::: of god and gas cans :::

My friend Catherine reminded me that I hadn't told my sappy, almost-unbelievable miracle story. Actually, she and her mom have reminded me repeatedly. And on Tuesday, I promised her that I'd have it up the next day.

Guess what I didn't do?

Better really, really late than never ever.

So here's my tale...

In early November, a silly mother named Thicket Dweller was fighting with her checkbook. It seemed that no matter how she counted her pennies, there wasn't enough to go around. There was always a washing machine breaking down, or a car tire going flat, or a surprise expense of some sort that would zap her budget. But she knew that she needed to get very busy thanking God for what she did have, because there was always food available, and her children were healthy, and she lived in a beautiful farmhouse on the top of the loveliest hill in all the county. But, even so, she was feeling sad because Thanksgiving was coming, and she had just used all of her spendable money on real estate taxes. That was another reason to thank God! Just a month before, she had been certain that they would not be able to pay those taxes, but through the intervention of God and the kindness of others, that bill had been paid. Even still, as is the nature of Thicket Dweller, she was a pitiful soul, feeling sorry for herself because she knew that her kids were really looking forward to a Thanksgiving feast, and, as we all know, Christmas comes right on the heels of November.

Thicket Dweller knew that her regular grocery budget would never cover the extra groceries that her family's traditional Thanksgiving would require, and it certainly wouldn't cover the upcoming Christmas tradition. Even if she did what she'd done in past years, which was scour the thrift and used bookstores for appropriate gifts for her children, buy nothing for her husband and extended family, and make cookies or candies for neighbors, she knew that she wouldn't be able to stretch this budget far enough to buy a real tree or purchase the new Christmas Eve pajamas her children had become accustomed to opening. She might not even be able to hit the thrift stores.

It was Wednesday morning when her husband told her that the decision for the week would be to pay the mortgage or buy groceries. She knew that paying the mortgage was the right thing to do, the necessary thing, but she didn't feel like baking bread and eating rice all week. What's more, she had volunteered to teach a women's history class for her local homeschool group on Wednesday, and the needle on her gas tank was teetering just below the "empty" line. The gas for her vehicle usually came from the grocery budget. If she could scrounge up enough change, she might be able to make it to the closest gas station. So, with her syllabus in hand and her head hanging a bit lower than usual, she made her way to the car, knowing that just having a vehicle was a privilege.

Thicket Dweller's the sort who always runs herself short of time. One more phone call. One more load of laundry. One more check of the e-mail. And then there would be something she couldn't have expected. A flat tire. A broken tie rod. A sick or inconsolable child. And then, she would find herself panicked and hurried, certain that someone would be waiting for her angrily, deeming her irresponsible or thoughtless. This Wednesday was no exception, for she had taken the phone call of a friend who was feeling very down. They talked for a while, and Thicket Dweller tried hard not to watch the clock as her friend told her that she had a box for her waiting in her garage. Could she pick it up today? While Thicket Dweller loved her friend dearly and so wanted to stop and see her, she knew that she wouldn't have time. But she said she'd try, hurriedly hung up the phone, and raced to the car, cringing as she watched the gas needle barely quiver forward as she started the engine. She found herself fighting against the temptation to go just a teensy weensy bit above the speed limit. But knowing that she had only a handful of change, and knowing that the faster she would drive, the more gas her car would consume, she had just enough incentive to keep her commitment to driving the speed limit.

As she rolled into the parking lot of the closest station, she couldn't believe her eyes. All of the guns were covered with ghostly white plastic bags, and the sign above the station stood void of numbers. No gas. Now what? The closest station from here was beyond the history class site! And she surely didn't have enough gas to get to that station, anyway!

With no cell phone to call home, she decided she would just make her way to class and pray that God would see her there safely. Once there, maybe she could find someone to run her to a station to fill up a gas can. And so, she eased out of the parking lot and crept along the road towards the classes.

As she climbed the hill a half-mile before the class site, she remembered the conversation she'd had that morning with her friend who had asked her to please stop by. She had a box of things for Thicket Dweller that she would leave in the garage, some garden seeds and books she no longer needed. The house was right there, directly on her route to classes. Thicket Dweller knew that she should stop, but she was feeling rushed and stressed, so she told herself she'd stop later. This decision just didn't settle with her, and she tried to justify why she should keep moving. She would be late for class. If she ran out of gas, and her friend wasn't home, she'd be stuck there with no phone and no way to let her students or husband know she was stranded. If her friend was home, she might get into a meaningful conversation and run herself even later.

But no matter what she told herself, she couldn't agree. Reluctantly, she found herself turning the steering wheel and swinging into the friend's drive; her only comfort was believing that she was obeying something she couldn't see. What she could see was that there were no cars sitting there; her friend was not home.

Just as her car pulled fully into the drive, it sputtered. Out of gas. She was able to coax the car just a few more feet before it refused to move another inch. She let her head drop back against the seat and closed her eyes in disbelief and defeat.

Not knowing what else to do, she opened the door of the car and swung her feet out. There, beside her feet, was a five-gallon gas can. She could hardly believe her eyes. She rushed to the can and lifted it. Yes! It was heavy with gas! Knowing that her friend would offer her the gas if she were home, Thicket Dweller put some of it in her tank, listening with amazement to the glug, glug, glug that the fluid made as it left the can.

Oh yeah, she thought, I need to get that box she has for me. There it was, in front of the garage, a box full of beautiful books, a gift for her soul. Here was one on Tasha Tudor's garden, and here was another on herbs, and yet another on edible flowers. It was like her friend knew that she needed a bit of spoiling, that he heart was dragging a bit and needed to be lifted. On the top sat a bundle of garden seeds that she would gladly plant the following Spring, and, on top of that, an envelope. Likely a card or a note explaining what the seeds were, why she was giving her the books.

Thicket Dweller carried the box to the car and climbed in. How good God is, she thought, that He knew just what I needed today! Even as she said it, she knew how sappy it sounded. But it was so true!

Starting the car, she coasted to the bottom of the drive. The traffic was heavy, so she sat waiting, knowing that even though her class would be starting very soon, it would all be okay. She could be patient. She could wait.

The envelope sat on the top of the box, inviting her to open it, so she put the car in park and ran her finger along the inside seam of the flap, exposing the note inside.

Along with a bundle of cash.

Thicket Dweller could not believe her eyes. She checked the front of the envelope. Yes, it had her name on it. Tearing open the card, she read the note from her friend, explaining that she had found this money in a dresser drawer while doing some cleaning, money she had forgotten was there, and felt compelled to give it to Thicket Dweller. A Christmas gift, she wrote. Buy some nice dishes, the note said. Buy something nice for yourself and a gift for each of the kids, it said. Pulling the money from the envelope, she counted.

There was enough there for the mortgage. There was enough for groceries. There was enough for a tankful of gas.

Thicket threw her head back and cried out loud. "God, why? What have I done to deserve this?" Tears sprung from her eyes, and soon she was sobbing uncontrollably, crying out, "I don't deserve you! I don't deserve this!"

And she was right. She had done nothing to deserve it.

The truth was that her friend loved and obeyed God, and that God was very, very good. It wasn't a reward. It wasn't payment. It was a gift.

So, Catherine, there's the story. I know it took me a long time to write it, and I didn't do it justice, but I know that God's timing is perfect, and that this is a story someone needed to read today.

Productive Inanity

So, we were trying to come up with a good way to raise awareness and money to fight world hunger. We thought of some pretty interesting ways to do that, like painting an old beater with the words "hunger" and "poverty" and charging $5 per swing of the sledge hammer to destroy the problems. We thought about doing the old standard and having each person find sponsors for the 30 Hour Famine. But the one that stuck, for some crazy reason, was the making of a paper chain.

Yep. A paper chain. You remember those, right? Like the ones we used to make in elementary school when we were counting down the end of the school year, or the days until Christmas, or a way to decorate a Christmas tree for next to nothing.

But this paper chain is different. It might help to feed the world.

See, what we decided to do--and when I say "we," I mean our very tiny youth group composed of four members, a couple of guests, and Bo and I as sponsors--was to create a paper chain with each link representing one child who dies of hunger and hunger-related issues every day. The finished chain would then be displayed around the church, and the links would be sold for .25 each with all the money going directly to WorldVision to help eliminate hunger in the world.

Do you have any idea how many links that would be? Do you know how many children die *every day* of hunger-related issues?

Can you imagine making a paper chain with 29,000 links?

Not 2,900. Twenty. Nine. Thousand.

Since January, we have been plugging away on these paper chains. People from the community as well as from our small church have been working together to put together the huge chain which we will reveal on March 20th as part of our youth service. Yesterday, we met with residents of a local retirement community and completed the last 1,700 links.

Our project has just begun, because now we have to sell the chains. Some say we should sell them for 25 cents, and others, who are more realistic, are suggesting 10 cents each.

I thought that this was a unique idea, making a 29,000 link paper chain to raise awareness of world hunger, but it's not. I found that there are other groups doing this and other paper chain fundraisers here and here and here.

It's also pretty cool that we've had local newspapers do feature pieces on the project, and that several members of our church have pitched in to help, which has given us a chance to get to know them.

It seems like a silly thing, this huge chain of brightly colored recycled paper, but it has really helped us to think about world hunger, to help others realize what a big deal it is, and to build some relationships along the way.

Who told you that?

I feel like redecorating a room. I feel like painting a wall with whimsical characters. I feel like hand-sewing something. I want to open a toy store or a chocolate shop or a magical book store. I'm uplifted. Inspired. Creatively charged.

The last time, it was kind of an accident. A whim really. It was Monday, and Monday is fifty cent movie day. If you can take a boatload of kids to a theater and pay $3.50, you go if there's something worth seeing, you know?

And, while I had really, really, really wanted to see Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium the first time I saw the trailer in the movie theater, the whispering critics changed my fickle mind. I don't even remember how it seeped into my brain that this movie was a dud. I just, Idunno, heard it somewhere. Probably like people had heard that The Wizard of Oz was a dud. Or The Princess Bride. I can't recall reading it anywhere, or even having a conversation about it, but I know I had a negative feeling about Mr. Magorium's, so I steered clear.

Fortunately for me and my tight fist, I got a second chance when Mr. Magorium's was on at the cheap theater that day. And, what was especially intriguing to me, that it was rated G. A cheap family date and I wouldn't leave the theater regretting that I'd tainted my children for life with a host of innuendos and potty jokes.

So we gave it a shot.

Everyone, and I mean everyone, from my five-year-old up to my eighteen-year-old, adored the movie. And so did I! I was whisked away by the sparkling innocence and charming quixoticity of it all--the set, the characters, the story. It enchanted me, truly.

Tonight, for family night, we watched it again, and my feelings were the same. Here, at last, was a clean, phantasmagorical film with quirky, quick-witted, capricious dialog and light-hearted humor. Nothing embarrassing. Nothing risque. Just sweet, fun-loving innocence.

Have you seen it? Have you avoided it because you heard it was a Chocolate Factory rip-off, or that Dustin Hoffman presents an annoying Willie Wonka wannabe? Who told you that? Whoever it was, I'd venture to say that those are people who have handed over their innocence, ultimately losing their identities to too many Bourne movies or poisoning their imaginations with the harsh violence and overdone bathroom humor present in the majority of today's films. Mr. Magorium's, while somewhat trite in places, and, admittedly, a bit weak in the ending, nevertheless shares with us the beauty of relationships, the transformation that comes from loving, the unabashed compassion that one human being can have for another, and the novel idea that death is not scary or undesirable, but should be accepted as another stop on our adventure--indeed, even something to celebrate. It shares with us that, in the depths of our souls, there is someone who was born there, someone we can't kick out, someone who is keeping a volume of books recording with meticulousness every moment of our lives. It teaches us that how we love matters, that intergenerational relationships are what make us grow, and that there is no end to the importance of a good pair of shoes.

There are timeless truths here, to be sure.

On Bard's eighteenth birthday, we had lunch at Chic-Fila, and I happened to hear someone at the next table talking about Mr. Magorium's, giving it, as I have, a glowing review. I couldn't stop myself from interjecting and connecting with this kindred spirit.

"I loved it, too," I ventured tentatively. And we shared our favorite parts. She told me how she sat in the theater alone (she'd just turned 50, she said) after doing just what I had done; she'd had a spare afternoon, some loose change, and had found herself at the ticket window of the bargain movie theater.

"I even asked the ticket girl if it was a dumb movie, and she said she didn't know. I figured, 'What the heck? For a couple of quarters, what do I have to lose?' So I went it, and was mesmerized. Smitten! I pulled out my notebook and, there in the dark, tried to jot down all that stuff I wanted to remember. I had a full page by the time it was over!"

Like me, she wondered what had kept her away. "I don't know why I thought it was a flop. I just heard it somewhere. But now, it's one of my favorite movies.

"It really made me think about my life," she said, "and made me ask myself what I'm saving things for. I had a friend who died of cancer a couple of years ago, and before she died, we went through her closet, and she had all these great, fancy clothes. Clothes she'd rarely or never worn! Why? Because she was 'saving them for a special occasion,' she'd said. I thought of that during the movie, when Mr. Magorium says, 'Your life is a an occasion. Rise to it!' That line! I decided that I'd wear my good clothes now, every day. What am I saving them for?"

If you're looking for a clean family film, a departure from the prosaic, something to sweep you away from the proletarian day-to-day, Mr. Magorium's just might be it.

No matter what "they" say.

::: it CAN be done! :::

The call came today in the late afternoon. Sixteen-year-old Houdin answered it, passed the phone to his sister, Bard, who took the tone of someone talking to an important person. After hearing comments like, "You're kidding," and "Oh my gosh!" I knew that something good was coming.

And I was right. I hope I didn't harm the admissions counselor's ears too badly with my scream. A full four-year scholarship to one of Bard's top two choices for college, after all, is worth a bit of a squeal. Just three weeks ago today, she was sitting in a room writing essay, and then answering a series of questions by a panel of professors, and then chatting excitedly about how she thought it went and wondering whether or not the profs liked her.

Apparently they liked her.

It feels so good to know that I made the right educational choice when I decided to be a home-learning family.

She's still waiting on word from her other top college choice. She's still in the running for a full four-year scholarship there, too. She's in the top ten, and will only get an offer if one of the top two declines. But there's still a shot. In the meantime, she has a lot of thinking, reading and comparing to do to decide where she's going to go.

I'm so proud of her.

And, I have to admit, I'm a wee bit proud of me, too.

Women in History

We're nearing the end of another semester of Missionaries, Mothers, Martyrs and Others, a women's history class for homelearners. This is the second year I've taught the class and have really enjoyed it.

It all began with the realization that most of the girls of a homeschool overnighter could name most historical men, but didn't recognize the names of women like Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Jane Goodall and Mary Cassatt.

So I pulled together some resources and made the class available and was pleased when several young ladies signed up. We had great discussions and it was a year of discovery for all of us.

This year, I became more structured and organized, creating a syllabus and assigning weekly oral reports, monthly written reports, and a larger year-end project--an interview of and presentation about a woman they respect. Throughout the year, these girls have taught me about the issues that matter to them, the people who inspire them, and the goals that they dare to set for themselves.

Tonight is our Spring Arts and Science Fair and we're planning to host a Women's History table, which is cool since March is Women's History Month. The girls have a bunch of cool displays prepared, and I'm really looking forward to it.

And I know more about women in history now than I ever have. That's the beauty of learning with your kids...you pick up that stuff that was too boring to care about the first time around, because this time, it matters.

Interview with a Five-Year-Old

Another thing to do with a snow day--interview your five-year-old.

What do you do when you're snowed in?

The Baby said she wanted to go sledding with her dad, but she knew he wouldn't go because he's "too old." Bo said he'd take The Baby sledding, but he thought she was "too young." They proved each other wrong. When they were all done, they came in for some homemade chocolate with fresh whipped cream. Our speech and debate tournament was canceled part-way through, but, even with being completely snowed in today, I've enjoyed the two feet of snow!

Another M. Night Movie!

...and I have to wait until June to see what's Happening!

::: stream of consciousness about getting older :::

I think I'm having an identity crisis.

For so long, I've felt that I was in a stage of life that I could ride on out, and when it was over, I could get on with my life. After I'm done being a mom, I'll be a writer. After I'm done being a daughter, I'll be a lover. After I'm done having babies, I'll lose weight.

But now I find that I'm approaching a stage I wasn't quite prepared to enter into.

Middle age.

And it reminds me that I shouldn't wait. That I need to get right to those things I want to do. I need to write. I need to travel. I need to love more and yell less and be patient more and procrastinate less.

But it also has another effect on me. Futility. I feel so much like the writer of Ecclesiastes. Futile! It's all futile! It will all go up in a puff of smoke! I spend a lot of my time wondering, "Why start now? Your life is half over!" or thinking, "If only I'd done that way back when..."

I hadn't realized how much this would affect me. Why bother running? The body's falling apart anyway. Why bother starting a career? Educating myself? Reaching for goals?

Smoke!

I'm trying to embrace today, struggling to improve, hoping that my best days are still ahead of me.

Do you ever feel this way?

Hosting Houseconcerts

One of the dreams that we had as we hoped and planned for our future home was to gather people from every corner to listen to live music in our living room. It was a dream that began way, way back when Bard was a tiny child and I started looking for venues where we could host live concerts as part of a branch of our then-church. That church wasn't very supportive of my vision, and, eventually, we found ourselves leaving not only the church but making a home in a whole new community.

It was then that our dream of building a home came true. With a lot of cooperation from friends and a lot of hard work and perseverance, we were able to build a house that could not only house our growing family, but our love of gathering as well.

So, for the past several years, we have hosted several houseconcerts--musicians from all different genres and geographic locations--and have welcomed guests from nearby and far away. The musicians bring their unique style and feel, and the guests bring food and applause, and I get to sit on my couch, surrounded by creativity, inspiration, good friends and candles, and pinch myself, wondering if this is all really happening.

Tonight, we will welcome our very first female solo performers, Jan Krist and Kitty Donohoe for a small, intimate houseconcert on this snowy day. We'll all snuggle in and pinch ourselves. Maybe we'll even get snowed in and we'll all have to share this big house long into the night.

When things are kind of rough, and times are a bit frustrating, I remember that this was a dream that God brought to fruition, and I find myself amazed.

You can look at The Sprouted Acorn website for information on upcoming concerts this year. If you find yourself in our area, stop in and say hi, and we can share this big house--and the dream--with each other.

Just a little smackerel of something.

Okay, I know. I've been away forever. I'm sorry. I haven't had much will to blog, really. Yes, some of it is because I've found a new love...facebook. But some of it is because I simply have very little will to write. Actually, I have very little will to do much of anything. Maybe it's these bleak midwinter blahs. Do you get them, too? I mean, the snow is just beautiful, and I like being home more, but I just feel so purposeless, though there's plenty that needs doing. Cleaning and laundry (only always), decluttering and organizing, writing and playing and dancing and laughing and reading and walking and running and singing. But I just don't feel like it.

Still, I've forced myself to sit here and give a bit of an update, and then I'll likely go and peruse some blogs, reacquaint myself with some old friends and see if I can garner some inspiration.

In the household news: Bard just turned 18 this month and we're in the thick of applying to colleges. She has competed in a couple of scholarship competitions with possible full- and half-ride scholarships in the wings, and she has been awarded some pretty good academic and merit-based scholarships. She has it narrowed down to just a couple of places, both within a few hours' drive from home, but we won't know until all of the scholarship information comes back to us. She's trying hard to determine what she wants to do for a living, and I'm trying hard to stay out of it and pray for guidance and inspiration for her.

Houdin will be 17 this summer and has his first serious girlfriend, a sweet gal who has great musical ability and a wonderful personality. We enjoy having her around and will be sad when she goes away to college this fall. It will be a learning experience for us all.

The younger children are basically enjoying being younger children. Nothing really new there.

Bo and I have become more involved at church since the new pastors (husband and wife team) started last summer. On one hand, it's been enjoyable and energizing, but on the other hand, it's been a lot of time away and sometimes stressful. I'm hoping to strike a balance soon.

I do want to tell you the rest of that amazing story of God's provision, and I will get to it eventually. For now, I just wanted to let you know that I'm still alive and I still think of you.

Blessings,
TD

He Meets Me in the Shower

I'm gonna tell you something you may find hard to believe, but it's completely and totally true.

Ready?

God is so very good.

I'm serious about this. I mean, I have always believed this in kind of a dutiful, removed sort of way, but He has repeatedly proven Himself to be so amazing that I'm having a hard time keeping myself from climbing onto the roof and exclaiming the wonders of His ways.

I have to preface this by saying that I have NEVER been the kind of person to couch all of my words in "Yeah, God" language. My verbiage has never been dotted with phrases of praise.

That's not to say that my relationship with God is marginal or superfluous; I think my life fits the bill for 1 Thes. 5:17: "Pray all the time." I go to God with everything I consciously think of to take to Him. But outwardly? I guess I'm just not a showy type of Christian.

But some things are just too good to keep to myself.

Where does God meet you? I've known people who literally had a prayer closet. A man in church told me that he meditates in a tree stand while he's deer hunting. My children get the bulk of their prayer time around the kitchen table or while I'm kneeling beside their beds. But me?

God meets me in the shower.

Some of the most amazing things come to me while the water is flowing over my face. I plug the tub and let the warmth cover my feet. Sometimes I think. Often I sing. Occasionally I cry.

Last week was a crying week.

But it was also a week of thankfulness, because even though I felt like there were problems in my life that I'd never be able to overcome, even my flesh was able to recognize that God has always provided for me. Always! Without fail! When I have been in need, God has come through for me in the most amazing ways that even I, in my human stupidity, can recognize.

And so I stood in the shower thanking God for his provision in my life and the lives of my children. It was a conversation, really, and it went a bit like this:

"I'm a pretty selfish person, you know?"

Water slapping the sides of the shower.

"But You've never let me down. I mean when I really need something, You make sure it's there. How do You do that? Why do You do that? It's incredible, really."

Drops travel over my face and drip off the end of my nose.

"Right now, I have everything I need."

"except the algebra book..."

"Well, yeah. Except for the Algebra book. But that's no big deal. I mean, yeah, Bard really needs that book, and, yeah, she's really far behind in her lessons because I'm such a dope and didn't budget for the one textbook she needs this year, but..."

"order the book..."

"Ha! Ha ha! Yeah, God! That's a good one! Um...have you seen my checking account balance? I can't order the book! It would be irresponsible. Actually, it would be impossible..."

"order the book. expedite the shipping. order the book now..."

It was a fairly clear directive. So I dried off, made my way to the computer, and I began searching for the book.

Amazing fact number one: the book was literally 1/3 the price it had been at the beginning of the school year. Supply and demand and all that, I assume.

Amazing face number two: due to a fabulous promotional campaign on the part of the company I ordered from, not only did I get the book for FREE but walked away from the keyboard with a $5 credit. No, I'm not making this up.

What's funny is this; I have another story to tell that's bigger, more amazing, and even more incredibly, unbelievably hokie. But it's TRUE, I tell you! As a matter of fact, when I told the story to my husband, he sat dumbfounded and then proceeded to tell me that if I were to write the story, no one would believe it for its sheer hokiness. It would have no plot! It would be a like a Guideposts tale!

Yet it happened, and I have to tell it.

But you've stuck with me this long, dear reader. I'll give your eyes and my fingers a rest.

Go grab a shower, sit in your prayer closet, hang out in a tree stand...whatever. Just talk to God, and I'll meet you back here tomorrow.

Life is Good

Yes, I do know how terribly boring I am. This blog is really suffering. Bah!

That doesn't mean I don't THINK about writing, and I'm still reading when I can.

But that thing called Life? Yeah. Very busy, satisfying, intriguing, entertaining. Keeps me on my toes. And away from my blog.

We've been massively busy with houseconcerts and Halloween parties, choir practices, speech and debate classes, regular homeschool meetings and classes, mini-farm life, making new friends, keeping up (as best we can) with the old ones, and just plain surviving.

New things? A pig named Frankie (get it? Frankie?), the loss of our dear dog Indiana, the end of the gardening season (though I did pull a plump carrot from the earth yesterday. Remind me to plant more of those next year...and keep the goats out of them). Oh! Goats. We sold half of our herd and are now down to three--two does and a wether. The Baby's tearin' it up with her reading lessons, thanks to Bard. We're looking forward to an awesome house concert with Jason Harrod this Saturday (he'll also be in church on Sunday, singing for prelude and offeratory). Speaking of church, we had an incredible Communion Sunday with footwashing that really spoke to me and called for some changes in my life. Bo and I are now sponsors of the youth fellowship and I'm teaching Jr. High Sunday School (resources about Fair Trade would be nice, thank you).

Kids have been doing chores around the house with more frequency, which is a big help. We instituted an allowance system, which seems to be working fairly well.

We're saving money for a new computer. I mean a NEW one that has all the bells and whistles.

And that's about it. Life is good.

Even if this blog is boring. :-)

A Sucker for the Sun

If you ever want to see me melt into a heap of quivering nostalgia, just watch me stumble upon a sun-soaked scene. I'll stop in my tracks and stare like a ruthless rubbernecker. The angelic appearance of a curly-headed backlit child. The golden glow of the calico cat perched atop my vintage couch. The filtered warmth of late-afternoon peeking through a table-top bouquet. The deepened quality taken on by a loved-one's sunlit eyes. The hilltops and valleys and fields, dotted with haystacks and attended by mist, the morning light casting an ethereal glow.

Even a child who has challenged my patience can regain my motherly affection when early-evening rays of light peek through his tresses. I grab a camera. I stand in awe. I hold on so tightly to the memory that my heart aches. In my eyes, there's nothing as beautiful as a sun-soaked scene.

Just yesterday, I was warmed by the view of a sun-lit cornfield during my morning walk with Kim, the golden tassles practicially emitting their own light. Even my son's Heroscape game laid out strategically on the hickory coffee table took on a memorable beauty when hit by the light.

It's important to me, this light. I awake in the morning to its glow on my face. I can't help it. Once it hits me, my eyes pop open and the possibilities of a new day come streaming in on its beams. It brings to mind all kinds of cliches. A new dawn. Seeing things in a new light. Shedding light on the subject. And then there was light. You light up my life. Come on, baby, light my fire.

One of my favorite lyrics is by Pierce Pettis in his song recorded by Garth Brooks, "You Move Me."

You go whistling in the dark
Making light of it
Making light of it
And I follow with my heart
Laughing all the way

It's what I need. Someone to make Light of it. Someone to shed Light on the subject. Someone to Light up my life.

Because, while I stop in my tracks when I see the light reflected on those I love, I can also very certainly feel it when it's not there. A sadness envelopes me. It's not just that rainy day feeling again, because I do love a good rain, but when I go too long without the light, I feel at a loss. I start to lose my sense of purpose. Those I love lose that glint and glow. It's not that I love them any less; it's just that the breathtaking beauty eludes me.

I need to appreciate the sun, to take notice of it, to recognize its glow. Not worship that which is lit by it, but allow myself to be drawn to the source of the light and appreciate it, yet still see the beauty in all that it shines upon.

"Oh, how sweet the light of day, And how wonderful to live in the sunshine! Even if you live a long time, don't take a single day for granted. Take delight in each light-filled hour, Remembering that there will also be many dark days." Ecclisiastes 11:7

I'll skip F for now. G is for...

...grape juice! Bo and I just canned 12 quarts of grape juice concentrate from two bushels of Concord grapes we picked yesterday. You can read more about it here.

(Last) Friday's Feast

I loved last Friday's Feast at Quiet Life, so I'm going to answer it now. ;-) I've been a little behind on the feasting lately. Feels good to be back.

Appetizer
Describe your laundry routine. Do you have a certain day when you do it all, or do you just wash whatever you need for the next day?

I throw a load in just about everytime I walk by the laundry room, which is right next to my bedroom. And because I know what a procrastinator I am, I absolutely MUST put the laundry away as soon as it comes out of the drier. I carry the whole heap to my bedroom, toss it on the bed, and sort through it immediately. If I don't do this, I have no desire to put away laundry that's been sitting in a basket for a week. To me, it's no longer clean. I'd rather wash it again and put it away when it's fresh from the drier. Crazy, no?

Soup
In your opinion, what age will you be when you’ll consider yourself to truly be old?

Ack. Not sure I want to think about this. It frightens me. I'm in a lot of bodily pain as it is, and I can't bear to think of it getting worse. :-/

Salad
What is one of your goals? Is it short-term, long-term, or both?

To can the rest of the tomatoes. To find some good fruits to preserve. To write for money.

Main Course
Name something unbelievable you’ve seen or read lately.

Did you know that Anne Rice became a Christian? I read this in a handout at church last Sunday and was pleasantly stunned!

Dessert
On a scale of 1-10 with 10 being highest, how happy are you today?
8. It was a decent day.

Another E...

E is for True Education.

Read this over at True Vyne's site and I think I'll print it in a huge font and hang it on my wall. Thanks for sharing, T.V.

"At the beginning of every academic year I like to remind myself and my students that true education is a form of repentance. It is a humble admission that we've not read all that we need to read, we don't know all that we need to know, and we've not yet become all that we are called to become. Education is that unique form of discipleship that brings us to the place of admitting our inadequacies. It is that remarkable rebuke of autonomy and independence so powerful and so evident that we actually shut up and pay heed for a change."

~George Grant

E is for...

Easter: We've always hidden Easter baskets and eggs for the kids, and last year we did something really fun. We tied a different-colored piece of yarn to each basket and strung them all around the house, under doors, through rooms, in and out of closets, behind furniture, changing colors part-way. The kids had to start with their end of yarn and roll it up until they found their own. It took forever!
eat: One of my very favorite things to do.
eclectic: The style of learning we utilize.
eighteen: I can't believe that my oldest will be eighteen in less than six months. Sigh.
embroidered linens: I have a small collection of these, ranging from hankies to pillowcases. Most of them I find at my favorite thrift store. I can't imagine why people would give these up!
engagement: Bo asked me to marry him at the place where we first met. It was a cold December night when he proposed and the full moon shone through the trees, creating little twinkling Christmas lights in the ring in his hand. I said yes. ;-)
England: I've never been outside of the U.S., except for high-school trips to Canada. My first choice would be England. Second would be France. Third would be Ireland.
English: My college major. I didn't graduate--got married instead.
environment: It's important to me to be a good steward of the Earth that God has entrusted to us. Christians, it seems to me, should feel that this is more important than non-Christians do, but it seems to be backwards for some reason. I try to buy locally, utilize thrift stores, use reusable items and glass when I can, avoid chemicals and generally tread softly. He has trusted me with this small thing in comparison to the eternal home He has waiting for me.
eternity: I look forward to this because I believe that all my questions will be answered and all things will become clear. How amazing that will be!
exercise: Someday, I *will* run that 5K. For now, Kim and I are trying to get back into walking after a summer hiatus.

E is for...

Eggplant. A necessary ingredient for Ratatouille. Late summer is the perfect time to make this French recipe that's experiencing a revival, thanks to Pixar's hit. There are many versions of this recipe, but I think they generally all include eggplant, zucchini, tomatoes, garlic, onion and herbs. We had it for lunch yesterday with fresh-from-our-garden produce and rolls from the local bakery topped with Amish roll butter.

I also love to make eggplant parmesan, and as soon as there are a few more eggplants ready, it'll be on its way!

Growing eggplant was a big challenge for me this year. I planted two varieties, a Thai eggplant called Hmong Red Eggplant which is apparently quite rare. It was brought to the greenhouse this summer by a Thai couple and I fought away the flea beetles and colorado beetles, applying diatomaceous earth and picking off the grubs of the colorado beetles and covering the plants with floating row covers. Now I have little Thai eggplants that look like miniature pumpkins, though I'm not sure how to prepare them. If you are into Thai cuisine and would like some seeds, let me know and I'll send you a fruit...in exchange for a few recipes, of course!

And I have my purple eggplant as well, which I also fought to preserve, but now they're here and I have a lot of beautiful purple flowers covering the plants, promising me yummy eggplant dishes for the next few weeks.

D is for...

Daughters. I've been blessed and challenged by being given three incredible girls to live in my home and touch my life. It's clearly grace, because I don't deserve such a gift. They're so much smarter than I am, so much more forgiving and loving and patient. It grieves me that they will only be in my home for a short time; indeed, the seventeen years that Bard has lived under our roof has passed so quickly, and seeing Sweetheart and The Baby as they go through those years makes me thankful that I get to live it over again with each of them lest it be done too quickly.

Thank God for my daughters.

C is for...

Canning!

It's harvest-time here in Ohio, so we're eating what we can, and what we can't, we can! Mostly we've been putting up tomatoes--whole for soups and also in ketchup and spaghetti sauce as well as "sundried" (or dehydrated) for pizzas--but we also did some applesauce and apple butter. Today, I taught Bard how to can tomatoes and she did a batch on her own. When the jar lids emitted that pleasing "POP!" I patted her back. She'd done good!

She also made fennel-lavender tea which was an absolutely gorgeous shade of purple. She added lemon to a glass of it, and it turned lemonade-pink! We determined that fennel is a natural PH indicator. What fun!

I've been putting things in the freezer, too. The excess basil has gone there, as well as batches of raspberries, blueberries, salsa, jalapenos and green peppers and peaches.

I hope to get some corn in the freezer soon and maybe some more stuff--onions and pizza sauce, maybe. Pears would be nice, too.

Are you canning this year?

B is for Breathtakingly Beautiful

C is for...

cabin: This coming Sunday will be seven years since we first took ownership of our property and began visiting the cabin every weekend. Before long, the kids and I had taken up permanent residence there. It was a safe place for us, a retreat from the city, a promise. Before long, my dad retired and moved to the cabin as well. In October of 2001, we sold our house in the city and moved to the cabin full-time. That was four kids, three adults and two dogs living in a little cabin with gas lights, and outhouse and a tub on the porch. In 2003, we started building our house and finished it in 2004.



caffeine: If I have too much of this, or if I have it on an empty stomach, I get shaky and even ill. Still, there are times when I really need some, so I risk it. If I have a cup of coffee in the morning, I seem to run much better all day long.



calcium--because of some strange thing that happened with the weather, there wasn't enough calcium absorbed by my tomato plants, so they withered up and all but died. :-/



calico--we have two beautiful calico kitties.



camera--my darling husband and daughter bought me a Canon camera for my birthday this year. I use it often, but I don't really get to post the photos often because my computer crashed and it was the only one aside from Bo's laptop that I can use to post photos.



camouflage--Bard's favorite color.



camp--When I was in junior high, I absolutely loved summer camp and wanted to live there. I truly would have, but my parents got angry when I wasn't all that anxious to come home, so I never really got to go back.



canning--this one deserves its own post.



carbonated--Dr. Pepper is my favorite carbonated beverage.



career--I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. I always thought I'd be a writer, but now I feel like the market's saturated and I don't have all that much to contribute. For now, being a mom is a decent living.



carpenter--my husband Bo was this when we first got married.



carrot--these were my favorite veggies growing up.



cartoonist--what Monet wants to be.



cast iron--lately, I have been cooking with my two cast iron skillets that I found at my favorite thrift store and I love them! I don't worry about nonstick coatings and they clean up in a jiffy. I'm on the lookout for more. Yesterday morning, I taught Houdin two things before we left for church:

--How to care for cast iron cookware
--How to make pate brise.

cats--we have too, too many. We currently have three cats who have learned how to use the dog door, so they're indoors and out. There are also several outdoor cats and today we found three kittens. No, we're not keeping them, no matter what Sweethearts says.



caterpillars--we found two Monarch caterpillars and have them in a jar with a whole wad of milkweed. Soon, they're become chyrysalis and then we'll watch them emerge as butterflies!

cattails--We have these growing in our front yard, believe it or not, along with a whole, whole, whole bunch of thistles for the the goldfinches (I hear the thistles make my neighbor angry. Whoops! Well, I do love those finches! Good thing the wind generally blows Northeast!) I've considered having that area landscaped, but I think God's doing an okay job of it all by Himself.


cell phone--I must be the only person in the world who doesn't have one. My kids don't have them, either. GASP!


chairs--I have a weakness for cool chairs. Yesterday, I bought a new one from My Favorite Thrift Store--it's a vintage upholstered rocker, cream-colored with wood trim. It was half-price, so how could I resist?

chameleon--We were given one of these and really enjoyed her for the time we had her. She sat on a ficus tree and lived on crickets and mealworms. She only had one eye, so I had to feed her by hand. I'd love to have another chameleon someday, but right now, we'll enjoy our iguana.

chaos--I was an only child, so the only chaos that ever ensued in our house was from my parents fighting (which they often did. sigh.). Now, there is always some sort of chaos going on in our house. It could be good chaos, like a house concert, or a group of friends playing together, or a meal being prepared, or a game being played. Or it could be bad chaos, like bickering siblings or a disgruntled live-in grandfather complaining about the toys in his area. I'm trying to learn to live with chaos, but it's not easy. Loud noises still make me jump, even after hearing them for 17 years.

charming--Our little village is quite charming. :-)

cheesecake --Six years ago, a friend got me hooked on making cheesecakes. About a year ago, I passed the torch to sixteen-year-old Houdin. Now he makes the cheesecakes for our houseconcerts and people rave about them. My favorite is the turtle cheesecake, but the milk chocolate cheesecake is a close second. Yum! He also makes plain as well as mint chocolate chip.

cherries--These have always been on of my favorite fruits. When I was young, I used to climb my aunt's cherry tree to get as many as I could, even though I was told over and over not to climb on it because the branches were weak. I'm still alive. Now we're growing two cherry trees on our own homestead, and though we haven't had a good crop yet, I'm looking forward to the day!

chickens--One of the first things we bought when we came to this home was chickens. At first, it was just Golden Comet layers, and now we have a whole crew of gals (along with a couple of roosters). Last year, we raised our first broilers and butchered them in the fall. It was fairly successful and we hope to do it again next year, if we can construct a better brooder than our basement!

children--"Let your children be your flowers." This was the advice of a friend of mine who listened to me lament about the fact that I didn't have the time or money to put in a flower bed. I clung to those words during that time, and now I have both children AND flowers, and children who love flowers. My daughters make the most beautiful bouquets from the flowers in our gardens. I'm surprised they can find the flowers for all the weeds!

China--Bard spent a week-and-a-half in China with her choral ensemble. She was able to sing at the Great Wall.

chlorine--I believe this is one of the world's biggest evils.

chocolate--I believe this is one of the answers to most of the world's problems. I especially love a very, very good dark chocolate, though I used to think that dark chocolate was a cruel joke.

choir--Four of my fave children are members of a very good choral group. Bard is on her 11th year in the ensemble.

Christ--my inspiration for just about everything I do.

Christian--I became a Christian when I was 16, thanks to the music of a young man who played guitar in cut-offs and a t-shirt at a festival where I, the previous year's Queen, was judge. His song changed my life.

Christianity--This is so greatly misunderstood. I wish people would really examine Christ's words instead of assuming they know what Christianity is. This includes Christians.

There are a ton of C words I want to cover, but I'm totally tired after a day of running around and canning, so I'll come back to this one...

Christmas: A time to focus on Advent, make hard candy and caramels, sugar cookies and white trash, hit the thrift stores a bit more often, and lug all the decorations from the basement. I try very, very hard not to make this a stressful time, but it always ends up with drama of some type. Still, it's always one of our favorite times of the year.

chrysalis: We collect Monarch caterpillars and watch them transform. We have about 11 of them right now, a few that have already made their chrysalis.

church: This one could get very, very verbose if I let it. Maybe I should do another post for this one, too?

cider: Every Fall, we buy gallons of fresh sweet cider from a local orchard and freeze it so that we can have when Autumn ends. When the winter winds begin to blow, we pull out a gallon and mull it on the stove.

city: A place I could never live.

classic: I'm drawn to classic things, whether it's literature, music, movies, styles of furniture, linens, whatever. Since I was in high school, I've loved to collect practical antiques and vintage clothing. It's a hobby I've confined to thrift-store shopping during this season of my life, but it's one of my hobbies that gives me the most joy.

Clover : Our pot-bellied pig.

clutter: A constant struggle.

coats: I have a fetish for these. Recently I found a black leather jacket and a black Hilary Radley swing cape at the thrift store. I can't help it. It's an addiction.

cobalt blue: My collection began with my grandmother's Vic's Vapo-Rub jar and grew from there. My husband, children, friends and family have added to it over the years. My favorite pieces are displayed in my bedroom.

colors : My favorites are dark green, burgundy, brown, black and shades of white/cream.

comparison: One of my biggest enemies.

computer: We're down to one functioning computer with internet access, and when I say "functioning," it's just barely doing that, shutting down every few minutes and unable to run the programs I use. I'm trying to scheme a way to get a new computer for schoolwork and writing.

concerts: One of our goals in building a house in the country was to have houseconcerts. Over the past two years, we've had seven concerts, have four more in the next two months and have a couple booked for 2008. Our goal is to consistently draw about 50 people per show.

constellations

content

conversations

cook

coop

cooperate

cornmeal

cosmetics

cottage cheese

cotton

couch

country

cows

crabby

crafts

Crash

cream

creative

Creator

criticism

curly

currants

curse

cute

It's an addiction!

Victoria Magazine is back! Oh, joy, joy, joy, joy! All through my latter high school years and my college days, I pored over this publication. I'm so thrilled to have another periodical to peruse! It's my one addiction--a good mag on a bad day.

Hat tip to Hind's Feet.

B is for...

Babies: five of them. The first two were born in hospitals and, when I realized I didn't want to do that again, the last three were born at home with a midwife.

Back: My mom always used to complain about her back hurting, and I thought she was such a wimp. Now my back hurts, and I think I'm such a wimp.

Bacon: Is it so difficult to make bacon without nitrates? I've looked everywhere and can only find one source for good nitrate-free bacon. It's expensive, but we only buy it once in a great while for BLTs or Bacon Onion Quiche. I should just raise my own hog.

Baggage: I have too much of it.

Baggy: Growing up, I always wore baggy clothes because I thought it was modest. Now I wear baggy clothes because they fit.

Baking: It's zucchini season, so I've been baking zucchini bread and zucchini cake, which I put in the freezer for a quick breakfast as the year gets crazy. I enjoy baking most times, but it would be easier if I had central air. :-)

Balance: For years, I tried to find the balances in life--the balance between quality time with my kids and cleaning my house, the balance between creative time and productive time, the balance between that would bring more good days and fewer bad days. I've come to realize that there is no balance. Life is an ever-pendulouse ebb and flow and I must simply hang on.

Ballad: When I was a child, the most tragic songs I ever heard were, "I'll Be True to You," "Seasons in the Sun," "One Tin Soldier" and "Wildfire." I was so very much a child drawn to stories of tragedy; these songs were among my very favorites.

Ballerinas: I could gaze for hours at my little girls dancing and twirling and bowing and spinning. They don't take dance classes, but they love to perform for me. It's one of my mind's most precious scenes.

Banjo: I totally want to learn to play!

Baptism: We've been recently discussing adult baptism. Monet isn't sure he wants to be baptized, ever. Since we've been attending an Anabaptist church, the subject has come up several times. If we decide to join the church, which is the direction we're heading, it's my understanding that we're supposed to be baptized again (Bo and I). The children will wait until they're adults to choose baptism.

Barber: When I was in high school, I kind of toyed with the idea of opening a barber shop with my dad, a real, old fashioned one with a barber pole and a quartet on Saturdays and straight-razor shaves.

Barefoot: I don't go barefoot as often now as I did as a child. It was surely summer when I was allowed to run outside with my shoes off. By the end of summer, I could scamper across our gravel drive with nary a wince.

Barn: When Bard was a child, we prayed for a red barn with lots and lots of animals. Every day when I look out my kitchen window, I see a red barn that houses goats, chickens, a pot-bellied pig, a pigeon and lots of cats. I need to thank God for that more often.

Bass Guitar: Recently Bard told Monet that he really should become good at his musical instruments because then he could choose any girl he wanted. There's something disturbingly true about this. Bo is a bass player and has a wonderful, sexy singing voice, somewhere between John Mayer, Steven Curtis Chapman and Daryll Hall. Between those talents and his adorable dimples, I was head-over-heels in no time.

Bathtub: I have a big 'ol tub in my bedroom that serves as my retreat. I turn the lights low and soak, enjoying a good book or a chat with my hubby. On the cold days when I was working at the greenhouse, it kept me going to know that I could go home and plunge myself into my tub's warmth. When we were building our house, we were worried that putting that huge whirlpool tub in our room would be a mistake that we'd regret. On the contrary! It's the best thing to use when you have to toss a bunch of dirty kids into water or soak a basket of smoldering clothes from a dryer fire or bathe a flea-bitten varmint. I don't know what I'd do without indoor plumbing!

Belief: I've always, always, always believed in a higher power. When I was young, I would pray to an unknown being, asking it to solve my problems, calm my angry mother or send me a pony. It wasn't until I was older that I saw this being as God, and it wasn't until I was sixteen that I became a Christian. Every day my belief in God moves and rearranges and changes and deepens and wavers. In my adult life, I've even tried to abandon Him, but His realness always returns to me.

Belligerent: I was as a child, and now I have two boys who are as well. Pray for me.

Bickering: If there's one thing that drives me insane, it's my children bickering with each other. They say I just don't understand. I was an only child. What do they know?

Billy goat: Johnny was a cute little billy, but now he's a brute. He sticks out his tongue before he rears up, does disgusting things with his pee, makes terrible noises that sound like a human man gurgling to death, and smells like something very wrong. But I love him anyway.

Books: My favorites are Peace Like a River, The Life of Pi, The Little House series, Gone-Away Lake, The Bible (especially my Amplified Bible), Tess of the D'Urbervilles (how very tragic!), Stephen King On Writing. I have a bunch of gardening books and cookbooks and children's books. The only thing that prevents me from surrounding my whole self with books is my lack of bookcases. I even hope to write one some day.

Bread: Quite possibly my favorite food. I love to bake it and I love, love, love to eat it warm with a slab of real butter. Oh, very yes.

Breakfast: Somehow, I often miss this. I get going and hit the ground running, sometimes forgetting to fuel my body. And then I get mean. I really should remember to eat breakfast.

Buggy: We have lots of these here in Amish Country, most of them black with a big orange "slow-moving-vehicle" sign on the back. But occasionally I'll see one with no lights, no reflectors and now sign. Those are the lower order Amish and you really don't want to come upon that kind of buggy in the dark of night. It's a great contrast to the buggy we saw in town one night that boasted ground effects. No joke.

Bumblebee: When I was a kid, I used to catch these and hold them in my hand.

Burden: A huge financial burden has been lifted. Thank you, God, for your provision and for your people!

A is for...

Abode: I've worked for and dreamed about this place where I live for many years. I don't know why it is (though I'm sure there's some deep-seated explanation rooted in my childhood), but having a home--not just a house--is very important to me. I'm strongly drawn to create environments for myself and those I love. I'm happy to say that the tenuous relationship I've had with my home these past few months has been resolved, thanks to the love and generosity of amazing people, so I'm thankful for my home and for God's people.


Absent-minded: Lately I've found myself to be more forgetful than usual, losing track of what I'm doing from moment to moment, step to step. If I don't make a grocery list, I may completely forget why I'm there, and even if I remember, I may forget between the time I remember and the time it takes me to get to the right aisle, even if it's only one aisle away.


Abundance: One day I'll think I have so much and another day I'll fret over having nothing. What's up with me? The truth is that I'm blessed with an abundance of love and I have everything I need. Mostly.


Ache: My body. My hips. My neck. My head.


Acquaintances: Thank you so much, God, for the people you've brought into my life. Some people aren't quite friends yet, but I'm so glad for these acquaintances.


Acorn: I hold tight to the promise of the oak within the tiny acorn. Something I heard recently that really struck a chord with me was that as soon as an acorn sprouts, it's an oak tree. I could be one day old or one year old or one hundred years old, and it's still an oak. My home is dotted with acorns, real and represented in different forms. There's one oak tree on our property which must be about 25 or 30 years old because it just started bearing acorns a couple of years ago; my understanding is that they get acorns after 25 years. See The Sprouted Acorn.


Adolescents: There are two of these in my household. Who they are is both a mystery and a comfort to me. I find that I have so much more in common with them now, that I return to the fondness I had for them when they were very young, a fondness that got a bit muddled during the pre-teen years. That's not to say there aren't difficult moments and days; it's just to say that there's more communion now than there has been in recent years.


Afford: If I had more money, I'd buy a compressor for our central air system, a new van, a front stairway, a side patio, a back deck, a clothesline, a banjo, a dulcimer and a set of drums. I'd get good furniture (an antique table and chairs big enough for the whole family and a comfortable couch where we could all read together), I'd finish my dad's kitchen and trimwork, and I'd give lots and lots of money away to people who need much more than I do.


Affluence: I struggle with how I feel about this. Sometimes I wish I had more. Sometimes I despise it. I'm trying to learn not to covet.


Aggravated: No matter how hard I try to please my father, he never sees anything but my faults. In turn, I become more faulty as my anger overtakes me and then he has so much more to talk to his sister about during his morning phone conversations. If he had any idea how wrong he is about me and the things I do, I wonder if he'd stop tearing me to pieces with his words.


Agriculture: Can this be in someone's bones? I think it's in mine. If it can be, does it come easily? Because it doesn't for me. I'm always trying to find that ecobalance on our mini-farm, but there's always some animal or plant trying to buck my system. Will it ever work?


Air Conditioner: Don't have one. Not in my car. Not in my house. It's not so bad today, but it was earlier this week. It's the next big thing on my list that I hope to save money for. Are the dog days over?


Alec D'Urberville: I'm reading Tess of the D'Urberville's for the first time and am at the part of Alec D'Urberville's conversion. Where has Thomas Hardy been all my life?!?


Amusement: Ever been to the State Fair? This year was my first experience there and we had a pretty good time. I never would have expected a cow and calf made entirely of butter. I tasted my first fried cheese curds; saw my first freak show; watched my son lose his head at the hands of a stage magician; met Gloria Rodin, the "world's smallest woman" (a Jamaican who is actually just one of the world's smallest women) and talked to her about her conversion to Christianity while she was touring state fairs in a little people's reggae band; bought a banjo-mandolin made from a board, a cigar box, staples, linoleum tacks and banjo strings; took my adolescents to see Weird Al Yankovic live (they loved it!); and, as I do at every fair, bought maple sugar candy.


Anabaptist: We've been attending a Mennonite church for about a year and a half now and I'm reading several books about Anabaptist roots and beliefs. It's where I fit.


Ancestors: Being adopted makes me feel like I'm missing out on a heritage. I wish I knew who my real ancestors were. Yet at the same time I wonder...why does it matter?


Anger: I struggle with this a LOT.

Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: New book by Barbara Kingsolver that really helped nudge me closer to eating locally. I buy all of my produce from local growers now, except for what I'm growing in my own yard.

Animals: They're taking over! Goats, pet rats, cats, dogs, lizard, birds, chickens, potbellied pig. Being in the midst of flea season, I'm working very hard to do non-toxic flea control right now. Lots of laundering, vacuuming, bathing animals, combings. It's endless!

Ankle: I've always wanted a tatoo there. What prevents it? Fear and indecision.

Annoying: Fleas. Gossiping father. Judgemental people. August heat.


Antibiotics: Have only used them probably five times in our family in 18 years. Twice for strep and three times (same time--three different people) for a Christmas of pneumonia/bronchitis/sinusitis.


Antiques: I could spend all day in antique shops. See "afford" and "affluence."


April: My birth-month. One of my children share it.


Arguments: We have too many of them in this house. Are we too comfortable with each other, or are we too uncomfortable?


Armoire: Found a vintage one today at My Favorite Thrift Store. Was marked $65 but since it was Pink Tag Day and it had a pink tag, it was half-priced. Monet doesn't have a closet, so this will go to his room, as long as he takes care of it.


Armpit: What The Baby calls tattoos. I don't know why.


Artists: Love Monet, Mary Cassatt, Van Gogh and my son.


Asparagus: Fell in love with it this year and planted a whole bunch of it. Can't wait to harvest it next year!


Aspiration: I have to think about this one.


Authors: Barbara Kingsolver, Anne Tyler, Thomas Hardy, Shakespeare, Solomon, Walter Farley, James Thurber, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Charlotte Mason, William Wordsworth, C.S. Lewis, Laura Ingalls-Wilder, Anne LaMott, A. A. Milne, Elizabeth Enright, John Holt, Leif Enger, Madeleine L'Engle, the bloggers on the left.


Autumn: My favorite month. Nostalgia overcomes me when the leaves turn. A trip to the farmer's market for pumpkins and corn stalks lets me drink in the colors like a mug of mulled cider.

Encyclopedia of Me Meme

I'm going to jump-start my return to blogging (ie: cheat) by participating in Bella Dia's Encyclopedia of Me Meme. Wanna join? Just let her know!

Keep Cool

August. The heat is making me pay for the coolness of July. For the first time in my life, I'm seriously considering selling someone or something to purchase an air conditioner. We already have the whole system set up, the lines charged and everything, but we lack a compressor. We'd get it later, we said. When we had more money. Now we have less. No air in the house, no air in either car, so there's no escape from the heat short of laying in the tub all day or swaddling myself in wet washcloths. Unless you include shopping at the thrift store and the used book store. Which I do.

My niece and nephews are here for a few days. Today's the last of the few, and, while we've had a lot of fun milking goats, making bouquets, eating stuff from the garden, going thrift-store shopping and seeing a bargain showing of Evan Almighty, swinging on the swing and jumping on the trampoline, I think they're ready to go home. They hate the flies and the heat and my ten-year-old nephew Tenn's not too nuts about the lack of TV and various electronic games. I think he'll be glad, though, that he climbed to the top of the treehouse and just sat there for a long, long time, looking out over the hills (darn it! I just had a great idea. Why didn't I give him a disposable camera this week???), visited the cabin, chased chickens, played rodeo with the billy goat, tortured cats, explored the woods and creeks, listened to James Herriot stories about returning cows and flatulent dogs. I mean, what's not to love? Air conditioning? Pshaw.

But it was nice to get some relief from the heat and mugginess yesterday as we combed through the potential bargains at my favorite thrift store. Four-year-old nephew Hot Dog found some great "Engine Turtles" in a fifty-cent bag of treasures. Six-year-old niece Hobbit and eight-year-old daughter Sweetheart delighted in clip-on earrings, necklaces and Hobbit's shiny silvery shrug. The Baby scored a cute sundress and a baggie of Polly Pockets. Twelve-year-old son Monet bought a giant deck of cards and a bubble-blowing contraption. I scored two hunter-green throw-rugs for my kitchen and my second cast-iron skillet of the week (cooking with cast iron is my new thang; last week I found another just like this one, perfectly seasoned and ready-to-use. I added it to my cart with my other thangs--books and hand-embroidered pillowcases). Houdin found some borderline-tacky vintage clothes to add to his collection currently cluttering the floor. And we were so very cool.

Today, it's off to voice and piano lesssons, and then some of us will head for Columbus where we'll meet my sister-in-law and then there may be a little surprise in store for those two teens of mine who go along.

Until then, we'll keep cool in every way we know how.

Scenes from San Jose

Bard and Houdin spent six days in San Jose, California as part of their youth conference. Here are a couple of the photos they took along the way. It's good to have everyone back at home and I'm looking forward to a week-long stay-at-home vacation where the whole family can reconnect, relax, and pursue their creative endeavors.

I'm also looking forward to a return to blogging.

Thanks for sticking around. :-)

Pure, Lovely Milk

Cool summer days make me so nostalgic and sentimental. For some reason, when the weather warms up, I pop out of bed at 6:30 or 7:00, no alarm necessary, and set about keeping house. Most of what that entails is preparing food, beginning with the morning milking of our two well-trained Nubian milkers, Alice and Maggie.

For those who have never milked goats, let me tell you that it's a very connecting and organic experience, especially if you milk by hand on a homemade stanchion in the freshness of the outdoors on a summer morning. It's ritualistic and comforting to fill a bucket with warm, soapy water, pick up the stainless steel milk pail and amble to the milking station. I like routines, for the most part, so I enjoy hanging the bucket on the little red hook set into the side of the stanchion--just the way it looks to me, hanging there, is so reassuring and bucolic, like a still-life of good living.

And then it's time to open the tub of grain. To me, the smell of fresh goat grain is heavenly. It hearkens me back to something, though I don't know what, because we didn't keep goats as a child (I like to think I would have loved goats, but I also know I wasn't a very disciplined child, so I'm probably just waxing romantic). When I make a run for my grain supply, the combination of smells--warm molassass and fresh oats and cracked corn and sunflower seeds--I find myself breathing deeply for the whole ride, taking in the scent of something that I actually entertain scooping from the bag and savoring. After all, it's much healthier than most other things human beings put in their mouths every day.

But I save it for the goats, and they're so very thankful. Once I've filled an ice cream pail with grain, I turn to see three pairs of anxious goat eyes peering expectantly at me through the barnyard fence. They know what's coming. They know the routine, too.

Alice is first, because she's the oldest and most calm. I open the gate and she steps forth, making her way directly towards the stanchion, usually stopping to steel a mouthful of grain before I shoo her up onto the platform. I generally don't have to stockade them, unless there are some playful dogs or curious chickens galavanting near by. Alice is usually pretty happy to just stand there, munching quietly, as I go about my ritual.

I plunge my hands into the warm, soapy water and retrieve the washcloth, which I use to wash down Alice's udders and teats, reducing the chance of any foreign material falling into the milk pail and giving Alice a comforting start-up to the process which helps her milk release. Aiming away from the pail, I release eight streams of milk, four streams from each teat, into the grass nearby, clearing the opening of the teat of any bacteria that may be hiding there. I always think of this as some special gift to the grass and wonder if one day I'll see that the little patch of land where I send this milk will be greener or healthier in some way. But usually, it doesn't lie there long; a hungry cat or dog or chicken comes by and laps up every drop they can get, looking eagerly up at me with the hope of more. "Later, maybe," I say. It all depends on the bounty that day.

And then, the milking. This is the part of the day that forces me to be patient and still, to be right there in the moment and go no further. The hissing sound of the streams of milk sings in the bucket, and there is a country quiet. Not a silence, but a productive quiet. There's the ever-present crow from the barnyard's several roosters, the peep of the chicks obediently and instinctively following their mama hen, the quiet clucking of the mama as she points the way to forage through the garden, the rustling of the rabbits' water bottle as the coerce the drink from it, the rapping of a red-bellied woodpecker on the old wild cherry beyond the barn, and the gentle snorting of the neighbor's horses in the pasture next to my garden.

And the sights--well, there are so many, since I'm a deep aesthete. The filtered light of morning floats over the flower beds--through the delphinium and salvia and yellow-faced violas, fingers its way between the the blooms and stems of Bordeaux petunias in my porch's hanging baskets, scampering over the spent tips of the daylilies.

I see what needs doing, too, and my hands itch to pull the weed grasses that are sneaking about in my herb garden. They aren't overwhelming. On the contrary, I find it almost enjoyable to reach down and pull the sprawling grasses, roots and all, from the soft soil of the herb beds, tossing them into a bucket to give as an offering to my rabbits. The rabbits provide me with fresh, useable manure for my gardens, and I provide them with the growing things that I don't want, like these grasses, and some lamb's quarters, and the excess purslane, lettuces and nasturtiums that produce more abundantly than we can use.

But I force myself to be still and finish the milking, not to hurry through, empathizing with this mother goat, with her fullness and showing gratitude that she's allowing me to do this, to take this life-giving beverage from her every day.

When the feed pail is empty and the milk pail is half full, I lead Alice back to the barnyard and give Maggie her turn. Maggie runs to the stanchion, jumps onto the platform without hesitation, and dives into the newly-filled feed pail as if she were starving. Maggie is young and skittish, and I have to accomodate her by dumping the grain into a shallow bin so that she can see all that's going on around her. I learned quickly that hoping she would quietly munch from the ice cream pail was right out. Maggie, in her alertness (and also her pickiness) would quickly nose into the pail and nudge it right off the stanchion, leaving a feast for the chickens. She prefers to see her whole meal laid out for her, and she pauses jerkily and often to take account of her surroundings. She'll mellow in time, this young girl. For now, we just make our accomodations.

When the grain is gone and the pail is full, I lead Maggie back to the barnyard, on the way pausing just once to let her get a taste of the greener grass that's on the other side. And then, there is still one more pair of eager eyes watching me expectantly. That's Johnny, our Nubian buck. A handful of grain and a scratch on the head is all Johnny wants, and he gets it. Later, when I'm weeding the vegetable bed, Johnny will get the budding tops of my basil plants and the bolting lettuce plants along with a few snippets of purslane and radish seedlings. He has forage in the barnyard, but the things on my side are so much tastier that he never fails to stand right beside me as I weed, separated from me and this cornucopia only by the barnyard fence.

What happens from here depends on what I've planned for the milk. Most days, I carry it into the kitchen, strain it through special filters into quart jars and plunge the jars into a sink full of ice water to cool it to below 40 degrees Farenheit as quickly as I can. Most people who have tasted and dislike goat milk have not had it prepared this way, carefully screened of foreign objects and bacteria, milked into very clean containers, and cooled quickly in ice water--not straight into the fridge or freezer--so that when it's time to enjoy it, it's cold and sweet and creamy, without even a hint of goatiness. I don't pasteurize my goat's milk--pasteurization reduces the calcium, removes the good bacteria, and makes the milk harder for a human body to digest, resulting in so many of the health problems we face today, from brittle bones to obesity to peanut allergies.

Some days, I forgo the cooling process and pour the milk straight into a saucepan once it's been filtered, warming it, adding some cream, maple syrup and a bit of yogurt and then incubating it for several hours, creating more yogurt. Other days, I warm it to room temperature and add a bit of buttermilk, set it on the windowsill to create more fresh buttermilk for rhubarb bread or pancakes.

Sometimes I follow a recipe from Ricki Carroll's book Home Cheesemaking and I make mozzarella or fromage blanc or lactic cheese. Sweetheart praises me to the ends of the earth when she sees that bag of cheesecloth hanging over a bowl from the pendant light above the butcher block. She loves fromage blanch with a few chives, shallots and garlic from the garden. A sleeve of rosemary crackers and a bit of fruit, and that's a meal for my little girl.

Today, I have warmed the milk over a water bath and added some mesophilic starter and rennet, and in an hour, I will cut the curds of the feta cheese, reserving the whey for baking, or pizza dough, or I'll give it to the dogs who are very, very grateful. I've read that whey can be mixed with KoolAid or lemonade mix for a refreshing drink, but I haven't tried it yet.

This is the pace I love. These are the things that bring me joy. If I could only earn a living doing them and not spoil the beauty of it, I would do it in a heartbeat.

"Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things."

~Philippians 4:8 (New International Version)

Photos of Bard's Germany Tour

Thank you to everyone who helped Bard get to Central Europe, whether through financial contributions or prayers. She had a wonderful time and will soon post about her adventures on her own blog, but for now, I'll share with you the photos she took while she was there.

You can see them by clicking the photo album below. If you go to the public albums, you'll see that there's a Part B as well. :-)

Bard's Germany Tour: Part A

She's in Germany...

What would you do if it were 1:30 in the morning and you couldn't sleep?

Me? I called my daughter who's spending her days in Central Europe.

And why not? It's been a long day, after finding myself wide awake at 6:30 AM (this has been happening lately--my bodies awakens at 6:30 every morning, like it or not) and with a whole free day in front of me--so I thought.

I started it with a trip to a benefit book sale in my city where I picked up a bit of Bill Bryson, a couple of Madeleine L'Engles and an Elizabeth Berg for a song--a song that went to a good cause, nonetheless--and then I drifted towards my car UNTIL I smelled doughnuts frying at the local bakery. I tucked Mr. Bryson under my arm and strolled into the doughnut shop. A cream stick, a cup of coffee and a chair later, I was chatting with Mr. Bryson about his little adventure on the Appalachian Trail (Appalachia seems to be following me. Appalachian Music at Shakin' Down the Acorns, two books about Appalachia by Barbara Kingsolver, and now this. Huh. What's up with that?. The doughnuts at the local bakery aren't as good as they used to be. Sigh. So I didn't finish eating them and eased on down the road toward the bulk food store where I bulked up (ha) on organic quick oats and organic rolled oats and brown sugar and freshly ground peanut butter and a roll of 2-lb baggies. I intend to begin making granola to sell. Want some?

That was all, really, aside from a trip to the nursery to buy five blueberry bushes and three raspberry bushes.

When I arrived home, I got the mail (bad news, again), and the garage phone was ringing. Seems my son couldn't find the tickets to the music fest that he'd received for his birthday. Silly me. I'd hidden them from him on one of his more challenging days. And then today, the day he was set to go, packed and prepared, I'd slipped out to the benefit book sale without telling him the location of the tickets. Not on purpose. Honestly. So when I got home, everyone was quite glad to see me since they'd spent the morning trying to track me down (I'm a simple girl with no cell phone) by driving all over the village. Hop back into the car for a trip to the music fest and a detour to the ice cream shop with the little girls, Sweetheart and The Baby. Then home again, home again, jiggety jog, for a phone call to the attorney's office about the tax situation (more bad news) and a bit of time filling out a job application (library position) that had to be turned in by 5 pm today. Off to the library then (probably a good idea to pay my fine, too, she thought), with a detour to the greenhouse to pick up some bull compost for the berry bushes.

What had I wanted to accomplish? Weeding my garden, planting all of my berry bushes, making strawberry ice cream, spending time in the garden with my girls, making tons of granola, reading aloud to the girls, baking some bread and maybe a pizza...

What did I accomplish from that list?

None of it.

And when I sat down to check my e-mail, I discovered that my world traveler is having trouble accessing her money because the PIN is a word; there are no letters on Central European ATMs, apparently. Time on the phone with VISA (no help), time on the internet searching (no help), and finally, a snapshot of an ATM keypad and I realize that it's the same setup as a phone. So, of course, I had to call my daughter who is touring Central Europe with six euros left to her name.

It was so good to hear her voice. I miss her greatly. I'm glad she's having fun, and I'm thrilled that, through her hard work and the generosity of others, she's able to go on this trip (thank you all of you who know who you are), but I do miss her.

Look, the truth is that life is tough right now. But it's also good. Go figure.

How's life with you?

(Photo of Bard in Germany by her Nice Choir Manager)

A Series of Unfortunate Events

Huff. Puff. Huff. Puff. Huff. Puff.

That's the sound of me trying to catch my breath. It's the sound of me coming up for air. It's the sound I make when climbing the stairs, too, because I have woefully set aside my running in favor of other important things, like working my butt off so I can pay my bills and feed my family. Unfortunately, my butt doesn't disappear as quickly with this kind of work as it does with running. That, I fear, will have to wait. While my running partner chugs along (have you registered for the 5K yet, Kim?), I'm left in the dust. In lieu of running, I dream about it. Literally. I've composed an essay in my head about my running dreams, but I haven't stopped my life long enough to write it.

The past month has been eventful. Every moment has been occupied. I've been rising with the sun, but it's been beating me to bed each night. If you've ever seen a candle burned at both ends, you'll know what I look like.

Each morning brings the urgency of getting to the garden. With our wet, cold early spring, not much happened after the initial tilling. Now the herb garden is planted and mulched, the veggie garden is filled with onions, swiss chard seeds (yet to come up), peppers, tomatoes, eggplants, more onions, marigolds, basil and cilantro. The asparagus on which I had given up poked its many heads from the cool earth, only to be snipped off by a gang of marauding goats. Still, it persists and I hope for a bountiful harvest next year.

This seems to fit in with the theme of the month--hope deferred. Seeds that don't want to germinate. Newly placed seedlings that fall to the fate of a hungry goat kid. Threatening letters from government agencies holding my precious world in its fists lest I cough up several months' pay for taxes I owe. A new birthday camera just in time for my computer to crash. The cultivator quits when gardening season begins. Life=challenge. Most days, I'm tired and grumpy and my family takes the brunt. A few moments, like waking up from this afternoon's nap to the sound of birds and little girls singing, looking out my window over the finally green hillsides, turning silvery in the breezes of this spring day, almost make me want to grab my camera and my journal, but I barely have the desire. This home and hillside, this desire of my heart, this fruit of my labor, is only tenuously mine. Any act of God, unavoidable tragedy or certified letter might pull it out from under my bare gardening feet, leaving me on my rump, disillusioned and desolate.

These things have been occupying my mind, and more days than not, I find myself deep in depression. Work takes me from home, home greets me with more work, and never am I completely caught up. Even today, a day off from work outside the home, gives me an opportunity to pursue those things that have been niggling at me every day while I'm away, but my energy is zapped, and curled up in bed is where I'd like to be.

That's hardly anything inspiring to write about, though I do think about jotting down thoughts now and again. Life isn't all that poetic right now.

I need air. I need to resurface and take a deep breath. Something fresh and clean to purify my body and renew my energy.

A bit of hope would help, too.