens are hearing other people speak the language well, and it really struck us in our research that very few teens are getting a chance to practice talking about their faith. We were dumbfounded by the number of teens who told us we were the first adults who had asked them what they believed. One said: 'I do not know. No one has ever asked me that before.'"

"Based on our findings, I suggest that the de facto religious faith of the majority of American teens is "Moralistic Therapeutic Deism." God exists. God created the world. God set up some kind of moral structure. God wants me to be nice. He wants me to be pleasant, wants me to get along with people. That's teen morality."

"Moralistic Therapeutic Deism is not just an inadequate version of Christianity. It's a different religion."

"The dominant framework out there is that teenagers are alien creatures. And I understand that for a lot of parents, that's exactly how it feels. But I don't think that model helps us. I think what's really needed is to see the commonalities, to make connections, and to work against such preconceptions of almost unbridgeable differences. Religious organizations certainly need to work against that and try to focus on establishing ties, seeing what youth and adults have in common, creating connections. You go to the bookstore, and most of the books are about how to survive your teenagers, not how to enjoy them."

"Teens need an opportunity to articulate, to think and to make arguments in environments that will be challenging to their faith. And I don't think they are getting that. In general, religious traditions that expect more and demand more of their youth get more. And those that are more compromising, more accommodating, more anything-goes, end up not getting much."

Strickland Gillian (1869 - 1954)

Many thanks to Writing and Living
for the recommendation of this poem.


The Reading Mother

I had a Mother who read to me
Sagas of pirates who scoured the sea,
Cutlasses clenched in their yellow teeth,
"Blackbirds" stowed in the hold beneath

I had a Mother who read me lays
Of ancient and gallant and golden days;
Stories of Marmion and Ivanhoe,
Which every boy has a right to know.

I had a Mother who read me tales
Of Gelert the hound of the hills of Wales,
True to his trust till his tragic death,
Faithfulness blent with his final breath.

I had a Mother who read me the things
That wholesome life to the boy heart brings-
Stories that stir with an upward touch,
Oh, that each mother of boys were such!

You may have tangible wealth untold;
Caskets of jewels and coffers of gold.
Richer than I you can never be-
I had a Mother who read to me.

~Strickland Gillian

Two quick recommendations

A book:
What Jane Austen Ate and Charles Dickens Knew: From Fox Hunting to Whist-The Facts of Daily Life in Nineteenth-Century England, by Daniel Pool.

Filled with details regarding etiquette, money, life in the country, transportation, and much, much more. Anyone who has spent hours trying to imagine life with the Dashwoods or Jane Eyre can fill in the blanks with details from this book.

A website:
Arts and Letters Daily.

This webpage is a service of the Chronicle of Higher Education. "Philosophy, aesthetics, literature, language, trends, breakthroughs, ideas, criticism, culture, history, music, art, disputes, gossip." (Just ignore the gossip, okay?)

Links for breaking news, newspapers, magazines, book reviews, articles of note, new books, essays and opinions, and more. This site is packed.

J.R.R. Tolkien (1892 - 1973)

John Ronald Reuel Tolkien was born on this day in 1892, and our lives are richer because he lived and thought and wrote. Cheers to you, Professor Tolkien.

Music for a Monday

Feast of Seasons, by Steve Bell. Advent, Nativity, Epiphany. Soothing, but with zip.

Classic Wynton, by Wynton Marsalis. Majestic.

Innocent Age, by Dan Fogelberg. As Kim at The Upward Call understands, sometimes the music of the distant past is the best choice for today. Dan never grows old for me.

Fortification

Getting a grip

Okay, so I am spoiled. I am married to a teacher, a guy I really like, and he went back to work today after a two week break. Not much sympathy from the real world of corporate schedules, I know. We haven't always done a great job of appreciating the breaks, but this one was heavenly. We were a well-oiled machine, a violin & cello duet like Aubrey and Maturin, a dance with spontaneity and choreography. Sigh. Now, it is Monday.

Enough pouts, though. Time for fortification: Popovers and lattes. Time to sing out the advantages of the home education life: Piano practice in jammies. Reading Midshipman Quinn in front of the fire (see our post here) , or helping a little brother learn to read. We let the rhythm change over the holidays, and that was good. But, getting back to the responsibilities is not all gloom and doom. We have it pretty good here, in front of the fire. But, for the sake of disclosure, we will probably need to remind each other of those advantages throughout the day. It is, after all, a Monday.

For those in need of fortification, here is a recipe:

Popovers

3 eggs
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 cups milk
1/2 t. salt
1 T unsalted butter, melted

Preheat oven to 450 degrees. In mixing bowl, beat eggs slightly. Add remaining ingredients and beat until smooth. (Do not overbeat.) Fill muffin or popover pans 3/4-full. Bake 15 minutes, reduce heat to 325 degrees and bake 25 to 30 minutes or until golden brown. Serve immediately. Makes 6 popovers. Double (or triple?) as necessary. Serve with a dusting of powdered sugar and a squirt of lemon juice, or with jam.

The biggies and the frosting

I gave up January 1st resolution lists a long time ago. With time and experience came the knowledge that life comes daily, and that my work on improvements needed to be just as daily. It is not for lack of problems; it's just that I need to work hard for lasting change, not be searching for the life equivalent of a miracle diet quick fix.

Instead of a list of resolutions, I have taken inventory on the things for which I am thankful. There are the Biggies: A relationship with God, a wonderful husband, five healthy and interesting and changing children, a mother who loves books and folds laundry, and contentment with our fiscal and physical health.

But what of the little things? Those that, in light of tsunami stories, we all know are the frosting on the cake of life? Today I have taken time to appreciate those things, and I realize that, in spite of residing in a state that is famous for its high costs, we really are living like kings. And, we love it. Wow. That's fun.

My list of the little things that make for tasty frosting on my cake:

1) Books
This had to be first because it is soooooooo close to being a biggy.
2) French Roast
The dark roast may not have caffeine very often, but it still provides the jumpstart for my morning and afternoon.
3) Candles
A few candles around the living room say, "Welcome home" to any that walk in the door. Romance, comfort, peace...all for little cost and less effort.
4) A beautiful view
I can often be found staring out the window. Life's pressures slip away as I stare -- thinking, praying, planning or dreaming come so much easier with oaks and manzanita for a view, instead of concrete.
5) Music
I have three piano players, one flute player, one recorder player, and one-and-a-half guitar players in my house, and I am a future Irish bodran drum player myself. That, plus the piles of CDs we own, provides the skip to our step and the soundtrack for our family dance.
6) Bargains
Whether it is a long drive to the nearest IKEA for bookcases, a monthly jaunt to Trader Joe's for provisions, a peek at the Eddie Bauer outlet clearance rack, or a local thrift store that is filled with treasures, we can stretch a buck with grace and style.

Well, that's all for now. Books, coffee, candles, and music are all wooing me away from the screen, and I have no desire to resist their call.

May you and yours have a Happy New Year, one day at a time.

Soundtrack for a new year

Starkindler: A Celtic Conversation Across Time, by Michael Card

A billion bright and holy beams
From a light that's traveled far
Began the trip from His fingertips
O the wonder of the stars
Proclaim the signs and seasons
So silently they sing
Of the wonder of their Kindler
Of the power of their King

O the firey suns above us
In the vast veil of the sky
Are Your servant flames of fire
Are Your silent holy guides
And like the star-led magi
They guide our souls to You
And shine a light of awesome love
Into eyes that see anew

We danced the Virginia Reel to this song during our New Year's Eve gathering. What fun memories of children and parents dancing, swinging, and laughing together.

Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl Soundtrack, by Klaus Badelt

Our hospitable friends capped off the New Year's Eve celebration by inflating the air mattresses, popping the pop corn, and brewing the tea for a late-night viewing of Pirates of the Caribbean. Not the usual fare for our family; we love to pick apart and analyze movies, and came up empty-handed after viewing Pirates the first time. Maybe it was the most excellent company, maybe it was the late-hour punchiness, but we enjoyed it much more the second time around. Just the word "superfluous" coming out of Jack Sparrow's mouth had me laughing and relaxing for a bit of fun.

This soundtrack is a regular attender here, as one son received the CD for Christmas, and is also working on the keyboard to recreate the songs. Still at the "use the earphones, please" stage, but getting there.