Farewell, majestic tree

It was in the quiet of the morning. The shades were closed to keep the frost outside, and I was sipping my cup of French roast, waiting for its caffeinated magic to take effect. There was not a smidge of wind, and the only sound I could hear was the traffic from the freeway across the valley. Suddenly there was an unfamiliar noise, a sort of "whoosh", followed by a very, very small "crack." I opened the door and this is what I saw:

Allowing the frosty air to rush right in the gaping front door, I stood in shock, wondering what the tree was doing in the driveway. One by one, children came and joined me. What seemed so rooted and grounded, the arc of beauty across the driveway that declared to large trucks, "Stop here!", was instead a path of rubble crashing through the fence.

Eventually we started in on the "what ifs." I usually park the van right there. Last night my son parked that van under the deck instead.

My mother often awaits her Dial-A-Ride van in that very spot. With her hearing loss, she never would have heard the tree falling.

The cats pace back and forth on the driveway, chasing squirrels, waiting for birds to land. They were all cozy in the house.

The only destruction was the tree itself and the fence that was crumbling where it stood. Wow.

The van was trapped, though, so we had to call on our neighbor to chainsaw a path to transport a daughter to work and the rest on errands. He came immediately, and we were left with branches and sawdust in a matter of minutes. We are blessed to have him next door, and he is blessed with a pile of oak for his wood stove.

The hillside is still covered with branches upon branches, and we can see hours of cutting and piling and cleaning up ahead. Suddenly our questions about spring break got a lot clearer.

For some, though, life is always an adventure, and destruction quickly becomes a play house. Oh, for the footloose and fancy free days of childhood.

Nick Hornby on Gilead

Housekeeping vs. the Dirt is a book of "books bought/books read" lists and reviews. This is from his review of Marilynne Robinson's book Gilead:

"I didn't even mind that it's essentially a book about Christianity, narrated by a Christian; in fact, for the first time I understood the point of Christianity - or at least, I understood how it might be used to assist thought... I had to reread passages from Gilead several times - beautiful, luminous passages about grace, and debt, and baptism - before I half-understood them, however: there are complicated and striking ideas on every single page.

We all know that the circumstances surrounding the reading of a book are probably every bit as important as the book itself, and I read Gilead at a weird time. I was on a book tour in the U.K., and I was sick of myself and of the sound of my own voice... if anyone were ever in need of the astonishing hush that Marilynne Robinson achieves in her book - how do you do that, in something crafted out of words? - it was I. Caveat emptor, but if you don't like it, then you have no soul."

"Astonishing hush" is the perfect way to describe Gilead...so perfect.

I love Nick Hornby's writing. He makes me laugh and laugh and laugh. And then I read out loud to my husband, laughing even more, and my husband says, "hmmmmm." I guess he is an acquired taste, but he suits me fine.

And that last line, "if you don't like it, then you have no soul"? Well, add that to the quote book. What a handy dandy line to have ready to spring on some unsuspecting soul who has the nerve to disagree with you.

Catching up

(photos: debate buddies, USD, Zack's speech goes to finals)

A week ago we were fresh home from University of San Diego. We spent another three days of speech and debate, took another long drive down and up Highway 5 ("Hi, sheep!" Hi, cows!"), and experienced more thrills of victory and agonies of defeat. There is much to learn in the process of fierce competition, and we just keep learning it.

If you are looking for a good Catholic university and have 52K a year, University of San Diego is a gorgeous, perfectly groomed campus. We saw a LOT of the campus as we walked up and down and around to rooms where we were competing or judging. It provided plenty of exercise, and around every corner was something beautiful. Carved wood tables, statuary, flower gardens, and buildings were all made with attention to detail. I am so glad there are places where beauty still matters.

The weekend was not without mishaps. There was a lost debate bag (major stress), there was no advancing in debate for our boys (major disappointment), and there was a horrific case of food poisoning after a stop at Denny's on our way to L.A. Saturday night (major pain and misery.) And it has taken me a week to recover from the trip, as I brought home yet.another.cold.bug and have spent the week coughing, sleeping and wishing my head could be opened up and drained every hour. Even that can't cloud the downright fun we had, though. To be surrounded by so many interesting people, to find those with whom we can laugh until our sides hurt, to have a few precious friends we can see more often because of these crazy weekends...even though the cost is high, we love, love, love the speech and debate life.

Savoring home

The next two weekends will find us back on the road. This weekend will be debate in Saratoga, the next weekend will be speech in Santa Rosa. For now, though, we are savoring the chance to be home. We've had wind, rain, hail, snow, and now crystal clear, periwinkle blue skies. The stars have been sparkling, and dad and daughter have been out communing with them thanks to a lecture by Wes Callihan they enjoyed while we were in San Diego. My cough is fading, my energy is returning, and I can almost glimpse that elusive light at the end of the tunnel. It promises to be a good week.

A Bright Sadness: Visiting the Orthodox Church during Lent

The church is dark. Circles of light glow from the vigil candles on the walls and the prayer candles that are lit and placed tilting in humble sand. The dark wood shines, though; it is a deep enough darkness that bits of light become bright. The saints on the walls remind us that we are not alone; we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses.

Women in scarves gather to the left, old and young, inquirer and cradle-born standing side-by-side. Men in black vestments or rain jackets gather to the right, chanting with rich familiarity or reading with hesitancy. The black vestments have flickers of gold, both dark and luminous.

Majestic and humble are co-existing this night in a beautiful and mysterious way.

The specificity of the confession is deep and honest. No skimming over, no subtlety. But then we sing, over and over, “God is with us” as another continues reading. GOD IS WITH US!

As we leave, the rain is unleashed with fury once again. We jog to the car, passing blossoms big and small on the trees in the church courtyard. They are pink and yellow and white in the lights overhead; as we speed past, the fragrance is like incense to bless us on our way.

This Orthodox world is full of physical pictures of spiritual things: light shining, dark filling, fragrance of blessing wafting in the air. The service stays with me long after I return home to the smell of dinner and the sound of skirmishes and speech practice and guitar strumming.

God is with us.

* Fr. Alexander Schmeman referred to Lent as a "bright sadness."