Soundtrack for a cooking, planning, packing Friday

The perfect musical accompaniment to the stirring of the basil syrup, the hum of the laundry machines, the cacophony of children in and out to clean the car, water the plants and feed the animals in preparation for time away.

We leave soon for a weekend with friends. The elaborate agenda includes: splashing in their creek, staying up too late, enjoying the sparkling sunshine on their deck. It will be the perfect get-away!

Friends who inspire

Once again from friend Ann , words to consider as we begin our new school year on Monday:

Children "want things repeated and unchanged," writes G.K. Chesterton.

"They always say, "Do it again"… [It is] grown-up people [who] are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, "Do it again" to the sun; and every evening, "Do it again" to the moon…. The repetition in nature may not be mere recurrence; it may be a theatrical encore."

......

Couldn’t our days be a theatrical encore of a beautiful life?
Ceremony changes us: the single become married, the soul emerges baptized, the birthday christens another year.

Ceremony offers us the opportunity to change our everydays too.

The opportunity to christen each day as important.

And from a dear friend far-away, as she prepares to send her daughter back to college. We are preparing to do the same, with departure set for twelve days from today. Twelve short days. Feeling the weight with you, M.

... I am feeling the weight of this Arabic proverb:

اولادنا اکبدنا ماشیین علی الارض

Our children are our hearts walking around outside of us.

Thinking about...

"I think that I began to understand why so many people choose to slip-slide through life. Literature or art or music or conversation that makes. us. think. hurts. It forces us to re-examine ourselves and our lives in ways that may... that will disappoint us. Reconciling who we are with who we thought we might be is hard work."

With thanks, once again, to M-mv.

I am approaching my fiftieth birthday in less than two weeks, so I am thinking a lot about where I have been and where I am going. I am reminding myself about who (and Who) goes with me, and how the future can be different than the past and the present. There is so much good, AND there is SO MUCH room for change. I feel courageous and hopeful for the days ahead.

Summer is fleeting

and so we take the time to remember:

* thanks to Michael D. for the photos that I snagged from Facebook*

Someone went to Idaho for two weeks. The event was Hill Abbey, and she had the time of her life reading Augustine with a great group of friends. The rest of the family is happy she yanked herself away from the fun and came home to us.

We were blissfully reunited, via a flight to Portland, at the home of friends. It is one of my favorite places, filled with thoughtful and kind people, hard truths, good food, and beauty around every corner, inside and out.

(The family pic on the right requires a "click to enlarge" to appreciate. Photo credit goes to the very talented NP.)

A beautiful Idaho traveling girl turned nineteen and her mother managed to make a cake that did NOT look like a volcano replica. It was a win/win moment.

It was a gloriously beautiful day in San Francisco

A Schola classmate became a family friend/adopted daughter. The only problem? Alabama is WAY too far away. We miss you, Mandy.

Ice cream and friends is a combo that is hard to beat

Two of my favorite people hopped on a plane for Spokane to see a beloved nephew and a now-beloved niece get married. A first plane ride for the younger one on the left, a stay with friends, and a God-honoring ceremony made for a memorable weekend.

Since then it has been lesson planning, speech camp, junior college class adding, speech writing, and the making of many, many, MANY entrees in hopes that we can eat and do school this year. Never a dull moment around here, unless you are ten and consider the list above to be dullness personified.

The temperatures are rising again, giving the false impression that summer is lingering, but the work before me says, "Fall" without a doubt. That's okay; we're ready.

Today

Thinking about:

In a fractured world, why be afraid to announce Joy? "The one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world."

from friend Ann.

Reading:


Ironies of Faith: The Laughter at the Heart of Christian Literature by Anthony Esolen


Bringing It to the Table: On Farming and Food by Wendell Berry

Yes, my summer reading list is completed, and I am moving on to these compelling reads. I'll update on my lists as soon as speech camp is over. Today I am teaching a beautiful group of students about the three areas of limited preparation speeches in our league: Apologetics, Impromptu, and Extemporaneous. I am in over my head, but at this point I am used to that posture. I am always pleased and amazed at how students will rise to the occasion and learn and grow. They are such interesting people.

And for when the busy hours are over and we can sit and talk:



Lava Cap Winery: Highly recommended.

Monday morning

Fall is coming. I watched and heard the geese in their flight over the house this morning, and I felt an almost-chill in the air as I sat in front of the window. My husband's school is already a week into the year, and junior college classes begin this week. Online classes start next week, speech camp begins today. Ready or not, here we come.

I have been wondering how to plan for the year without knowing what my mother will need. I have waited, worried and prayed. I have sat in front of blank planning pages, waiting for words to miraculously appear. I have printed out blank charts to be filled in with details I do not have. And I have waited some more. Finally, I have come to this conclusion: as Mom seems to feel better and better each day, it has become clear that I need to plan my school days as if her health is a non-issue....with the big caveat being that I must be ready to flex and re-evaluate when the situation changes. For today we can plan full days and rigorous lessons with me fully involved. It appears that my education will continue to be:

"Do not worry then, saying, 'What will we eat?' or 'What will we drink?' or 'What will we wear for clothing?' (or what we shall teach and learn)

For the Gentiles eagerly seek all these things; for your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things.

But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.

So do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." Matthew 6:31-34

And so I focus on what I know, on what I can do. This is one of the big lessons in contentment, isn't it? Quit thinking about all those things/people/experiences I don't have or know, and start appreciating all I do have. Quit worrying about the future, and start using each hour of the day for good purpose.

The vague plan for the year:

History is modern and heading back to ancients.
Science is general or biology, depending on who you are.
Math is an area of weakness that must be strengthened.
Great books continue for oldest and middle son.
Our younger daughter joins the online class world with Classical Writing .

I am using Ambleside Online Year Six, Year Eleven and Year Twelve as inspiration; I won't follow their lists slavishly, but having them prevents me from having to reinvent the entire wheel for my students.

With all my concerns, a few things are true: I have great students, my job is fascinating, and it promises to be a year full of learning for all of us.

Vacation gratitude

We left for our annual dream vacation on July 31. We headed to the spectacular Oregon coast, to the promise of fellowship with friends who have crossed decades of our lives, and to the relaxation that comes from waves crashing and people making your bed every morning and cooking your dinner every night. It is a trip we anticipate all year long. In January, when dedicated teachers question their calling and wonder if teaching English in China (Bangladesh, Cuba) would be a better fit, my husband starts counting the days to Cannon Beach. Somehow knowing that the sea salt air is waiting for us helps.

But this year my mother is ill. Just a few weeks before our trip, she was in the hospital, holding my hand as she slept. She was in pain, she was pale, she looked so vulnerable. How could I leave her? I received plenty of solicited and unsolicited advice on how important it was for us to have time away in preparation for the demanding days ahead. And, knowing my mother, she would muster up her remaining strength and wallop me across the head with a blunt object if we did not go on our vacation. So, staying home was not an option.

But what would she need while we were gone? What should we set up for her? I had no idea, and I realized I just needed to wait until right before we left. Finally it became clear that she was healing from her surgery, gaining some strength, and would not need medical assistance. The final decision was for dear friends to water the plants, take care of all the animals, and bring Mom the mail. They, too, have five children who adore Grandma Jean, so I knew she would have children visiting, my friend-like-a-sister to talk with, and the eyes of caring adults to evaluate if any changes occurred.

Still it was difficult to leave. I didn't, in my gut, think she would die while we were gone. I am not really sure why it was so difficult, but I grappled in my prayers about it all. Finally, in a moment of surrender, I acknowledged that all I felt capable of doing was leaving town as an act of obedience. I couldn't promise not to worry. I couldn't do anything but leave.

I kissed Mom goodbye in the pitch black of the early morning hours as children stumbled out of bed and headed for the van. Packed with flip flops and sweatshirts, skim boards and beach towels, stacks of books and cameras and memories of previous summer trips, we drove off. The miles clicked by and the sun rose and we sang favorite songs and we ate our once-a-year treat of color-your-milk cereals. Bruce Hornsby played with his spider fingers, the milk turned pink, we caught the first glimpse of Mt. Shasta, we crossed the border and saw the metal cow sculpture, and finally, at last, I felt my incoherent worries fade away. Any questions I had about leaving were answered (or would go unanswered) and all I had to do was look ahead to ocean breezes and long walks and salt water taffy and stacks of books.

By the time we arrived at the beach house with the purple door, our favorite beach house ever, I knew I was on vacation and I knew it was a good thing.

The next day we made our way up the road to the conference center that would be our home for a week, waving to friends as they pulled in from Utah, Portland, Missouri, Nebraska, Washington and Canada. Conversations from years past picked up like no time was lost. Children disappeared into carpet ball games, bonfires on the beach, giggles with friends. Grown-ups napped without guilt, brewed espresso in their room with the ocean view, read book after book after book, and walked to the rock and back as many times as possible. We shared our stories, compared book lists, made sand castles, and laughed and laughed and laughed some more.

There is no way around it: this vacation was a gift. I couldn't choose to go; I really had to be cornered into it. But once we were moving north, once the surrender was made, I could see it for the perfectly timed, carefully crafted, much needed respite that it was. I am so grateful.

Gratitude stats:

15 meals X 6 = 90 meals
7 days of beds made X 6 = 42
5 trips to Haystack Rock and back
2 trips with children to Bruce's Candy Kitchen
8 nights of sleep with the waves crashing and the breeze blowing
8 friends listening as spiritual autobiographies were shared
4 happy children
2 rested and happy adults
3 books read
2 visits at the house with the purple door
Countless joy at how well Mom did while we were gone. Happy, healthy, cared for.

166 more bits of gratitude
(numbers 101 to 266)