Sunday night? Sorry, kinda busy.

24: Redemption

A blast

The boy blast included an overnight on Angel Island in the San Francisco Bay,

and a morning at Fort Point.
Cannons, night watch, buddies, adventures. Pure fun.

The dad blast had a lot to do with a beautiful sunset with the Golden Gate Bridge in view,
and the shining faces of those cute boys up above.

Mom blast: They're home.

We have one more stretch on our eight-day dizzying schedule:
a full Saturday devoted to a debate tournament for me and the older three.
It's a marathon, not a sprint.
I'll just keep telling myself that.

Autumn rose

Poem for Week Twelve

The Builders

All are architects of Fate,
Working in these walls of Time;
Some with massive deeds and great,
Some with ornaments of rhyme.

Nothing useless is, or low;
Each thing in its place is best;
And what seems but idle show
Strengthens and supports the rest.

For the structure that we raise,
Time is with materials filled;
Our to-days and yesterdays
Are the blocks with which we build.

Truly shape and fashion these;
Leave no yawning gaps between;
Think not, because no man sees,
Such things will remain unseen.

In the elder days of Art,
Builders wrought with greatest care
Each minute and unseen part;
For the Gods see everywhere.

Let us do our work as well,
Both the unseen and the seen;
Make the house, where Gods may dwell,
Beautiful, entire, and clean.

Else our lives are incomplete,
Standing in these walls of Time,
Broken stairways, where the feet
Stumble as they seek to climb.

Build to-day, then, strong and sure,
With a firm and ample base;
And ascending and secure
Shall to-morrow find its place.

Thus alone can we attain
To those turrets, where the eye
Sees the world as one vast plain,
And one boundless reach of sky.

by
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Around the blogosphere

A new stop for me is the blog Short on Words. Susan is a professional photographer and a home educator, so expect to see stunning photos and to read inspiring things. I learned of Susan from Donna's comment section. Just another way Donna has blessed my life. The only problem is that Susan's pictures of her favorite beach fill my heart with longing (once again) to live at the ocean. Now. Yesterday. I didn't leave my heart in San Francisco; I left it at the beaches just south of there.

I love this quote, found at Susan's:

Fairy tales don't tell children that dragons exist, children already know that. Fairy tales tell children that dragons can be killed. G. K. Chesterton


Tonia's series on her family's education journey is worth reading, no matter what your educational bent.

Tonia also has on her sidebar a link to Amy's series on debt-free living. Good reminders for us who need to tighten up a bit; great conversation starter with young men and women who are setting their fiscal habits now.

An Old-Fashioned Girl

"She wore some sort of blue thing, with a confounded bird of Paradise in it, that kept whisking into my face every time she turned her head."

"Men never know a pretty thing when they see it. That hat is perfectly lovely."

"They know a lady when they see her, and Trix don't look like one; I can't say where the trouble is, but there's too much fuss and feathers for my taste. You are twice as stylish, yet you never look loud or fast."

Touched by this unusual compliment, Fanny drew her chair nearer as she replied with complacency, -

"Yes, I flatter myself I do know how to dress well. Trix never did; she's fond of gay colors, and generally looks like a walking rainbow."

"Can't you give her a hint? Tell her not to wear blue gloves anyway, she knows I hate 'em."

"I've done my best for your sake, Tom, but she is a perverse creature, and don't mind a word I say, even about things much more objectionable than blue gloves."

An Old-Fashioned Girl by Louisa May Alcott
Photo: Blue gloves from yesterday's thrifting. Shocking!

More gratitude

Just a list this time.

36. My morning coffee. I LOVE my first cup of coffee in the morning. Usually it is hand-delivered by my husband, but he is gone all week. Being woken up by a cold-hearted alarm instead of the smell of French roast makes me deeply grateful for my husband AND my coffee.

Conveniences:

37. Dishwasher.
38. Washer and Dryer.
39. Rice cooker.
40. Espresso machine.

The house is emptier this week, which creates illusions of all sorts of free time, ease and simplicity. Facts are, we are a pretty well-oiled machine and everyone carries their load. I have, frankly, more work to do when they're gone. And thus I am deeply grateful for my electronic servants. Their work is desperately needed this week.

Thrift store finds:

41. A ball gown and gloves for a young lady.
42. A tie for the debate guy who is home (Sorry debate guy who is not home. You know what they say -- location, location, location!)
43. A beautiful pair of Coldwater Creek slacks for me. Just the right size. They don't look as if they have ever been worn. Thrifting is the only way I can have the Coldwater Creek label in my closet.
44. A karaoke machine. This took some convincing, but some people around here think this is a party waiting to happen. I think the only person who could get me crazy enough to sing into that thing is Kate. Want to come on over, my friend? My children could use some entertaining.
45. Books. Bill Bryson, P.D. James, Anne Perry, Nick Hornby. It was a good day in the book room.

Our property:

It has a decided "early rental" look to it right now, but it is still beautiful.

46. The view is opening up, thanks to the cascading golden oak leaves. It rapidly changes from all shades of green to browns and oranges to yellow to the silhouette of branches. My view is my sanity on busy days.
47. The sunsets have been pinks and purples and lingering beauty.
48. My rose tree is bravely blooming.
49. The smell of autumn, even an unusually warm autumn, is aromatherapy at its best.

Eternal truth:

50. The timelessness of God is my comfort these days. Life is changing fast, way too fast for a rut-loving woman. It is unsettling, and it brings out all sorts of insecurities. I am comforted by my Maker, the One who is in charge, the One who is the same yesterday, today and tomorrow. When I remember Him, I breathe calmly, I think clearly, I choose with confidence. Without that, I would not be able to see any of the other things in my list; I would see only me.


Posted as a part of the Gratitude Community at Holy Experience.

Sunday truth

The morning view

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
His mercies never come to an end;
They are new every morning;
Great is your faithfulness.

Lamentations 3:22-23

And away they go

One girl with college searching on her mind.

Two guys for body guards/peanut gallery/chauffeuring.

One trusty commuter car to take them from here to there and back again.

Their destination?

Gutenberg College, Eugene, OR

They'll visit Greek class, a discussion on Plato's Phaedrus, Euclid class, a lecture on Plato and maybe more. They want to walk the city of Eugene to see how far it is to significant places (church, health food store, tea), and they would love to get to the ocean. But the real goal is to seek a plan for the future for one promising young woman. Is this the place? Is it right? Is it best? Is it do-able? It is my job, here at home, to pray. Starting now.

One thing is certain: my husband is going to come home convinced that a Gutenberg education is what he needs. I know I would.

Waiting impatiently for the UPS truck

The rumble of the UPS truck is one of the happiest sounds in the world. I'm looking forward to these making their way to us in the next few days:



Vivaldi: The Four Seasons



Love's Labour's Lost



AGAIN Magazine

November beauty

It has begun...

Evidence. Lots of evidence.


NCFCA Resolution:

Resolved: That the United States Federal Government should significantly change its policy toward India.

This year's topic feels huge. India is huge, its population is equally huge, and the options for debate cases feel endless. We've met for big picture discussions about trade, strategic policy, and relations between India and their neighbors. I've heard students discussing nuclear energy, thorium, foreign aid, micro loans, Iran, Pakistan, China, Kashmir, the role of government, and nuclear non-proliferation treaties. There is a lot to learn.

I do love this world of debate. The students are gems, their parents are great company, and the work is hard but satisfying. Our first practice tournament was last Saturday, and tournament number two is coming soon. My life is back to packing bagels and espresso for the road, balancing the computer use between "we.have.a.tournament.and.I.don't.have.enough.evidence" and online classes, talking through ballots and what can be learned from them, and driving, driving, driving to here, there and everywhere. We are ready.

Last year's post

Soundtrack for more trips to the doctor

Songs of Joy and Peace

Dona Nobis Pacem.

Yo Yo Ma.

Isn't that enough?

Last Friday, as I drove my dear daughter to the doctor AGAIN for ANOTHER staph infection, we let the music of Yo Yo Ma and his many friends fill the van with beauty and peace and joy. We were worried, knowing that a visit to the surgeon's office means pain,and because we don't know why these infections keep happening, but we forgot all of that thanks to Dona Nobis Pacem and the Wexford Carol.

We are moving on to more specialized doctors, and we sure would appreciate your prayers for wisdom, healing, patience and faith. This has been a tough time, especially for Madelaine. She's heading to Oregon next week with her dad and brother for a college visit, and it is important that she be healthier and stronger for that trip. It's all a little overwhelming, but we are learning to take one day at a time.

I don't usually get out the Christmas music until the day after Thanksgiving, but somehow the reminder of the Incarnation of Christ has made all the difference in these hurry, scurry, worry days.

Good people all, this Christmas time,

Consider well and bear in mind

What our good God for us has done

In sending his beloved son

With Mary holy we should pray,

To God with love this Christmas Day

In Bethlehem upon that morn,

There was a blessed Messiah born

~ from the Wexford Carol

HT: Thanks, for the zillionth time, to Carol. She's a great source for books, ideas, and all things Yo Yo Ma. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Poem for Week Eleven

On Another's Sorrow

Can I see another's woe,
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another's grief,
And not seek for kind relief?

Can I see a falling tear,
And not feel my sorrow's share?
Can a father see his child
Weep, nor be with sorrow filled?

Can a mother sit and hear
An infant groan, an infant fear?
No, no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!

And can He who smiles on all
Hear the wren with sorrows small,
Hear the small bird's grief and care,
Hear the woes that infants bear -

And not sit beside the nest,
Pouring pity in their breast,
And not sit the cradle near,
Weeping tear on infant's tear?

And not sit both night and day,
Wiping all our tears away?
O no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!

He doth give His joy to all:
He becomes an infant small,
He becomes a man of woe,
He doth feel the sorrow too.

Think not thou canst sigh a sigh,
And thy Maker is not by:
Think not thou canst weep a tear,
And thy Maker is not near.

O He gives to us His joy,
That our grief He may destroy:
Till our grief is fled and gone
He doth sit by us and moan.

By William Blake

Happy birthday, dear Dad

On what would have been my father's seventy-ninth birthday, a post from the archives, originally posted three years ago.

My father's ring

Today would have been my father's seventy-sixth birthday, and I have been thinking of him all day. Actually, he has been on my mind since October 24th, the day he passed away in 2001. Grief, as I have said before, is a confusing and complicated journey, but the loss of my father was made more so by our life together. My father's decision to pursue his financial dreams and extra-marital affairs meant that he chose not to be there for the ordinary days of family life. He moved out when I was just five, and we had a distant relationship for years.

There came a time, after I had begun my own family, when I realized I needed to forgive my father for not being there as I was growing up. It was something I needed to do for my own emotional health, as well as something that was necessary for any relationship to exist between us. First, though, I had to be honest with myself about the wrongs. That was difficult and seemingly counter-productive. I knew I didn't want to stay stuck in the muck of blame and bitterness, but in order to say, "I forgive you" I had to acknowledge what it was that went awry. Forgiveness is not denial, it is not "looking on the bright side", it is not "That's okay." Forgiveness is facing the truth, and that meant the truth about me as well as Dad. I had experienced the life-changing forgiveness of Christ; how could I possibly withhold my forgiveness from another person, especially someone I loved so deeply? It was like a breath of fresh air that I hadn't breathed for decades. It released all the unrealistic expectations that my father could not meet. It released me from the fear of failure as a mother, and it allowed me to experience deep and lasting peace.

I would not be the woman I am today if it wasn't for my father. Some of that I learned from his negative example. I have a deep desire to be trustworthy, I am very wary of mingling family relationships and financial dealings, and I looked for (and, thank God, found) a man who is faithful in the ordinary moments of life. My commitment to enjoy today, with all the budget constraints and laundry and ordinary-ness, comes from watching Dad always dream of something big that we could do together someday. Someday never came for him, and there were decades of ordinary days that were missed in the dreaming. I also learned from his positive example. I read, I pour over maps, I play tennis, I love to travel, and I enjoy conversations with all kinds of people; I even enjoy dreaming big dreams. These all reflect the positive impact he had on my life.

We had eight joyful years of peace and forgiveness, my father and I. We talked on the phone, blabbing about home education and politics and memories and my children. But, emphysema did its dreadful work, and Dad entered the hospital just after September 11th of 2001. I made a mad rush back to his home in Tennessee, only to sit by his hospital bed and pat his hand. I cried and prayed and talked to him, even though they kept telling me he was too sedated to hear. I wanted him to hear again that I loved him, that I prayed for him, and that I would miss him terribly. I have no doubt that he knew I was there.

I loved my father deeply. I miss the smell of his aftershave and the sound of his kingly voice. Today, in honor of his birthday, we got out a tape that he and my step-mother made for us for Christmas 1996. Dad begins the tape with a description of the beach where they were sitting, the sound of the gulls and the crashing of the waves. He read of St. George and the dragon from Bill Bennett's Children's Book of Virtues



My youngest son, whose middle name is his grand-dad's, sat and listened for a long time, luring his sister to join him. It was a great way to remember Dad.

I also wear my father's signet ring each day. It bears the words "Deo Gratis", Thanks be to God. Tonight, I am taking extra time to thank God for His forgiveness, and for the time I had to know and enjoy and learn from my father. I will always wish we had more, but there is a lesson to learn even in that. There will come a time when I will have no more days here on earth, and I need to remember that each ordinary one is a gift! Thanks be to God, indeed.

Recent inspiration

Something to cook , from Tonia.

A story that moves me on many levels. (Caring for street people. My own masks. The truth that gets spoken in the most surprising places.) Thank you, Ann.

Something to knit, again from Tonia.

(Tonia inspires many at my house. Many. Often. Thanks, dear friend.)

The comment section at Donna's almost always inspires. I really, really enjoy that little stop on the internet. It is sort of the Cheers, where everybody knows your name, place for me.

This quote, posted last week, was the impetus for some EXCELLENT comments:

Very few people possess true artistic ability. It is therefore both unseemly and unproductive to irritate the situation by making an effort. If you have a burning, restless urge to write or paint, simply eat something sweet and the feeling will pass.

~Fran Lebowitz

You can read the comments here.

I do not agree with Ms. Lebowitz. At all. But, that's okay.

A quote that resonates a bit more for me:

"Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possibly can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something."

~Kurt Vonnegut

Again and again, Donna, THANKS.

Poem for Week Ten

Pied Beauty


GLORY be to God for dappled things—
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.


G.M. Hopkins