Just a few more days

Tomorrow we leave for our last speech tournament.

Packed with the usual collection of suits, ties, copies of speeches and food will be a very large suitcase. Packed in the giant suitcase will be seven weeks of essentials for my oldest girl.

She leaves Sunday night for Virginia.

There is still a long list of things to do before we leave tomorrow, not the least of which is to look her in those beautiful blue eyes and enjoy her fascinating company.

If these days are going by so fast, surely those seven weeks will, too. Right? Of course right!

I'll be back after we wave goodbye at the airport. If you're wondering about a good investment, Kleenex might be the option you're searching for. Their stock looks to soar on Sunday night.

Kindred spirits
Father and daughter
working side-by-side in Starbucks while on the road last week.

On the road again

One thing is perfectly clear to me at this moment: we are Northern Californians. My children have lived on modest little dirt hills in the Sierra foothills their whole lives, and the concrete expanses in front of us as we drive down Highway 5 are shockingly different from our usual abode. As we climbed over the Grapevine and descended into the valley, the layer of smog brought forth exclamations of, "Is that fog or mist or ...??? What is it, Mommy?" Bless your innocent little hearts; that's smog, boys and girls.

Yes, we're on the road again. This week-end and next we are finishing up our speech season with a flourish. La Mirada this weekend, and San Jose next, and the hospitality of dear friends in both places. Already there are no thoughts of smog or concrete or traffic, even though we are still in the midst; we get to see our duck loving friends, and we can hardly wait!!!

Since we're traveling with a large harp, we passed our large boys off to friends, and we have the two littles and our harp player with us. It always fascinates me to see how the family fabric changes with the absence of one or more of the family. It's been a totally different kind of fun this time, and we're eager to be reunited tonight.

What's the CD player been busy with as we drive? Well:



Steve Bell's Solace


Michael Card's Present Reality


For later:


Rascal (written by Sterling North; read by Jim Weiss)


The Aneid (written by Virgil, translated by Fagles, read by Simon Callow.)

It will be another cluster of days filled with speeches about current events, freedom, harp playing, Mr. Toad, Pilgrim's Progress, P.G. Wodehouse, bees, rats, conspiracy theories, Merchant of Venice, voting ages, our current definition of adulthood, the seven deadly sins, Red Badge of Courage, Dr. Faustus, the violin, caffeine, cars, intelligent design, made up languages, A Man for all Seasons, the Great Divorce, Les Mis, Uncle Tom's Cabin....okay, I am getting carried away. Facts are: I will be energized, inspired, exhausted and invigorated this weekend. The speech world really is the bee's roller skates, as P.G. Wodehouse would say *heh heh heh*

FYI: L.A. traffic is the perfect opportunity for Lamaze breathing (which I found less than effective during labor.)

Still Alice

Still Alice

Even then, there were neurons in her head, not far from her ears, that were being strangled to death, too quietly for her to hear them. Some would argue that things were going so insidiously wrong that the neurons themselves initiated events that would lead to their own destruction. Whether it was molecular murder or cellular suicide, they were unable to warn her of what was happening before they died.

In the past few months I have been happy to receive emails, offering books for my review. With most of the books I have had to say, "Thanks, but no thanks," but this was one that I made the time to read. Having studied gerontology in college, and knowing several people who have begun or finished the experience of Alzheimer's, Still Alice intrigued me.

Alice is a professor at Harvard when she is diagnosed with Alzheimer's. She is only fifty years old. An important note at this point: I AM FORTY-EIGHT years old; fifty is tomorrow! My age made it impossible to keep the story at arm's length. It became easy to question my every forgetful moment, even if they are the kind of forgetful moments I have had since birth.

At the beginning of the story, I only cared about Alice; her children and her husband left me empty and wanting. For the most part, though, the growth and change in the characters and their relationships was both touching and troubling, a realistic look at the realities of such a tragic disease.

Not a book that soothes the soul, but an important opportunity for empathy. High recommended.

For more information: Still Alice

Late bloomers

In the shadows, behind one of our aging fences, there is a wisteria plant. And it is blooming. We waited ten years for two flowering strands, and those were welcomed with shouts of joy. This year? There are dozens!!

There are enough flowers that I can smell them when I am walking on the driveway in the evening, and I don't need a spy to find them from the garden below. They are in evident abundance, just waiting to be admired.

Late bloomers. It is easy to doubt them when they are leaf-covered sticks with no blooms. The previous owner of our house dug up and took her first two wisteria plants back to the nursery because they didn't bloom. She doubted her soil; she really doubted the plant itself. She warned us that it might be a dud. Well, for ten years we thought it was. Our quasi-neglect was, for once, the right course of action. We pruned. We wondered. We admired the greenery, and we longed for blooms, but we certainly didn't dig anything up.

What we have learned since is that wisteria from seed can take up to ten years to bloom. It wasn't the soil; it wasn't the pruning (or lack of it some years); it was in the very nature of the plant.

I have experience with other kinds of late-bloomers. Constant checking of the "branches" doth not make it bloom, that I have learned. It's not the "soil" or the "pruning" (or lack of it.) Sometimes it just takes longer.

And when it is a precious person, and they show their blossoms at just the right time, it is a be-a-u-ti-ful, extra-fragrant thing.

Gratitude

A post that made my day, from my friend Amanda. I never thought to see my name listed with Anthony Esolen, G.K. Chesterton, Annie Dillard and Amanda. What terrific company.

Thank you.

Yes, more ducks

Sorry, everyone, but I know that my friend Michaelangelo still wants to see duck pictures.

FYI: These gals came into the house for Greek class (yes, Greek class.)

In two-and-a-half weeks this Greek student will be gone to Virginia, and these ducks will get to embrace the twenty-four-hours-a-day outdoor experience. They're enjoying their desktop living while they can.

Shall we sneak a duck in the car when we come to see you next week, Michaelangelo? With seven people, a harp the size of a large person, plenty of suitcases and a cooler, what difference would a crate with a duck make, right? Well, I think your mom and my husband might disagree, so I will make sure I have all my pictures organized on the computer, ok?

Favorite picture books

From the inbox:

Betsy wrote in an email recently, "...my girls and I love the Maple Hill Farm book, which I discovered on your blog. What were your kids' other favorite books as preschoolers? I'd love to hear your recommendations, and your kids', for good reading for little ones."

These are the first ten that came to mind. They are the ones I can probably read without looking at the pages, the ones requested night after night after day after day.

I hope you find a gem or two here, Betsy.



Owl Moon by Jane Yolen and John Schoenherr


The Big Red Barn by Margaret Wise Brown


The Bear That Heard Crying by Natalie Kinsey-Warnock, Helen Kinsey and Ted Rand


Miss Rumphius by Barbara Cooney


Time of Wonder by Robert McCloskey


Blueberries for Sal by Robert McCloskey

(We also love One Morning in May and Make Way for Ducklings by Robert McCloskey



The Little Mouse, The Red Ripe Strawberry, and The Big Hungry Bear by Don and Audrey Wood


Road Builders by B.G. Henessey and Simms Taback


Ox-Cart Man by Donald Hall and Barbara Cooney


It's A Perfect Day by Abigail Pizer

Robert Frost (1874 - 1963)

A Prayer in Spring

Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers today;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.

Oh, give us pleasure in the orcahrd white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.

And make us happy in the darting bird
That suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in mid air stands still.

For this is love and nothing else is love,
To which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends he will,
But which it only needs that we fulfill.

Tagged

The Six Word Memoir

SIX words to summarize a whole life? Not an easy task for a wordy person like myself.

My children's suggestions:

1) Coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee. I obviously love coffee, but even I can see the limitations of that as a memoir.

2) J, M, Z, R, C, B (the names of my husband and children.) I hate to break it to them, but that is not right either.

After some trial and error, this is what I came up with:

*I never imagined so much joy.*

Here are the other contestants:

Grace, step-by-step, each day.

Faith hope love; coffee laughter books.

Notice, listen, rest; God is here.

If only I hadn't, or had.

Forgiveness, healing; my life is miraculous.

The laundry can wait until tomorrow.

Come - the adventure calls. Don't wait.

Daily grind becomes a quotidian liturgy.

Lost: fear, dread. Found: hope, joy.

Tagged by: Thicket Dweller
Consider yourself tagged; let me know if you play.

Duck update

The ducks have grown and it's time for them to have a little space of their own (aka: they SMELL). They don't need the heat lamp anymore, and they need to be able to stretch and waddle around, so......

we moved them to the Chicken Coop now Duck Condo.

As soon as we got them settled, all three cats became extra-interested in this corner of the property. Nutmeg seemed to have been nominated Welcome Wagon Rep, for she tried her hardest to get up close and personal. We added extra fortification in front of the door to thwart her. So far, so good.

Now, the hawks that began screeching and circling in the afternoon are another story. We may need to add more chicken wire to the open-air section of the Duck Condo. As much as I love hawks, I have no intention of feeding them my duck friends.

Ranunculus

The morning light and a bouquet of my favorite flowers. Captivating.

Overnight changes

The sun is shining and the bulbs are quickly blooming.

For Alison -- the iris always make me think of you.

Growth spurt

I'm not sure if this is true of all children, but I can always tell when one of my offspring are entering into a growth spurt. Lots of food. Loads of sleep. A little edgy. Then suddenly their pants don't fit, and we are pulling out the boxes in the attic to see if we have hand-me-overs to fill in the gap.

I feel as if I have entered into a Mama Growth Spurt in the last few weeks. I am not growing out of my pants (please, Lord, NO!), but I am being stretched beyond what is comfortable. If life is a highway, we are in the fastest lane of the autobahn in a convertible. The vistas are breathtaking, the wind is messing up my cute hairdo, and the radio is playing our favorite songs. It's a trip we will never forget, but it is going terribly, terribly fast. Every now and then I start to panic. What if we get lost? What if we crash? And more probable: what if we run out of gas?

When I was pregnant with my fifth child, my wonderful OB asked me, "Um, did you realize they are all going to be teenagers at the same time?" I thought he was speaking of the societal expectations of ratty teens who rebel and mouth off and make life miserable for adults. Now I am beginning to think he was just speaking of the demands that delightful, hardworking, interesting teens can make on their parents. In the last week alone, I have helped one girl set up a checking account, an ATM card ("What is an ATM card, Mom?") and a credit card so she will be ready for her six-week travel adventure to Virginia. I also worked with my son to get his work permit and his "white polo shirt without a logo" and his "skid-proof, hideously expensive work shoes" for his new job at Jamba Juice. It's been a wake-up call to Mom and Dad about our filing system for little things like social security cards and birth certificates. Then there is the driver's ed, driving instruction preparation for Jamba Juice son.

Learning to drive ** with a peanut gallery ** and heading off to work

Somehow, having all these things crash into one week has brought home the transitional phase of my life, and I am exhausted. Don't get me wrong; would I want anything but these things to happen in my children's lives? My daughter's job and travel opportunity to Virginia is a dream come true; my son is equally excited about working hard at Jamba Juice. And driving? Well, he has been asking how old he has to be to drive since he was two years old.

I was sitting on the couch the other day, in a stolen moment of quiet contemplation, and my mom stopped in for a quick visit. She took one look at me and said with understanding and kindness, "This isn't easy for you, is it?" No, Mum, it's not. It's good. It's all good. But, I'm still struggling with the transition.

So what's a woman to do?

* Sleep like a growing child.
* Pray.
* Be deeply, deeply grateful.

And I need to be a little patient with myself. I'll go ahead and make easily-accessed files for important documents, and I must create organizational systems in order to remember who needs to be where and when with what. But, I'll be patient with myself, too.

And then we'll just fill the gas tank, buckle up and check the map. I plan to enjoy the feel of the wind in my hair.

A view of the autobahn

One thing is certain: these are the good old days, my friends.