It's a hard life, but it's a good, good life...

Inch by inch, row by row
Gonna make this garden grow
All it takes is a rake and a hoe
And a piece of fertile ground
Inch by inch, row by row
Someone bless these seeds I sow
Someone warm them from below
'Til the rain comes tumbling down

Well, I kind of go back and forth between thinking my garden is going to kill me this year and loving it to death. Today, I'm kind of in-between and, if not one with nature, then at least we're oozing into each other a bit more.

Our beautiful hilltop home is surrounded by acres and acres of fertile fields. I can see them all from just about every window of my house. Notice, my friends, that I said, "surrounded by." What that means is that this fabulous peak that gives me such incredible views just doesn't have any good soil.

Pulling weeds and pickin' stones
Man is made from dreams and bones
Feel the need to grow my own
'Cause the time is close at hand
Grain for grain, sun and rain
Find my way in nature's chain
To my body and my brain
To the music from the land

So, for the past seven years, from the very moment that I stepped foot on this piece of paradise, I've been working to tame the land. Clay, sand, rock, and the neighbor's newly-planted trees that border--ah, yes, even hover--over my garden area have all been issues to contend with. I've had years when my tomatoes have been attacked by hornworms, and blossom end-rot, and calcium deficiency, and an attack of goats, and the neighbor's cows, and the other neighbor's children. I've had years when I tilled and turned and double-dug only to be thwarted by weeds that popped up and choked out everything practically overnight. I've had raised beds rot away, birds devour cherries just moments before they were ripe, curculio worms eat my peaches from the inside out, and chickens dig up every last newly sprouted nasturtium seedling. My dogs love rolling in freshly spread mulch and freshly planted perennials, and my cats, like all cats, can't resist a brand new litter box shaped like a flower bed.

But I persist. I'm not sure why. I think it's a combination of naivety, stubbornness and a strong desire to hold on to a dream.

Because I've always had this image of a house surrounded by beautiful flowers, productive fruit trees, plentiful vegetable gardens, and chickens gently scratching away the grubs and cabbage worms. Of big, lazy dogs lounging on the porch (not in the flower bed, you see), and cats stretched out among the catnip.

Plant your rows straight and long
Thicker than with pray'r and song
Mother Earth will make you strong
If you give her love and care
Old crow watchin' hungrily
From his perch in yonder tree
In my garden I'm as free
As that feathered thief up there

So, sure, I've had to do some adjusting. I've learned a bit about fences, and about multiple plantings, about sticking sharp things where you don't want animals to lay or dig or scratch. I know now that I have to pick the cabbage worms off the broccoli, cauliflower and cabbage every day, not just when I see the pretty white moths appear fluttering above my garden. I've finally figured out that when the dogs find a patch in the garden that they like, I don't chase them away and replant what they dig up. I just leave that spot empty for them, let them feel like they won the battle. Chasing them away just sends them to a new spot, anyway.

Inch by inch, row by row
Gonna make this garden grow
All it takes is a rake and a hoe
And a piece of fertile ground
Inch by inch, row by row
Someone bless the seeds I sow
Someone warm them from below
'Til the rain comes tumbling down

Anyone who tells you that gardening isn't hard work is probably growing something illegal. It's a heck of a lot of work, and there are days when I don't think it's worth it at all.

But today I do. And that's what will keep me going tomorrow.

That's the country life.

Happy Birthday, Houdin!

Houdin is away at camp as a counselor for the week, and today, on his birthday, I'm thinking of him. When he gets home, we'll have a birthday celebration for him and a Father's Day celebration for Bo and my dad.

It's pretty strange not having Houdin here. Dare I say it's quite a bit quieter? But at the same time, when I need someone to lift this or carry that or run here or hurry there, I remember how helpful he is. I'm sure he's enjoying his week of training at camp and will be a big hit with the camp kids; that environment is right up his alley.

So send birthday wishes his way, and we'll be sure he gets them when he gets home.

::: happy birthday, son! :::

::: scenes from the garden :::

Here are a few moments I wish I could savor forever. After returning from the trail and a trip to the thrift store, The Baby ushered Papa out to the garden to peruse her thrifted William Wegman book. Of course Sweetheart, Bard and Joy the Dog had to get in on the act. What a gorgeous day!

Some grad photos...

Bard graduated from high school this weekend. The ceremony was lovely, and we had the very perfect weather for her open house on Sunday. We made bins and bins of food--barbecued chicken, baked beans, potato salad, veggies and dip, cake, cookies--and we had a wonderful crowd of people to share it all with.

Now, she's off for the summer and will be a freshman at a Christian college on a full scholarship (room and board, books, tuition, AND a laptop all paid!) this Fall. I will miss her greatly, but she'll only be about an hour away, and will be closer geographically to some of her friends when she's there that she has been at home.

It's been a great ride, learning with this girl, from the moment she was born, even up through today. I look forward to many years of learning with my younger ones, too.

With Sweetheart, Mom, Dad and Grandma.

Aunt Marilyn and Cousin Bella on the hammock with Uncle Aaron providing the motion.

Some twilight guests.
And she'll be heading off to college with a very special gift from her whole family--aunts, uncles, grandparents, brothers, sisters, mom and dad. It's her very own guitar--which just happens to share her name.

::: a garden post :::

I posted a little bit about my garden happenings at my food blog, Time to Cook. Go take a gander.

::: fun stuff for cat lovers :::

I found this video over at Anderson Adventures and it gave me a good giggle. Take a moment to giggle, too. It's good for you!

Finally. New pictures of the kids.

After having those black and white pictures on my sidebar for so, so long, I finally have some new photos of the fam which I hope to get into that sidebar, if I can remember how!

The Baby

Sweetheart

Monet

Houdin

Bard

A Spring Photo

Well, it only took about two hours and fifty takes, but we got one decent family photo for the church directory and my mother-in-law who has been asking me for a family photo forever. Left to right: Bard, Monet, Houdin, The Baby, Bo, Sweetheart and Thicket Dweller.

Ain't no cure for the summertime blues...

Once the weather gets warm, and the trees jump into greenness, and the dirt invites a spade and some willing fingers, our family can be found outdoors at every chance.

Every year, I've taken a little more time and a little more effort to plant a vegetable garden and a couple of flower beds. This year, with gas prices being what they are, and food costs skyrocketing, I decided that it would be necessary to grow as big of a garden as I can possibly get, and that everyone in the family will work in it, no exceptions. So far, that plan has worked out, with just a few hitches.

The hitches are the computers. My boys, in particular, don't seem to be able to function properly if there is an electronic device within a hundred feet of them. I can assign them a chore and, as soon as I'm not looking, they disappear. I'll spend a half-hour pulling weeds, or hoeing a row, or hauling mulch, and then I realize that someone's missing. It seems that I spend half of my work day playing hide and seek, though it's never very hard to find them.

Usually the reason is that they had to go to the bathroom, or change their shoes, or get a drink. And once they're in the house, that computer is just too strong of a pull. They're sucked in to Frets on Fire or facebook. It's almost like they don't even know they're doing it.

But the girls? Well, when they're in the garden with me, it's right where they want to be. They will do whatever it takes to make the yard look pretty, and just to spend time with mom. And if they aren't working with mom, they're swinging on the swing, or playing with the animals, or pretending they're fairies, or picking flowers to weave into each others' hair. Bard will spend the entire day weeding, mulching and identifying emerging perennials in her garden.

Is it a hard-wiring thing? Are girls so programmed to nest and create environments that they aren't even tempted away?

Are boys so programmed to hunt and gather and protect that they'll drift away from their household duties in order to virtually hunt and gather and protect?

Whatever the reason, it causes some friction in the Thicket Dweller household. The girls, even though they love being with mom and enjoy housework to some extent, dont' appreciate it when they have to do all of it, and the boys get to run off and "play." And I, who have always intended to raise boys who can cook and clean just as well as they can work on cars and gather firewod, am simply maddened by their distractedness. It leaves all of us feeling resentful and trodden upon.

So I'm looking for solutions. I know that I can do some things in a very analog style, like taking the power supply or the wireless keyboard and mouse and locking them in the locker. But that doesn't change the heart issue, and that's what I need to address now.

Any commiserations or suggestions that you have would be warmly welcomed. Does anyone else deal with these issues? How do you handle them? Do you see a difference between boys and girls in this area?

I'll be staying tuned, but I won't be standing right by my computer. If you need me, I'll be in the garden.

::: a thought for today :::

Ten things I love about...stuff.

Here's what I love right now...

That Bard and her debate partner were the first place debate team in their very last debate tournament. Things started out pretty rocky this year, and I've been praying for a good outcome. While this may not be the entire outcome, I think it's part of it.

That the chives are up. They're so green and tall and encouraging! Chives are such a dependable harbinger of Spring.

That the pig is tilling my garden, even if I'm having a hard time getting her to till that one little section of sod and rocks. I hope to have a well-tilled plot of land to enjoy when she's all done, a place where I can plunk in some more leafy green things.

That Houdin was hired as a counselor, cook and pastor at a local camp this summer. I think he'll really enjoy it, and I'm sure the kids will love him.

That things are winding down for the year. Tournaments are over. Pretty soon, classes will be over, choir will be over, and it will be time to do some serious reading, to myself and aloud. Right now, I'm previewing The Benedict Society to read aloud to Monet, Sweetheart and The Baby (who needs a new nickname now that she's five and can answer the phone all by herself).

That relationships are healing. I pray that I can keep giving them over to God and that I can be obedient and humble, no matter what He asks me to do.

That Bard made her decision about college. She received a full academic scholarship for one of her top five choices, but she wasn't sure if it was the right place for her. She decided on Thursday that it was and will begin registering for classes this week. She was even offered a job in the writing lab; a very good friend of ours is the director of the lab and was happy to offer the position to Bard.

That we have the use of a second car. We were limping along with no car, then one car, and now we have two working cars. It makes a world of difference.

That there are visitors to the bird feeders on my porch every day.

That Houdin is able to take a second look at relationships and what they mean after a breakup with his girlfriend. I'm thankful that he's able to focus on his other interests again and just be a teenage boy.

Okay, eleven things: That I have a great walking partner who encourages me to get out there and get some exercise. I'd be a sloth without her.

I'm thankful for the changes that are taking place around me, both big and small. Thank you, God, for your incredible goodness. Please help me to remember to thank You daily!

::: birthday haircut :::

::: turning 39 :::

On my 39th birthday, we had a great houseconcert with fabulous people present. It was a lot of work,but I think it was the best birthday I've had in a very, very long time.

A full weekend

Friday night was the Formal Night Out sponsored by our home ed. group. Bard and Houdin went together, brother and sister, and met their other friends there. While Bo and I had dinner and did some errands, the kids dined, enjoyed a speaker, and then headed over to a local gym for games. As if they hadn't had enough by the time the event was over with, they went to Houdin's girlfriend's church for a lock-in. Bright and early the next morning, they had to be at yet another church to make pizzas for a speech and debate fundraiser. They took Grandma's advice of "sleep later" very seriously. When it was all over, they crashed. It was a full weekend, indeed.

The Spider and the Fly

"Will you walk into my parlour?"
said the Spider to the Fly,
'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy;
The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,
And I've a many curious things to shew when you are there."
Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "to ask me is in vain,
For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again."

"I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the Spider to the Fly.
"There are pretty curtains drawn around; the sheets are fine and thin,
And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in!"
Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "for I've often heard it said,
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!"

Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, " Dear friend what can I do,
To prove the warm affection I 've always felt for you?
I have within my pantry, good store of all that's nice;
I'm sure you're very welcome -- will you please to take a slice?"
"Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "kind Sir, that cannot be,
I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!"

"Sweet creature!" said the Spider, "you're witty and you're wise,
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
I've a little looking-glass upon my parlour shelf,
If you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself."
"I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you 're pleased to say,
And bidding you good morning now, I'll call another day."

The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again:
So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready, to dine upon the Fly.
Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing,
"Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing;
Your robes are green and purple -- there's a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead!"

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly,
Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by;
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew,
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue --
Thinking only of her crested head -- poor foolish thing! At last,
Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den,
Within his little parlour -- but she ne'er came out again!

And now dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly flattering words, I pray you ne'er give heed:
Unto an evil counsellor, close heart and ear and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale, of the Spider and the Fly.

by Mary Howitt 1821.

From Sketches of Natural History (1834), Effingham Wilson : London.

This is Sweetheart's speech piece for this year. While her age group doesn't "compete," she has presented it several times this year. I'm very proud of her, given that last year her first attempt at a speech ended in tears. This year, her presentation was entirely picked out and memorized by her, and all of the actions, gestures and voices were her idea. This piece is dear to our familiy because Sweetheart's great-grandma, who she is named after, always used to read this poem to the children.

::: we need more fresh fruits and veggies in our lives :::

Isn't it funny how one day, you're just breezing along through life, comfortable in knowing who you know, not really expecting to make any new friendships or relationships, and the next thing you know, your life is changed, your circle of friends has grown, and you'll never be the same?

On Thursday evening, it was my responsibility to welcome the Junger Chor Speyer (the Speyer youth choir) to our town, mostly because the rest of Bard's touring choir lived over an hour from where the Speyer choir would be staying for the night. Bard was well-received last year when she visited Speyer, and I wanted to make their visit special, too.

When they first arrived by bus, several hours late, in the dark and rain, I was only able to meet the director and her husband, and then, only briefly. From there, it was a whirlwind of activity--leading them to the hotel, hitting a deer (and hoping the large tour bus wouldn't hit us in the process), running for pizza as a sorry replacement for a sit-down dinner in a local restaurant, struggling with the language barrier and the general uneasiness of getting to know strangers. It was immediately a learning experience.

My confidence flagged when I was approached by a tall, dark-haired, middle-aged German man who asked me something I couldn't understand. When I answered with, "Say that again?" He blustered, wagged his head and wandered away. I found out later that he was Herr Burgermeister, or the mayor of Speyer. "I am the Burger King," he told me in shaky English, laughing at himself. It turns out that he had taken English for thirteen years but retained very little of it. He was a bit lost in America.

As I stood in the hotel lobby, worrying about their food (too greasy), and their drinks (too sweet), and the language barrier, and their general well-being, one of the choristers approached me and spoke in slow but easily-understandable English. Honestly, I don't remember the exchange, but I remember knowing that the walls were coming down. It was a general conversation--we shared names, she told me that they'd had a long, long bus ride, that perhaps the bus driver had been lost--even going the wrong direction--and that they had lurched to a stop on the way to the hotel.

"That was because we hit a deer," I said. She glanced around for help. Speaking to a young German who stood close by, she asked, "Was ein 'deer' ist?" He responded in German, and she nodded in understanding. "Did it run away?" She asked. "It, um..." I made a large gesture with both of my hands. "It sort of...rolled away." We both laughed. Laughter I could understand.

It's a strange feeling to sit in a room full of people speaking a language you can only barely understand when you hear it directly spoken to you, and very, very slowly. It's another thing when they're all talking and laughing at once. Are they talking about me? Are they laughing at the food? I watched them point, amused, at the grease that was dripping off their up-ended pizza, and I felt more than slightly embarrassed as they filled their cups partway with Coke...then partway with water. The kids and I had assembled small treat bags for them, gifts from different businesses in our county who make unique food items, like fresh-pressed cider, baby swiss cheese, chocolate buckeye candy, and beef sticks. The beef sticks, I learned later, didn't go over very well (greasy, salty and very strange), but they smiled and nodded when I asked them how everything tasted. All of them, I noted, drank the cider and ate the cheese gratefully. I also learned later that they drink apple juice, wine, and water when at home. Rarely do they drink soda. And I had bought fifteen bottles of Coke products.

But little by little, I got to know them and learned more about each of their personalities. Robin was shy. Stephanie was smart and funny. Felix was agreeable, bubbly and always smiling. Angelina was enchanted with the American drinking fountain that she'd only seen in American films. Johnny was concerned that we would think they were "stuck in the past" because of their 2,000 year-old city and their beautiful churches and buildings. Julian was silly and full of energy. Hubert was somewhat of the "dad" or "big brother" of the choir. And Jochen was sensitive, intelligent, ornery.

It was Jochen that I particularly took a liking to. His sense of humor and orneriness was apparent when we visited a local store where the woman giving the tour repeated over and over that the things there were hand-made, not from China. I rounded a corner to find Jochen snapping a photograph of a white box that was clearly labeled, "Made in China." I grinned, and we had a discussion about the ubiquitousness of foreign-made products, with me telling him about the problem of Wal-Mart and him telling me that it's hard to find German-made products in his hometown, too.

Over the course of the next few days, I talked to Jochen about the issues in the United States, and he told me that some of these issues existed in Germany, too. But many of the things that we deal with, he and his friends did not understand.

They laughed at the signs on the doors of a public school that said, "No guns allowed." Wasn't that just common sense, they said? Jochen was saddened by the English slogans printed on children's t-shirts, things like South Park catch-phrases and other disrespectful messages. He said that, in Germany, young children wear these English t-shirts because they're from America, but they don't know what the phrases say or mean. Often, they are vulgar or inappropriate, and very young children wear them, not even realizing. I was struck by their desire to emulate our youth, who wear these things fully aware of what they're saying.

I became very aware of our culture the more time I spent with the German choir. They were served pizza several times, and given food-service sloppy joes and canned corn at one private school. At home, they told me, they sit down for lunch and have a formal meal. Tablecloths. Nice dishes. Silverware. Fresh asparagus. Fruit. Red wine. White wine. Mineral water. Brown bread. And here, fruit was practically non-existent in our meals. At each gathering, I noticed that we were overrun with casseroles and sweets, but fresh fruits and vegetables were rarely present. Stephie told me about the first day they arrived, and how they were served pizza with a "fat lake" in the middle. Jochen was so excited to see strawberries at one meal that he practically rushed to the bowl. But they were still frozen and practically tasteless. He was thankful for the bowl of fresh apples, though. Those were mine, I told him proudly. I got a grateful pat on the back.

On the fourth day of their visit, their bus driver raved about a place they would just love. She told them all how great it was, and took them to Dave and Buster's. Did they like it? I asked. One after another, they shook their heads. Unbelievable, they said. The food was very good, yes, but the noise, and the waste of money, and the games--how violent! And young children playing these games! Six and seven years old playing first-person shooter machines! Jochen shook his head sadly, "If one of my seventh- or eighth-grade students was playing one of these games, I would talk with their parents. Tell them this is not allowed." Do your youth not play basketball? Do they not go outside and wrestle or play?

I felt as if scales were falling off my eyes.

I mean, none of this was new to me, but it was indeed more obvious and more troubling than I had admitted before.

Jochen and I compared notes during the last evening of their stay in my area. American schools, he said, seem to have more money. Things are cheaper here in America. Everyone drives cars. There are parking places for everyone. Littering is a problem in Germany just like in America. People don't care; they throw their trash everywhere and criminals put on orange jumpsuits and clean it up. In Germany, buildings are old and in need of repair. In America, most of our old buildings are demolished, making room for new ones that are in need of repair. I know that America isn't perfect, I said, but where do we start to make changes? But it's not just America. It's not just Germany. The problems are big everywhere. We both agreed.

Jochen had mentioned to me on the third day of his stay that he had hoped to stay in a home with children and animals; he really missed his students, he said. While his home stays were very nice, and the people were wonderful, there were no children, he said. So on the last night of their visit, when they came to perform for all of our children's choirs and observe their classes, I approached him and asked him if he'd like to visit a class with children. His eyes lit up.

So I lead him through the halls towards the youngest training class where Mr. Walker, the choir director for the youngest group, was beginning his session with the 7, 8 and 9 year-olds. I introduced Jochen to everyone and told him I'd be back later to see how he was doing. I thought I'd take him around to several of the classes so he could see how they taught, too. But when I returned later and asked him if he'd like to stay there or visit elsewhere, he smiled, "I'll stay right here, thank you." And I could tell that he was getting a good dose of therapy. When he emerged from the room, he gave me a big hug. "Thank you for that," he said. I could tell it had been a much-needed break.

It was very hard to say goodbye to Stephanie and Felix and Hubert and Angelina. It was especially hard to say goodbye to Jochen, because I felt like I was saying goodbye to a younger brother I might never see again. He hugged me and thanked me for the everything, and I felt silly for fighting back tears. Thankfully, in the rush of it all, I was able to get e-mail and mailing addresses from Stephie, and Felix, and Hubert, and Jochen.

The mayor of Speyer, "The Burger King," invited me to visit his city. "We...uh...we...will drink Schorle," he said, which is wine mixed with bubbly mineral water. "And eat asparagus. And liverwurst on brown bread." He rubbed his stomach. "Someday," I nodded, grinning. He glanced around, looking for help. "Was ein 'someday' ist?" he called out, and, not finding an answer, looked back to me, shrugging. I made gestures with both hands, as if weighing something. "Maybe," I said. "Yes. No."

"Ah! Yes! May-be!" he nodded knowingly. And then he rubbed the fingers of his right hand together, making the universal sign for "money."

"Yes," I laughed, repeating the gesture.

"Maybe...in...uh, two, oh, oh, nine?" he said.

Wouldn't that be nice.

So they came in as strangers I didn't understand, but through the magic of the willingness to try, and the universal language of music, love and compassion, I've made what I hope will be lifetime friendships.

And I've learned a bit more about myself in the process.

Six Word Memoir

True tagged me to write my six-word memoir. I think this might actually take longer than writing a real, honest-to-goodness memoir, but here it goes:

"It wasn't what I had expected."

Okay. That wasn't so bad.

I tag...

Prism
Kate
A Circle of Quiet
Impromptu Mom
and Dad2Three

Easter Service, Part II

Easter Service, Part I

An interactive, wee-hours-of-the-morning post

Of course I should be sleeping. What kind of silly question is that?

It might be the cookies laced with espresso powder. It might be the three hour nap I took today. It might be the fact that I'm excited about Easter and church and Easter baskets and bacon onion quiche.

Whatever the reason, I just can't seem to sleep.

So I got to thinking. What if I were sitting here, and I realized that my computer screen was in desperate need of a cleaning, so I grabbed a washcloth from the kitchen and gave the screen a good wipe-down, when, suddenly, a genie--who looks suspiciously like Bernadette Peters--rises up from my monitor and speaks.

"You have awoken the Genie of the Monitor. I am here to make all of your wildest dreams come true! Close your eyes and sing, "All My Lovin'" and then make three wishes. If I like them, I'll grant them to you. If I don't like them, you have to come up with three more."

Well, what would *you* do? After that, I mean!

I'd close my eyes and start singin', buddy, and then I'd give three wishes.

I'd wish for perfect healthy for my family and me.

I'd wish for an endless supply of money so that I could be debt-free, and so could all of my friends, and I could give to everyone who was in need.

I'd wish for all of the difficult people in my life to realize how much pain they've caused me and come to me with sincere apologies, which, of course, I would accept with grace now that all of my problems are solved.

Now, you pretend you're Bernadette Peters, the Monitor Genie. Were my wishes good enough?

Stream of Consciousness Whilst Avoiding Work

Everyone is asleep except me, the dogs, the chickens, the cats, and the pigs.
I'm not sure what I want to do with my day.
I have a hankerin' for a good thrift-store visit and maybe a movie.
I should make potato soup.
I should have a tea party with the girls.
The chives are up. It's officially spring.
I'm looking forward to gardening this year, but I'm not looking forward to the work.
Someone needs to fence in the garden so the pig can till it up.
I'm glad for the pig.
It's cold out today.
It's too cold to put up a fence around the garden.
It's not too cold to do laundry.
Darn.
I need to go running again. I haven't been for almost a year.
That's terribly depressing.
I'm glad for other things, though.
I'm glad for Bard's scholarship.
I'm glad for a church family.
I'm glad for my iMac.
I'm glad for food in the fridge.
I wish I had more money.
But I'm not glad for wishing I had more money.
I'm glad today's Saturday and there are no outside plans.
I'm not glad that that means I have a whole day to do the cleaning projects I've been putting off.
I didn't put up my Easter decorations this year.
I don't really want to put up my Easter decorations this year.
I should put up my Easter decorations this year.
But then, I'll just have to take them down again.
Laundry always inspires me. Not that I *want* to do laundry, but that once I get it going, I feel like doing other things. That makes me productive.
I've been dealing with a lot of depression lately.
Wish I could overcome that.
I think it's caused by too much time on the computer.
I don't want to give up my computer.
It's a vicious cycle, isn't it?
I should be knitting more.
I should learn to sew.
I'm glad I filled my birdfeeders.
I need another birdfeeder.
Why do I always need "more?"
Human nature, I guess.
The neighbors are moving to New Zealand.
It's interesting to me that they're moving as far away from us as they possibly can.
I should be a better neighbor.
The rooster is crowing.
I need to take some of our livestock to auction.
I don't want to go another year with goats eating my garden.
That was extremely depressing, goats eating my garden.
I won't be working at the greenhouse this year.
Is that a good thing or a bad thing?
When I worked, I knew my time was limited, so I used it all as efficiently as I could.
When I worked, I never felt like I had time to *really* clean my house.
Now that I'm not working, I feel like I have all the time in the world to clean my house.
So I can do it later.
So I don't do it.
Ugh.
It would be better if the weather weren't so gray.
But then I'd have both the indoor work *and* the outdoor work to do.
I should clean the windows.
Anyone want a female Jack Russell Terrier who isn't fully housetrained?
Me neither.
My stomach is growling.
It's time to make soup.

::: 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. :-)