Yes, I'm here....

I'm just resting. We've finished speech for the season, and I am very busy....doing very little. Collapsing under the puffy duvet, feeling the soft breezes sneaking in the window, listening for the screeching hawks soaring by, hoping that the cleaning fairies will visit while I nap.


I'll be back, but for now my body, my mind and my spirit need to rest. I'm looking forward to sitting on the deck, pictured above, this next week-end; I can almost feel the cool water on my warm toes. Thoughts of next year are lurking just around the corner in my mind, but I am content to recuperate for another day or two.

In between the usual tasks and the resting I am reading:



Schindler's List

and


Given, a book of poetry by Wendell Berry.

It's already getting too warm here, by my narrow weather definitions, but the evenings are a slice of heaven. The sky gets the most hypnotic shade of periwinkle blue as the sunset splashes pink on the horizon, and the air smells clean and warm and peaceful. I know that the broiling days of summer are coming, and I am reserving the rock I can hide under, but this very small taste of spring is quite welcome.

More soon...when I wake up.

Fine Art Friday

The Difficult Lesson (1884)
William-Adolphe Bouguereau (1825-1905)

This is a rare Fine Art Friday entry for me. I found the picture on someone's blog, but I don't remember where. I am a real Bouguereau fan; I love the dark eyes, the muted tones of the clothing, the barefeet. In this picture in particular I love the purposeful little finger on the copy book.

Thoughts on reading

It's that time of our school year -- thinking ahead to next year's plan. We have to sign up for online classes early, which we have done, but I am wrestling with all sorts of thoughts on education, reading lists and expectations-versus-reality. This is not the place to write my wrestlings...but I will list some things I have read in my quest for educational quality with sanity.

Semicolon asks about how to motivate a 14 yo boy to read. There are many suggestions in the comment section.

John Mark Reynolds answers Hugh Hewitt's request for a list of thirty must reads for college students.

Joe Carter adds his list of what should be read after the Reynolds 30

Island Sparrow offers some insight into reluctant readers on
and links to this article.

Don't worry. I will stop reading everyone else's thoughts on this subject soon. For now, as I am puzzled and foggy-headed in my decisions, it is therapeutic to read other's thoughts and lists. It is easier than figuring out when to push in order to affirm ability and when not to push because it would be downright mean and unrealistic. I am in need of wisdom.

If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives to all generously without finding fault, and it will be given to him. James 1:5 (NIV)

Soundtrack for Dental Day

I am dentally phobic, and I am not exaggerating. I can thank my traumatic moments at Dr. Holland's office back in '65 or '67; his less-than-loving touch has left its mark and I really cannot stand going to the dentist. We do have five children, though, and that means a lot of teeth brushing, dental and ortho appointments. What's a dental phobic mom to do? Hire Dental Dad to come to the rescue. This isn't a one-sided arrangement, though. He has his own issues with the possibilities of what one could see, smell or hear in a hospital, so I am Medical Mom. I do emergency room visits, annual pediatric check ups and supervise medications. We really are the perfect team.

Today Dental Dad is home for the binge we call Dental Day. Five children, five teeth cleaning slots, several hours of dental office rotations between the waiting room study hall or the back room appointments. This means that the non-phobic portion of the family gets well acquainted with the staff. Miss Debbie the hygienist gets far too many details about our life from the younger siblings, much to the horror of the older ones, and she loves to laugh with us about it later. The great thing about Miss Debbie, though? She is a huge Bruce Hornsby fan. After hearing that we were fans, she went to a concert and she came home with this for us:


Bruce Hornsby: Intersections (1985-2005)

The guy was handing them out to everyone! A 4-CD, 53-song box set with a 23-track dvd, too. What an unexpected pleasure on Dental Day. I sure hope to see his spider fingers in concert someday.

The music is the perfect accompaniment to a gray, chilly April afternoon that is filled with school assignments, papers to grade, and an extra dose of sleepy-headedness. Bruce is great wake-up call.

The week-end in pictures

These pictures are for Mindy; she'll know where this tournament was held! We thought of you as we walked and walked and walked across the campus, Mindy.

I find that when I am nervous it heightens my eye for the beauty around me. I was fascinated with the lines and shadows on these benches as I waited for my dear daughter to finish her semi-final rounds. SEMI-FINALS...this is worth a post of its own. Soon.

My three speech participants. Mr. Humorous and Impromptu, Mr. Thematic and Impromptu and Miss Original Oratory and Impromptu Apologetics.

Coming home is all the more fun with Miss Dolce finding herself right at home along with us. I think she gained a few pounds while we were gone.

On the road again

Yes, it is another speech tournament weekend. Days filled with anxiety, excitement, exhaustion. Halls packed with friends, soon-to-be-friends and strangers. Nights with gracious hosts who willingly squeeze us into their loving home.



As we drove we listened to


Jane Eyre read by Juliet Stevenson. She is the perfect voice for the story.

But a Friday morning is time for straightening ties, drinking lots of coffee, choosing the day's hairstyle and finding the car keys. I live in terror of losing the car keys on these speech weekends, but they were found...in a coat pocket...in the suitcase...of an anonymous child. So, all is well.

Back to the competition!!

Would I stop or just rush on by?

Pearls Before Breakfast
By Gene Weingarten
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, April 8, 2007

Can one of the nation's great musicians cut through the fog of a D.C. rush hour?

"Each passerby had a quick choice to make, one familiar to commuters in any urban area where the occasional street performer is part of the cityscape: Do you stop and listen? Do you hurry past with a blend of guilt and irritation, aware of your cupidity but annoyed by the unbidden demand on your time and your wallet? Do you throw in a buck, just to be polite? Does your decision change if he's really bad? What if he's really good? Do you have time for beauty? Shouldn't you? What's the moral mathematics of the moment?

On that Friday in January, those private questions would be answered in an unusually public way. No one knew it, but the fiddler standing against a bare wall outside the Metro in an indoor arcade at the top of the escalators was one of the finest classical musicians in the world, playing some of the most elegant music ever written on one of the most valuable violins ever made. His performance was arranged by The Washington Post as an experiment in context, perception and priorities -- as well as an unblinking assessment of public taste: In a banal setting at an inconvenient time, would beauty transcend?"

"In preparing for this event, editors at The Post Magazine discussed how to deal with likely outcomes. The most widely held assumption was that there could well be a problem with crowd control: In a demographic as sophisticated as Washington, the thinking went, several people would surely recognize Bell. Nervous "what-if" scenarios abounded. As people gathered, what if others stopped just to see what the attraction was? Word would spread through the crowd. Cameras would flash. More people flock to the scene; rush-hour pedestrian traffic backs up; tempers flare; the National Guard is called; tear gas, rubber bullets, etc.

As it happens, exactly one person recognized Bell, and she didn't arrive until near the very end."

My daughter's response: "That's terrible...in the frightening sense." I agree. But it makes me ask: what am I rushing past in all my daily scurrying? If I truly believe that every life is a work of art, for good or for evil, am I missing a masterpiece while I hurry to the next event?

Read this article. Every word. And then let it sink in and make you wonder.

HT: Ann from Holy Experience

The warmth has come

The song of Heaven's Sabbath fleshed
In throat and ear, in stream and stone,
A grace living here as we live,
Move my mind now to that which holds
Things as they change.

The warmth has come.

The doors have opened. Flower and song
Embroider ground and air, lead me
Beside the healing field that waits;

from A Timbered Choir: The Sabbath Poems 1979 - 1997
by Wendell Berry

Honor where honor is due

Being nominated for a blog design award is an honor -- but not really for me. My blog designer extraordinaire is Seth B. Blog Designs. As I have said before, he has experience working with opinionated people. Very opinionated. He was willing to tweak and re-tweak until Mrs. Opinionated was happy, happy, happy.

Contact him! Have him design your award-winning blog! Help pay for his college education! He's a fine young man, and I highly recommend his services.

You can find Seth (and his dog) here.

Easter

Christ is Risen, and you, o death, are annihilated!
Christ is Risen, and the evil ones are cast down!
Christ is Risen, and the angels rejoice!
Christ is Risen, and life is liberated!
Christ is Risen, and the tomb is emptied of its dead;
for Christ having risen from the dead,
is become the first-fruits of those who have fallen asleep.

To Him be Glory and Power forever and ever. Amen!

Easter Sermon, John Chrysostom (349-407) via the Schola Classical Tutorials newsletter.

Honored

I am honored to be nominated for two categories in the Homeschool Blog Awards: Best Blog Design and Best Artistic Content. THANK YOU!

Voting begins tomorrow, so check the site and vote for your favorites.

Vote here: Homeschool Blog Awards

Mental multivitamin on Good Friday

Mrs. M-mv's Good Friday post is a gem that has bit around the edges of my heart and mind since first it was posted. Don't miss it.

National Poetry Month

April is National Poetry Month, and here are some recommended resources:

Academy of American Poets

Sign-up for a poem-a-day in your inbox, or find lists of great poems and ideas for teaching poetry here.

The Writer's Almanac

From today's poem on The Writer's Almanac, "Unwise Purchases" by George Bilgere, where a man is wondering if there might be a woman out there for him:

a woman who has always dreamed of becoming
the kind of woman the man I've always dreamed of becoming
has always dreamed of meeting.

For some reason that stanza makes me laugh and laugh.


Previous posts on poetry:

December 2004
April 2005
April 2006

Welcome home

Since our feline friend Horatio died, we have been waiting for the right time to add a new cat to the family. Honestly? I have been waiting for the next volunteer. Over the ten years we have lived here, we have seen at least a dozen strays on our property, and a handful of them have made perfect pets. My instincts were right, and we met our next pet in the garage on Friday as we went to gather suitcases for our weekend of speech tournament travel. There, curled up on the sleeping bag shelf, was a tragically thin kitten-almost-cat. After only a few seconds, it was reaching out to be pet, and it ate the soft bits of food we offered it with speed and gratitude. It was obvious that this cat had been someone's pet, for he/she showed no signs of being feral.

We had to leave for the weekend, and upon our return there was no cat in the garage. Trusted sources related the tragic news that the dog did what dogs will do...she played chase with our timid friend and the cat disappeared up the hill. Big tears fell from the eleven and eight-year-old eyes, but they still called repeatedly to see if the cat would return. Giving up, we went about our business, eventually ending up with all seven of us in the master bedroom as my husband packed for his week away in Washington, D.C. Suddenly, we heard a plaintive howl, and the cat was found.

Named Dolce (Italian for sweet, mild, pleasant) this is one happy cat. Never having had a pet of her own, our eleven-year-old is equally ecstatic.

Welcome home, Dolce.