Calacirian

Something New

2006-09-29T08:17:00.000-04:00

So ... check this out. I think I'm moving.

Okay ... I'm pretty sure I'm moving. This is more than likely the last time I'll post here. I'll be posting in my new home from now on. It'll take a while to fully move in and make it mine. But I think it's ready enough for me to throw a sleeping bag on the floor and begin painting the walls. I've put some food in the frig and I can live here now. If you want to, I have an RSS feed at the new place that you can use. That's up and running.

I know I have some coffee and my french press here somewhere; I'll dig those out soon. So come on over to my new place and have a cup o' joe with me. And keep the new URL for future reference. Enjoy.

Visuals

2006-09-28T17:28:00.000-04:00

Lately I've seen some sights around town that made me look twice and think thrice. Since I just got back from my long drive (to East Overshoe to our CSA farm) and I need to wind down, here are a few of them.

The other day I was driving past a church. The sign out front advertised a family movie night on Friday and an open house on Sunday. "Huh?" I thought, "And here I thought everyday was open house for a church! What was I thinking??!!" Today I drove past it and they are advertising "World Communion" for this Sunday.

I saw a young guy walking down the street. I know I'm firmly implanted in my middle years. But I'm used to seeing all sorts of clothing and not being phased by it. I don't remember specifics, I just remember remarking to Sizzling Ewe that perhaps this particular young man ought to cease purchasing his fashion sense at Montgomery Ward, since they've gone out of business.

I found it remarkable today that the two vehicles that were the most aggravating to drive behind were SUVs with dealer tags. They were aggravating because the drivers were having issues handling them. They didn't even want to go the speed limit and braked at every turn. It was annoying.

There's a church I pass on the way to East Overshoe called Believers Baptist Church. For some reason this name makes me laugh. It also makes me want to stop and ask the pastor what sort of believers they are looking for. There is something about that name that is officious and pompous. It sounds like hiked-up pants and slick hair.

I love the drive going out to East Overshoe. It gets progressively less congested and more beautiful. I hate the drive coming home. It's everything in reverse and I'm driving into rush hour traffic. Bleh....

We made butter in the Osgiliath Classical School Potions class the other day. That's chemistry for all you who might be wondering. We were investigating the different states of matter. It gave me renewed appreciation for my colonial mothers. We made butter with just one cup of cream and we had a cold storage unit handy. If it didn't work, so what? But my colonial mothers had to do this and much more every day ... every, every, EVERY day. Or their families went hungry and cold. We have so much convenience in our lives we don't even know what to do with it. We don't even recognize most of it.

LightBoy's current ambition is be Mr. Spock from the original Star Trek. This morning he brought me his sister's eyeliner and asked me to draw Spock eyebrows on him. I complied, but it's been very unsettling to look at him today. He has, essentially, two sets of eyebrows on his sweet round face and one set makes him look sinister. Of course, he thinks this is very wonderful. We are now in the market for a Mr. Spock costume for Halloween. Oh ... yay. Then LightGirl decided she would like to be Lt. Ohura (with the very short dress). I said, "No. You will not be Lt. Ohura (with the very short dress)."

Back in March, you may remember that LightGirl entered a contest called Fashion Revue with a pair of pants she had sewn. She won a blue ribbon for her efforts. At that time, I fought a full scale battle to get her to wear a little eye shadow, mascara and blush for the contest as she had to model her outfit for some judges. It was just to make her look well put together. Finished, as it were. Now (less than 6 months later) she wears full makeup every day. I finally asked her one morning if we should expect this from now on. She said we should. The other morning tho, I had to object. I think that when eyeliner can be measured with a ruler in eighth inch increments, it has been applied too liberally. She has backed off a little since then.

We began walking again this morning. I should say huffing and puffing. It wasn't pretty. It was interesting to see all the gardens on the far side of the season. Then I felt sad. I realized how much I've missed by not walking through the summer. I could have seen all the comings and goings of the flowers and other crops, but I was lazy and I missed it. I did part of the loop alone. I couldn't have done that last winter because I was so scared. And I left the house without any wallet or identification ... another huge step for me. I am much stronger now.

Well ... those are some snapshots of life in the LightHouse and more frightening still, into my mind recently. I'll try to keep these posts to a minimum.

Grace

2006-09-26T11:15:00.000-04:00

We're embarking on a new journey at my church. We're diving into the Jewish holidays this year to see what the study of the roots of our faith can teach us about us. We began this past Sunday with Rosh HaShana and we'll continue with Yom Kippur on this Sunday next. We're having to play fast and loose with the dates because we're limited to meeting on Sundays. This feels slightly disingenuous to me, but I'll get over it.

Then, because we're "generous liturgists," we played fast and loose with the themes of Rosh HaShana and Yom Kippur ... and flipped them too. So this past Sunday we examined the themes of sin, judgement and repentance. Next Sunday we'll examine grace, mercy and forgiveness. It seems to me that in the Jewish tradition things are not so tidy and separate. But they've had about 5,000 years to build these traditions and they take whole days to celebrate. We're doing it in an hour and a half. I still feel like we're cheating.

All of that is to say, I've been think a lot lately about the themes of repentance and grace. Sin and forgiveness. Judgement and mercy. Studying the Jewish traditions has thrown our Christian traditions into bas relief ; like a woodcut almost. I see them in their starkest forms. Being the sort of person I am, I've been busily drawing parallels and links from one tradition to the other; finding the roots of us in them. Much of what I've learned has turned my past knowledge of Jewish tradition on it's ear. It's helped me see Jesus in a new light. It's also causing me to be a more than a little critical of some of our current traditions.

In particular I think we've become grace-abusers in the church today. I think (and I include myself in the word we) we are entirely too flippant about the gifts of grace, mercy and forgiveness. I don't think we should spend time becoming ascetics or self-flaggellants, but I think we need to spend more time understanding the full weight of the judgement that has been lifted from us. In part, I've enjoyed the study of Rosh HaShana and Yom Kippur because I've begun to to come to a greater comprehension of what it means. In the Jewish tradition, they take time each year to engage with that. To wrestle with their own humanity in the face of God's divinity and then to be thankful for the gifts of grace, mercy and forgiveness that He extends to them.

It may be that Easter and Lent were originally meant to fill this role in our tradition. But I think we're missing that proper sense of balance between judgement and mercy, sin and forgiveness, repentance and grace. We're happy to hear the mercy, forgiveness and grace side of the story. But we don't like to examine the judgement, sin and repentance side. It's when we have both in balance that God's work shines in the world. When we can examine ourselves clearly, and see ourselves objectively, we can begin to be the change that we wish to see in the world. I think that until we're willing to do that (and it's unsightly, painful work), we'll just be another group of people talking a good talk and not doing anything.

Father, I ask you now to forgive my sins.
Forgive the sins that I can remember, and also the sins that I have forgotten.
Forgive the wrong actions that I have committed, and the right actions I have ommitted.
Forgive the times I have been weak in the face of temptation, and those when I have been stubborn in the face of correction.
Forgive the times I have been proud of my own achievements, and those when I have failed to boast of Your works.
Forgive the harsh judgements I have made of others, and the leniency I have shown myself.
Forgive the lies I have told to others, and the truths I have avoided.
Forgive me the pain I have caused others, and the indulgences I have shown to myself. I ask in the name of Jesus, your son, Amen. (from Celtic Primer)

... And Now For Something Completely Different

2006-09-25T15:30:00.000-04:00

A good friend of our has suggested in the past that our family should have various superpowers to go with our names. I like that idea. We haven't yet acquired these superpowers. But I think that one of the powers that LightGirl has is that of silliness and giddiness. In her role as keeper of humor in our home she sent me a link to this. It's hilarious and makes you laugh even when you think you have nothing to laugh for. So ... watch and giggle and share in some of LightGirl's transcendent giddiness.

What a Difference a Year Makes

2006-09-25T08:45:00.000-04:00

My church is young. By this I mean we've only been around for about 5 years. Every Labor Day weekend we mark our anniversary. So as I write this we've been around for almost exactly 5 years, plus a few weeks. We're young too, in the chronological age of our members. LightHusband and I are among the oldest people here. This flummoxes me regularly because I still pinch myself to remember that I'm a grownup now. The LightFamily has been part of the church since early 2004, so about half of it's life.

Shortly after getting intimately involved (we don't have members, we have a yahoogroup), I was asked to join the Design Team. This is the team that is responsible for opening up some kind of sacred space for people to meet God on Sunday mornings. That probably sounds very heathen. It's not. We're more conservative than that sounds, but still ... we are doing a series this year celebrating the Jewish holidays. We're responsible for creating the space for spiritual formation to occur at some level.

Last Labor Day weekend (2005) we had a labyrinth (as we often do on that Sunday), and a cookout. The next weekend we had a party welcoming our newest member into the world. The following Sunday we had a baptism. You can see photos of all these events on our website. Last September was analogous to Bilbo's birthday party in the beginning of the Lord of the Rings. Or perhaps it was more like the opening of A Tale of Two Cities; It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.... In any case, we were "shiny, happy people," with little thought of tomorrow.

This September things are all different. I won't say that we're not joyful anymore. That would be an untruth. But we're no longer shiny and happy. We've all walked through some dark places this year. Some darker than others. For some the path is not yet finished. Perhaps that means that for all of us, the path is unfinished. Regardless, this year has marked us all. There are lines on all of our faces. Ghosts behind all of our eyes. A steadiness and seriousness that comes with knowing darkness. And still the joy that comes with knowing the light.

Perhaps that's why this piece of Scripture seemed so appropriate for our Contemplation yesterday:

19 I remember my affliction and my wandering,
the bitterness and the gall.

20 I well remember them,
and my soul is downcast within me.

21 Yet this I call to mind
and therefore I have hope:

22 Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.

23 They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.

24 I say to myself, "The LORD is my portion;
therefore I will wait for him." (Lamentations 3:19-24)

Important Things

2006-09-24T16:35:00.000-04:00

Today was a day for new things in our family. At our church we joined with the Jewish tradition and celebrated Rosh HaShana. We explored the themes of het (missing the mark), judgement and repentance. Examining the ways that not following the Great Commandments wounds those in our tribe, or sphere of influence. Checking out the manner that lists of sins have become matters of the heart and the ways in which we can be turned towards God or away from him.

Well ... that's what LightBoy and I did.

LightGirl and LightHusband left very early this morning and drove to a city somewhat south of here for her first hockey game ever. The coach plays everybody ... every body. An excellent coach, who can find. One who is more concerned about teamwork and relationships than about winning (even tho that is important). LightHusband came home with glowing reports about how wonderful the coach and the game was. LightGirl said, "We lost. But now I know everyone's names!" It's those little things that are important.

So here are some pictures of my girl. Looking like official. Wearing number 11. Playing the one game that is sure to tweek my nerves. After all the fights endured by my parents between my brother and I over whether he would watch Hockey Night in Canada, or I would get to watch The Waltons. Surely, I thought, living in a southern city and raising a girl, hockey was not even on my radar. 'Twas not to be. And I am left with the last laugh.

Choices

2006-09-22T07:53:00.000-04:00

When I was in highschool I remember that my fondest dream was to never make decisions that I would regret. I was very sure that this was going to be a simple task to accomplish. At the ripe old age of 17 or 18 and even when I was in college and on into my early 20's the notion that decisions were simple matters of black and white, that the path ahead would be clearly marked seemed obvious to me.

I've discovered, of course, that life is full of shades of grey. Black and white are mostly reserved for television programs and movies. Paths are fraught with twists and turns; some of which can be discerned, but most cannot. Choices must be made. Mostly I've learned that it's not the large decisions that affect us the most. Sometimes the small decisions have the largest effect.

Of course, too one must also consider who to grieve the most. Should I grieve myself, or my children, or my husband? Or my calling? How to make decisions in that arena?

I made a decision to follow my heart, but it means missing the chance to see, and support LightGirl play in her first hockey game ever. Now I have to decide, am I actually following my heart? or just my ego?

Grief

2006-09-19T06:53:00.000-04:00

Planning a funeral is like planning a wedding. It is the photographic negative of a wedding; done in 5 days without joy. A gift the giver hates to give and the receiver wishes to reject. Grief abounds. Etched in deep lines on the faces of those you love. Pain cannot be shared. Each must walk their own path, together yet somehow separate.

I felt pieces of me break away and die yesterday.

Memoriam

2006-09-15T12:04:00.000-04:00

Remembering a beautiful baby and honoring his father and mother.

William Addison Stavlund
May 9, 2006 - September 12, 2006

How long, O Lord, how long must we sing this song?

The Arrogance of Hope

2006-09-13T19:27:00.000-04:00

The twilight bark has commenced in our neighborhood. Those of you who read or watched 101 Dalmatians in your youth will know what this means. Sam, our dog, thinks he has the deepest, loudest voice and he should be the captain. It's very difficult to maintain a complicated train of thought during the twilight bark.

Today has been another difficult day here. I gave the LightChildren the day off. I dealt with a myriad of details pertaining to a multitude of things. In the end though I have to say I didn't do much. I took LightBoy to his Latin class and LightGirl shopping. She is need of clothing to accommodate her new punk look (I cannot fathom what that means to the current generation, but it's different than what it meant to mine). I couldn't locate the store in the mall until we'd walked past it twice. We have reached that era of shopping where she picks out clothes and tries them on and it's my job to stand around. And watch her feet under the dressing room door. And listen to her talk. And pay.

Mostly I examined a wound in my soul. It's one I don't dare look at too often. Like the really bad scrape you got on your knee as a child when you rode your bike in a place you knew you oughtn't and the bad thing that your parents predicted would happen did. Then you have an ugly wound that you don't dare be proud of and look at, but it's ... there and frightening in it's power. We all have those wounds on our souls, created when something or someone profoundly dear to us was lost forever.

In my case, the examination focussed on the questions, "Why?" and "How?" I have eternally asked these questions, which may be boiled down to, "What if ...?" I nearly drove my mother crazy with such questions when I was young. Now I'm left to ponder them on my own and I ask them about larger issues. But here is what I was asking myself as I pressed in on my wounds, "Why does God love us?" and "How does He express that love?" There were other questions too. For instance, "If God does love me, why did He choose to take person X or Y out of my life?" I never have any answers for these questions. I suppose this makes me a terrible theologian, not that I have any training at all. It probably also makes me a sort of heretic.

There was a time when it was important for me to have answers and I made some up. Or, rather, I found some people who did. I've since realized that they didn't really answer the questions I was asking. I've also realized that having concrete answers isn't all that important anymore. That healing can happen without answers.

I know a very few things now about God. I know He does love his creation, among which is me. I know that I cannot fathom the manner in which He expresses that love. It makes no sense to me. My perspective is too narrow. Too all about me. I know that I am to hope even when that hope is arrogant.

When one considers hope, it is indeed arrogant. To be sure of a good outcome in the face of overwhelming odds is the definition of arrogance. And yet, we all do this everyday. The very act of putting my feet on the floor bespeaks the hope that today will be. I face the day each day with the hope in my heart that at the end my family will be whole, that no tragedy will befall us. Yea, tis not just hope. This is hope which borders on arrogant knowledge for I cannot know the outcome of one moment to the next, one hour to the next, or one day to the next.

King Of The Wind is a book about the origins of a breed of racehorse. It begins with a quote: "The horse, he sayeth to the trumpets, ha ha." I first read this when I was 8 and it has stuck with me ever since. Yet I believe that is what we are called to do. In the face of overwhelming odds, a world full of forces arrayed against us, we are to say, "Ha ha." We are not to do this out of spite, or because we are captains of all we survey, but because when the chips are down, and all is black and despite everything else, in some mysterious and unquantifiable manner God does have our back. Those we love most dearly may be in great pain for years upon years, or taken away, and events of nonsensical proportions occur. Yet we still get out of bed each morning and say into the trumpets, "ha ha." The arrogance of hope.

A Race Well Run

2006-09-12T11:46:00.000-04:00

Some news is energizing. It gives life and joy. Some news makes your knees weak and causes you to sit suddenly as if the air had swiftly left your balloon. My faith community received some news of the later nature this morning.

The four month old son of one of ours died last night. His race was short but intense. He ran hard for his brief time here. He was born with but half a physical heart, yet he had a huge emotional heart. It shone out of his big blue eyes and twinkled as one locked eyes with him. He became from his tiny bed an inspiration to even grown men and women to run marathons, and look into places they had never peeked before. Even resting, Will breathed as if running hard. He ran agains the odds until he could run no further.

Father God, we thank You for sharing Will with us oh so briefly. Those bits of You that glimmered in his eyes were a treat to behold. We ask that you will hold his parents closer than ever as they miss their boy deeply. We seek you now in the dark places we must go as we journey through the valley of the shadow of death and ask that your rod and staff comfort us and Will's parents. We ask that your peace descend upon them and your comfort heal their wounds. That they would be knit together closer than ever through this. It is in your Son's name given to us that we might be found, that we pray.

Oh, the shame of it!

2006-09-10T11:15:00.000-04:00

Remember Sylvester's adventures with his son? He always had a much higher opinion of his abilities than he was capable of achieving. The escapades usually ended with the son facing the camera, shaking his head, bowed, saying, "Oh, the shame of it." I remember once he appeared with a paper bag on his head.

That scene played in my head this morning as I read this article in Time magazine. Oh the shame of it. According to the beloved disciple, we Christians are to be known by our love for one another. But now we are becoming known by our love of money. Jesus proclaimed that a man cannot serve two masters, for one will always take priority over the other. The wind was sown, and the whirlwind must be reaped.

Perhaps I'll just wear a paperbag over my head.

Lost in Translation

2006-09-08T07:07:00.000-04:00

Our trip to the Smithsonian and the Lewis & Clark exhibit was most interesting. Most of my exposure to Thomas Jefferson has been in his role as writer of the Declaration of Independence and participant in the Continental Congress. I've always admired the man but have not spent much time studying his role as our third president.

I've known for quite some time that the Lewis & Clark expedition was a federally funded exploration of the western half of the continent. I was unaware of how much it was the brainchild of Thomas Jefferson. How invested in it he was. He drove it forward and got the funding from Congress, even when Lewis & Clark blew through their anticipated budget by several hundred times.

Meriweather Lewis was the first on board with the project and he engaged in some subterfuge to bring George Clark in. It was engaging to read the early 19th century double-speak as they spun the project up and moved their base of operations out to St. Louis. Thomas Jefferson had not yet completed, nor even begun, the Louisiana Purchase. Once they passed out of modern day Ohio, they were on foreign soil; a foreign concept to us today.

They spent the winter of 1803 to 1804 in St. Louis hiring men and purchasing supplies for the expedition. Once word arrived that St. Louis was now an American city, planning began in earnest. They set out on the Missouri River in the spring of 1804 and late fall of 1804 found them in the territory of the Mandan Sioux Native Americans.

Early engagements with the Mandan Sioux did not go well. Lewis & Clark did not understand Native American gifting ritual. The Sioux took offense to their lack of response and to what was considered their ill-mannered response. I'm not clear from the exhibit about what turned the tide, but there was a key moment when Lewis & Clark were able to understand what was expected of them in the situation and began to act accordingly.

It was then that I read something that dropped a veil of sadness over me and I can't quite shake it. At some point in the negotiations, Lewis & Clark became aware that the Sioux responded positively to the terms "Great Father" and "children." This surprised them, but they were not averse to using them, especially because, as was the fashion of the times, they considered themselves more advanced and aculturated than the Sioux. To the Americans those terms meant very little, if anything. On the other hand, the Sioux and neighboring tribes had developed a highly sophisticated system of tribal adoption as one method of avoiding eternal war with their neighbors. To them, the terms "Great Father" and "children" were code or euphemisms which bespoke great meaning within that system of tribal adoption. Those terms meant something to the Sioux. They carried a weight of assumed responsibilities and rights. So the Sioux entered into agreements with the government based on assumptions about tribal adoption rituals that our government was unaware of (most likely).

It reminded me, once again, that when languages are translated from one mother tongue to another, even simple terms can be misunderstood. The consequences can be grave and long term. We are all still feeling the repercussions of those first negiotiations today.

Intelligence

2006-09-07T21:45:00.000-04:00

LightBoy and I took a drive today. It was our turn to drive out to East Overshoe and pick up the organic vegetables that we get each week. Earlier in the summer we joined a CSA farm with the Sheep family and the Corner family. We take turns driving out to East Overshoe to pick up vegetables for each other. It's a long drive, but enjoyable. There are goats and chickens to visit at the farm and a dog named Blue.

LightBoy and I had an interesting conversation on the trip out.

He began, "I wish I had a cloning machine." To which I replied, "Oh? You do? What do you see as the benefits of cloning?"

"Well, I want to create a clone army who will obey my commands without question. Then I can send them out to fight ..." and he proceeded to fight an imaginary battle in the back seat.

"Hmmm ..." I asked, "Do you obey commands without question?"

"Oh, no I don't"

"Well, then why do you think all your clones would obey your commands without question?"

"Ummm, Jango Fett created a clone army and all of them obeyed his commands without question. If he could do it, I think I could too."

"Did Jango Fett obey commands without question?"

"Oh yes. But, well, he didn't answer to anyone. Except for Darth Sidious. But he obeyed those commands."

"So Jango Fett obeyed commands. And all his clones did. But if you clone yourself, you'll have a bunch of little yous running around. Do you think they'll really obey you without question?"

"Oh yes ... they'll just look like me, but their brains won't be like mine."

"But if they look like you, they'll have the same brains that you have. And that means they won't obey you without question. It'll be kind of like chaos."

[long pause]

"Mom, you are so smart. How do you think like that?"

So, tonight, I'm just basking in the glory of my oh so briefly held intelligence. It'll be here today and gone tomorrow. But for the time being (and probably not too much longer), my boy thinks I'm smart!

Winter Sports

2006-09-07T13:26:00.000-04:00

Given my addiction during the 2006 Winter Olympics this is pretty funny:

You Are Curling

What you lack in athleticism, you make up for in concentration. And while curling isn't much more of a sport than bowling, you *can* win a gold medal for it!

What Winter Sport Are You?

Anatomy Class

2006-09-05T20:56:00.000-04:00

Today was the first day of school for most children in our neck of the woods. But we've already gotten a week under our belt. So we took advantage of the calm and had a field trip. It was a perfect day for a visit to the Smithsonian. We went to the Museum of Natural History to see the exhibit celebrating the Bicentennial of the Lewis & Clark expedition out west before it closes next Monday. Of course, field trips are always more fun with friends, so we took my friend SizzlingEwe and her children, the 3BlazingLambs, and our ever present companion, +OneFriend.

The very best day of any day in the year to visit the Smithsonian is the day after Labor Day. We had the museum virtually to ourselves. There were other visitors to be sure. But parking was freely had (not free, but easily gotten), exhibits were easily seen, there were no lines for anything. We had a ball. The Lewis and Clark exhibit was enlightening. I learned quite a bit about Thomas Jefferson as well as gaining insight into the early years of our country.

After lunch the children asked to see the dinosaur exhibit. We had to pull them away from the Mammal exhibit by telling them they had to choose because time was running out. They chose the Dinosaurs. Their joy and anticipation was palpable as we all danced into the exhibit hall. They were immediately drawn to the large beasts and we imagined making one leg bone into a bed for a BlazingLamb. She declared it too uncomfortable, so we moved on. We imagined running into a sauropod in real life and had delicious shivers of fear. Then we got to the king of the beasts ... tyrannosaurus rex. Ohhh, he had huge teeth. Enormous teeth. We were glad he doesn't roam the world today. But then one of the smallest BlazingLambs asked, "What's that bone?" and pointed to a large bone that looked somewhat like a chicken's breast bone hanging down between the tyrannosaur's legs. LightBoy, passing by, said, "Oh ... that's the weiner bone." And off they all went to the next dinosaur, leaving SizzlingEwe and I gasping for breath as we tried not to laugh out loud. Hmmmm, I guess dinosaur anatomy might figure prominently in our science curriculum this year.

Things Doubtful

2006-09-01T07:49:00.000-04:00

Hmmm ... how to dig oneself out of the hole one dug with the shovel of impertinence and the hoe of whimsy. Should one? Perhaps the hole exists only in the mind of the digger.

And then, again, I made a few rather extreme statements regarding the Bible in an earlier post and I'm feeling a bit rueful about it. I was feeling my oats. Rather like a yearling in the spring oats as it were; playful, silly and without regard for any consequences. And, well, this is my blog. I can be playful, silly and not have regard for the consequences should I so choose. Damn the torpedos, full speed ahead. However, I would probably say that what I wrote earlier was rather, um, skeletal and I'd like to flesh it out a little.

So, thanks to Brother Maynard, I have been thinking a bit about the different translations of the Bible and how I use them, their relative importance and what I think about them. One of the things I think is that most folks are too attached to their particular translation. This probably makes me a heretic of some sort or other. I think that one of the best things since sliced bread is Bible Gateway. You can read the Bible in all the different translations and just about any language too; even Swahili (I think). I love being able to compare and contrast translations to ferret out meaning. I'm not choosy when it comes to translations. For myself (when I use an actual hard copy version of the Bible), I use a side-by-side that has The Message by Eugene Peterson on one page and the NASB on the facing page. We have all versions here in the house, from King James (which I insisted on early in my faith walk because I loved the arcane language) the the New Living Bible (from LightHusband's childhood. We have a Gideon's (inadvertently brought home from a hotel once), a couple of NIV's, and everything in between. I even picked up a NKJV from some people giving them away on the street when we were on vacation this summer. LightHusband said I was stealing. I maintained they were giving them away with no strings attached. I wanted it to look some things up and sometimes you just want to hold the hard copy in your hands to do that.

Which brings me to my next point. It is good to have a hard copy to read. I believe the Bible is meant to be ingested in large chunks; in chapters or books at a time. Don't read little bits. Get the big picture. It's difficult to do that on a computer screen. Well, it's difficult for me to do that on a computer screen. When I'm reading a book for the sake of reading I prefer to have the hard copy in my hands. It is more real for some reason. I like to remember that it is, after all, a story; the story of God's interaction with His creation. It's how She has chosen to record that interaction. It is limited by our limitations. He is God and we are human. So there are some things that remain mysterious and inexplicable. It is, when all is said and done, a leap of faith, not reason.

I'm not too picky about which version I read. Although I no longer care to do the work involved to pick my way through the briars of the King James. I'm not picky about which version anyone reads. I think the important thing is that in the reading one finds their way towards God. I'm not particular about the version because, for instance the Gospels are a translation of stories that were originally spoken in Aramaic, written down in Greek, and the originals were lost. What now exists are about a 5th or 6th generation codex translated from Aramaic to Greek to Latin to English. Or ... Greek to English. This doesn't sound as if it should cause too many problems. And, yet, it does. I've run smack into the issues it causes. The Greeks have several different words they use for "head." In English there is only one. This difference is the primary reason that women have been kept out of ministry for 2,000 years. For another great example please read this wonderful, short post on the issues caused when something gets lost in translation.

I want to apologize for being so impertinent about a pillar of the faith in my earlier post. I was being fairly intentional about it because I think that recently too many people behave as if God is bound up within the pages of their particular translation. That She will be contained within a book, and can be completely known by ferreting out codes held in Scripture. They have forgotten the bigness and majesty of the universe and worry instead about jots and tittles. Which version of the Bible is proper, whether or not women preach, who is and is not allowed in the church or to lead, what foods to eat, what clothes to wear; all fall under the heading of grace. They are all "things doubful." We cannot know for certain the mind of God. We must grant each other the charity that we wish for ourselves.

Divine Retribution

2006-08-29T18:49:00.000-04:00

Soooo ... ya know those silly Blogthings questionnaires? I found one called "What's Your Beer Personality?" I took it just for kicks and giggles.

As it turns out the giggles are on me!! Ah, well ... turn about is fair play.

You Are Guinness

You know beer well, and you'll only drink the best beers in the world. Watered down beers disgust you, as do the people who drink them.
When you drink, you tend to become a bit of a know it all - especially about subjects you don't know well. But your friends tolerate your drunken ways, because you introduce them to the best beers around.

What's Your Beer Personality?

A Rant for Emergents

2006-08-27T19:52:00.000-04:00

HT to Brother Maynard ... 'twas his post on translations of the Bible which began my convoluted path.

I have to say at the outset I'm not particularly particular about which Bible translation anyone uses. Long ago I came to the conclusion that if indeed I do believe that God is capable of creating the entire universe, then it's just possible that S/He might not necessarily confine Herself to the pages of any one particular translation of a fifth generation copy of the transcription of the oral traditions of generations of stories written down in the non-native tongue. That God might just be capable of revealing Himself through more than one translation; indeed, She might use other books too. So I follow the suggestion of Thomas aKempis: “In things essential, unity; in doubtful, liberty; in all things, charity.”

I do, however, have a strong suggestion to make to the folks who are participating in the conversation known as the Emerging Church. Please, o please, extend your horizons past Guiness! Guiness is the Budwieser of stouts. It is a crass commercially over-produced beer that out-grew itself in the late '80s. There are so very many good, fine stouts out there and ales too. If it takes a chick to raise this issue, then raise it I will.

I think my favorite stout is Samuel Smith's Oatmeal Stout, although Young's Double Chocolate is too close a second to call. I have used Young's in my venison chili with fine results. They are both deep, rich and absorb light when you slowly pour them into a glass. They are best served luke warm (of course).

I have to say that my favorite beer category is India Pale Ales. I love them ... all of them. If you ever get to Vermont, or a gourmet beer establishment be sure to try Magic Hat's #9. It not only has that great citrus tang, but also has the zing of apricot for a fun surprise. Also from Vermont, Long Trail Brewery's unfiltered India Pale Ale is fabulous. It fills your mouth and sticks to your ribs. Dominion Brewery here in Virginia has a Pale Ale with a fine grapefruit bite.

Here's an ale that's almost a stout and has been a favorite of mine for more than 20 years -- Old Peculier. It's a British beer and wonderful to behold. It's rich and full and has a lot of texture. I discovered this ale during my misspent youth. A favorite haunt of LightHusband's and mine was The BrickSkeller off of Dupont Circle in DC. They serve several hundred different kinds of beers. On our first date, LightHusband (in a vain effort to impress me) ordered a bottle of beer from Scotland which had been numbered by hand with a ballpoint pen!

The larger point I'd like to make here is this. From my vantage point, it seems that a strong value being expressed by the emerging conversation goes something along the lines of "think globally, act locally." That is that while we see the larger issues and problems in the world, we see the solutions beginning with us and with our immediate communities. That we are able to influence and establish change there within our local circles. So, why, I have to wonder, are we not extending this argument to beer? Those engaging in the emerging conversation need to find their local microbrewery or pub and imbibe! Stop feeding the corporate, commercial machine. Raise a glass to your brother, the brewer and support him (or her)! For those of you across "the pond," find the CAMRA pubs and support them. And, for heaven's sake, expand your hoppy horizons. There's a great big beery world out there ... explore it!

Sabbath

2006-08-27T11:48:00.000-04:00

It's the last Sunday of the month. Ordinarily we'd be sleeping in and preparing for some sort of community service. My church sets aside the last Sunday of each month to reach out to our neighbors in service. It's the pouring out of our gifts and talents in acts of service to those with less than we have. We've been doing this for about 2 years now. At first we were fairly rigid about doing it on Sunday. Then we eased up on the day. Now we've even eased up on the week. So last weekend (while we were still on vacation) the church helped a single mom move. So, today is a true Sabbath for me. There is no worship service to organize or teach in, and no service worship to participate in. I will rest. I will sew. Hooray!

Yesterday I attended the next to last meeting of the quilt guild board. Wait, that doesn't sound right. It's not the next last meeting. It is the next to last meeting that I am required to attend. I've been on the board for quite a long time now. Since 2000 I think ... I can't honestly remember. I was President of the guild in 2002. Since then I've been the editor of the newsletter, webmistress, I'm organizing the Block-of-the-Month activity for the second time now. Now I'm the custodian of the community service stash and my friend, SizzlingEwe, and I put together kits to make quilts for our community service project. LightHusband has been not-so-subtly suggesting that it's time to let others in the guild step forward and let their talents shine, reluctant tho they may be. So it was a pleasant change of pace yesterday to hear my quilting sisters echo his refrain as they politely and firmly encouraged me to follow my own muse in the coming year. It's time, they said, to take a rest. To have a Sabbath.

Many of them will be doing the same. We have all served the guild together for quite some time now. We began as quilters sharing tips and techniques. We have become friends sharing our lives together. We have children at different stages in their lives; one is about to become an untimely grandmother, another is coping with guiding her two teens through the morass of an out-of-control youth ministry, a third has one in college and one about to graduate from high school and her in-laws living with her, a fourth has both children gone and is recently retired from her job of 20+ years, and so on. We struggle together, laugh together, grieve together, cry together, and stitch our lives back together when they have become unraveled. We travel to quilt shows, eat meals, fondle fabric and memories, and through it all remember the timely advice of many quilters gone before us, "If it can pass the 'man on the galloping horse' test, we don't need to worry about it." This means any flaw, blemish or error that cannot be seen by a man on a galloping horse, is too small to worry about. I think I like that standard.

Adventures in Shopping

2006-08-26T20:37:00.000-04:00

We're home again. Getting settled back in. I set a new land speed record for getting vacation laundry washed, dryed, folded and put away ... under 24 hours. This has never happened before in our married history. As LightHusband says, "Usually they (the dirty vacation clothes) have to marinate for a week or so, before we're ready to wash them." There is something about doing the vacation laundry that truly changes the mental space I'm in.

I've spent a good portion of the week purging the schoolroom. I've removed a lot of schoolwork from previous years that can be archived. I've stored a lot of books (especially for history) that we'll use when we get to those eras again. We deconstructed the way we use the space in the schoolroom (which is actually the diningroom). We tried to figure out a way to get desks for each of the LightChildren. But then we'd have to get rid of the table, and it serves a number of purposes other than school. It's the "kids" table when we have friends over for dinner. I use it for extra sewing space and cutting space for my quilting. The LightChildren use it for crafts and other projects. So, in the end, we kept the table. But we did decide to get some new bookshelves and a new supply cabinet.

I knew just the bookshelves I wanted. These -- which could be found at Target. I then spent several fruitless hours pouring through websites trying to find a supply cabinet that didn't look like one of those horrible metal closets that you find in the back behind the office manager's desk. The only thing I found was a hutch that came under the heading of bathroom furniture and I was afraid I'd never get past that. Especially after LightHusband took one look at it and said, "Hey, that would look good in our bathroom." Back to Google after that comment; but our search was in vain.

Nonetheless, we scheduled a trip to Target to purchase the bookshelves and take whirl through the furniture and organizing departments to see what they had, up close and personal. Sometimes you miss things when you're on-line. Lo and behold, we had missed something! There, in the closets section, was our grail!! Imagine these pieces with the door portion on top (it has shelves behind the doors) and paper supplies and other flat products on the sliding shelves of the base unit. I'm in heaven. We even got metal baskets to put on the shelves behind the doors. Organization, here we come!! Of course, it came in 2 very heavy boxes and took LightHusband 4 hours to put it together. But it's a thing of beauty awaiting our stuff. And the schoolroom is ready for our school adventures to begin.

But here's the funny thing that happened at Target. Just as we were getting in line to check out, I remembered that I wanted to get special 3-ring binders for each of the LightChildren and I for a project we're doing. So I left LightHusband to check out with the furniture and took LightBoy off in search of special fun binders. In due course we found them. We were then entitled to check out in the "Express Line," with our 3 items or less. There was an older gentleman two people in front of us with a single 1-subject spiral bound notebook that he was purchasing. He already had his dollar bill out to pay for it. The cashier waved it over the laser beam, rang it up, turned to the gentleman and said, "That will be ..... ten cents!" The sudden sucking sound was audible as all of our heads whipped around. How did we all come to be in a penny candy store in the midst of a SuperTarget in MegaLand? TEN CENTS??? I cannot remember the last time I'd heard that as the sum total of a bill at a store. Even the gentleman was dumbfounded. He fumbled for a moment, then said, "Wait, I have a dime!"

A dime. He paid for his total purchase with a dime. Even LightBoy was astonished.

The non-plussed cashier just kept telling us to go get spiral bound notebooks while they were on sale; we really shouldn't miss it.

Back-To-School Friday Five

2006-08-25T21:20:00.000-04:00

From the RevGals ... Friday Five Meme

My late mother-in-law thought of September as the “real” New Year because of the number of programs and classes starting. By Labor Day, school is back in session for most of us in the U.S., although there is great variation by region (my children don't return until Sept. 7th!). To mark this, we bring you the Back to School Friday Five.

Aside ... I think this is very appropriate for me this week as I've spent the week purging our school room of old books and papers and getting it ready for our new year to begin next week. I've got a couple more hours to put in over the weekend and all will be ready for LightGirl and LightBoy on Monday morning (imagine dreary organ music here)!!!

1. What is your earliest memory of school?

I went to what used to be referred to as nursery school. Now it's called pre-school. I think I went a couple of mornings or afternoons a week. I remember that we had nap time. After nap time was snacks and it was highly sought after to be chosen to be the snack or drink assistant. My best memory of that school tho was that in the playground there was an old car that had had the tires and windows removed. We would swarm on the car and "go on trips." We were all good about taking turns "driving." Kids rode on the roof and on the hood and everywhere. Playing on that car was the most fun ever.

2. Who was a favorite teacher in your early education?

My first and second grade teacher, Mrs. Metakos. I thought she was beautiful, smart and wonderful.

3. What do you remember about school “back then” that is different from what you know about schools now?

The way they teach children to read was much different. I learned using phonics (using the infamous "Dick & Jane" books). Now they teach using whole language or some combination of the two (and can use just about anything!).

4. Did you have to memorize in school? If so, share a poem or song you learned.

I think I did. But I don't remember ... isn't that terrible??

5. Did you ever get in trouble at school? Were there any embarrassing moments you can share?

The only time I ever got into trouble was for something I didn't actually do, it was for something I was pretending to do. I went to school in a very old 2 room school house with horsehair plaster on the walls. Someone was mysteriously chipping out a large hole in the plaster at the top of the stairs when I was in 2nd or 3rd grade. One day I was standing in line waiting to go outside for something and I turned to my friend, picked a tiny piece of plaster out and said, "I bet this is how that guy is getting away with it," and a teacher saw me!! I don't remember my punishment ... I just remember the injustice of it all. And that no one would believe that I was NOT the perpetrator.

Out With A Bang!

2006-08-20T14:47:00.000-04:00

Here are two very happy young men! LightBoy and +OneFriend enjoyed a serendipitous ride in an antique Hacker Craft with a neighbor here on the Point. The neighbor was young when I was young and known for his exploits in the community. He and his brothers were some of Opie's favorites. I remember one famous story involved a homemade diving suit and an excursion to the bottom of the cove that ended perhaps ingloriously. LightBoy and +OneFriend are in danger of pulling their cheek muscles!

Sunday Morning

2006-08-20T07:38:00.000-04:00

Another week has come and gone. It's Sunday again. How different this day is from last. It's gloomy, threatening to rain, an ever-so-slight chill in the air. It did rain last night and the remnants of drips are wending their way through the leaves on the trees, pit-patting as they go.

I'm up early this morning, having my coffee and cruller on the porch. LightHusband was here briefly, but he's out in the boat fishing now. As I know from our years together, this is perfect fishing weather. All the children and grandparents are still sleeping.

The LightChildren +One Friend have had a ball this vacation. The two boys have spent hours fishing (but rarely catching). There have been a few catches which LightGirl protests. The fish get thrown back so they might live long and prosper, get married or something silly like that. She's too old for such nonsense, but she has a tender heart so we indulge her. There have been tubing runs, snorkeling classes, blueberry pies (2), corn on the cob (countless), running and jumping off the float, swimming, kayaking, friends, cousins, aunts and uncles, grandparents, sleeping in, running around, playing and goofing off. It's been a good vacation.

We return home tomorrow and take up the reins of our regular lives. I think we're ready now.

New Generation

2006-08-19T17:36:00.000-04:00

My brother and his family arrived the other day.

But the biggest news right now is that ...

...

... there's a new Sniper in town!

+OneFriend took this, as well as many other good photos. He's proving himself quite handy with a camera. +OneFriend's mother is not going to be happy about this development. Not happy at all.

This is LightUncle1, the oldest of my two younger brothers. I should note this was taken right after a series of games during which LightBoy and +OneFriend challenged LightUncle1. Mostly it was thumb wrestling and the slap your hands game. LightUncle1 won But there was much laughter, giggling and general silliness had by all. Someday, they will challenge the older men and win, but for now they lose and giggle and everyone has fun.

Porch Musings

2006-08-17T09:32:00.000-04:00

It's later in the morning than I usually awaken. +OneFriend has a cold and is struggling with quite a cough in the night, so LightHusband and I were up with him a good bit last night. It is one of the miracles of this place that I am able to sleep in a bit when necessary.

We probably should not have gone out for creemees (as softserve icecream is called up in these parts) last night. The ride home required that we have the windows open to air out the fumes from the gas can we had filled for the boat rides taken during the day (tubing in the afternoon and fishing after dinner). The cool pollen filled air started +OneFriend's coughing jag and he just couldn't get past it.

So it's been later than usual for me to come out to the porch and sit with my coffee and cruller. The clouds are puffy as a fresh snowbank over the ridge across the bay and the boats are lolling in no particular direction, at ease awaiting their next orders from the currents and winds. Children and parents are playing at various camps around the cove, and LightBoy is fishing.

I've been musing about the various pillars which support human relationships this morning. Mostly I've been thinking about trust. I've been remembering how +OneFriend came in the dark of night, trusting that when I told him to awaken me if he needed to, I would respond. Of course I did. LightHusband and I sat with him for the hour it took to quieten his cough and relax and go back to sleep. For the most part, children trust very easily. They believe the things that they are told by adults. Their minds do not have the ability to question or challenge. They do not bother with the things that are beneath the surface. There are no icebergs. It is only when we become adults that we begin searching for hidden meanings, the lines between the lines, the hurts and betrayals.

There are two things that Jesus said that I've been musing about this morning. The first is that we (all of us ... especially the adults) should come to Him with faith like children. The second is that we should be wise as serpents and gentle as doves. Now before you begin taking me to task for taking those verses out of context, I know I did that! Those are some fairly standard teachings of Jesus and I'm musing on my porch about trust and I don't have my Bible/concordance/commentary open next to me. I merely think that in regards to trust issues, those two teachings put us in a place of tension. It is difficult to hold faith with child-like trust, yet be wise as a serpent. I think it requires that we overlook an awful lot of hurts done to us. Perhaps it even puts us in the place where we forgive others seventy times seven. I think it requires that we sometimes conciously not look for lines between lines or hidden meanings. I wonder, if, perhaps, that tension isn't a most difficult aspect of my faith.

My Lack

2006-08-16T16:06:00.000-04:00

Update - 11:40 p.m.: the following is meant to be very tongue-in-cheek. Especially please understand that I mean the last paragraph in terms of the title of the post ... it is "My Lack" of generosity and love that I am mocking.

My friend, Golden Girl, has a nice post today reflecting on how Jesus talked to people. She makes you think about how we might want to talk to people. I've been thinking about that this afternoon as I cut out pieces for some quilt blocks I'm working on.

In many respects, I'm a fairly easy going person. If I were more outgoing I'd probably talk to more people. But I'm uncomfortable talking to strangers of any stripe, so I have a hard time talking to new people whether they are rich or homeless ... both are just as scary to me. I'd like to think there isn't anyone I'd have dinner with under the right circumstances.

I have, however, decided that there is a group of people who are untouchables in my world. People that I will not invite to dinner. I'm aware that Jesus does not like this behavior on my part. He and I will have to work on this together. But here goes ... they are the people who own barking dogs and do nothing to shut them up. In fact, they go so far as to allow the barking dogs to bark uninhibited while the rest of us suffer. People with barking dogs should suffer an eternity with their barking dogs ... but I should get to go to heaven without them. I have suffered enough right here.

A Prayer ...

2006-08-14T22:41:00.000-04:00

... for a fellow RevGal who is going through a rough stretch with her community. You can read about it here and then click on "next entry" four or five times to get the whole story. It's a terrible tragedy.

May God shed the light of His grace and mercy and compassion on Cheesehead and all of her people during this time of tragedy and trial. We pray you gracious God to send your peace which passes all understanding to all of the family members of the victim; that they might know Your redeeming love in ways deeper and wider than ever. That they might experience redemption in such a way that their relationships might be redeemed at some point in the future. Father we especially hold Cheesehead up to you during this time and ask for extra helpings of strength and grace for her as she tends to your flock, binding up the brokenhearted, and tending to her own wounds as well. Lord, it is not enough for us to know that the world is full of evil, we beseech you for reminders that You are good. That it is in You we will find our strength and our joy regardless of the situation. We thank you for your steady right hand supporting Cheesehead and your loving left arm that is embracing her as she goes. It is in the name of your precious Son, given that we might live, that we pray this night ... Amen.

Vacation Morning

2006-08-14T12:48:00.000-04:00

LightBoy and Sam playing.

I was catching up on my sleep.

We're going to Circus Smirkus this afternoon.

Jump!

2006-08-14T10:33:00.000-04:00

My dog Sam loves to chase tennis balls.

Sabbath

2006-08-13T16:57:00.000-04:00

I took Sabbath today in an odd way. I did not rest and yet I feel refreshed in many parts of my spirit that I have not felt in years.

I worshipped with my father. We discussed weather forecasting and the fact that my old wive's tales are correct a greater percentage of the time than the media professionals. We got warm in the sun on the edge of the lake and wondered about the state of a rope which had soaked itself for the summer and how long it would take to dry out sufficiently to be tied off and melted.

LightHusband and I did laundry at our traditional laundrymat. Usually we do laundry during the week up here. This year we did it on a Sunday. What a treat. There was laundry comedy and laundry philosophy. A lady came in who announced to us that she had some new jokes for us this week. Here is one:

What do Winnie the Pooh and John the Baptist have in common? (answer at the end)

She had some other jokes, but they were a little off-color. She wore a very large brimmed floppy hat. She said she told jokes because she hated doing laundry so much that this made it fun. I thought that was a very good coping strategy.

Another man came in with about 8 small laundry baskets full of laundry. He clearly had a complicated system. I wondered about his system. He asked, of no one in particular, "Why is it that today all the dryers are full, but the washers are empty? How did that happen?" Laundry mat philosophy at it's finest.

Oh, you want the answer: They both have the middle name "the" ... we cracked up!

Sign seen on a local church: Spiritual Progressivism. It made me wish I'd gone to that service.

We went grocery shopping while the clothes dried in the full dryers at a small local grocery store where the checkout clerk was fast and helpful, and she smiled at us while she checked our groceries (even tho she was a "sullen" teenager). And I made a blueberry pie when I came home.

In all, a good Sabbath rest. The clothes are clean, the larder is full and the week is ready to begin.

Summer Fruit ...

2006-08-12T08:21:00.000-04:00

I guess I can still do Friday Five on Saturday morning! I looked and looked all day yesterday, but didn't see the post til this morning. What was up with that??!! Internet weirdness ...

Galatians 5 describes the fruit of the Spirit. With all the sadness and despair out there, we certainly need it! So, the Friday Five is simple. Pick any five of the following attributes and go wherever the Spirit leads you... your choice!

Love is a tomato (the love apple from colonial days); it has a sharp bite to begin but then goes down sweet.
Joy is warm raspberries with cold cream on a summer's evening; it resonates down to your toes.
Peace is olives (yes, they are a fruit) borne on a branch.
Patience is a pomegranate (for the obvious reasons) and I always struggle with this one.
Kindness is an apple glossy and sweet.
Generosity is strawberries in a great big shortcake (with real whipped cream).
Faithfulness is a banana; always there when you need them.
Gentleness is a watermelon with the juices dribbling down your chin. It should overwhelm all who indulge in it.
Self-control is blueberries; who can eat just one?

Weather Forecast

2006-08-10T22:52:00.000-04:00

Tonight's weather: partly cloudy, full moon, chance of rain ... temps in the lower 50's!

And the view cannot be beat ... it makes up for the Manu-Aire that wafts up the lake occasionally.

Manu-Aire

2006-08-10T21:20:00.000-04:00

Ahhh ... the fresh scent. Breath in deep. You only get it out in the country; that distinct aroma of freshly spread "fertilizer." When the south wind blows up the "Point," we get it from the farms down the lake. Manu-Aire ... we decided to give it it's own name. The LightChildren +OneFriend don't quite understand and roll their eyes. LightHusband and I think it's perhaps too funny. We chortle with glee at our own joke as our eyes water and our noses clear out.

The minor joys of vacation.

Antipode

2006-08-09T15:49:00.000-04:00

Seen on the newsstand as I walked into a drugstore. Then I realized that the piped in music was the chorus to "Jeremiah was a bullfrog." The lyrics I heard ("joy to the world, all the boys and girls, singin' joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea, joy to you and me) as I read the headline:

Soldier from Sharon Killed in Baghdad Blast

and looked at the photo of a bright young man cut down before he began a half a world away.

I've never understood this war and I've looked at it from many sides now. But the one thing that makes my bones angry, that leaves me with the taste of mara in my mouth is that there are not enough bumperstickers in the world to support our troops. It is not support when their bodies come home in secrecy. It is not support when we cannot get a proper accounting of who has been injured, who has died, and who will never be the same again.

Magnets are cheap. Grieving is hard. But that's one way to support our troops and their families. I wonder when we'll get around to doing that? Or will we just keep whistling "joy to the world" in the dark?

Our Own Private ...

2006-08-09T11:32:00.001-04:00

... Island. Here's how we spent the day on Sunday (with LightHusband's parents, sister and her family). And now I'm recuperating from spectacular sunburn, despite many reiterations of 45 proof sunblock!

Traffic is stuck, we're not moving anywhere.

Lawns in the center, surrounded by international waters ... in the middle of Lake Champlain!

Jump! You might as well jump ...

Splish, splash I'm a takin' a bath ...

Thought you'd found a friend, take you out of this place, lend a helping hand ...

Mothers and daughters enjoy a rare moment.

Day Three

2006-08-09T09:02:00.000-04:00

We made our annual pilgrimage to Shelburne Museum yesterday. This has become a tradition that the LightChildren love. We even have a traditional exhibit that must be seen first. I'd tell you why the LightChildren are so fascinated, but first you have to click on the link to see what it is.

I got to see the temporary Georgia O'Keefe exhibit. I've only ever seen her more well known flowers and some of her southwestern inspired pieces with the bones in them. This exhibit really spanned her entire career. There was a timeline as well that gave clues to her life. She was fascinating. Her art was inspiring. Some of it was quite crudely done and I wondered why it was so sought after. Other pieces were breathtaking. In the morning, I'd read this bit by Christy at Dry Bones Dance and so I had echoes of thoughts about setting appropriate boundaries running in my head as I walked through this exhibit. I wondered about Georgia's life and times. I thought about her ability to set boundaries and follow her muse despite what must have been enormous pressure to be a feminine woman, have a husband, and children. I didn't come to any conclusions, but I think I'd like to read a biography and find out more about her.

I also got to see the Kaleidoscope Quilts exhibit. I'll have to come clean here and say that it was the primary impetus behind my desire to go to the museum. But the LightChildren do love it and OneFriend likes museums too. I enjoyed the quilts and my conversation with the quilter (president of the state guild as she was sure to inform me) who was there to talk to visitors.

In the same building with the quilts were other displays of antique needlearts. Of particular interest to me are the samplers; needlework done by young women about LightGirl's age to highlight the skills they had learned throughout their youth. That they were now ready to take on the larger tasks of womanhood. One sampler in particular stood out to me, the saying on it was thus: "In God We Hope." The difference of one word and it makes all the difference.

We went on to visit the old schoolhouse, the displays of antique woodcarving (cigarstore fronts, weathervanes, ship figureheads, etc.), the blacksmith shop and the smithy. The blacksmith was calm and wonderful to speak with. He talked to the LightChildren +OneFriend about the joys and dangers of smithing. They (all four) had quite a philosophical conversation about whether or not having wealth was good or bad. It was interesting to be a bystander to that and hear the children wrestle through some of what they've heard us talk about.

In God we hope.

Scene on Vacation

2006-08-04T22:26:00.000-04:00

The view from of the lake our 6th floor hotel room ... when we checked in last night.

We began with a jaunt down to camp, to drop off the extras that we don't need for the weekend and to say hello to the LightParents (and give my mother her much belated Mother's Day gift - I didn't want to ship it). To my delight, my two friends on either side are here and will be here for the duration of our stay. We reconnected briefly with promises of more and longer conversations on one another's porches later on. Such is the vibe of camp. We watch our children grow in delight and amazement, all the while supporting each other along the way. It is a unique and nourishing community.

Somewhat later, I had what was possibly the best lunch of my entire life. It consisted of curried chicken salad with cranberry chutney and roasted cashews. We ate on the patio of Pauline's. LightHusband was worried it was the luncheon spot for old ladies. It was. We looked around ... all older ladies lunching in twos. In any case, I savored every single bite of that lunch. Every one. I didn't even mind that my lemonade was powdered.

Then we walked around Church Street in Burlington and had coffee served to us ala Shakespeare at Uncommon Grounds (with apple pie). Then we walked and shopped and looked and daydreamed. Mostly we people watched. The people here are ... um ... interesting. Very few shop at the same store. One might wear anything (and I do mean that quite literally) one wishes.

A leisurely two hour dinner at a sidewalk bistro ... pan seared scallops, if you please with a pint of microbrewed, unfiltered India Pale Ale. Why yes, this is the life to which I am accustomed. Our seats allowed for a fine mix of people watching and conversation. The perfect end to a lovely day.

Scene on the Road

2006-08-04T08:37:00.000-04:00

Bumpersticker: Not One Millionaire Left Behind

Lots of vanity plates including this one: HCKYMAN surrounded by a Capitals plate holder.

Large sign spanning all lanes just before the Delaware Memorial Bridge reminding us that we can call the Anti-Terrorist Hotline if we need to. Fear everyone, trust no one. I cannot abide this. I will not participate in this national campaign of fear.

Gas prices holding steady, even on the Jersey Turnpike, at $3.03 for regular. Interestingly enough, Exxon-Mobil's profits are rising by ever larger proportions. Who knew that profitting on war and death could be so easy? Pirates are popular these days.

Blues and jazz being played at McDonald's on the Garden State Parkway. I was almost knocked over with a feather.

Going, Going, ...

2006-08-03T05:58:00.000-04:00

... gone! Well. We're off. Today we leave for our vacation. Sunday we pick up the LightChildren + OneFriend and head for camp.

The house is pretty clean. We relaxed some here and got ready on our own time. This was fairly novel. I really enjoyed it.

This morning I checked the weather, as I sipped my coffee. For last few of you not convinced that global warming isn't happening, WeatherUnderground read like a Monty Python skit this morning. For some reason, I just couldn't stop laughing. In the North Atlantic, (my pet) Tropical Storm Chris. In the Pacific, Tropical Depression Faabbbio. Temperature - 73 ... humidity 94%. The air is nine and half months pregnant with water; the molecular miniscus cannot hold.

It's supposed to be cooler and dryer in Vermont; I hope so. My sewing is packed. My books are packed. My clothes. LightHusband has his fishing and photography equipment to document our adventure. So ... we're on our way. Here's a photo of the quilt top I finished and sent out to be quilted yesterday. My big accomplishment before leaving.

Things to Celebrate

2006-08-01T10:50:00.000-04:00

Friends who can finally relax because they are recognized for doing well in their jobs.

Friends who are bringing new babies into the world.

Friends who have finally brought their babies home for awhile.

Wonderful women who write, create and express the beauty of God for the rest of us. And especially the Holly who did the remarkable work of pulling it all together. My copy came in the mail yesterday on a day when I was feeling like I just could not possibly put one foot in front of the other one more time. Then the mailman put Effloresce in my hands and I realized I could.

Being on vacation in my own house. Anticipating vacation in New England and seeing the LightChildren again. I'm beginning to miss those two rascals.

My parents and LightHusband's parents who have graciously taken their grandchilren for a week so that we could have two weeks alone.

Good banana yogurt smoothies for breakfast.

hot hot hot friday five

2006-07-28T10:50:00.000-04:00

RevGals Meme ...
Many areas of the United States are having a heat wave. Global warming, anyone? Look on the bright side of melting glaciers and enviro-destruction by taking a crack at the Friday Five:

1. What's the high temperature today where you are?

Wowzers ... it's supposed to be 90. But who know's what the heat index (that's the "feels like" temperature) is going to be

2. Favorite way(s) to beat the heat.

Is there anything besides air conditioning?

3. "It's not the heat, it's the humidity." Evaluate this statement.

Humidity sucks the life and oxygen out of everything. Here's how it works. Hydrogen comes sashaying along wearing sexy perfume and a lowcut dress. She sweet talks Oxygen into a romantic night on the town. Before you know it they've run off to Vegas for quickie marriage and just-our-luck it lasts. Since there are 2 Hydrogens for every Oxygen we have to assume they are into polygamy! Humidity is actually a sin.

4. Discuss one or more of the following: sauna, hot tub, sweat lodge, warm-stone massage.

Saunas are wonderful, awesome inventions ... the only exception being when you step out your front door and find that the entire out of doors has been turned into a sauna. Then ... they stink. Saunas are especially wonderful after a swim in the winter. Hot tubs are equally wonderful inventions.

5. Hottest you've ever been in your life

102 ... I think.

Or maybe it was when I used to go out clubbing with my friends ... I was pretty hot back then.

Non-temperature related bonus: In your opinion... who's hot? Johnny Depp ... ummm hm.

Lemons

2006-07-25T10:02:00.000-04:00

I've used that old hack, "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade." so often that I've forgotten what lemons taste like. I've incorporated it so deeply into my life that lemons just automatically become lemonade. For many years I've thought that to be positive was a good and necessary trait. This morning I realized it's not always so. I think that it's a tragedy of our culture that we do not allow ourselves to engage with the lemons before turning them into lemonade. To feel them, smell them, taste them ... in short allow ourselves to feel whatever pain we need to feel in order to move on.

In April of 1998, LightHusband suffered what we thought was a short term back injury. It turned into a three year odyssey which included weekly doctor visits to Walter Reed, a year and a half on convalescent leave and high-powered narcotics. His condition remained undiagnosed for more than two-thirds of that time. Many of the treatments actually aggravated his condition and made it life-long. Much of the time he couldn't sit or stand for more than ten minute periods. The children were quite small; it began shortly after LightBoy's first birthday and we knew we were finally out of the woods around his fifth birthday. It was, to put it mildly, a nightmare.

We met way back when. Way back when we were both enthralled with fife and drum music. He was in The Old Guard Fife & Drum Corps. We both belonged to a civilian corps. We wrote music together, put together shows, wrote marching drill, taught students. But mostly we dreamed about the day when he would retire from the Army and we'd go back to New England with our own children and march in a fife and drum corps back there. That dream was shattered forever in April of 1998. He will never ever be able to march again. He can barely play his snare drum through a song or two without being in pain for several days. We're still enthralled with the music. I love to play. I'm still quite good, the fingers remember. But how can I? It just hurts too much.

The Israelites called it "mara" or bitter water. I think it's lemon water ... lemonade with no sugar. I'm learning to experience the lemons; to feel the pain in order to move on.

Hard To Define, That

2006-07-24T12:13:00.000-04:00

I'm experiencing that rarest of gifts for a parent, peace and quiet. The LightChildren are visiting their grandparents for two weeks. They are with my parents this week, and with LightHusband's parents next week. They are in Vermont. We are here. Ahhhh. I love those two dearly, but sometimes they leave me with my ears bleeding from all the words I have to hear. The ramp up to this trip was hair-raising. I have to apologize to the BrickDude. He and his lovely wife, GoldenGirl, came to visit and trade cars with us the evening before the LightChildren left. There came a point in the evening when both children were talking at the same time, in ever increasing volumes, about different subjects to BrickDude. It was horrifying. He handled it with aplomb. But they left shortly thereafter.

The next day, packed and ready to go, we set out for the airport. We stopped for lunch at a favored Indian restaurant. We got to the airport with plenty of time to spare for any "unforeseen circumstances," such as identity needs, long lines, who knows. Nothing happened. There were no "unforeseen circumstances." With one tiny exception. We checked the LightChildren in at the ticket counter, checked their luggage, filled out the "unaccompanied minor" paperwork, had a lovely chat with the ticket lady (who was very kind and just the tiniest bit frazzled when her key got stuck in the drawer) and then she spoke the words of doom in the most cheerful voice imaginable, "So, which ONE of you will be accompanying the children to the gate?" Me (reeling and looking around and the millions of people and imagining shepherding the children through the masses of evil humanity alone ... and remember my lingering panic disorder which gets worse in crowds): "Ummm ... One? You mean BOTH of us can't go with them?" Cheerful Ticket Lady (who's name was Eva): "Oh no, I can only allow ONE of you to go. So who will it be?" LightHusband is rather desperate to relieve himself of the duty because he had spent all morning with them while I went to a guild event and his ears were bleeding. Really. But I. Just. Could. Not. Go. I also could not stay and not go with my dear children. In the end, LightHusband graciously gave way and allowed me to stay back. We dawdled around as long as is possible in place that is so clearly NOT designed for people to wait. There are no places for sitting, only places for standing in line or walking. One is clearly expected to complete one's business and go on one's way here; do not dawdle.

In the end, I found a Cinnabon stand, purchased a tasty treat, a cup of coffee and a couple of magazines to read. It was interesting to me that when he got to the gate LightHusband also bought a magazine to look at. He got Food & Wine. This is a fun magazine. What do I get when I have a few hours to myself in a busy airport? The Economist, U.S. News & World Report, and another magazine about living green. That's sad; it says something about my inability to relax.

On the other hand, I really enjoyed my little piece of time to catch up on some reading about world affairs. It's a passion of mine that I've had little time to indulge since the advent of children in my life. I've even gone so far as to subscribe to the on-line version of The Economist. I used to read it frequently, now I'll be able to again.

I spent most of my time reading about the current crisis between Israel and Lebanon. It's a situation that is heartbreaking. Lebanon was just struggling back to her feet. There are times when I'd like to give Syrian president Assad a real talking to. Seriously, the Syrians need to own up to the underhanded work they are doing. A small splinter group in Lebanon has demolished it yet again. The picture that went with the article made me cry.

Then I read this sentence or two:

On each of these fronts the fighting was precipitated by an audacious attack on Israel's army by fighters belonging to extreme Islamist groups that combine the functions of armed militias—“terrorists”, says Israel—and elected political parties.

The phrase, "armed militias," caught my eye. We bluster on here in the U.S. about our highly touted "War on Terror." But what was the Revolutionary War? It was many groups of "armed militias" using guerilla tactics against a much larger, colonial power who was trying to take away freedoms that our forefathers thought they had a "right" to.

I'm not sure how far out we or I can draw this analogy, but I have to wonder what tactics our forefathers would have used if they had had the weaponry at their disposal that the Arabs do today. I wonder if we were British would we consider them heros? or terrorists? Just what does it look like when it's your land, religion and way of life that is at risk?

It's really hard to define, that.

What a Blast!

2006-07-23T22:42:00.000-04:00

There has been an ongoing "discussion" between LightHusband and I.

I maintain that words have precise meanings. That they should be used within those meanings. I love words and I love to use them properly and appropriately. I think that being able to communicate well and clearly is a fine art. I enjoy this.

LightHusband, on the other hand, likes to play fast and loose with his words. He throws them around willy-nilly. They fall from his mouth in a waterfall.

Here's a current debate. We both love to use WeatherUnderground to look at the weather forecast. We look at the radar blast.

He is fond of saying, "Look! The radar says there's not a cloud in the sky. But there's clouds all over the place." I respond with, "The radar measures precipitation, not clouds. Therefore, the clouds will not show on the radar blast. They'll show up on the satellite scan."

He waves me off with a sigh, "Oh! You're always so precise." I roll my eyes and think to myself, "Well, isn't that the point?"

Random Thoughts in the Heat of Summer

2006-07-20T15:11:00.000-04:00

Overheard at my quilt bee on Monday morning, "I'm not on a diet. I'm done with it. I'm just focussing on drinking water and walking every day. I figure at age 45 it's time for me to start liking myself and how I look." I loved that.

This morning during a discussion of what clothes LightGirl has and what she needs to take to camp at her grandparents, she surprised me with this, "I don't like to wear shorts, Mom. I have fat legs. Especially up here." and she indicated her thighs. And my heart shriveled and died for her. "She's only twelve," I thought, "I've done my best, I don't want her to have that voice in her head." I wanted to weep. I hope it doesn't take her til 45 to learn to love herself. How does our culture do this to our girls?

Yesterday LightHusband and I went to the grocery store around supper time. Well, it was before supper because we needed to get food for supper. We also needed milk and stuff. Like envelopes, because our envelopes are buried in his former office closet which is now a nuclear dump zone (but you didn't hear it from me). Anyway ..... as we walked around the grocery store sort of aimlessly without a list because all we knew was we had to get dinner, I noticed that a grocery store is a leveler. Everyone who is there is on equal footing. Some people get expensive bread and some get cheap bread, but everybody has to go to the bread aisle. There isn't a hoity-toity aisle and welfare aisle. The food and other goods are sorted by type and within type by price, so everyone has to mix together to go up and down all the aisles. It's the one place (at least in my town) where everyone from all income levels from illegal immigrant on up to the mayor comes together. It's kind of nice.

On Women and Fabric

2006-07-17T16:44:00.000-04:00

Quilting is more than a hobby for me. It has become part of my dreams. When I look at scenery, or paintings, or anything of beauty, I see quilts. I see color and fabric and ponder how to best use fabric to represent that. Perhaps some would say it is a sickness.

Saturday several women from my guild gathered together to sew quilts for our community service projects. We make quilts for babies at our local hospital who's mothers have nothing, and for the local Medicare nursing home, for children taken from their parents under stressful circumstances and for soldiers in the amputee unit at Walter Reed Army hospital. I have custody of the community service fabric and with the help of a friend made up kits to sew on Saturday. I loved the design process. Some of the fabric was, well, ugly would be kind. But in the right setting, it became lovely. I'm learning to design outside my box. I love that.

This morning I went to a bee. A gathering of quilters to sit and sew for a couple of hours and chat about everything and nothing. The conversation wandered down many paths. At a certain point we had to inquire as to the whereabouts of our hostess' husband because the conversation had wandered into a canyon where only the bravest man might dare to go. The group involved many different women from all walks and times of life. Most of us have known one another for a long time. There is something about holding fabric and thread that breaks down walls and allows talk to flow. The masks come off. Stories get told and the atmosphere is one of acceptance. Gifts and experiences are shared with little thought of rejection. I realized this morning that it is a true joy to me that I share in this art of my foremothers and in so doing, I am participating in this dance of relationships that women have shared throughout the ages. That quilting uses fabric, but it also weaves the fabric of society. That I could not do this alone, and that my life is so much richer for it.

Historical Importance

2006-07-16T22:57:00.000-04:00

I wish I could remember who said, "Those who don't remember history are doomed to repeat it," but I can't. However, the world is learning this lesson this week as we watch Israel and Lebanon strafe each other with rocket fire, among other things.

Why, oh, why was it so important to bust Iraq back to it's borders when it overran Kuwait, but we are not even looking at Israel's gross misconduct in Lebanon? Lebanon, which I might add, is a Christian nation in the Middle East. It's not important to me. But that seems to be important to the Right wing these days.

I haven't been keeping up on events there. I can't. It hurts too much. I have Lebanese friends from college. It was the flower of the Orient. Beirut was the Paris of Arabia. The people are warm and friendly.

We have such leverage with Israel and we choose to remain silent in the face of this atrocity. We could do so much with so little and yet we ignore the bully on the playground. Diplomacy and our aid money can be used without ever sending one soldier. We have a history of brokering peace. But Israel is counting on this administration's ignorance and/or hubris to do nothing.

On Freedom

2006-07-13T18:13:00.000-04:00

I try hard not to wax political here. I get my dander up sometimes and I don't like to get the dander of others up. But this gets under my skin and I can't let it go. My mother drew our attention to it. Here's a link to the whole article, but this is the paragraph that caught my eye:

The intelligence reform act incorporated recommendations from the commission that studied the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks; President Bush signed the bill in December. Supporters have argued the measure is necessary because terrorists could use vital records to steal identities, according to a Congressional Research Service report on the law.

You know, the critical word in that paragraph is the word "could." Yes, the terrorists "could" do all sorts of evil things. But to date they have only done one. We have a lot of checks and balances built into our society and our culture that we have forgotten about. Our federal government (and for some reason the institutional church is playing along with it), is strumming the fear that we all have since 9/11 to institute all sorts of bad laws.

Ninety-nine percent of our population is honest. We are hard-working. We love our neighbors, we love our country. Yes, there are a few bad apples amongst us. There are in any population. So what? So we come together and look out for one another. The protection against bad apples is not more laws that restrict the freedoms of us honest people. The way to protect ourselves is to know each other. It's to smile at one another on the street. To talk and laugh together. Greet one another. Hold each other up. Be gracious and kind and understand that while we all have faults, we all want what's best for our children and our grandchildren. Laws do not change hearts or morality, people do. The government doesn't know best and we've forgotten that. It's time to remember that we do know better and we know how to take care of ourselves and each other. Let's get together and do it!

Of Minor Miracles

2006-07-10T08:34:00.000-04:00

I soldiered on yesterday evening. Doing my daily battle with my mortal enemy, the weeds! I am becoming triumphant; taking back more and more ground. I enjoy this battle. It is far more satisying than housework because once done, it largely stays done. I have to return and pick a few strays that pop up here and there, but as I come and go from the house, I can see tangible evidence of the work I have done. For the most part the work remains and does not get undone as so much of my other work does.

Part of my garden is centered around a large flat rock. The LightChildren used to use this rock as a battle station, or a lookout point in their many games. Now it is (or used to be before it was overrun with weeds) a focal point in my garden).

Yesterday evening as I clipped away the leggy yarrow and dug up the insolent weeds, I came across a miracle next to the rock. I had seen it there and wondered what this plant with the strange small red flowers was. I knew I would get to it soon. Yesterday I did. They were not flowers at all, but the beginnings of blackberries. Somehow I have a blackberry plant in the midst of my flower garden! How wonderful. If I had weeded earlier in the summer I would have pulled it up in woeful ignorance.

I'll have just enough blackberries to have some for breakfast one morning. Lovely!

A Lighter Heart

2006-07-07T20:59:00.000-04:00

The sun is down and the day is almost done. My ennui is lighter now. I spent the day with a friend, talking quilts and pulling weeds. Full spectrum sunlight and doing battle against my mortal enemies is always good medicine for the soul. Not to mention all the little bugs I saw scurrying away as I uncovered them.

Oh Happy Day

2006-07-07T10:43:00.000-04:00

Today is the first anniversary of this blog. Happy day to it. Or to me. Or both of us. I thought I'd be happier today, but I'm sort of tired. It's been a long hard week or two. Falling over the edge of the cliff in January is taking a long time to get back from. I'm doing better now on many days. But today is not one of them. Today I feel the Balroc coming closer.

I drove out to the back of beyond yesterday. Two friends and I joined a Community Sponsored Agriculture farm. We each bought shares and take turns driving to pick up our shares. Yesterday was my turn. It takes about three hours for the round trip. Three hours of guilt and whine-free listening to my music and thinking my thoughts ... uninterrupted by anyone. Other than my own other thoughts.

I found another favorite song part yesterday. It's this: the tom-toms in Burning Down the House by Talking Heads. It was their breakthrough song and album in about 1983. But I'd been listening to them since the late 1970's. What I like about the tom-toms is that those drums are deceptively simple and almost totally arrythmic. Very cool ...

I'm struggling with LightGirl these days. This does not reduce the issues with the Balroc. She is growing up. It's a good thing. Independence is good. The process of achieving it is painful for all concerned. I keep reminding myself that if the butterfly does not struggle to remove itself from the chrysalis, it will not develop wings.

Beautiful weather today. I keep watching the birds on the roof across way. Hoping that they will lift my spirits to match the weather. I think I'll go sew or design something instead. Happy blog birthday to me.

Cars

2006-07-06T22:34:00.000-04:00

We took the LightChildren to see Cars this evening. It is a really good movie about hubris and the need for community. I really recommend seeing it. It's worth the price of admission for the cow tipping scene alone. There is fodder for laughter for children and adults.

Pixar did the animation, so it was flawless. I won't ruin it and tell you about all the little extras they threw in, but when you go, watch the screen carefully. It has a lot of texture.

Being Pixar, they threw a short feature in at the beginning called One Man Band. This short, of course, had nothing to do with the main feature. It was about a one man band in an empty town square playing for no one with an empty cup in front of him. It seemed as tho the poor one man band was to go hungry that evening, when along came a tiny little girl with a single gold coin. She stopped at the fountain in the middle of the square and knelt to make a wish. Just as she was about to throw her coin into the fountain, the one man band began to play his very best, brightest tune and smiled in her direction. The little girl looked over at him and then walked toward him. She reached out and began to drop her single sparkly coin in his cup,

When another one man band began to play on the other side of the square; a plaintive love song on violin and harpsichord. The little girl turned her head and began to listen to the other one man band. Pretty soon she walked over to him and reached out to put her coin in his cup and just as she was about to let it drop,

The first one man band struck up again louder and brighter and using more instruments,

To be met with the second more plaintive and wistful and more strings,

And back and forth until it became more about the contest than about winning the coin until at last the two were in head to head battle in the middle of the square in front of the fountain and the little girl stumbled and the coin fell through a grate into the gutter; lost to all.

Now this all happened in less than 5 minutes. But it made me think of the church (as in the Church, as in the body of Christ worldwide.) Not everyone, not all Christians. But a large portion of Christians and certainly some churches are doing battle with the wrong things. They/We have entered into a contest with other churches and are trying to win the wrong prize. As a result, the true harvest is slipping through our fingers and falling down the drain.

What He Said ...

2006-07-05T09:40:00.000-04:00

Brother Maynard has an excellent post today on children taking communion. He gives his own brief history with communion, which I, for obvious reasons, do not share. He ends with a beautiful description of their reasoning for including children in communion at their church, which I do share. It's really lovely ... enjoy your read.

Perspectives

2006-07-04T13:27:00.000-04:00

I've begun my battle against the demon weeds.

I'm gaining ground against them. Slowly but surely. Every evening about 8 I go out to spend 15 or 20 minutes doing battle. I've taken back a good 12 feet of garden thus far, only about 30 more to go. I suppose I ought to have taken a before picture. Oh well ....

LightHusband comes out and sits on the steps to chat with me and drink a glass of wine while I dig in the dirt. We catch up with each other. Sometimes one or the other of the LightChildren join us, or perhaps a pet or two.

Yesterday evening, LightBoy joined us briefly. He came out, sat with his dad and joined in the conversation. He said, "You know what I'm thankful for? I'm glad we get that beautiful sunset at the back of the house almost every night. It's really pretty." LightHusband and I just looked at each other, and he said, "Oh really, you like that?" LightBoy said, "Yes. I do. It's the prettiest thing here. We're really lucky." He asked his dad another question about a tree we'd had to take down last year and then he went back into the house.

LightHusband and I sat back in amazement when he left. We do love the sunsets, but they have always been marred for us by all the houses at the back of our suburban tract home. We always think, "Well, that's pretty, but it would be better if it weren't for all the houses around." I have three windows over my kitchen sink that I sort of love. I'd really love them, if I could see something besides more houses. The view I had from the kitchen sink when I was growing up was forests and mountains, but I didn't appreciate it then. Now I keep wondering if I'm cheating my children. But it turns out that they think what they have is pretty wonderful.

I tend to forget that they don't know the things that I know. Their memories are not my memories. Their life is different from mine. They know what they have, not what I have. All of which sounds as if it should be a duh, but it's surprising how hard it is to keep that separate. Then when they announce it to me in an off-hand way, I get to smile and think, "oh ... yeah. I can relax again." It really is all about perspective.

One More Thing

2006-07-03T20:17:00.000-04:00

Here are a few more things I love about my church.

We meet in a coffee house ... in the part where there are usually rock concerts. It looks sort of industrial, but when we're there it really is sacred space. I can't explain it, it just is. Even when people walk right through the middle of communion to get to the bathrooms.

I love that worship is different (almost) every week. We use all of our senses. Here is a picture of what we did this week. We painted on fabric. We painted things that represented the bounty and freedom that we're thankful for. I'm going to sew those pieces of fabric together to create a new cloth for the communion table that's really ours. A cloth that in and of itself is worship and art. The paintings are drying on my schoolroom table now and I get to go in and stand in awe of their beauty.

I love the joy that greets me on everyone's faces each week. One guy greeted me with this on Sunday morning, "Hello family!" and he meant it. I love that. There is grace there and love. To be sure, there are moments of strife and discomfort and all the other things that go along with family. But the umbrella that covers us is grace and joy.

I love that when I unwittingly disconnect the microphone from the cord and make faces, the teenagers come up to me afterwards and laugh with me about my faces. I love that my children are comfortable sitting with any other adult there during the service. And that all of the other adults will talk to my children and love them back.

I love my little church.

On Freedom

2006-07-03T08:37:00.000-04:00

Here are some things that I love about my church.

I love that we operate with a flat heirarchy and in a team-based environment. I love that we show up on Sunday mornings with about a third of a service and know that the Holy Spirit is going to show up and fill in the rest. Sometimes that feels very irresponsible, but it always works and it's always beautiful.

Yesterday it felt downright scary. I was more nervous than I've ever been. We were set to explore the Beauty of God in Freedom and had left a few more holes than even I am comfortable with. Actually, if I can be totally honest, I was being lazy or crabby or something. I just didn't feel like filling them in. I couldn't find the time and desperately needed to spend some time with LightGirl after she'd been at hockey camp all week. So I should have done it while she was gone, but I lacked the inspiration then.

Setting up for worship was crazy ... crazier than usual. Someone backed into our van in the parking lot. Someone else came in and said, "We have a slideshow of our time at Young Life camp, can you put it in the computer to show?" LightHusband handled both without my knowledge or stress. Except the bit about the slideshow and my response (after it was too late) was, "We can't have people coming in 15 minutes before service and throwing this at us." Except ... well ... really, that's kind of what we're all about and I need to let go of it. We're about people bringing their gifts and talents to the Common Table to share.

Then as I watched this unasked for, unprepared for, stress-adding slide show, I felt my pinched little heart grow a few sizes. I gazed in wonder at the Holy Spirit yet again doing His thing amongst us. For ... there it was. The perfect opening for a service on freedom. It was the Young Life camp for young people who have special needs and our three high school students had gone to be buddies to them. When they got up to speak afterwards, I heard them say that by the end of the week, there was neither special nor normal, but all were one in Christ Jesus. And all were free, because they had heard the truth and it had set them free. Of course ... being teenagers they didn't actually speak those words. They said it like this, "Wow, I couldn't believe it. We loved those kids. And ahh by the end of the week we were like you know all of us together intertwined and like we couldn't tell anyone apart anymore. It was so way cool." And they had big shiny authentic grins on their faces.

Because of the time that took, we had to cut a couple of elements of the rest of the service. We didn't have any open prayer. We didn't sing the Doxology. We didn't really have enough time to paint the pieces to the new communion table cloth we're making. But we had left ourselves free to hear God speak to us and somehow that was more important.

Beautiful

2006-07-02T16:43:00.000-04:00

When we experience the Beautiful, there is a sense of homecoming. Some of our most wonderful memories are of beautiful places where we felt immediately at home. We feel most alive in the presence of the Beautiful for it meets the needs of our soul. For a while the strains of struggle and endurance are relieved and our frailty is illuminated by a different light in which we come to glimpse behind the shudder of appearances the sure form of things. In the experience of beauty we awaken and surrender in the same act. Beauty brings a sense of completion and sureness. Without any of the usual calculation, we can slip into the Beautiful with the same ease as we slip into the seamless embrace of water; something ancient within us already trusts that this embrace will hold us. (Beauty: The Invisible Embrace, by John O'Donohue)

For such is the beauty of God.

All-Time Best Song Parts Meme

2006-07-01T14:11:00.000-04:00

My BrickFriend started this. Then CityGirl picked up the gauntlet. Now I can't stop thinking about it either. So here's my list.

1. The opening riff from Know Your Rights by The Clash ... This is. A. Public. Service. Announcement. .... WITH GUITAAARRRRR ...

2. Any GOOD lone bagpiper playing Amazing Grace.

3. The solo part in Le Chanky Chank Francaise by Beausoleil. It's amazing how smooth the transitions are in the leads from guitar to fiddle to accordian ... you never realize it's happening til after it's done. Beautiful.

4. The opening shout in New Year's Day by U2 ... never fails to give me goosebumps and open my imagination up. I love that shout.

5. Real cannon shots in the 1812 Overture (not a timpany roll) ... the kind that make your sub-woofers shake.

6. These lyrics from Quiche Lorraine by the B-52s.

Has anybody seen.
A dog dyed dark green
About two inches tall,
With a strawberry blond fall;
Sunglasses and a bonnet
and designer jeans
with appliques on it?

I know there are more, but I can't think of them now. I'll pick this up another time. But I'm enjoying really listening to music now for what I like and what is ... well ... just okay.

Independence Day - Friday Five

2006-06-30T13:28:00.000-04:00

The RevGalBlogPals have a Friday Five Meme ... I decided to participate today. So with little more ado ...

In the U.S., we're heading into a holiday weekend as we prepare to celebrate Independence Day. Although the topic of this meme may be inevitable, independence never is, so it couldn't hurt to stop and think for a minute about independence in a general way and holidays in a more trivial way.

1) Do you celebrate 4th of July (or some other holiday representing independence?)
I/We celebrate Independence Day. LightHusband and I used to sweat it out on a parade route somewhere in a fife and drum corps. Now it's good to stay cool and dry or perhaps swim in our Canadian friends' swimming pool.

2) When was the first time you felt independent, if ever?
When I got my first studio apartment in Washington DC. when I was 23 years old. But now I'm married with kids, not so much.

3) If you're hosting a cookout, what's on the grill?
Not hosting ... going to a cookout hosted by our Canadian friends of all people!! I'm not sure what I'll take yet. Probably Strawberry Shortcake now that you mention it.

4) Strawberry Shortcake -- biscuit or sponge cake? Discuss.
Biscuit ... always. In fact, I'd never even heard of having sponge cake until I moved out of New England. And ... it must have homemade whipped cream on top with lots of yummy strawberry juice. I've been known, on occasion, to make strawberry shortcake for dinner. Just because.

5) Fireworks -- best and worst experience
Hmmm ... best would be on The Mall in DC back in about 1984 or 1985 with a bunch of friends. We hung out all day on a blanket and ate food and laughed. Then we watched the fireworks explode over the Washington Monument. This was back in the days when people would buy real livingroom furniture from Salvation Army and leave it on the Mall for the Park Police to clean up the next day. So there were all kinds of people around us sitting in and on all kinds of furniture.

Worst ... Was on the shore of the Potomac a couple of years later to watch the fireworks, but I had a migraine all day. And being in the hot sun was horrible. The fireworks were probably fine, but I was miserable.

World's Meanest Mommy

2006-06-30T07:52:00.000-04:00

It's official. I am now the world's meanest mommy. I just thought I should tell all you other mommies and let you off the hook. I have claimed the brass ring.

My garden has become a metaphor for my life. It is choked and full of weeds. Everytime I leave or return to the house, those weeds laugh at me. They chortle with glee and claim victory over me. They try to tell me that I cannot decide which plants will grow in my garden. That my hydrangea must die, my nandia must wither, my lily of the valley must wilt and my peonies fall away. The only plant that is thriving is the yarrow, but really that is a weed that we have decided is a plant. So what is the dividing line between plant and weed?

Two of the weeds were HUGE. They had large broad leaves. They were tall. Much taller than I and I am tall for a woman. I had to stretch up tall with my arms above my head to cut off the top leaves yesterday evening. But I got those two. And many other smaller more garden variety (pardon the pun) weeds in 10 minutes. I have been grinning ever since to know that those two will no longer laugh at me. That I can take back my garden and slowly my life. This metaphor is good and gives me space to think whilst I dig in the dirt.

On the other hand, this morning, LightBoy was crushed. I have killed his favorite plant. He played with is Lego people in it. It was a fort, a spaceship, a playhouse and who knows what else. He wants to find a seed for this weed and plant a new one. I may help him.

One mommy's metaphor is one son's castle in the air. Motherhood is hard.

Terror

2006-06-29T16:38:00.000-04:00

Terror was opening a box and finding that the quilt I've been working on for nine years (on and off ... it's all done by hand) for LightGirl had become a home to some very disrespectful mice.

Relief was discovering that all they did was relieve one tiny bladder on the quilt itself.

Anger was finding that they used the stash of antique fabric below the quilt for food and nesting.

I can wash the quilt. The box of fabric will go in my fabric closet to be salvaged when my blood pressure returns to normal. The tiny rodents had already been removed from the premises before their perfidy had been known.

Update: Peace is living in a place and time where terror is finding that a possession has been destroyed by rodents. My cup indeed runs over.

Another Glimpse

2006-06-28T16:14:00.000-04:00

Some of you may recall the glimpse I had of the Kingdom a few weeks ago. It peeked out again and left me breathless.

I've always loved the story of Ruth. Several years ago I got to lead a women's Sunday School class through the book. I bought a commentary to help prepare. It was tough reading, but I enjoyed it. Last summer our church did a service based on Ruth. I made a costume and told her story in the first person. It is a story that encapsulates so much theology in simple, yet beautiful language. All the great themes of both Testaments are in four chapters. Beautiful, clean, graceful.

This past Sunday we moved our Muslim refugee family from one apartment to another. It is not their last move. We hope to make it their next to last move. We managed to pack the truck before the torrential rains came. We were not nearly so lucky with the unpacking.

In every move there are little mis-steps that leave everyone standing around waiting. For the efficient, time-managers among the crowd this causes stress. But I think those waiting times are necessary, it gives people time to rest, to pause and breath. It gives the people who's home is being moved a chance to regroup and make more decisions.

It was during one of those waiting times that I came upon the husband of the family and LightHusband having a conversation. The husband was talking about how grateful the family was to have had our help. The other husband talked about how different culture is here, that in his home country, family helps with things like a move. If one doesn't have family one is ... well ... out of luck. LightHusband told him that many of us don't have family in the area and that our church has become like our family. He went on to tell the other husband that they are part of our church now, regardless of their faith. And then he expressed his thankfulness that they had been able to secure an apartment that was not terribly far away and that we would be able to maintain our relationship with them. And then the other husband said (in his beautiful lilting accent), "Oh, you will not be able to get rid of us. We will sleep in a tent to be near to you."

With those words, I heard the modern echo of "Wither thou goest, I will go and wither thou stayest, I will stay." And I knew then that we are following Jesus into the hard places. That this was bringing hesed, the Kingdom, into being, on earth as it is in Heaven. Despite the weather, I was at peace.

Wider Circles

2006-06-28T15:31:00.000-04:00

Those of you who know me in the so-called "brick and mortar" world of our church and of my family, may have noticed that some new friends are stopping by this blog in the last few days. They are the RevGalBlogPals. They are women involved in ministry either directly (as pastors, reverends, etc. depending on their denomination) or indirectly (like me, Dee, Liz, and Maggie - in our church). They all have blogs. They all support one another. They are very welcoming and you've seen how they have welcomed me. Take some time to visit them and read their excellent writing. Check out the blogring, you'll find the link on the left and down a little ways. In the meantime, enjoy the comments from my new wider circle of friends.

40 Days

2006-06-28T07:56:00.000-04:00

I'm beginning to get a glimmer of what it must have been like during the time of Noah. It's been raining here for three days and three nights and more is to come. The ground is squishy when you walk on it.

I wonder what it must have been like for those people when it began raining and raining and didn't stop. It was the first time anyone had ever experienced rain according to the story. In ancient Hebrew it is written that prior to the flood, the earth was watered from springs that welled up from the ground and mists that came down at night. But the first rains happened when Noah finished the ark, and got all the animals on board. He closed the doors and the first drops began to fall.

This morning the sun is shining again and I can see blue sky with no clouds. But the rivers, ponds, lakes and streams are all at flood levels. My much loved Lake Champlain in Vermont is more than 10 feet above it's normal level for this time of year. I feel we have escaped with only three days and breath a sigh of relief at the sunshine.

For some reason, this little fellow makes me think of that first rain. I wonder how the humans perceived it? Some may have thought it miraculous. Some suspicious. Some may have danced. Some may have hid. All until the waters started rising. But the animals just got wet. They still do.

Christians?

2006-06-27T13:07:00.000-04:00

I started to comment on Brother Maynard's blogpost pointing to Sally Morgenthaler's article in Leadership Journal. Both are very good. But I realized that my comment was a post of its own and I shouldn't be hogging the good Brother's space.

You'll need to read Sally Morgenthaler's article, or give it a good skim, before this makes sense. But I've been thinking about this whole idea of professional pastorate for some time now. I'm not sure that having professional pastors is necessarily wrong, but I am sure that how churches treat those pastors in some cases is. I am certain that for too long we have used a few key Scripture references to force pastors, and folks who are in paid ministry positions, and their families to live up to impossible levels of sin free behavior. (I also think we do this to Presidents and politicians, but that's another story.)

I have good friends for whom Sally's story would resonate. With a key difference being that their marriage has managed to stay whole. I have other friends who have left ministry positions simply because the pressure to perform outweighed their calling. We have, in many perverse manners, managed to take the simple heart of a shepherd and twist it, mangle it, stretch it, and turn it until the position is no longer recognizable. Those who are in ministry, more than any other, need friends in their local faith community with whom they can be vulnerable without fear of retribution. Without fear of losing face, or God, or love, or community. Without fear ... period. But we humans have removed that safety net from them.

What's that verse in John 15? We'll be known by our love? Or something like that.

Random Thoughts on Sunday Morning

2006-06-25T08:29:00.000-04:00

We went out to dinner last night with a rag tag group of friends. By this I mean that it was a bunch of friends that one wouldn't always picture being together. It was a group that came together sort of at the last minute. We went to our local Indian buffet where the head waiter and waitress know us and love to give us cooking tips. They also bring us baskets of piping hot naan so that we don't have to rely on the stale naan in the buffet line. Everytime we go there we get a lesson in Indian culture and cooking.

For some reason the conversation drifted at one point to vegetarian eating. I recalled what had to be the very funniest thing I'd ever read about some vegetarians. It was in an article I read some years back (maybe 4) about raw cooking. The term alone is an oxymoron, but I'll leave it there. In any case, the article focused on a particular restaurant in California which specialized in raw cookery. This restaurant also refused to use honey as a sweetner. This was considered odd in vegan circles because honey is a raw sweetner. However, this chef would not use honey because s/he believed that use of honey promoted, condoned, and continued the oppression of bees. S/He did not want to have any part in the ongoing trade in bee slavery. I have to say that the term raised all sorts of pictures in my mind of tiny bees rising up and yelling in tiny bee voices, "Help, help I'm being oppressed." I wondered what sort of chains were used for bees? How does one whip a bee? How exactly does one keep a bee under oppression? Slavery, you see, implies that a creature is being forced to do something for which it was not intended by someone larger and more powerful. However, bees will make honey no matter what humans do or don't do. I expect they might cease if we somehow managed to remove all the flowers from their territory.

I am the last person to suggest that creatures be used inhumanely. But I have a problem with all of the folks who protest against hunters. I wonder if the protesters have seen what happens when a deer population goes unchecked by hunting. The weak and young die cruel deaths by starvation and water depravation during the winter months. Which is worse, a quick shot or a long drawn out starvation? I do not condone hunting for the rack, that is killing for the antlers and leaving the corpse to rot, but using the whole deer for meat is not such a horrible way to control the herd.

The same goes for eggs and chickens or milk and cows. Chickens will lay eggs. It's what they do. Anyone who thinks that milking a cow is cruel has never attended milking time at a farm. The cows are desperate to relieve themselves.

Let's imagine for a moment what might happen if we were to all become vegans. What would happen to all those eggs? They'd all become chickens. They would produce more chickens. Have you been to a chicken coop? Even a small one in the summer time? Peee-uuuuuu. It stinketh greatly and cannot be abided.

On the other hand, I hate condoning the industrial farming methods that have become deriguer on most corporate farms. They are inhumane and treat animals as if they are mechanical products. In the end, I believe, they mistreat the people those animals feed. I wonder if it is really the farming methods that many vegans are opposed to and not the food itself? As in so many areas, we have taken this to such an extreme that I wonder if we'll ever be able to see our way back to balance again?

Caught!

2006-06-24T21:42:00.000-04:00

As a mother, one of my hats is as etiquette doyenne of the home. It is up to me to ensure that my children enter the world with manners and decorum. This usually takes place at the table and involves conversations such as this, "Elbows off the table." or "Hands to your mouth; you're not a pig slurping out of the trough." or the much favored "Hannah, Hannah, strong and able, get your elbows off the table." I don't say these comments nearly as often as I actually see the offenses. I would become exceedingly bored under those circumstances.

The other day LightGirl and I went out to lunch. We were having a lovely conversation over bruschetta (me) and meat calzone (her). All of a sudden she burst out with, "MOM! Where have your manners gone??!! Please take your elbows off the table." She was correct. I was sitting at the table, with my elbow firmly planted. My reply? A breezy, "Oh, I must have lost them last week." And we both giggled.

She's having a lot of fun telling on me to anyone who will listen.

Time Machine

2006-06-23T07:29:00.000-04:00

I have a time machine in my home. It will only go backwards. This is still saying something. It's in my basement. I found it this week.

Earlier this week, I became the custodian of my guild's community service fabric. This is all the fabric that has been donated to the guild for our community service projects. We make quilts for babies at our local hospital who's mothers have (literally) nothing, for the local impoverished nursing home, for our county's CASA (court-appointed special advocates for young people), and for the soldiers in Walter Reed's amputee unit. There is a lot of this fabric. My friend and I are putting together kits for a sewing day this coming Monday. We had to sort this fabric. Then we went through my "stash."

Every quilter has a stash. It is the bounty of fabric she (or he) uses to pull together quilts. It is the rare quilt that is made entirely from fabrics purchased outside the stash. That is where creativity lies: taking the pattern and using one's own stash to make it sing.

So we went through my stash. The fabrics that I have been collecting for 12 or so years. The original sort of the community service fabric was interesting because it was a walk through quilting fabrics from the 1970's to the 2000's. I enjoyed that for it's own sake. But when we got to my fabric, it got personal. I was able to identify so many of those fabrics and remember when and how I came to have them.

"This was a dress I made for LightGirl."
"This was the matching outfits I made for LightGirl and I for her first Easter."
"I remember when I got that ... I was in a fabric exchange on-line."
"Oh ... ugh ... I've never liked that."
"What was I thinking??!!"
"Here is some fabric I just loved and was going to make an outfit for LightGirl ... but never did." There was more than one of those. Yeesh!
"I used to have a whole yard of this and I loved it," now holding a scant 3" square in my hand, "I used it in everything I could. But I can't get rid of this and I can't find it anywhere anymore."

In the end, I was able to release most of my old fabric to the community fabric stash. I know it's going to good use. And I have room now to store fabrics that I'll really use. I'm not running out to purchase more ... although I did do a little of that yesterday. I went to my favorite quilt store, purchased some of my favorite designer's fabric and a book, and signed up for a class (while the LightChildren are visiting grandparents). But I have quite a bit of fabric that doesn't have an official home and now it will. I've had my trip in the time machine, but now it's time to be in the present.

Chance Encounter?

2006-06-20T21:53:00.000-04:00

We went out for dinner this evening and then ran some errands. One of those involved paying some rather (ahem) overdue fines at the library. Once our cards were clear, we turned around and checked out some more books. We were a little more circumspect with our borrowing this time.

I remembered an old friend from my childhood and looked it up in the electronic card catalog on a whim. Lo and behold, they had a copy in that branch of the library. So I checked it out. When I found it on the shelves, I discovered that a new introduction has been included. I read part of it and thought this was interesting:

The twentieth century has produced a world of conflicting visions, intense emotions, and unpredictable events, and the opportunities for grasping the substance of life have faded as the pace of activity has increased. Electronic media shuffle us through a myriad of experiences which would have baffled earlier generations and seem to produce in us a strange isolation from the reality of human history. Our heroes fade into mere personality, are consumed and forgotten, and we avidly seek more avenues to express our humanity. Reflection is the most difficult of all our activities because we are no longer able to establish relative priorities from the multitude of sensations that engulf us. --Vine Deloria, Jr. (1979) in the Introduction to the 1979 edition of Black Elk Speaks: Being the Life Story of a Holy Man of the Oglala Sioux as told through John G. Neihardt (originally pub. in 1932)

Electronic media shuffle us through a myriad of experiences ... in 1979? That was the year I graduated from high school and began college. If my memory serves me correctly, life moved at a slower pace then. I had more time to reflect and connect with "the reality of human history." Heroes stuck around longer. Now it would seem the wheels are turning ever faster and faster. What was true when Mr. Deloria penned it in 1979 is truer ten times over now.

I'm anticipating a reread of my old friend with great joy. I haven't turned these pages since I was LightGirl's age. I wonder how much more I will understand now. How will the intervening years change my perceptions? This will be interesting.

Obsession

2006-06-19T21:16:00.000-04:00

Most of you know that LightGirl is obsessed with hockey. Those of you who talk to her at church or on the phone know that she speaks of little else these days. One morning recently she asked her father, "Dad, what do you dream of?" His reply, "That today you'll talk about something other than hockey." Tonight is the last (I'm breathing a sigh of relief) game of the Stanley Cup finals. The hockey obsession will not be over as she is going to hockey camp next week, but the games in the evening will be over.

There is another obsession on the horizon. We didn't see this one coming. It began innocently enough. We even gave it unknowing encouragement. LightBoy picked up a book, War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells. He read it in two days. As he read it he told us every detail. Then he began drawing pictures of the Martians. There are pictures of Martians, UFOs, and other assorted space vehicles scattered throughout the house. Today he assembled a Martian Attractor 2000 and ran around outside with it. It involved a coat hangar, a belt, and some other paraphanalia. He came back inside disgruntled that it "hadn't worked." He refused to accept the fact that Martians are fantasy creatures for an answer.

When we sit at dinner LightGirl talks hockey, Lightboy responds with Martians. It's very confusing. On the other hand, I see the potential for a research project for LightBoy looming ... Mars makes a good topic I think.

The Kingdom

2006-06-19T09:58:00.000-04:00

I got a brief glimpse of the Kingdom of God this weekend. It was fleeting to be sure, but solid nonetheless.

My church is helping a Muslim refugee family. They have many needs and among those is stable housing. We have gone about the process of securing that for them. The wife in this family was a doctor in her home country and she is going through the slow process of learning English and studying to take the tests necessary to become a doctor here. She told us on Saturday that she is, "... writing all of our deeds in a book ..." so that when she becomes a doctor she will rely upon our church to find needy patients that she can treat, pro bono.

Grace makes beauty out of ugly things.

A Great Fall

2006-06-16T11:41:00.000-04:00

In a comment on my earlier post, entitled "Influence," my friend, Scott wrote:

As to the bible and the story of the Garden of Eden. Perhaps it was God's plan all along to have his children leave the garden. All was peace and beauty in the garden; frightenly boring if you ask me. How else is the soul/person to learn if not through being presented with challenges, with decisions, with different paths to choose from? Perhaps the fabled Tree of Knowledge, that Eve took an apple from was indeed a test that god had placed in the garden as a sign....as a sign that indeed his children had grown up enough, and with a tear in his eye, God would be able to send his children out of the nest and into the world at last.

I've been pondering this in odd moments over the past few days. It keeps popping into my mind. It is certainly unorthodox scholarship ;-) at best. I find that I want to reject it and then not reject it all at once.

Here is some of my thinking. First of all, I suspect my reasoning will be at cross purposes because I'm a "believer." I take it on faith that these stories are true. So it's difficult for me to separate my faith from my reason. I'm not blindly faithful, but these are stories that I hold dear. On the other hand, I also like to unpack my faith and look at it from all dimensions; question my stories, find their holes and peer at God anyway.

I have always loved myths. I've read them since I discovered my mother's highschool Greek mythology textbook when I was nine years old. I read that book cover to cover many times over. The Greek pantheon of gods and all the humans that interacted with them sprang to life that summer. Next I discovered Native American creation stories, Norse, Egyptian, Australian, etc. I read them all as I found them. They fascinate me.

So, just what is a myth? What must a story contain to make it a myth? I looked that up and found several pages of definitions here on the internet. The definition that resonated most with me was this: "a traditional story accepted as history; serves to explain the world view of a people." It is broad enough to be inclusive and yet definitive enough to exclude just any old story. There were many other definitions that also helped define the term for me, and you can read them all here and see which resonates most with you.

As I have read myths over time, I have discovered they all contain similar threads. (And as I wrote the last sentence, LightGirl walked into the room saying, "Mom, why do myths have to be so predictable?" She is reading Tristan and Iseult by Rosemary Sutcliff of her own volition. Perhaps I have passed one of my great loves onto my children.) Those similar threads have to do with the great similarities of human nature on one hand. On the other hand, the creation stories or myths, are also all very similar across continents, oceans, and cultures. So are the stories which account for how evil came into the world.

It has always been interesting to me that in every culture there was a time before time. During that time all was dark and chaotic, formless and void (as it is written in the Bible) or tohu va bohu in ancient Hebrew. Most creation myths involve the earth (or water) and the sky coming together to create the rest of the world and humans are created either last among the animals, or last after the gods. They also involve an early shadowy being which creates the earth (or water) and sky. This being is not always well-storied. The next interesting similarity is that the original creation has a level of perfection, goodness, or beauty that is desireable to the humans. The humans must be obedient to some stated rule of the god(s) in order to maintain that level of perfection, goodness or beauty. Inevitably, tho, the humans are disobedient. They break the rules and thus, allow all manner of evil, malady, pestilence and a level of chaos back into the world. Or they are removed from the perfect place and put into a world where there is evil, malady, pestilence and a level of chaos that did not exist in the perfect place. Here's a website where there are links to several different creation stories from all over the world and the resulting entrance of evil into the world stories as well.

I circle back to the Garden of Eden again in my thoughts. I know that most anthropologists will posit that myths are the efforts of a primitive culture to explain the nature of humans and the natural phenomena around them. Therefore it is to be expected that most myths will contain common threads in them. There is a certain level on which I find that valid. And then there are the bits which that cannot explain. There is the shadowy pre-creator who is sometimes not well-storied. There is the common thread of a pre-existence of a better place. Then, too, there is this idea that across continents, oceans and cultures we humans share a code of morality which cannot be explained. We know what is inherently "wrong" and what is "right" at base. There are some cultural differences, but we know that killing and torturing others is wrong, we know that it is right to respect our elders and our parents, stealing is wrong, caring for those who have less than us is right, etc. Those are written into our cultures, religions, communities, myths, and our DNA. How to explain that? That is where I turn to my faith.

I don't need to believe that the Bible is literally true for it to hold great truths. There are many Christians who believe that the Bible is the literal truth, the Inerrant Word of God; that every word written there is so true and real it can leap off the page and hurt one. That each story is literally and virtually true. There are many Christians and others who believe that the Bible is just another nice story book, filled with advice about how to be a better person. As you may see, there is a spectrum of belief and I probably fall somewhere in the middle. I don't believe the words in the Bible can do anything any more than the words in any other book can. Any work that is done in my life or in the life of my soul is done through the activity of the Holy Spirit (but that's another story).

So, what do I think about the Garden of Eden? What did happen there between Adam, Eve, the serpent, the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil and God? Can we know God's motives? Taking the last question first. Hmmm ... the omniscient, all-powerful, Alpha-Omega, Beginning and End ... can we know His motives? I rather doubt it. Or, I doubt we'll ever know all of them. We'll only know those He chooses to reveal to us. Now, even by my own standards I'm starting to sound like a looney. But the motives He revealed in the story were that His desire was to remain in a relationship with Adam and the woman (she wasn't yet named). If they ate of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, He'd have to break it off with them, kick them out of the Garden and kill them. None of that sounds particularly good. It doesn't sound like a testing ground. Read the whole story for yourself here. When God cursed or punished Adam, the woman and serpent, he was not tearfully but joyfully sending them out into the world as a parent does a grown child. He was an angry God, disappointed that His creation had been marred by evil and thoughtlessness. There is that part of me that agrees with Scott; the Garden does sound kind of boring. If everything is perfect, what would one do all day? After he named the animals, what did he do? I've often wondered that. Now, we'll never know. We'll never know what it would be like to not have the knowledge of good and evil simply because we all have that. We all know what is good and what is evil; they are to a certain extent universal.

I'm still toying around with Scott's version of the story. There are parts of it that are much more approachable and appealing. But there are also parts that just don't conform to the myth that has been told by Hebrew story-tellers for eons. Those are the important bits for me. They are the bits which inform my faith. They help me to know who my God is and how to have a relationship with Him. This is the first instance in the Bible where God sets a standard for obedience. He tells the humans He has created that obedience is important to Him. We are almost completely and utterly incapable of meeting that standard. That fact is played out over and over again through out story after story in the Bible. The goodness of God and the inability of humans to meet His standards. These are the themes of all the great stories whether they are in the Bible or written by other authors. We humans love to hear about redemption and grace. And ultimately that is the story told over and over again in the Bible, even in Genesis. God's initial description of His punishment for eating the fruit was death, but when the time came, He redeemed His creation, and merely sent them away from Him. Grace.

I like the fact that Scott has gotten me thinking about this and that I'm unsettled by it. I like that I don't have any answers, just more questions. For me, this is the place where I'm willing to stand precariously on my faith; that place of being sure of what I hope for and certain of what I cannot see. I'm still approaching the cliff of unknowing, looking over the edge, seeing what's below and wondering what is on the other side.

Something For Nothing ...

2006-06-15T12:05:00.000-04:00

... and my kicks for free!

Well, actually I'm getting a book for free. I'm getting a $17.00 book for free. Paraclete Press was (note the tense on that verb) giving away 50 copies of this book and I snuck in under the wire. I'm excited because just about the time we get to this period in history again, LightGirl will be old enough to read it. On the other hand, she might be old enough to read it now depending on how Tony Jones has edited it! Or it may come in handy for a co-op class in the fall. Ohhh ... the possibilities are piling up. I'm really looking forward to it.

Influence

2006-06-13T09:27:00.000-04:00

It is one of the great failures of the modern mind that people are products. We have all been taught from the cradle that if we follow a certain "recipe" (and the recipes vary) we will become "good." Or maybe it's that we will retain the goodness that we had from infancy (depending upon your perspective). In any case, we all have this idea that we have control over children and how they will grow up. The further I get into the process of parenting (and LightGirl is now 12 and a half) and having spent 6 years in youth ministry, the less I am convinced of this.

Society, culture, advertising, parenting magazines, all tell us that if we just choose the "right" products, the "right" pre-school, the "right" after school program, the "right" summer camp, the "right" school. Have all the "right" parties at just the "right" age. Amass the perfect collection of toys to influence the growing mind at just the "right" time. Make sure the friends are just so. In short, control the child's environment in every manner possible.

We are told from all angles that if we find the magic recipe for doing this, our children will be kept safe. They will not experience any trials. They will waft into the Ivy League college of their choice on a magic carpet of woven of grades, character, and beauty.

Yet ... I look around me and see that this is not the stuff of real life. This is marketing. This is parents desparate to find a panacea for all the fear that is poured into their ears every night from media of all sorts. How to protect my children from all the evil in the world? I cannot.

Whether or not you believe in God, or the Bible ... even if you see the story of Genesis as just a nice myth. It remains a myth that is instructive. In the world of the ancient Hebrews they believed it important to tell and write that even an omnipotent, all powerful God created humans who turned their backs and walked away. Those humans were in the most perfect controlled environment that ever existed and yet, they still exerted their own will.

I'm coming to a place where I don't think we can keep our children safe from evil. The very best thing we can do is tell them what it is, and how to keep themselves safe. Like God in the story of Genesis, the only thing we can do is point out the pitfalls, and consequences of bad decisions, and continue to love our children when they do stumble and fall. I'm coming to a place where I don't want to teach my children how to be safe, I want to teach them how to be discerning and wise. I don't think my children are a product of any recipe, but developing humans who change moment by moment and I must be willing to change with them. I must also be willing to let them stumble, for it is that very stumbling which will build their character. In the end, I can only influence them. I cannot control their character at all.

Hooray!

2006-06-11T17:06:00.000-04:00

As they say, "It ain't over til the fat lady sings." and she's not singing in Edmonton Alberta Canada. Not yet anyway.

The Edmonton Oilers finally won a game last night. It was game 3 of the Stanley Cup finals against the Carolina Hurricanes. We are rooting for the Oilers and they lost the first two games. But they pulled it off last night and won one. It was great to see the crowd in the arena singing O Canada.

We'll be watching again on Monday night. LightGirl wants to send them tips on how to beat the 'Canes ... but she hasn't come up with anything very original yet; other than take out Brindamour (the Canes team captain). This is not very legal or ethical, so we are not encouraging her.

Casual Conversation

2006-06-11T16:02:00.000-04:00

Among the many reasons I like going to the Homeschool Convention is that I often run into friends there. Sometimes I see people there that I never see anywhere else. I've made friends there at the vendor booths amongst the curriculum vendors. I like to support the people who write the curriculum I use, so I try to purchase directly from the authors or publishers when I can. It keeps them in business and I feel a certain brand loyalty. I don't do this anywhere else. But here I know my business makes a difference. I had to say good-bye to one vendor this year. She's moving on. She's been the right hand woman with Peace Hill Press (our history curriculum) from the beginning, but her youngest child has graduated and now she herself has gone back to college. I'm very happy for her and it gave me great encouragement to hear her story. To know that this is not the end and I have another life to live.

I also ran into a long ago friend from our old church. I'll call her Julie (which is not her real name). Julie left our old church a long time ago. She and her husband knew us before we had our children. They left our church when they had about 4 children and went on to have a total of 9 children. I'd always had a lot of respect for Julie when she was at our church. She'd gotten a masters in engineering before getting married, so I know she's smart. I know she's smart from talking to her too. When the babies started, she stayed home to raise her family and when the oldest was in 2nd or 3rd grade they decided to begin homeschooling. She'd only been homeschooling 3 or so years when they left our old church. I've run into her a couple of times in the intervening years, just enough to say, "Hello. How are you?" Then run along. I think LightGirl was an infant the last time we had a real conversation.

We'd just finished lunch. LightHusband and LightBoy had gone back to the car with the first load of books and curriculum. LightGirl had gone off with a friend she'd run into to chat. I'd stayed at the table for a few extra moments alone to gather my thoughts, look over my list, and think about where I needed to go next. When I stood up to go, I looked over and there was Julie. So, I called out to her. We exchanged a few pleasantries, and then I asked her how things were going for her. She replied, "Well, I'd like to go in there," and she gestured toward the Vendor Hall, "and tell them that they're all selling lies. None of it works." She went on to tell me that her oldest child and son (who is now 21) had had a child of his own out of wedlock. He'd gotten married a month after the baby was born, but it was a Justice-of-the-Peace wedding; she just got a phone call after the fact. She said that the worst part of the whole thing was not the fact of the out-of-wedlock baby, or the JOP wedding, or even the phone call afterwards. It was grieving her dreams for her oldest son. It was all the people at her church who didn't know what to say to her, so they said nothing. Julie never cries, but her eyes were shiny as she spoke.

I knew what she meant. So many of the vendors in the hall and so many churches are selling answers. So many people are coming to them with huge questions, with enormous hurts and they are responding with simple get-rich, get-healed, raise-perfect-children, quick schemes. They make unspoken promises that if you just follow their recipe, God will honor some sort of deal with you. That they have the plan for growing perfect children. People flock to those boothes, certain that they have found the answer. Certain that this is the place, the book, the curriculum that will work for them. But after several years of doing this, and observing children for many more years than that, I'm beginning to wonder just how those plans are God honoring? Children are independent beings, with free wills, just as I am independent with a free will. If I try to enforce something like faith onto my children, I'm fairly certain it's just going to bounce back into my face. I think it's something they have to decide for themselves. They are either going to take it themselves or not. But I can't force it, I can't make any kind of deal with God to make it happen, there's really not much of me in it at all, afterall. Which took me back to Julie's original point ... some of them really were selling lies.

Where In the World?

2006-06-10T17:58:00.000-04:00

We just came back from the annual homeschooling convention in Richmond. We did things a little differently this year. Usually, we farm the LightChildren out and make it an adults only weekend. We attend workshops and shop the vendor hall. Then we go out to dinner with friends who also homeschool and stay in a hotel and enjoy being adults. We have some favorite restaurants in Richmond. For instance, the Capital Ale House (at 7th and Main) is not to be missed. They have at least a zillion beers and the best burgers anywhere ever! If you think I'm exaggerating, the beer and the burgers alone are worth the drive.

This year, we took the LightChildren and bought a "shopping only" pass to the convention. We shopped til we dropped. The LC had a great time. They got to pick out some of the stuff they'll study next year. They got to meet some of the people who wrote their curriculum. And talk to some people who were unsure about curriculum they love. For instance, we use a writing curriculum that LightGirl loves and she was able to express that to a woman who was interested in it for her children. They both got to pick out some science kits. LightGirl got a solar powered K'Nex kit and LightBoy got an electronics circuit board kit. We got a field microscope. Most of all we got rejuvenated. We got a lot of books!!

I got to overhear a lot of conversations at the vendor booths as I was shopping. Some of them astonished me. After homeschooling for five years and 2 children, I guess I'm now a veteran. I have a lot to share with these up and coming moms. So I do when I'm asked. People ask questions of each other as they're standing looking at books. It's fun. But this conversation left me with my mouth agape, and thinking that perhaps these two needed some remedial help themselves before they schooled their children. I overheard this at a booth selling timeline aids.

Mom A: "You know ... I was just in a workshop and the leader said that the Second Temple and the First Olympics happened within a couple of years of one another, and I didn't even know they were in the same world."

Mom B: "WOW! I didn't know that either."

Vendor: "Look on the timeline at Stonehenge. Can you believe that Stonehenge was built before the Bible was written??!!!!"

Moms A&B: "NO WAY!!!"

Now, I know I'm somewhat of a history buff so perhaps I'm a little biased. But I just don't think it should come as such a shock to intelligent, educated people that these things are true. Maybe they didn't know it before (because, honestly, I didn't know the bit about Stonehenge), but it shouldn't be such an eyeopener. It should be more of an "oh, well, yes, that makes sense." It should just be another piece of the puzzle, not a grand epiphany. Especially not if you've undertaken the education of someone else. It scared me.

Then I started to realize just why so many people are critical of home education.

There's No Place Like Home

2006-06-09T07:49:00.000-04:00

I had an odd experience the other evening. I was having dinner at a restaurant that served seafood. On the menu was an item described as "whole belly clams, New England style." Some friends dining with me, asked what that meant. And I couldn't answer. I grew up knowing the answer from summers spent on Cape Cod and in Maine and from generations of just being in New England. I know that answer in the marrow of my bones and it's coded in my DNA. And yet ... I couldn't answer. I've been gone too long. The answer eluded me.

We could move back. We consider it frequently. There would be hurdles to overcome. LightGirl overhears the conversations and interjects a horrified, "But ALL my friends are heerrreeee!!" As if she would never make any other friends anywhere else.

On the other hand, she makes the central point of our lives. All of our friends are here too. Not just our friends, our support network. Our family is in New England. But our support network is here.

So I don't know where home is anymore.

An Open Letter ...

2006-06-08T08:35:00.000-04:00

... to Michael Farris, members of HSLDA, and other Christians afraid of the United Nations, the international community, and the big bad wolf in general.

Here is a news flash for all of you. The United Nations is NOT a governing agency. It is not one world government. There are several reasons for this. Primarily, it is not a governing agency because it was never intended to be such. If you read its charter (especially Ch. 1 Art. 2) you will see that. Secondarily, it cannot be a governing agency because it has no enforcement agent. There is no UN police force to enforce the so-called "laws" that the UN passes. Except that the UN doesn't pass laws. Both the General Assembly and the Security Council pass Resolutions. The Security Council has the ability to back its Resolutions up with a peacekeeping force. But those peacekeeping forces must be multi-national and cannot engage in offensive manuvers. They operate under extremely strict rules of engagement.

It is up to the individual nations whether or not they will abide under the Resolutions passed by United Nations or any other multi-national assemblage. The United States does not have a very good track record of playing well with others in this regard when you consider recent history (Kyoto, Iraq, Guantanamo, etc.).

When Mike Farris writes and/or contributes to articles like this all he is doing is inflaming the emotions of those too busy and worn down by fear to do their own homework and learn what really goes on in New York and Brussels and around the world.

Summer Camp

2006-06-07T21:26:00.000-04:00

Summer is now firmly upon us. The heat is beginning to set in and the humidity is not far behind. This summer will be a first for the LightFamily ... the LightChildren are going to camp. LightGirl is going to hockey camp and LightBoy is going to nature camp. They are both very, very excited about this.

LightGirl has been taking skating lessons all year and has some sense of what she is getting into. She has also been watching hockey. Reading hockey books. Engaging in some hockey training. Dreaming hockey dreams. Talking to her hockey posters. Memorizing hockey statistics (thus putting an end to the notion that she is incapable of memorization). So she is, in some sense, prepared for what will be happening to her at hockey camp. She will also be attending with a friend.

LightBoy will be attending nature camp through our county's parks and recreation system. It is the first such camp ever such offered by our county. The week he attends will be the first week. So yesterday evening he and LightHusband attended an Open House to introduce the counselors and camp attendees to one another. LightBoy came back full of enthusiasm. So full of enthusiasm that he introduced LightHusband to his latest solution for two large global problems, global warming and global hunger: potatoes.

Yep. Potatoes are the solution to global warming and starvation. You see, if we grow lots and lots of potatoes that will provide jobs for poor people. Then we peel all the potatoes (more jobs). The potato peels can be turned into hydro-energy for cars (we just need to sell converter kits - more jobs). Then we package the peeled potatoes into ziploc baggies (8 potatoes per bag) and send them to all the starving people in the world. In his world, it's a perfect solution. Of course, we don't want to dampen his enthusiasm with details about distribution, and how hydro-electricity is so grossly inefficient. He's definitely a creative problem solver.

Bill-Yuns and Bill-Yuns

2006-06-04T21:42:00.000-04:00

I've been doing some thinking about consumerism lately. I've never been much of a mall rat, but the last two Saturdays I've found myself indulging in the great American pasttime - shopping at local malls. I don't think I'll do that again for a long time. It's quite overwhelming.

Last night we actually ate dinner at a mall. We had faux outdoor seating. This meant we were seated outside the restaurant, but inside the mall. So we could see all the mall people walking by. It has long been my habit on such occasions to watch people and think about what they might be thinking. To imagine their lives. I've spent lots of time in bus stations watching people walk by and conjuring up lives for them. I listen to bits of conversation and make up the rest. None of this ever stays in my head for very long, but it's entertainment for the moment. LightHusband observed, "There's an awful lot of money walking around this mall tonight." To which I responded, "Yes, a lot of heedless money."

I've been seeing heedless money in many places lately. It was mentioned on one of my favorite television programs. In searching for a missing person, detectives mentioned that authentic Hermes bags sell for $10,000.00! That's half a car for a pocketbook. There's nothing in a pocketbook that's worth that amount of money. I felt guilty for spending $60.00 earlier this year on one. That was the most I'd ever spent on a pocketbook. I still feel guilty.

Then there is this ... on eBay. In between fits of laughing I feel like crying. People are willing to bid almost $10,000.00 on this because the money will go to a bird preserve, and children are dying in Africa because they don't have access to the many inexpensive AIDS drugs that are available. When did birds become more valuable than children?

How heedless will we become?

Book Review

2006-06-01T10:10:00.000-04:00

I haven't read a book. Well, I have read a lot of books. But I haven't read this book. Not yet. I'm going to tho, based on this review. And based on a couple of others I've read. But I'm also intrigued. This is a book written by the son of an author who was fairly influential in LightHusband's and my lives during our youth ministry years. This author died relatively young, but it's clear that he lived a life of integrity with his family, such that his son is now writing influential books too. But read the review and see for yourself. It's not so much a review, as it is a conversation with the author. At the end is a list of other reviews. And the book is going on my reading list.

Here's a bit of a quote to get you thinking ... it's part of the conversation with the author, but not part of the book:

It's difficult to work in the church. There are so many egos and insecurities. So many ways that the church has absorbed the values and mores of the culture (sigh). I don't know what the specific "resistance" is that you experienced. Most churches are simply secular institutions with a religious veneer. There's a driveness to succeed, to produce results, to grow numbers, to be productive and efficient--just like any American profit-making institution. Unfortunately, this is all in contrast to the Spirit, message, and life of Jesus. Jesus, to be truthful, is unproductive (in the world's terms), inefficient and the "results" of his ministry are ambiguous (the disciples flee, misunderstand his identity and intentions, etc.).

"Success is not a name for God" Martin Buber once said, nor is it a name for Jesus. And yet most churches and pastors want to succeed. If not success, then what is it we're after? Faithfulness. Transparency to God. Obedience (which etymologically means "to listen"). Our job is to be faithful, Mother Teresa once said, not successful. We don't need churches speaking spiritual truth we need churches that know how to embody the spirit.

Now click here and go read the rest for yourself.

Coffee, anyone?

2006-06-01T10:04:00.000-04:00

This was too fun to pass up ... HT to Brother Maynard

You are a Black Coffee

At your best, you are: low maintenance, friendly, and adaptable

At your worst, you are: cheap and angsty

You drink coffee when: you can get your hands on it

Your caffeine addiction level: high

What Kind of Coffee Are You?

A Quest

2006-05-28T12:09:00.000-04:00

So yesterday started innocently enough, but several days ago. It began with a request from LightBoy for waffles. He asked, "Mom, can you make waffles for breakfast tomorrow?" But that particular tomorrow was the day we were going to an amusement park for the day. So the answer had to be, "No. Not tomorrow, but I will make them one morning this weekend." However, our waffle iron has become too small for our family. It was fine for LightHusband and I when I bought it 17 years ago. It was even fine when the LightChildren were small. But now, in order to make enough waffles for all of us, I have to cook for several hours. And ... that's just not right.

We began with a search on the internet; where all good searches begin. And we found:
on the Bed Bath andBeyond website. Aha! One of those stores is right across town. And, there is a sporting goods store next door where LightGirl can get the remaining hockey equipment she needs for her skating lessons. Two birds, one stone. Couldn't be better.

We piled into our trusty steed, gathered some sustenance, and off we went. We knew what we wanted, so first we poked through a couple of other interesting places in the store and managed to fill our cart with several other items that we could NOT live without. Then proceeded to the area with the waffle irons. Alas, it was NOT there. We searched high. We searched low. We questioned employees. It was not there. So we asked about other stores in the area. No ... it is not in any stores in the area. "But we can have it in for you in two weeks!" "That will not help," said I in my most cheerful voice, "I promised my son waffles tomorrow morning." We saw the grail signal above this castle, I thought to myself, and it is not here.

We purchased our basket full of items we hadn't known we needed til we walked through the door. I suppose it's alright to replace your trash can once every ten years ... among other things. We went to the sporting goods store and purchased hockey equipment for LightGirl and baseball glove and bat for LightBoy. So far the bat has variously been a gun, a cannon, a light saber and a guitar. I don't think it's been used as a bat just yet. I watched this morning as our deck became a star fighter and LightBoy took on legions that surrounded him using the bat as various weapons.

We next pursued our quest for the holy waffle maker of Calacirian.
We did not have coconuts or we would have clacked them together to relieve the boredom. According to the LightChildren this was the very worst sort of torture they would have endured. We had never asked quite so much of them. Of course, it was all in the name of waffles the next morning. And eventually their whining began to take on a new tone.

Through town after town and store upon mall our quest did not cease. We encountered knights, and townspeople, and magicians and silly Frenchmen, and worst of all, bad parkinglot drivers!

Then we walked and we walked until finally ... there ... in a store I vowed to never shop in again (because of repeated extremely poor customer service 20 years ago), there it was ... gleaming ... glowing ... humming. I'm pretty sure we all heard organ music. We, knights, gathered round and said in chorus, "It's HERE!" to the astonishment of the sales girl who had just wandered up. We reached out to touch it. And she kindly pointed out that there was one in a box for us on the floor. Best of all ... the grail ... was on sale!!

Curveballs

2006-05-27T23:09:00.000-04:00

It's funny the plans you make for yourself and then your life gets in the way. That's what I've been thinking about today. It all started at a meeting the other night. I vowed once again that I will not end up "... in a tent in Kenya." But I've learned to make that vow with my fingers crossed, because those are the vows that get me in trouble.

I remember all the plans I had to be "when I grow up." At some point I wanted to "be" a nurse, because my favorite "auntie" was a nurse. I thought that the most wonderful people grew up to be nurses. That was when I was about 5 and 6. Then when I was in junior high I decided to be an oceanographer. But I think this had more to do with my infatuation with Cape Cod and the fact that I would be able to work out of Woods Hole, than any true desire to be an oceanographer. I'm sure I cycled through a couple of other things. At some point my mother insisted I take a typing class, which I indignantly resisted, "because I'm NEVER going to be a SECRETARY." Words I ate in humility several years later. Humility causes indigestion I discovered. Or maybe it relieves it. When I went to college I wanted to be a physical anthropologist and discover the "missing link." But I took my college's only physical anthropology class my first semester freshman year, so .... that was sort of out. Next I wanted to go into International Law, but by the time I graduated with my bachelor's degree all I really knew was that I didn't know what I wanted to be when I grew up.

So I started working. The other thing I knew was that I had no plans to be a wife and mother. That was never on my radar screen.

At ...

All.

Ever.

I was going to have a career in foreign affairs. That had no place for a family. A husband ... perhaps. But no children. Besides ... I'm not the maternal type.

But I never settled in a job and I did find a husband. Then I went to graduate school. And I did find a faith and a church. It's funny the curveballs that you get thrown when you're not looking. Suddenly you look around and wonder who's life this is. I mean I know this **is** my life ... it's just not the life I had planned. I like this life, I just wonder where this life came from. I wonder how it happened when I wasn't looking. It sometimes feels like that line from "Once In A Lifetime" by Talking Heads: "That's not my beautiful house ... that's not my beautiful wife"

How did I, the daughter of a public school teacher and the chairman of the schoolboard and holder of 40+ graduate credits in Secondary Education, end up homeschooling my children? How did I get here? Does anyone else wonder this? I know it's the result of thousands of small and large decisions made, some on the fly and some as the result of hours of prayer and pondering. But it feels rather capricious.

And ... I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. But I've narrowed it down a little. I'm considering seminary. Or quilting.

A Haggadah

2006-05-27T09:18:00.000-04:00

It occurred to me the other day that Jesus was Jewish. Which shouldn't have come as such great surprise. In fact, it wasn't ... it came as more of a "Duh" moment. So, I've been reading a few books that bridge the divide between Judaism and Christianity. One of them has proved particularly fascinating, The Parables: Jewish Tradition, Christian Interpretation, by Brad H. Young.

He begins with a description of Jewish haggadah, or what we might more easily recognize as a fable; a story with a moral point. There are some finer points to it, because most haggadah are developed to inspire points of the Torah, or the like. But for my purposes here, this description will be enough. I liked this haggadah found on page 9 of the book and thought I'd share it with all of you. Here is some lead-in that most Jewish listeners would know and then the haggadah follows:

"A fine example of haggadah is found in the sstory of Rabbi Eleazer's encounter with the exceedingly ugly man. Unlike the exceedingly ugly man, who probably had labored menially throughout the day, R. Eleazer had the privilege of devoting himself entriely to the study of Torah. His master was R. Meir, and R. Eleazer and his beloved teacher had spent the day learning the deeper things of God.

The Rabbi and the Exceedingly Ugly Man

On one occasion Rabbi Eleazer son of Rabbi Simeon was coming from Migdal Gedor, from the house of his teacher. He was riding leisurely on his donkey by the riverside and was feeling happy and elated because he had studied much Torah. There he chanced to meet an exceedingly ugly man who greeted him, "Peace be upon you, rabbi." He, however, did not return his greeting but instead said to him, "Raca ['Empty one' or 'Good for nothing'] how ugly you are! Is everyone in your town as ugly as you are?" The man replied: "I do not know, but go and tell the craftsman who made me, 'How ugly is the vessel which you have made.'" When R. Eleazer realized that he had sinned he dismounted from the donkey and prostrated himself before the man and to him, "I submit myself to you, forgive me!"

R. Eleazer could not hold his tongue. When he encountered the exceedingly ugly man, all he could think about was that ugliness. When he made his stinging insult, he failed to see each person as created in the image of God."

Adventures In Missing the Point

2006-05-24T14:42:00.000-04:00

Once upon a time there was a group of people who lived in the middle of a middle sized city. This group of people became friends. Very good friends. They shared meals. They shared their stuff. They laughed together. They cried together. They built things together. They saved things together. They pulled each other out of quick sand.

Some places in the city weren't terribly safe. So these friends accompanied each other through the dangerous spots. They helped each other over wobbly bridges. Sometimes they even had to carry one another through hard times.

As they did these things, they came to the attention of others who lived around them. Those outsiders stopped what they were doing and watched these friends care for one another, laugh together, talk together, and share life together. Gradually, oh so gradually, these outsiders started to make themselves known to the group. The outsiders liked what they saw and wanted to be part of this group. They began to talk to people in the group. Some of them were known to individuals in the group and others were complete strangers to all.

This was when things began to get difficult. The outsiders only saw some of the conversations and some of the activity. They didn't get to see it all. The group was only known to them in a certain dimension. They believed they knew the group, but the reality was more like an iceberg. Still they wanted to be part of it and so the group began to welcome them. And more and more they began to participate in the conversation.

The day came, however, that an outsider took what was percieved as "too much" ownership of one of the group members. On another day, another outsider stepped out of line with their sense of humor. Unknowingly, unwittingly, the outsiders had transgressed the unwritten rules of the group. And they were punished quite severely for their crimes. Because, as we all know, ignorance of the law is no excuse.

So ... my question for today is ... would you say that this group has a Christian ethic of love and grace or not?

Milestones

2006-05-22T21:28:00.000-04:00

Ahhh ... another sigh of relief. Another milestone passed, another year down.

Virginia homeschooling statute requires that I show "evidence of educational progress" each year to my local school board. There a number of methods that I may choose to do this. I choose to have an outside evaluator come in and interview the LightChildren and look over their work and curriculum and let me know how they're doing (and by extension how I'm doing).

We had our evaluation this evening. As usual, I was very nervous about this. I'm always nervous about this. But this year was worse than usual. There's Smaug grinning at me in the background (of course) and then, well, we haven't been as diligent about school this year as usual. There have been good reasons ... but ...

They passed ... with their usual flying colors!! There is still work to be done. LightGirl needs to finish her math and grammar courses. LightBoy needs to finish his math course. We'll do some science and history through the summer just for fun. But now it's on to the next grade and we can relax a bit for a while.

And plan and dream about next year. The new curriculum catalogs have begun to arrive ... complete with all the hopes and dreams that any good teacher could have.

DaVinci Code

2006-05-19T07:08:00.000-04:00

The movie is released today. Are you breathless?

I'm not. The reviews have been not so wonderful. I read the book a number of years ago and found the premise intriguing. Unless you've been living under a rock, you've heard of this book and now the movie. I'm going to spoil it here, so don't read any further if you have neither read the book nor seen the movie and don't care to have it spoiled for you.

The premise of the book is that Jesus was married to Mary Magdalene and they had a son. I can't remember if the son was born before or after the crucifixion. It doesn't matter. Mary M. and the son were carted away to Gaul (France) and hidden there to protect them after the crucifixion. The Knights Templar were created to protect the son and his descendents. This bloodline became the Holy Grail of Arthurian legend.

This is the bit that has so many Christian in such an uproar. A friend (unaware of the upcoming movie release) recently said, "What's with all the DaVinci Code stuff again? I thought we put that to bed." We told her about the movie. So now everyone is having "discussions" and Sunday School classes and debates and trying to be open and all sorts of hoo-haw about this all over again. But it's really a tempest in a teacup.

Here are the two main points ... that most Christians miss.

First, being married and having a child in no way changes Christ's divinity. It doesn't stop him from having been crucified and rising from the dead. Those possibilities don't really change anything about him. He never made any claims about being a virgin, only about being fully human and fully God.

Second, IF there were any descendents of Jesus they did nothing. At this point in history (2000 years later) their "blood" has been so thinned as to be non-existant.

Third, Jesus' main points had nothing to do with what this book is about. And people who are Christians ought to know that. The DaVinci Code is titillating reading and fun international intrigue, but people who take their faith seriously cannot possibly be frightened or put off by it. After all, it's just fiction.

UPDATE: Real Live Preacher has some of the best thoughts I've read yet about the whole mess. Here's a bit to whet your whistle: Anyone who paid attention in seminary has heard of these extra-biblical sources and knows that Mr. Brown’s book is an adventure story and not a biblical or historical treatise. The Da Vinci Code has roughly the same relationship to biblical and church history that James Bond has to the world of secret agents. And hey, what’s wrong with that? It’s a good read. Like a Clancy novel. (May 24, 2006)

Smaug Vanquished

2006-05-15T17:56:00.000-04:00

And so it has come to pass that Smaug has been vanquished. I stood to do battle with him and when I looked he was a small Hispanic lady in a pink blouse with bright pink fingernails. She was a government worker at a certain agency that I needed to get through. I faced her with all my weapons drawn, a smile, a contrite heart, and downcast eyes. I was properly concerned for my oversight and the lack of concern of others for her dearly beloved agency. These became the best weapons of all. Smaug made a reverse turn again this morning as I had one more agency to visit, but I stared him down once again. This time it just took one hard look for him to turn tail and run into his corner.

I know he'll keep coming back. But I've learned some things about him and how to keep him penned. I've learned some things about me too and how to stay strong. That I have good friends. And most of all that the world isn't going to come to an end just because because Smaug is blowing smoke out his nostrils.

Happy Mothers Day!

2006-05-14T06:34:00.000-04:00

Here's a holiday I've never understood. I love my mother 365 days a year and one day a year I'm made to feel guilty about not remembering it. This holiday also causes LightHusband much consternation because my birthday comes so close. My children love me 365 days a year (although last night I may have been heard to grumble under my breath, "What I really want tomorrow is a day with no arguing." as we were clearing and setting the table for dinner). It just all seems to be a national guilt trip and I don't care to participate ... thank you very much.

I did when I was younger. I saved my money and purchased a small figurine for my mother that said "World's Best Mother" at the bottom. It's very funny because the figurine is the antithesis of my mother. She gave it to LightGirl to give to me a couple of years ago. So now it's in my house and I'm the "World's Best Mother." It's also the antithesis of me. We both giggle about it.

But ... this morning (HT to Maggi Dawn) I discovered the roots of Mothers Day. God bless our greeting card industry and their pea pickin' little hearts, because I never knew about this. This makes Mothers Day so much more palatable. It was begun as day for the nation (not families) to honor mothers and the sacrifices they made. And it was begun as part of the women's suffrage movement. Ironic then, how cloying it has become. There are three women responsible for Mothers Day. A mother and daughter with the same name, Anna Jarvis, and Julia Ward Howe, better known for her authorship of the Battle Hymn of the Republic.

I feel a bit better about the holiday now. I also feel a bit cheated. What a great heritage we women have. The herstory of women has been warped and bent til it's nearly unrecognizable. Maybe that's what I'll be when I grow up ... a women's "her"storian.

Whooosh!

2006-05-09T17:57:00.000-04:00

At last ... did you hear it? The combined exhale as all of us in our community let out our breaths. The AwakeChildren are here!! They have made their grand entrance to the world this afternoon. We can all breath again. YAHOO! Our girl weighs 6lbs 12 oz. and our boy weighs 3lbs 12oz.

I probably shouldn't speak so proprietorially of them, but after this long wait and many prayers, they are already part of our community and family. All that remains is to hear their names and see their faces. Which I (for one) await with much glee and anticipation.

Memory Lane ... A Day Late and A Dollar Short

2006-05-09T16:52:00.000-04:00

My BrickFriend blew new life into his old tradition yesterday with a post about memories from his kindergarten year. That was intriguing because I only have one memory from kindergarten. It is of being hit by a car. So ... here's that story. I'll tell it now because we (in our blog circle) are all breathlessly (and I use that word purposefully) awaiting word of the AwakeChildren's entrance into the world.

We lived in the outskirts of Topeka, Kansas when I was in kindergarten. Or it might have been Manahattan. In any case, my dad worked for the Menninger Foundation and we lived in a house at the top one of the few hills in Kansas. It also happened to be outside of the school bus routes in 1966. So in order to save money, time and resources for one little kindergartner going a half day, it was decided that the janitor would pick me up in the morning and the principal would bring me home at lunch time. This worked very well all year long.

Sometimes my mother would be out shopping and would stop in to pick me up. She called ahead of time and would let the school know and then I'd wait for her in the office. I remember that the janitor had an old black dusty truck. I think the interior might have been red. The principal had a newer green truck and the interior was tan.

That year on the first Saturday in May I turned 6. I had a party. My best friend, Ryan Peake and his little brother Darren, brought gifts with pennies taped to the top. That's all I remember about the party or turning 6.

On Monday I went to school as usual with the janitor. When it came time to go home, I started out with the principal. But my mother had apparently been out shopping, and she and the principal saw each other on the road. So they stopped. Here is what I remember. I got out of the truck. I walked down into the little ditch next to the road. I walked behind the truck and out into the road. I don't remember anything else until I woke up in the hospital in an oxygen tent covered with Raggedy Anns and Andys. My mother saw the whole thing. I was hit by a 1967 midnight blue Mustang. My head hit the hood, then I hit the pavement. I was dragged for about 60 feet under the car. My right femur was broken, both collar bones, a rib, I bit off the end of my tongue and lots of abrasions. It's pretty likely that I have my seizure disorder as a result of this accident. But since my parents didn't know to ask for an EEG at the time, we'll never really know for sure.

I spent about four and a half weeks in the hospital in traction. The guy who hit me (he was 18 at the time) brought me a Skipper doll. I was thrilled. It had "life like arms and legs." This meant the plastic was sort of rubbery instead of hard plastic. I also got to watch TV in the hospital and order my own food. Still, it got pretty boring after a while. My face was pretty much one big abrasion and my mother said that the first place to heal was the track of my tears. I still have scars on my knees and one on my right hand that I use to tell my left from my right.

When they released me from the hospital, they were worried that I might have a growth spurt so they didn't put a cast on the leg. Two days later I fell on the 18" of concrete that we had on our property and rebroke it! So back to the hospital for a cast. By this time, we were in the middle of tornado season in Kansas. One day we had to go to the basement for a long time while there was a tornado watch. All I had was a blue crayon. So I colored the cast blue.

The very best thing about it all, was that my parents rented a television so that I would have something to do while I was recuperating. I got to watch The Lone Ranger and The Three Stooges. My brothers and I used to play the Three Stooges. I was always Moe. We didn't get a television after that until I was eleven.

A couple of months after that we moved back east.

Smaug Rising

2006-05-05T19:44:00.000-04:00

In an innocent moment this morning my world turned. Smaug arose. He grinned at me and allowed as how he knew I was in his chamber trying to squeeze through. The smoke wafted out of nostrils and he turned to get more comfortable amongst his treasure. Me? I'm just trying to get through the cave and out the other side.

I began the process, tho, of standing on my shaky knees. The process of facing Smaug and seeing him for just what he is. And seeing myself for what I am too. I started finding my weapons and finding his weak spots. My knees are still weak and I'm still very afraid.

But the process today involved finding somethings that helped me remember who I am. They were an interesting assortment of things. One was a postcard album that my Grandpa Naylor gave me when I was small. He must have given it to me when I was quite little because there were postcards in there from when I was one. I was surprised to find how many postcards he sent me. All with just a few funny sentences on them. This also surprised me because all my memories of him are of what a disciplinarian he was. But I think we must have had quite a relationship that started because of these postcards. No wonder I missed him when he died when I was 12. I'd forgotten all about those postcards. I also found a postcard I sent my dad when I was seven. He was in the hospital. Here's the other funny thing. I obsessively buy postcards whenever I go on vacation and daydream about sending them because I think that they're so much fun. And I've never been able to figure out why I think that.

I found my college transcript. It's funny but my grades were much better than I remembered. Somehow every semester I remember thinking that I should have done so much better than I did. I remember that I was terribly disappointed with myself ... that if I'd applied myself and done a better job my grades would have been better. But today when I looked back at it, that's a good transcript. When I see the whole picture, I did a pretty good job. I also found a couple of papers from college and graduate school. And ... hey ... who wrote those? Oh, me. And the grade report from my student teaching.

There were whole folders full of paystubs from 1986, 1987, 1988 ... shall I go on? What were we saving those for? LightHusband bought a shredder with an 8.5 gallon tub and we filled it. We never did find the things we were looking for. But I found all of our baby books, LightHusband's Learner's Permit from 1979, users manuals for several phones we no longer own, the loan paper work for the first furniture I bought as an adult in 1986, LightHusband's first paystub from 1981, the loan paperwork from the first car we purchased together (Jeep Cherokee), and too many other things to mention .... most of which got shredded or thrown away.

So ... as time passes I will face Smaug. I will still be afraid. But I will be well armed, I will know his weak spots. I will remember who I am and how I got here. I don't know if I will be able to take him on, but I may be able to avoid him and get out of the cave.

Grammy O.

2006-05-03T09:15:00.000-04:00

Today, May 3rd, was my Grammy O's birthday. She died about a week before her 80th birthday in 1989. I was unprepared for her death despite the fact that she had leukemia for two years previous. I am still unprepared for the fact that she is not in this world with me. I was very fortunate to know all four of my grandparents, but my Grammy O became my friend as well. She was my confidante, a mentor, a fellow seamstress (but I have not nearly her skills or talent), and fellow early bird. I could and did call her early in the morning before work. That was our time. We talked at least once a week, sometimes more. I know she thought the money I was willing to spend on long distance was scandalous, but it wasn't the same to talk long distance now as it was when she first had a phone. This morning I would have called her to sing "Happy Birthday!" ... of course by now she'd be 97 and it's most unreasonable to expect her to still be alive. She doesn't know that LightBoy has her father's eyes, or her husband's sense of humor and people sense. She doesn't know that LightGirl has her grace and empathy. I wish sometimes that she did.

She taught me to type on her manual typewriter when I was ten. I still remember, "The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog." I'm still bad at it, because now we can just backspace over errors. Back then an error was a big deal. Now, just backspace, or move your cursor and delete. She'd love word processors. Although, she'd probably also grumble that they make people lazy about spelling and proper typing technique. She'd be right, but if the idea is to get your words out, I'm not sure that spelling and typing technique matter at first.

The other day I was looking through some of my sewing stuff trying to locate a particular tool and I stumbled across some drawings that she and my aunt made when I was getting married. At the time they were proposing to make my wedding gown. LightHusband and I were really into the colonial period at the time and so these drawings were taken from that era. They never did make it; my aunt was going through some personal issues and as it turned out, Grammy was diagnosed with leukemia 2 weeks after my wedding. She was already feeling really bad and didn't have the energy to make a wedding dress. I still keep those drawings. Some day I might just make myself a period gown ... just because. In honor of my Grammy O.

I have her old Singer Featherweight 221 complete with the purchase invoice. She bought it in 1959. She used this machine exclusively til she died. These sewing machines are prized among quilters. Depending upon their condition they can sell for as much as $600. They sew well and are workhorses. I (of course) will not sell mine. She left me some jewelry as well. Tourmaline, which is a semi-precious stone and also a May birthstone because we share the same birth month. The jewelry doesn't mean nearly as much to me as the sewing machine.

I remember when she taught me to sew. We were in the process of moving from Kansas to New England. My father drove the truck with all of our belongings. My mother flew with my brothers and I to visit her parents in Florida. Grammy O. taught me to sew, by hand on her scraps. I made some clothes for my Barbies. She also taught me to swim on the kitchen table. I lay on the table while she taught me the crawl stroke and then we went to the bay and she held me up while I practiced in the actual water.

Later on I would go visit my grandparents on my own when they lived in Annapolis. She taught me to do embroidery (which I hated, but now like). They took me to Chintoteague for the Pony Penning one year and it was years later I learned that my grandfather and my mother got into a heated discussion because he wanted to buy a pony for me. My mother won, because (and she's right) there was no affordable manner of getting the pony from Chincoteague Island to Vermont.

My sophomore year in college my grandfather died rather suddenly on Veteran's Day. So I spent the better part of my Thanksgiving Break with Grammy O. She'd had time by then for the hubbub to calm down and I got to hear all of the stories. The stories of how they met, and courted, fell in love. After that, I got to spend time frequently with her. My grandfather had had emphysema and after he died, she was much more available for vacation time.

It's been seventeen years since I wished her Happy Birthday. You'd think I'd get used to it by now.

Happy Birthday Grammy O, with Love from your oldest granddaughter.
XXXOOO

Turn, Turn, Turn ...

2006-05-02T07:53:00.000-04:00

There was a book sitting out in a room where one might be inclined to read for a period of time. I was in this room, so I picked the book up and began to read. I always read every page. Even the forwards and acknowledgements and introductions of books. That did not used to be the case. I only began this habit as a senior in highschool. I was introduced to it by a very good friend. He and I were in an independent study together (philosophy). He did his reading very late at night taking long baths and he told me that the most important part of the book were those, in an incredulous voice, as if to say, "Doesn't everyone read every single morsel ... even the index?"

So I picked this particular book up, noting that LightHusband is already reading it by the many dogears (grrrr ... this makes me nuts), and began reading. The title of the book is Turning To Jesus: A Sociology of Conversion by Scot McKnight. I read long enough to read through the introduction. It's quite good, and I'll go on to finish it. But here's what it got me thinking about.

SMK says (and I hope you'll forgive my paraphrase of his introduction) that the differences between denominations, large and small, may be summed up in how they view the conversion experience. How each denomination forces people to summarize their own conversion experience. He says that conversion experiences are like fingerprints or snowflakes, no two are alike. I think fingerprints is a more apt analogy (and he doesn't use it ... that's mine) because our fingerprints are a way of identifying us. Our conversion experience becomes a part of us and none of us has quite the same story to tell, because we are all unique. Yet the denomination we grew up in (spiritually speaking) gave each of us a format to tell the story in and thus all of our stories became somewhat the same. I remember thinking that in my old church when someone got up to give their "testimony" ... that I could probably give it for them. I knew just when certain things were going to happen. It's pretty formulaic after a while. I had an epiphany as I read that introduction.

One of my big questions for the last several years has been that I'm unclear about why established church is so afraid of the emerging church, or emerging conversation or whatever it is that is happening. I'm not really a part of either. I'm not emerging, but I'm not a part of an established church. When I'm out on the blogs and see people in established churches go after emergent, I see fear at the root of what they are saying. And reading SMK's introduction gave me an epiphany.

The emerging conversation pays scant attention to the denominational boundaries, to conversion stories. There are few walls; no measurements about whether or not someone should be in or out, they are just welcomed. People are allowed to have individual conversion stories that have not become formulaic. The ancient denominational boundaries are ignored to a certain extent, especially those between the Protestant, Catholic and Eastern Orthodox churches. In fact, some of those ancient practices are being explored. I'm not sure why, but for some reason all of this is leaves the established church without it's footings. Feeling lost.

We have such a rich heritage from the last 2000 years. It seems sad that people are afraid to fully explore and engage it.

Cookie Dilemma

2006-05-01T21:57:00.000-04:00

When I was young I learned how to cook. I still remember the first thing I ever baked on my own. I made banana bread all by myself when I was eight. Every Thursday afternoon I walked down the road and had tea with an elderly couple (Uncle Greg and Aunt Jo). They were Canadian. Aunt Jo taught me how to make cookies. I especially remember that she taught me how to dip a fork into flour and make the criss-cross in peanut butter cookies. Uncle Greg would take me home at dinner time when he went to "the store" to get the mail. Our post office was attached to the General Store. He taught me to beep an "R" in Morse Code when we passed my house on the way to the store. Then he dropped me off on the way back. "R" is short-long-short (in case you care). They also taught me how to play cribbage and how to use "as" properly instead of "like." There was an ad campaign for a cigarette at the time that said, "such and such tastes good like a cigarette should." That was offensive to them because it should have read "tastes good as a cigarette should." And then they would add, "But really, cigarettes shouldn't be advertised."

In any case, Aunt Jo taught me how to make cookies. I've made many cookies for many years since then. My favorites have always been Nestle's Toll House cookies ... made with the real Toll House chips and real butter. Yum! No walnuts please ... they make my mouth hurt. I like nice thick cookies, that stay sort of moist, but not too much. You have to eat them with milk.

Here's my dilemma. I've made these cookies for years now and never had a problem. But then several years ago, they started coming out all wrong. I'd put my cookies in the oven and they'd spread out all over the pan. The cookies would be too thin, I couldn't get them off the pan, and when they cooled off they were as hard and tough as bricks. Yuck. I've tried everything. I've used only Crisco. Only butter. A mix of Crisco and butter. I've used expensive flour ... cheap flour. Brand new baking soda. Old baking soda. New salt. Old salt. Baking stones. Metal baking pans. Baking parchment. I've tried a cooler oven, I've tried a hotter oven. I've tried every trick I know of and still I get the same result. So I finally gave up and I just don't make my favorite cookie anymore. It's just too frustrating.

Tonight my sister-in-law called. The LightHusband's sister. She has about as much cooking experience as I do. She said, "So ... lately, like the past couple of years, when I make chocolate chip cookies they come out hard as rocks and really thin. Do you have any ideas about what I can do for that?" Nope.

Anybody? ... Anybody? ... Buehler?

Gardening

2006-04-29T17:56:00.000-04:00

Well, I've tried FlyLady. I'm still getting her e-mail reminders and the inspirational e-mails and I visit her website and I'm trying. But the house is still in CHAOS - stands for Can't Have Anyone Over ... but we still do. We just do combat cleaning and know that our friends extend lots and lots of grace to us. I have great intentions and I know that routines are the best solution for me and for us, but the road there is going to be slow and circuitous. I'm not giving up, I'm just not going to be such a perfectionist about it anymore.

My garden is in the same shape ... CHAOS. Today was the perfect day to start doing something about it. Last summer the weeds gained control of my little piece of heaven. They moved in, took over and laughed in my face. And mocked me with an evil grin every time I walked through my front door, "We're here to stay ... there's more of us than there are of you. Don't even try." I believed them for a while as my poor garden struggled on ... the lily of the valley and nandina to the left, the hydrangea and yarrow, the tulips sprang alive and trumpeted their red song. One of my lilac's stood straight and tall and gave me my first three blooms this year, as if to cry, "Please don't give in to those evil weeds. We've stood against them all this time ... won't you help?"

So, today, I went out ... armed with a little hand shovel and some gardening shears ... and engaged in battle with the weeds. I have one lilac bush that my father gave me four years ago in a half-pint milk carton. This year it put out shooters of its own and stands about 24" tall. I think I might get some blooms next year. He brought it to me on Mother's Day of 2002 from one of his lilacs in Vermont. Slowly but surely it's thriving down here. The other lilac came from a friend who lives nearby. That's the one that bloomed this year. I love lilacs.

I pulled some weeds for about a half an hour. I saw some worms. I was finally able to identify which were my peony plants and which were weeds. I had some plants that have been growing in my garden for several years near my peonies that look very similar to the peonies, but are not. This year I have enough buds on my peonies to see which plants were the weeds ... and I struck them down.

I need to trim the butterfly bush ... it's getting way out of hand. But I can never remember the best time of year to do that. And I need to throw away the azaleas I never planted last year. They are going to be replaced by hydrangeas in any case.

I remembered, this afternoon, that I love digging around in the dirt. Inspecting the pebbles and worms. Listening to the hum of the bugs and the birdsong. Praying for the hurt or ill person that needed the ambulance that raced by. Wondering, is that a weed? But those dead blooms look as though I might have planted those. Hmmmm, I think I'll leave that. On the other hand, those over there are definitely weeds.

I didn't kill myself to do the whole thing today. I will do some more tomorrow and the next day and the next. Because ... I like digging around in the dirt. If I do it all in one day, what will I do for all the other days?

Are You Owned?

2006-04-28T09:45:00.000-04:00

12.5 %

My weblog owns 12.5 % of me.
Does your weblog own you?

I was afraid to do this ... but now I'm kinda glad I did.

ht to bobbie at emerging sideways