Happy Be-Lated Birthday Reflections

On top of the world

On May 3rd we were very busy. It was my third child's 12th birthday, AND we had the stomach flu. What a sad bit of timing. (Anne with an "e" would say tragical, wouldn't she?) We had a movie fest, watching the movies of his choice, and tried to feel better. The formal party was scheduled for Friday, and it was ONLY Tuesday. "Surely we will all feel just dandy by Friday!" No such luck. The party at our house was cancelled by a resurgence of symptoms, and was moved (with only the "healthy" members of the family) to another location. I, unfortunately, was not a qualifying attendee, but I have it on good report that it was a delightful evening. Children ages 6 to 17, a handful of crazy grown-ups, and plenty of English country dancing, singing 'round the piano and general hilarity. We provided party favors, which I hope to be able to display here when I get pictures sent to me. Surgical masks for the Sick Family members, surgical gloves for all (to wear, make balloons of, whatever) and bottles of hand sanitizer to add to the health and aromatherapy of the evening. If laughter is the best medicine, you would think this icky bug would have vacated our house a bit sooner than it did.

I was impressed with the patience and kindness of my son as he waited to celebrate. He is like his mother: he loves his birthday, he loves to have parties with friends and family, and he had been planning his special day for a couple of months. Then, he was offered set-back after set-back. "Maybe we can have a birthday breakfast tomorrow, hon." No such luck. We did finally celebrate with Dutch babies, banner, and presents, but it took us until Friday, and the cake didn't even appear until Saturday night with the WPMs family. It was a fabulous cake:


The Ultimate Boy Scout Birthday Cake

and well worth the wait. But, I am grateful for a child that did not complain, expressed concern for his sick family members, and put his hopes and dreams on hold until we could all participate with him. What a great guy.

As he grows older, his similarities to his father grow stronger and stronger. When we were at our aunt's memorial service in April, many people commented on their similar appearance. What I like about having a child who looks so much like my husband is that it reminds me that my son is becoming a man. That may sound obvious to you, but I can get pretty stuck in the "now." It is really good for me to see my children as adults-in-the-making. We are shooting for a high water mark of maturity around here, wanting to contribute to life and bless those around us, and if my son can continue to be a reminder of his father, he is well on his way to a good place.

Wherever he is headed, I trust that his life will continue to be filled with adventures that include backpacks, skis, bow & arrows, music, basketball statistics, and cases of books. He has begun to write stories, detailed and filled with imagery that ignites my imagination. A new and fascinating person is just starting to emerge; this stage of parenting is so much more exciting than all those nay-sayers let on.

From now until August 8th I have the fine distinction of saying that I have children ages 14, 13 and 12 (and 9 and 6, but it is those first three that are so impressive this time of year.) Yes, they are close in age. Yes, we know where babies come from. Yes, I was busy when they were younger. Yes, I knew they would all be teenagers at the same time. NO, I don't regret it. Adding baby #3, a mere thirty-two months after baby #1, and nineteen months after baby #2, was one of the smartest things we have ever done (as if it was all up to us anyway!) These three teenagers (or soon to be's) are fun and funny and way more interesting than most anything I can imagine. I am one blessed woman.

Happy (be-lated) Birthday, dear Rex!


The Birthday Gentleman

Art Class

Practicing impressionistic techniques

Last Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday we attended an art class given by Barry and Saundra Stebbing of How Great Thou Art Publications. This was our second time taking the class, and I have written before (here) about how influencial our 2003 class was. One of my sons is particularly interested in sketching and painting, and he was praising Barry's teaching methods on our way home from class on Monday. When I asked him what it was that he liked, he said, "Mr. Stebbing is a great speaker, he is very confident in what he says, and he does not flatter me. He is honest, and when he says he likes something, it makes me feel really good." I fully agree with him, and I am glad we were able to offer more support to all our children in their artistic endeavors. Later that week, I found my son in his room, emptying out his red tool chest. "Isn't this the perfect place to keep my art supplies, Mom?" When the tools of your trade are brushes, paints, pencils and sketch book, it is perfect!


Signs of creativity are everywhere

I also appreciate the friendship of the Stebbings. We have corresponded since we met in 2003, as we share a common love of art journaling. This is a real passion of Barry's, but it is hard to communicate to people how beneficial it can be. The fact that it stuck for me, and that I share the passion, has made us good friends.

I had allowed the lethargy of winter to interfere with journaling, but class rekindled the interest. I went back through the pages of my art journal, adding details to unfinished pages, and ended up being really pleased with the results. One page in particular was a tree that I really didn't like. For some reason I had had difficulty making the branches and trunk look at all realistic, and I was tempted to cover it over with a fresh piece of paper. Before I gave up, though, I added some lines for shading and bark, colored it in with several shades of green, brown and yellow, and VOILA. It looked like a lovely tree. I am so glad that I didn't give up.


Ready to journal

I told my children that I would pay for large art journals for them if a) they would commit to one page a week, and b) commit to finishing the entire book (no matter how long it takes.) Learning to finish things well is easier to do when young, and I am excited that all of my children took me up on the offer. This is something we really enjoy doing together at home and on the road, and the slower pace of summer is an especially fruitful time for our journals. I can't wait to see what they draw and write.

To keep things interesting, I am fiddling with watercolors and with speeding up my sketching style. Both are aided by some new books:


Watercolor: Simple, Fast, and Focused : Essential Concepts for Mastering the Medium, by Mel Stabin


Charles Reid's Watercolor Secrets, by Charles Reid


Fast Sketching Techniques, by David J. Rankin

I am enjoying all three volumes and recommend them highly.

I am grateful that the Stebbings can be mentors for our family. A mentor isn't something you can just google up on the internet, or search for in the yellow pages. I feel incredibly blessed to have spent time with Barry and Saundra two years ago, so that our friendship could grow. Now, after this visit, we have all become better acquainted, and the children were able to establish their own relationships with both Barry and Saundra. As we grow, struggle, and try and try again to hone our skills and interests, it is good to know that we have mentors that are willing to spur us on to excellence, especially ones that encourage all of us to deepen our relationship with the Creator of us all. What a gift.

If the idea of art journaling is a bit of a mystery, it might help to see an example of someone's journal. Barry has published, in "coffee table book" style, one of his favorite journals. The book is entitled Painting America, and (as you would guess) is a journal from his trip across the United States. He travelled with his wife and a friend, and each of the men painted three paintings in each of the lower forty-eight states. You can see samples of his art work, read journal entries that he wrote, and get an idea for what this journaling thing is all about. I couldn't find a link for the book on the website, but you can contact their office to order it: 1-800-982-DRAW.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807 - 1882)

Monday night splendor

After a day of cloud and wind and rain
Sometimes the setting sun breaks out again,
And touching all the darksome woods with light,
Smiles on the fields, until they laugh and sing,
Then like a ruby from the horizon's ring
Drops down into the night.

The Hanging of the Crane, VII

Cyber-space meets real-life

Every now and then the opportunity arises to meet someone that I have become acquainted with in the internet world. The forums at The Well-Trained Mind were my first venture into cyber-space, and I have made several in-real-life friends through participating there. Last summer a group of us from the boards met on the beach in Oregon for an afternoon of non-stop talking and munching. There were no unpleasant surprises, only pleasure in finally putting faces to names I had read for a few years. The hostess for our gathering was MomBob at WPMs, and we really clicked. It was quite clear that we could spend days and days talking about topics of interest to both of us. That, or just laugh together; that is always a fine option. Well, just this week-end we have had the chance. The whole WPMs family came south to do some Gold Rush history study, and we were able to enjoy blocks of time together over three days.

A trip to Coloma State Park, site of gold discovery along the American River, was our first stop. My husband was the docent for that leg of the trip, and I rested up at home before meeting everyone mid-day. It could not have been better weather - the sky was clear blue, the weather cool enough for a cotton sweater, and the wildflowers were blooming along the river. That night DadBob brought marguerita makings and his own magical recipe -- we appreciated his generosity and fun-loving spirit. Over pizza and "grown-up lemonade", we heard funny stories of childhood in Maine, talked everything from Boy Scouts and mosquitoes, to church-life and home education. The value of geometry in math education, the identity of countless birds in our native area, history, science - what doesn't DadBob know? We learned tons and enjoyed it all.

We celebrated Mother's Day with brunch, more talking, and the joy of seeing our children play and relax together. It was nice to not have to rush, to have time to share favorite stories, and to knit the link of friendship a little longer.

The weather turned on us today, and we found ourselves huddled under canvas overhangs in the middle of Sutter's Fort in Sacramento, waiting for the torrential downpour and hail to end. The rain filled the puddles for splashing, and gave us more time to laugh together. The children, done with the "educational" component of the tour, found little chips of wood and had "boat" races in the rushing little streams next to the walkways.

The WPMs family is kind, generous, bright, witty and deep-thinking. If it is up to all of us, we will meet again (and again.) We exchanged book ideas, magazine articles, new topics of interest. Maybe when our paths cross on vacation in Oregon again this summer we will have the pleasure of starting where we left off -- deepening a friendship that has become precious to me.

Thanks for the visit, friends. And thanks for your generous gifts. (Hostess thank-yous included not only marguerita makings, but Jane Austen as well. How did she know? *smile*)


BoyBob and the Junior Mint doing California History

The beauty of the American River canyon
(and my favorite nine-year-old girl)

Circle of Quiet and WPMs boys at Sutter's Fort

The time passed too quickly

Well, I'm back...

"At last the three companions turned away, and never again looking back they rode slowly homewards; and they spoke no word to one another until they came back to the Shire, but each had great comfort in his friends on the long grey road.

At last they rode over the downs and took the East Road, and then Merry and Pippin rode on to Buckland; and already they were singing again as they went. But Sam turned to Bywater, and so came back up the Hill, as day was ending once more. And he went on, and there was yellow light, and fire within; and the evening meal was ready, and he was expected. And Rose drew him in, and set him in his chair, and put little Elanor upon his lap.

He drew a deep breath. 'Well, I'm back,' he said."

The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King

Okay, so a stomach virus is not a journey up Mount Doom to destroy the ring, or a trip to the Grey Havens to bid farewell to the dearest of friends, but there were moments in the misery that you would have been hard pressed to convince me of that. I. hate. stomach viruses. PERIOD. We have battled, we have surrendered, we have attempted a comeback, and we have gone down again. But, finally, we are back! Our new Mount Doom is the laundry pile, and I think we will call in the carpet cleaner to help us finish germ-purging, but we are making it back to the Shire where the fire is warm and dinner is waiting.

Amidst it all we have celebrated a birthday, finished book two in the Chronicles of Narnia, and reached our maximum capacity for movie viewing for a while. I finished The Name of the Rose, we have filled pages in our art journals, and we all rested a lot.

So, beware potential blogging binges in the days to come. We still have art class reflections to document, a fine young man's birthday to chronicle, and a visit from the family at WPMs to detail. We have managed to fill in the cracks and crevices of our moany-groany days with many bloggable moments.

Last night we had yet another storm, with the thrill of lightning and thunder. I stole outside alone and stood under the cover of the front porch to listen to all the sounds. Sheets of lightning and booms of thunder were interlaced with the croaking of frogs from the stream down the hill and the gentle raindrops blowing against the oak leaves. Finally, the clouds just unloaded, and all that could be heard was the pound-pound-pounding of hard rain. The air smelled heavenly, my mind was racing away, and I realized I felt healthy. Not just nausea-free, not just rested, but alive, clear-thinking, happy and thankful. Nothing like the by-gone days of the stomach flu to make a gal grateful. Oh, it is good to be back.

Unhappy campers

Pretty much sums it up around here....

Last Tuesday, on our way to art class, one of my children gave rather sudden "evidence" of intestinal discomfort. I naively assumed car sickness (straight road, slow and constant traffic flow...naive!) Well, the bug that bit the art student is making its way through the Circle of Quiet family, bringing misery to most of us. But, ever-looking for that bright lining in the dark cloud, my too-tight-waistband is now loose, I may just get through The Name of the Rose before the school year is over, and it sure saves money on the food budget. Plus, the handy thing about home education is that you can do math and history, listen to story tapes, and even do typing practice on a laptop, all from a horizontal position. You can also watch too much NBA playoffs basketball, watch the "making of" portion of Pirates of the Caribbean, and eat many, many, many saltine crackers.

This is the week of my son's 12th birthday, with plans for an English Country Dancing bash in the backyard, and a long-awaited visit from the WPMs family this weekend. We have a tour of Gold Rush history sites planned, not intestinal discomfort! We can only hope that, since all but one of us are in various stages of illness and recovery, we will be brand-spankin' new by the week-end. Only time, and boxes of saltines, will tell.

C. S. Lewis (1898 - 1963)

What is more...., it is just the people who are ready to submit to the loss of the thrill and settle down to the sober interest, who are then most likely to meet new thrills in some quite different direction. The man who has learned to fly and become a good pilot will suddenly discover music; the man who has settled down to live in the beauty spot will discover gardening.

This is, I think, one little part of what Christ meant by saying that a thing will not really live unless it first dies. It is simply no good trying to keep any thrill: that is the very worst thing you can do. Let the thrill go - let it die away - go on through that period of death into the quieter interest and happiness that follow - and you will find you are living in a world of new thrills all the time. But if you decide to make thrills your regular diet and try to prolong them artificially, they will all get weaker and weaker, and fewer and fewer, and you will be a bored, disillusioned old man for the rest of your life. It is because so few people understand this that you find many middle-aged men and women maundering about their lost youth, at the very age when new horizons ought to be appearing and new doors opening all round them. It is much better fun to learn to swim than to go on endlessly (and hopelessly) trying to get back the feeling you had when you first went paddling as a small boy.

~from Mere Christianity

A Year with C.S. Lewis: Daily Readings from His Classic Works.

Thursday night

The Soundtrack for Thursday

Musical Evenings With The Captain (Music from the Aubrey-Maturin novels of Patrick O'Brian)

"Canned music has been with us for so long that scarcely anyone living can remember a time without at least gramophone records, to say nothing of radio, television, cassettes or CDs: and it is not at all easy to realize how much music people made for themselves in former years....

How entirely different it was in Nelson's time. He and nearly all his officers and men came from what was still a largely agricultural country studded with well-attended parish churches: and in these churches the instrumental music was very often supplied by villagers stationed in a gallery at the west end and playing violins, flutes of various kinds, oboes, sometimes clarinets, and not infrequently that fine strong-voiced woodwind the serpent. The importance of these musicians can scarcely be exaggerated: their presence, both in the gallery and on secular occasions - ale-house, weddings, or dancing on the green - meant that a young man joining the Navy came from a community in which the playing of a musical instrument was an everyday matter."

From: A note from Patrick O'Brian, on the CD insert

Pride and Prejudice: The Original Soundtrack from the A&E Special Presentation


Jane Austen's World: For Piano (Faber Music)



If you want to see me cry, come on over when my daughter is playing piano pieces from Emma or Sense and Sensibility. My favorites are Emma, by Rachel Portman, and Devonshire, by Patrick Doyle. The beauty of the music, combined with the fine work of my daughter, breaks my heart in the most wonderful way.

Robert McCloskey (1914 - 2003)

Jack, Kack, Lack, Mack.....

At the lake where we walk, run and play, baby birds are beginning to appear. This family of ducks swam around next to our path just last week, and on each visit we watch a mother Canada goose sit dutifully on her nest. Early this morning we saw a family with five goslings, but our mama was still on her nest when we got to that spot on the shore. Babies tomorrow? We shall see.


When I saw the happy couple with their brood of chicks, I couldn't help but think of Make Way for Ducklings.

"Mr. and Mrs. Mallard were looking for a place to live. But every time Mr. Mallard saw what looked like a nice place, Mrs. Mallard said it was no good. There were sure to be foxes in the woods or turtles in the water, and she was not going to raise a family where there might be foxes or turtles. So they flew on and on."

This is another of those books that I could easily read in the dark, although I wouldn't want to miss the illustrations. Since my husband's favorite childhood book was Blueberries for Sal, and one of my top-ten favorite children's books is Time of Wonder, Mr. McCloskey gets plenty of air time here at our house.

Another McCloskey classic was recently remembered: One Morning in Maine. At dinner one night last week, my youngest son announced, "My tooth is as loose as loose can be." Then, after a bite of dinner - voila! The tooth fairy's phone was ringing. In One Morning in Maine, Sal has the same experience and she tells her mother, the hawk, the loon, the seal, and then her father:

"Daddy! I have a loose tooth!" she shouted. "And when it drops out I'm going to put it under my pillow and wish a wish. You can see it wiggle!"

There's a simplicity in these stories, both in the writing and the illustrating, that is very pleasant. I have my McCloskey favorites next to my bed, ready for a story or two tonight. Our day will be busy with an art class in the Big Town down the hill, but that will just make the evening routine of stories and snuggling all the sweeter.

Happy Monday!

A whirwind trip

We made the decision to travel to Seattle this weekend. Thanks to a collection of friends (that it would take a spread sheet to acknowledge) we were able to go away for two full days. Friday's occasion was a gathering in honor of our Uncle John. He was my husband's god-father, and his life was characterized by faithfulness, integrity and dignity, and we enjoyed having time with his wife and children, and with other family members. Friday night we stayed on Whidbey Island at my mother-in-law's home, and boy is it BEAUTIFUL there.

Highlights included:


The ferry ride


Seeing a bald eagle (it's up there - I promise!)


and a walk on the beach with my mother-in-law

**A side note **
In this "cyberspacey" world we live in, there can be virtual friends or real-life friends, but I am happy to say that the line is fuzzier with some dear folks. I was so appreciative of knowing that, should I need them, I could call on MomBob at WPMs, and Amanda at Wittingshire. Your phones didn't ring, ladies, but I waved across the highway and from the ferry deck in your general directions. Your offers of support were greatly appreciated.


Saturday night we even enjoyed our time at the airport, with a quiet dinner and some time to sit and read. We did a lot of talking on Friday and Saturday, and we both needed to blank out a bit with NBA news and Star Wars trivia in the paper.

It was nice that the Seattle Airport understands our travel needs!

When people started lining up for boarding, I went by myself. I needed to stand up and wiggle for awhile before the flight, and my husband wanted to read about the Sonics and Kings game, so it was the perfect option. But, unfortunately, I found myself unable to block out a conversation between four women traveling together, and one man that was by himself. It all started with a discussion of appliances. Suggestions of preferred brands were thrown around, costs were bemoaned, and then one woman said, "Well, you know, I have a husband and three sons. Mine needs to be made out of something that won't break, because you know how men and boys are!" The man bravely retorted, "Sounds like you already have at least three dishwashers" but this only fueled the fire of the "men and boys/lazy bums/you understand" topic. I did my best to ignore it all, but my Star Wars trivia article was over, and I struggled to find any of the rest of the news interesting. Ten minutes later, my husband came over and joked, "Mind if I cut in line?" The husband-bashing group laughed, and we started talking with them. The other women asked if I had enjoyed the men-hating topic, but the gentleman that they had been speaking with turned to my husband and said, "You know, she didn't say a word. She just kept reading." I was so glad that he said that. I wanted my husband to know that I didn't say anything, that I didn't do the "Oh yeah, boy do I know" eye roll, and I didn't chuckle at their "witty" digs. After all, I really do enjoy my husband, and he enjoys me. What can possibly be accomplished by that kind of talk, even if the husband and sons are hundreds of miles away? It eats away at affection, and it belittles people that need love and respect. I know my husband stood up a little straighter to know that my not-so-fascinating USA Today held more interest than a man-hating harangue. And so he should. He's a fine man, and far less capable of breaking a dishwasher than I am.

We made it home, as did our offspring, and we collapsed in our too-comfortable-to-believe bed. It is great to fly away with the man I love, but it's even better coming back home.

A full moon flight

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

Fringed Gentian

God made a little gentian;
It tried to be a rose
And failed, and all the summer laughed.
But just before the snows
There came a purple creature
That ravished all the hill;
And summer hid her forehead,
And mockery was still.
The frosts were her condition;
The Tyrian would not come
Until the North evoked it.
"Creator! shall I bloom?"

Mental Multivitamin

One of my favorite traditions at Mental Multivitamin is their monthly feature entitled On the nightstand (under the pillow, in the knapsack, etc.), where you can find a whole new stack of interesting books to read and study. "What are you reading?" is one of my favorite questions to ask friends and strangers, and the Team M'mv is kind enough to answer the question each month, without even being asked. Isn't that great?

On the 15th of this month, Mrs. M'mv included a letter from me regarding learning phobias and other things of interest to both of us. If you follow the links back to her original post, a follow-up letter from another reader, and then end up at my letter, you can read some of my thinking about the subject. Or, you can just make plans for your next amazon.com purchase with all of this month's recommendations. On my list? The Polysyllabic Spree: A Hilarious and True Account of One Man's Struggle with the Monthly Tide of the Books He's Bought and the Books He's Been Meaning to Read (Nick Hornby) Maybe I will hold it as the carrot in front of my autodidact nose and make myself finish The Name of the Rose before I check it out.

My favorite colors

A Year of Days with the Book of Common Prayer

Let everything that has breath praise the Lord. Psalm 150:6

"When the psalmist wrote this, he was thinking of a liturgical setting: harps, drums, timbrels, singers, everyone in his or her own way offering the best there was to the glory of God. The best - every artist knows what that is. The feeling of having stretched as far as you can stretch. The happy exhaustion of having given it all. The arts sprang from religion, a theological and pastoral gift, not an extra frill for those who happen to enjoy that sort of thing, but central to the human response to God.

Theological? Yes. When the human being stretches as far as possible, tests the limits of training and skill, she is fulfilling God's command: Be fruitful and multiply. Did you think that was just about having babies? The world is filled and nurtured in all kinds of ways besides the obvious one of procreation. The writer. The singer. The actor. The painter. The dancer. God gives us gifts, and we husband them carefully.

Pastoral? Absolutely. The arts enoble both artist and patron. Through the arts ... they sing and dance and paint one small piece of the sacred story."

A Year of Days with the Book of Common Prayer, by Bishop Edmond Lee Browning.

A grief observed

Flowers from a friend


Last Sunday our family traveled the backroads of Northern California to join with my husband's extended family. We gathered to grieve the loss of a marvelous woman, and to celebrate the incredibly vivacious life that she had lived. (I have spoken of our aunt here and here.) I don't know what grief is like for you, but I think it is a disorienting and unpredictable experience. My brain has been on the edge of foggy since we visited Aunt Nathana in March, as my mind and heart have tried to comprehend the enormity of the loss her death would mean, especially to her husband and her children and grandchildren. For whatever reason, it can make me cranky, or sleepless (like tonight) or just fill me with an insatiable desire to clean out closets and toss out junk. A need to control things amidst the biggies we can't control? I dare not head down the road of personal analysis at this hour or I may never sleep, but suffice it to say, grief makes me a little crazy.

But, amidst it all, life goes on. The day before the service, my husband had piles of papers to grade (as he often does) and the Saturday chore monster still had to be satisfied. Chickens needed to eat (as did children), dirty clothes needed cleaning, and routines needed to be maintained for everyone's sanity. Saturday was the day we had to push aside any incapacitating emotions and work. We turned up the volume on our Saturday soundtrack, and I think in some way we were attempting to drown out the sadness we were feeling.


Bruce Hornsby: Hot House
Saxophone, Pat Metheny, great, great, great piano music, and even Jerry Garcia and Chaka Khan - if you want to drown something out, this is just what the doctor ordered. Plus, Bruce always makes us think of my sister-in-law, and we wished we could be together last weekend.

Come Sunday morning, though, there was no need to push it aside. Having a longish car ride was just what our family needed. The rolling green hills are familiar; we have traveled these roads countless times since moving to the foothills in 1988, and we found comfort in the cows and broken fences, curves and bumps that we have passed over on happier days. The music for our drive was:


Steve Bell's Beyond A Shadow.

"As we hope in the Lord we will gain our strength,
We will run for miles, we will stand up straight,
We will not grow weary, we will not grow faint,
On the wings of an eagle we will rise.
On the wings of an eagle we will rise."

Our hope and prayer for our time together was that we could serve and care for our family; we came away filled to overflowing with their love and care. I was struck, again, with what a remarkable family my husband has. Not only his parents, three siblings and their families, but the extended crowd of aunts, uncles, cousins and beyond. We had conversation after conversation with people in whose eyes you could see warmth and vitality. Sure, the eyes were reddened with the tears we all cried, and many were beyond words most of the time, but I am so happy they are my family.

The message over and over during the memorial service was of Nathana's ability to make you feel like you were the most important person in the world. The nieces and nephews even staged a little, "No, I was her favorite!" moment during the sharing. The world stopped when she was talking to you, which we all know makes the heart tingle with excitement. We came home more than a little in awe of this quality. We acknowledged to each other that too often the harsh word, the critical comment, the picky attitude is what we share, rather than being positive and encouraging. This is the life-changing message we have taken into our hearts; this is how we want Nathana's legacy to live on in our family. We have a long way to go, bad habits can take awhile to break, but this is worth it.

Sometimes difficult news comes in waves. Well, such was our week. My husband's dear uncle, the man he was named in honor of and who was chosen as his god-father, has been battling amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (Lou Gehrig's disease) and died yesterday morning. Uncle John and Aunt Juanita live in Seattle, but we are grateful that we were able to see them last summer, introducing them to our two oldest children. It was a visit we will never forget. Uncle John knew he was dying (there is no known cure for ALS) but his face radiated joy and kindness. He was confident of his destination in eternity, and was concerned only for the well-being of his wife. He ladled on us his praise, he rejoiced in our family and expressed much appreciation and pride in the man my husband has become. In the brief hour we were with him, I learned volumes on how to live and die with joy and grace. He was a godly, loving man and we are sad to say good-bye, but he would want us to remember that we will see him again, and to rejoice in that. So, we are contemplating a flight to Seattle, especially to be with my mother-in-law and her husband. She has lost a younger sister and a brother-in-law within ten days so it is a good time to be together and to affirm the gift we are in each other's lives. I hope it works out for us to go.

Early Monday morning, my husband clicked on Wittingshire for some inspiration and was greeted with Longfellow's A Psalm of Life. Divine intervention at its finest! As a result, this poem was read to his classes on Monday, and I have kept it close to me throughout the week.

A Psalm of Life
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)

(What the heart of the young man said to the psalmist)

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
"Life is but an empty dream!"
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
"Dust thou art, to dust returnest,"
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each tomorrow
Finds us farther than today.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, --act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait.

The triumph and vigor in this poem cuts through the fog, replacing it with purpose for the future. It doesn't give me a manic, "searching for control" feeling, but more of a calm resolve and focused passion. Thanks, Amanda. Your timing could not have been more perfect.

Well, hopefully I can get some sleep and tomorrow use this energy to get the garage cleaned (at last.) Maybe we will put on Bruce again, let him pound those ivories until order is restored, and then we can stop to heap some praise on the heads of our remarkable offspring. Serve some ice cream, read some Narnia, live the good life! Sounds like a great Saturday.


Son and grandson

Leonardo da Vinci (1452-1519)

Leonardo da Vinci was born on this day in 1452.

I have enjoyed Leonardo's work for many, many years. Certainly the Mona Lisa, The Last Supper and Ginevra de'Benci are appreciated, but my favorite pieces are his sketches of architecture, the human body, and different inventions.

We used to have a print of Leonardo's self-portrait on the wall, down where the young children could stare at it. When my six-year-old was a baby, my now nine-year-old ran off to get his special blanket for him. Well, she tripped on the blanket and smashed into the print, breaking her collar bone. At the emergency room they asked her how she broke it (I guess wanting to make sure I had not been the cause of the injury.) She announced, in her best three-year-old voice, "I twipped and fell into Da Vinci." That certainly silenced any concerns from the hospital staff.

Some favorite Leonardo resources:


The Life of Leonardo Da Vinci

Please don't expect fine cinematography here, and the acting can be less than decent, but the details of Da Vinci's life make up for it. We have had long talks about what kept this man learning and trying new things, and what kept him from finishing so many of his pieces. Plenty of inspiration, plenty of conversation starters.


Getting to Know the World's Greatest Artists: Da Vinci, by Mike Venezia

I like this series for children. Basic background information, examples of the artist's work and close-ups to show how they used certain techniques (shadow and light, beautiful backgrounds, and more.) We've found them very helpful.

If you go to google.com today, you will see that they are celebrating Leonardo as well. While you are there, google your way to some of the many websites that detail out Leonardo's life and work.

The Low Point of the Day

A woman enters the local used bookstore which has just been taken over by new management. After a few minutes of searching, she asks the kind man if he has a copy of Plato's Republic.

"Uh, is that fiction?"

Sigh.

The latest library find...

by Jon Scieszka, illustrated by Lane Smith.

From the author/illustrator team that brought us The True Story of the Three Little Pigs, Math Curse and The Stinky Cheese Man, comes Science Verse.

The children's favorite is Food Chain (to the tune of I've Been Working on the Railroad.)

Refrain:
Who's for lunch today?
Who's for lunch today?
Don't you just wonder, who's for lunch today?
Predator or prey.
Predator or prey.
Eat or be eaten, that's the only way.

My personal favorite is Astronaut Stopping By a Planet On a Snowy Evening.

(But, a reminder for my dear, creationist soul-mates: keep your sense of humor, okay? 'Twas The Night (before Any Thing) is FUNNY.)

A CD of the author and the illustrator reading and talking is included. We laughed all the way home from the library.

How many times?

Road Builders by B.G. Hennessy, pictures by Simms Taback.

"It takes many kinds of trucks to build a road."

How many times have I read this book? Well, last night my six-year-old found Road Builders on his shelf, and I read it to him as he snuggled in for a good night's rest. I realized that I could have read it to him with the lights out. The list of road building trucks? I knew them all, and could easily find them on the page. "Which one is Buddy, Mama?" Well, I have known Buddy the Boss since 1994 when I gave this book to my oldest son. It is possible that I can't count as high as the number of times this book has been read.

My six-year-old enjoyed our reading time, but I got the feeling that the days are numbered for Road Builders; it will head to my oldest son's memory box soon. Poor ol' Buddy the Boss will have to hand in his hard hat and take a long-deserved rest. We are moving down this well-paved road to higher reading ground!

Burn follow-up

Shriner's Hospital for Children

Thank you for your concern about my daughter's finger burn. We went back to the doctor, and she is healing well. No skin graft will be necessary, and we are grateful. We will check back with the doctor in a month, but for now we will bask in the relief.

The Old Curiosity Mall (New York Times)

Brace yourselves!

"...it has seemed fitting to the South East Development Agency to pay tribute to the role that Chatham (and nearby Rochester) played in Dickens's life by creating "Dickens World," an entertainment complex including rides with a Dickens theme on the site of the former naval docks. Construction will begin soon, and the opening is scheduled for 2007.

Dickens is so various an author that it's possible to justify almost any excess done in his name. But "Dickens World" is really too much. Dickens himself might have seen it - and the $116 million, before overruns, it will cost to build it - as an enterprise worthy of Mrs. Jellyby, a case of good intentions run hideously amok. "Dickens World," its promoters say, will be a "family attraction." It will help revive a depressed area. And above all, they claim, it will bring new attention to Dickens. As the project leader put it - in curiously strangled English - in an interview with a British newspaper: 'For a man who wrote 15 books and 23 short stories, you would be hard-pressed to find anybody under 30 who can name 5 of them.'"

The Old Curiosity Mall

Wouldn't want to be predictable...

Just to keep you all guessing, I am participating in a MEME. Thanks to Miz Booshay at Quiet Life, I know what one is. Phew. Thanks to Waterfall at A Sort of Notebook for asking me to play along. It’s good for me to get out of my ruts from time to time.

1) You're stuck inside Fahrenheit 451, which book do you want to be?

Waterfall had a good question: Does this mean I will be burned or memorized? I can’t even fathom being burned, so let’s go with "worth memorizing." It is a tie between Les Miserables and The Lord of the Rings. No short pieces for me. Make ‘em memorize a long one!

2) Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character?

No, not really. There have been plenty of characters that I have wanted to meet, and male characters that I have found interesting, but none of them were of the crush variety. The closest I ever came was in junior high when I read Daddy Long Legs by Jean Webster. “Daddy” was quite a guy.

3) The last book you bought is:

Poetic Knowledge: The Recovery of Education by James S. Taylor

4) The last book you read:

The Philosopher’s Diet by Richard Watson

5) What are you currently reading?

I am reading, have been reading, will continue to read:
The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco.

Also on my nightstand/in the restroom/in my carry-it-all bag:
A collection of Lord Peter Wimsey mysteries by Dorothy Sayers
Reversed Thunder by Eugene Peterson
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis
Elements of Style by Strunk and White


6) Five books you would take to a deserted island:

This question makes me break out in a sweat…only five books? I immediately want to ask for six, seven, or can these ten count as one if they are all by the same author…

But, if I had to choose, I would choose books for two different reasons: ones that I would need to survive, and those that are still on my list of to-be-reads that I would finally have time to read:

1) A bible
2) A survival info. book (I am not a camper…I camp, but I count on lots of supportive folks around me.)
3) The complete works of C.S. Lewis
4) Wheelock’s Latin text
5) A large astronomy text

(Can I also have my very cool reading journal, plenty of refills and a stack of pens/pencils? Thanks.)

But, if I could add just five MORE:

1) Paradise Lost
2) Dantes Divine Comedy
3) Canterbury Tales
4) The Mitford Chronicles
5) Some humongous mystery anthology that included Dorothy Sayers, P.D. James, Ellis Peters, Sue Grafton, and plenty more of the same quality.

7) Who are you going to pass this stick to (3 persons) and why:

Kate at Under the Sky because I have to know if she has ever had a crush on a literary character. Eh, Kate? If you can't confess in writing, we can always meet at Borders for a confession session.

Anne of Green Curtains because she reads interesting things, and can articulate what she is learning. Plus, she has nothing else to do. Seven children. Trying to sell and buy houses. Home educating. Come on, Anne. What are you reading?

Amanda at Wittingshire because her passion, wit and intelligence make her reading choices great candidates for my amazon.com wish list.

Tag! You're "it" ladies.

Okay, I played. Back to being "ruttish."

The Queen and King

Nutmeg

Horatio -- the "outside" cat

Winter into spring

December 26, 2004


April 9, 2005

The current soundtrack

English Country Dances, 17th Century music from the publications of John Playford.

This is great for background music as well as dancing. It cheers us, it reminds us of evenings of dancing with friends, and we love it. Instruments used are violin, theorbo, cittern, Baroque guitar, harp, double harp, Irish harp and guitar. I will have to do some research to learn about "theorbo." I have no idea what that is. The music sure is toe-tappy, though.

***Added later ***

Would you like to know more about a theorbo? For descriptions, pictures and history, check out this website. And many thanks to Musings of a Mommy Musician for the helpful link. The world is filled with wise and knowledgeable folks; I am delighted that many drop by and visit me here.

Last night

A Year of Days with the Book of Common Prayer

"Make us, we beseech thee, deeply sensible of the shortness and uncertainty of life."
Book of Common Prayer, Burial of the Dead.

"You can't tell we are Christians by the things that do or do not happen to us. Immunity from trouble is not what our treasure is. We get sick and die, we grow old alone, we fall victim to natural disasters, just the same as those who do not believe. You can't tell we are Christians by what happens to us. But we recognize the cross of Christ in the suffering that comes our way. It doesn't make it go away, and it doesn't make bad things good. They're still bad. Pain still hurts. But we follow one who also knew that pain hurts, follow him through his death - which is our death, too - into his life, which will be our life in every way. The ups and downs of this world do not sum up reality for us; there is treasure that we have."

A Year of Days with the Book of Common Prayer, by Bishop Edmond Lee Browning.

A difficult day

This morning and afternoon I spent some time with my eldest daughter, traveling to the pediatrician's office, and then heading down to the Shriner's Hospital burn clinic. Yes, she burned herself on some very, very hot honey she was softening for a baking project. They determined it is a deep second-degree burn, and they want to see us back in a week. If it has not healed enough, we will have to plan for skin graft surgery. While not huge, and not a third-degree burn, it is on her finger, and the way the skin heals can impact the future mobility of the joint. We would all appreciate your prayers for her finger to heal.

This evening we received the very sad news that our dear aunt that I wrote of in this post has died. There's shock for those of us who attempt to harden ourselves to the brevity of life and the reality of death; there are tears for those of us still soft enough to jump right to the sadness and pain. It is a hard night here at A Circle of Quiet. When we love, we let it go deeply.

We will remember her smile. Her welcoming arms. Her honest words. Her hospitality. Her keen insight into people and what makes them tick. We will celebrate our love for one another, we will strive for each other's best, we will take some time to dream and to hope for the future -- in honor of her. She lived life fully. She loved her family with an everlasting love. She was amazing, and we will miss her terribly.

If I can stop one heart from breaking
I shall not live in vain:
If I can ease one life in the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.
Emily Dickenson (1830-1886)

The NCAA Championship Game

The NCAA tournament has delivered its annual display of incredible college basketball. Spunk, skill, and determination have thrilled us over and over as we have watched bits of March Madness.

The tournament ends tomorrow night with the championship game. Illinois vs. North Carolina, Bruce Weber vs. Roy Williams; it should be a great game. If you need us, you know where we'll be. Just leave a message, and we'll get back at ya' later.

I have no scientific method for my bracket selections. I choose sentimental favorites (Stanford, and anyone else in the Pac. 10, for instance.) I like Cinderella stories and will root for the underdog in most cases. I also choose based on such important issues as the color of the uniform, which doesn't work well this year if you strongly dislike the color orange. My husband and two sons that joined me in the competition had much better tactics. Some reading on the internet, some analyzing of players and records and team strengths led all three of them to choose Illinois to win it all. I raise the white flag of bracket defeat, with a nod of respect and with a humble admission of wrong methodology. With a team like Illinois in the running, orange is a fine color, it is THE BEST color to pick.

I join my menfolk, and the team at Mental Multivitamin, and say:

GO ILLINOIS!

A Long Obedience in the Same Direction

"The persons whom I lead in worship, among whom I counsel, visit, pray, preach and teach, want shortcuts. They want me to help them fill out the form that will get them instant credit (in eternity). They are impatient for results. They have adopted the lifestyle of a tourist and only want the high points. But a pastor is not a tour guide. I have no interest in telling apocryphal religious stories at and around dubiously identified sacred sites. The Christian life cannot mature under such conditions and in such ways.

Friedrich Nietzsche, who saw this area of spiritual truth at least with great clarity, wrote, 'The essential thing 'in heaven and earth' is ...that there should be a long obedience in the same direction; that thereby results, and has always resulted in the long run, something which has made life worth living.' It is this 'long obedience in the same direction' which the mood of the world does so much to discourage."

"Everyone who travels the road of faith requires assistance from time to time. We need cheering up when spirits flag; we need direction when the way is unclear...For those who choose to live no longer as tourists but as pilgrims, the Songs of Ascents combine all the cheerfulness of a travel song with the practicality of a guidebook and map. Their unpretentious brevity is excellently described by William Faulkner. "They are not monuments, but footprints. A monument only says, 'At least I got this far,' while a footprint says, 'This is where I was when I moved again.'"

A Long Obedience in the Same Direction by Eugene Peterson.

"Behold, how good and how pleasant it is
for brothers to dwell in unity!
It is like the precious oil upon the head,
Coming down upon the beard,
Even Aaron's beard,
Coming down upon the edge of his robes.

It is like the dew of Hermon
Coming down upon the mountains of Zion;
For there the Lord commanded the blessing - life forever."
Psalm 133
A Song of Ascents, of David

National Poetry Month

Happy National Poetry Month!

Poetry may not be your "thing", but I encourage you to find a poet or a book of poetry that works for you. You'll know you're in the right place when you feel like someone has fed your soul a bite of rich, creamy chocolate and a mug of steaming hot French roast (or whatever your equivalent may be. A hand-dipped strawberry and a glass of cabernet? A bacon-avocado burger and a dark ale? A scone and Earl Grey? Whatever! Poetry comes in all shapes and sizes and soul food preferences.) One of my favorite poetry beginner books is A Child's Introduction to Poetry by Michael Driscoll, illustrated by Meredith Hamilton.

"Hey there! Welcome to the world of poetry, a fun and exciting place - sometimes sad, sometimes silly, sometimes scary - where anything can happen through the magic power of words....You might think of poetry as the stuff that fills thick books on dusty shelves in dark libraries. But it's much more than that."

This book covers different types of poetry and includes several poets' works. Very helpful. Very easy to understand. I think you could just take the "Child" part of the title out...it has been a great grown-up resource as well.

We keep this book in the restroom book rack, and I am amazed at how much we have all learned by making it so accessible. This book was found at Costco for some fabulous, but forgotten, price and even has a CD. We draw the line at CD players in the restroom, so I can't vouch for the audio component.

The Academy of American Poets website has some interesting resources for celebrating a month of poetry:

You can check here for 30 ways to celebrate , or you can sign up for a Poem-a-Day in your inbox.

Many thanks to Semicolon and pages turned for alerting me to National Poetry Month!

The current read-aloud

"Logic!" said the Professor half to himself. "Why don't they teach logic at these schools? There are only three possibilities. Either your sister is telling lies, or she is mad, or she is telling the truth. You know she doesn't tell lies and it is obvious that she is not mad. For the moment then and unless further evidence turns up, we must assume that she is telling the truth."

Susan looked at him very hard and was quite sure from the expression on his face that he was not making fun of them.

"But how could it be true, sir?" said Peter.

"Why do you say that?" asked the Professor.

"Well, for one thing," said Peter, "if it was real why doesn't everyone find this country every time they go to the wardrobe? I mean, there was nothing there when we looked; even Lucy didn't pretend there was."

"What has that go to do with it?" said the Professor.

"Well, sir, if things are real, they're there all the time."

"Are they?" said the Professor; and Peter did not know quite what to say.

Our five children are very close in age, but we still find that there are things that the "littles" haven't experienced that were crucial components of childhood for the "biggles." So, we revisit old friends to make sure that the younger set doesn't miss out. The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe is the latest re-visit.The great thing about Narnia is that it appeals to all ages, and none of us feel bored with a re-read.

Snapshots on an April afternoon

A picnic for one

Horatio

April 1st

From: The Christian Almanac: A Book of Days Celebrating History's Most Significant People & Events by George Grant and Gregory Wilbur.

Since at least the seventeenth century this day has been celebrated with practical jokes and spurious news. Mark Twain commented in his Pudd'nhead Wilson's Calendar, "This is the day upon which we are reminded of what we are on the other three hundred and sixty-four."

The only kind of fool I hope to be is what Kim mentioned at The Upward Call today. From Michael Card's lyrics:

When we in our foolishness thought we were wise,
He played the fool and He opened our eyes.
When we in our weakness believed we were strong,
He became helpless to show we were wrong.

And so we follow God's own fool;
For only the foolish can tell.
Believe the unbelievable
Come be a fool as well.

God's Own Fool by Michael Card, on his Scandalon recording.