A Good Quote--a Bad Guy?

"Because just as good morals, if they are to be maintained, have need of the laws, so the laws, if they are to be observed, have need of good morals."

~Niccolò Machiavelli

Now, Bard tells me that Machiavelli was a "bad guy." Any opinions on this?

Homeschool Bloggers Support Group

Tenn over at School@Home has created the Homeschool Bloggers Support Group. Go on over to read about it. I've joined. You wanna?

wind scraps

Shannon Woodward's blog, wind scraps looks interesting. I have to pull myself from this chair, where I've been sitting for almost six hours straight, and take my daughter Bard to choir. Don't lecture me. I know six hours is a long time. I did more than just sit here, I can assure you that.

Anyway, I don't have the time to read Shannon's blog right now, but I want to. When I get another six hours of uninterupted reading time.

On Keeping Commitments

The clock in the corner of my monitor tells me it's almost 4 A.M. I must be crazy for writing at this hour, but it's the only hour in front of me, and the words are on my fingertips.

Not that I really have anything in particular to write. It's just that, well, I'm here. And, apparently, so are you, so why not?

Life happens like this with me. Seize the moment. With both fists.

When I was a brand new mama, my mother-in-law told me to sleep while the baby sleeps. I now know that it's just as important to think while the baby sleeps. Think, read, discuss, and digest. So here I am, it's now one minute after four in the morning, and I'm thinking.

I suppose the silence of the moment is almost suppressing my thoughts. It's too amazing that I'm here, in front of my keyboard, and in this quiet hour, my mind is my own. I hardly know what to think about. Which thing do I choose?

Maybe this is just me, but during the day, topics on which to write fly around my head. I can't always reach up into the space above me and grab them, capture them, get them onto the glowing screen before they escape. So sometimes, I have to be nagged over and over by a key topic in order to force it onto the page.

Today, my key topic, the theme that haunted me--and has been haunting me for a long while--was cancellation. My schedule has been so packed to the gills that everything is almost perfectly synchronized. Any little tilt in the galaxy sets the whole thing out of whack, sends my plans spiraling into the black holes of my brain. When I've arranged my day around a plan, and someone doesn't show up or cancels on me, I can't seem to recover. I've had this happen often lately. My husband forgets our plans and doesn't show up or shows up late. My friend misunderstands our plans and I spend the day wondering what's happening. My father changes his mind without notifying me and I find myself scrambling to come up with a new plan. I'm really looking forward to getting together with a friend, and she's not able to come due to child behavior issues (note to friend: I still like you a lot, but your daughter needs to know that her actions affect other people). These things leave me in a lurch (which, in this case, means NOUN: 1. A staggering or tottering movement or gait. 2. An abrupt rolling or pitching).

Today, I reluctantly shooed a group of homeschooling families/art students out of my house, some of whom hadn't arrived on time for our appointed lunch before art class but wanted to stay late to visit. I wanted to visit, too. But I had a commitment to keep. I had to make a run to pick up an Amish neighbor who needed a ride; a promise I'd made several days ago and had confirmed this morning, and my eldest daughter had a commitment to keep to go clean house for someone (who cancelled with a phone call from somewhere other than home after my daughter had already cleaned her house). After emptying my dwelling of my much-wanted guests, hurrying myself into the car in order to be on time and not make my neighbor wait, and driving halfway across the county to get her, I got a call on my cell phone. Don't bother, my daughter told me. The neighbor called, and she's already home. Seems some friends decided to pick her up early and take her to lunch. I was not just frustrated by this change of plans. In my gut, I was also jealous that her friends thought of her, went to her, whisked her away for lunch. Added insult to injury.

But I've been injured before, and I'm sure you have, too. Lack of commitment seems like an epidemic in this country. People can't keep appointments, can't get to work on time, can't return phone calls, can't finish their twelve-step program, can't raise their own kids, can't go through with a pregnancy, can't stay married. And there's a whole philosophy behind it. "I have to do what's best for ME." Sometimes even I forget that the Lord calls us to a higher commitment. The first shall be last and the last shall be first. Humble yourself. Let your yes be yes and your no be no. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

Yet, ironically, the biggest struggle I have with this issue is, what else, how it affects ME. While I always try to keep in mind how my actions affect others, I have needs, too. I need a close friend who keeps commitments, who makes the same amount of effort to be my friend as I would for them. Yeah, I know I'm human, too, but I guess I'm just a tad more than frustrated that I put so much effort into not disappointing people to be perpetually disappointed. Why does it matter to me? Why should I care? Why can't I just bounce back from these little inconveniences in life? Que sera, sera! Life is what happens while you're recovering from cancellations!

I'll tell you why. Because cancelled commitments feel like personal insults, targeted apathy, careless rejection. And, yes, I really am that sensitive. Hey, with my history--a birth mother who gave me up for adoption and an adoptive mother who emotionally abandoned me years before she left my father--who wouldn't be? Someone stronger than I, that's for sure.

I shudder to think how many times I've hurt others, abandoned them, left them disappointed or feeling rejected. Oh, that I could know now. That I could apologize. That I could tell those I've hurt and disappointed that I know now how it feels.

But I can only go on from here. And so I do my best to keep commitments, to value the time of others. I think carefully about my time and my other commitments before I say, "Yes. I will do that." I write things down (though I still misplace papers from time to time. That's why I love my computer. I haven't lost it yet!) And because of how strongly I feel about being abandoned, disappointed, rejected, I'm training my kids to keep their promises. I have repeatedly reminded my kids that keeping a commitment is a serious thing. Being on time for something shows the other person that you don't feel that your time is more important than theirs, your issues bigger than theirs, your life more valuable than theirs. Do things come up? Well, of course. But when they do, canceling your commitment can be the exception rather than the rule.

On days like today, I feel tempted to back out of everything, to throw it all to the wind and say, "Forget it. If I'm not worth keeping a commitment for, I'm not doing this anymore."

I have to remember that, while there is life all about me, this life isn't all about me, if you know what I mean.

"Let me tell you why you are here. You're here to be salt-seasoning that brings out the God-flavors of this earth. If you lose your saltiness, how will people taste godliness? You've lost your usefulness and will end up in the garbage.

Here's another way to put it: You're here to be light, bringing out the God-colors in the world. God is not a secret to be kept. We're going public with this, as public as a city on a hill. If I make you light-bearers, you don't think I'm going to hide you under a bucket, do you? I'm putting you on a light stand. Now that I've put you there on a hilltop, on a light stand--shine! Keep open house; be generous with your lives. By opening up to others, you'll prompt people to open up with God, this generous Father in heaven."

Matthew 5:13-16, The Message

I've made a commitment to my Most High God. He has blessed me, literally, with a house on the hill, given me a vision, put in me a heart that longs to share with others. I want to paint the whole world with God-colors, keep an open house, be generous with me life. That is what God has called me to do. That's what I'll continue to pursue with my whole heart.

So, the next time you're tempted to blow someone off, please consider this: there's a human being on the other end of that commitment who was really looking forward to being with you, to gaining something from you, to sharing something with you, to learning from you, maybe even to serving God through their service to you. There's a heart on the other end that has risked being broken. Take a good look at your reasons for canceling your commitment, and see if you can't lay down your life just this once.

For a friend.

"Summing up: Be agreeable, be sympathetic, be loving, be compassionate, be humble. That goes for all of you, no exceptions. No retaliation. No sharp-tongued sarcasm. Instead, bless--that's your job, to bless. You'll be a blessing and also get a blessing."

I Peter 3:8-9, The Message

Online Homeschool Convention

SpunkyHomeSchool

Spunky has come up with a brilliant idea--an online homeschooling convention! Here, you can hear advice from the top homeschooling bloggers on such wide-ranging topics as Loving the Mothers We Are and Feminism and Homeschooling. This fantastic idea allows you to meet some homeschoolers, gain from their experience and wisdom, and work through the speakers at your own pace.

Bravo, Spunky!

Now, go learn something!

On the other side of authority

As I was returning from retrieving Sweetheart from a week with her grandparents, I chatted with my husband on my cell phone about the myriad patrol cars I'd seen on Rt. 30. It was almost an epidemic, one car after another, sometimes even three in a row, lined up like unruly schoolchildren waiting for their swat. I sympathized with the poor souls who were pulled over on the side of the road, their heads shaking with disbelief and denial, their wallets aching, their spouses glaring I could sympathize, but I could not empatize. Empathy had drained from my heart like water from a leaky radiator.

I was smug. It had been over 12 years since my last traffic violation, and even that one was questionable. I think the officer had just wanted to make fun of my driver's license and make me feel old by calling me "ma'am."

Lesson number 42: Never be smug.

The driving today was good--it was clear, sunny, and both of the children in my charge were fast asleep buckled into their seats. I sailed along in my husband's trusty green Jeep Cherokee. My cell phone rang out the tune "It's a Beautiful Day" and I picked it up to answer my mother-in-law's call. All was wonderful, the conversation was good, and the world was in perfect order.

Until I saw the patrol car going the other way.

My eyes dropped to my speedometer. 75mph at least, for sure. I was ten miles per hour over the speed limit. I kept my eyes on my rear view mirror until I took in the unmistakable sight of a police car doing a U-Turn to head eastbound--coming my direction.

"Oh, crap," I uttered into the cell phone. "I think I'm getting pulled over."

I hung up the phone and tried to very nonchalantly slow down, remember with great hope the myth that they can only tell you were speeding if you hit yours brakes. Glancing to my right, I gasped at the sight of the speed limit sign.

Speed Limit
55

Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap.

You know how, when you're just about completely and totally positive that you're about to get nailed for something you did wrong, your mind begins to race? You know how you start to think of all of the ways you could possibly get out of this? I gazed over at my sleeping daughters and knew that life as a mama fugitive would not bode well. I tried beyond all reason to convince myself that he wasn't actually coming after me but after one of the other vehicles that I was so expertly and effortlessly keeping pace with. I thought that maybe, when he saw that I was doing the speed limit now, like a good little girl, and when he saw my sweet cherubs sleeping comfortably in their seats, obviously not alarmed by their mother's extremely safe and gentle driving, he would just give me a stern look as he sailed by my law-abiding self. I thought all of this in the two minutes it took for him to catch up to me and turn on his lights.

Oh, crap.

I pulled out my paperwork and waited. All of the excuses I could think of rushed to my mind, wiggled into my throat, perched on the tip of my tongue. As the officer approached my door, I rolled down the window and handed him my license. He didn't make fun of it, though he well could have. But he did call me ma'am.

Should I bat my eyes, I thought? Should I act distraught? Meek? Repentent? I mean, here I am, at the precipice of a major speeding ticket. The strategy is very important. What should I do? I glanced again at my sleeping beauties. It was too late to run.

"Hello, Ma'am," the officer began politely. "Did you realize what speed you were traveling?"

In that moment, that brief, pregnant moment, I entertained feelings of anger, defiance, resentment, frustration, disbelief, injustice, arrogance and self-righteousness. I wanted to tell him that I haven't had a ticket in over twelve years, that I'm a very good citizen, that I don't even have a library fine. I wanted to explain to him that I was very tired from driving all day, that I had just had an argument with my six-year-old daughter because she wanted a welcome home party after returning from a week at Grandma's and I hadn't bought a cake. I wanted to give him the excuse that I hadn't seen the speed limit sign, that other vehicles were flying past me, that I wasn't used to the smooth ride of this Jeep as it compares to my beast of a van. I wanted to stab him with sharp words about how it must be quota day since I saw so many patrol cars on the roads, that he looked like he could use a donut or, better yet, a trunk monkey.

I was just about to toss out the an excuse about the long drive when I recalled a conversation I had with Houdin less than a week ago. I'd been correcting him for bad behavior and he'd been making lame-o excuses. Don't make excuses, I told him. Just apologize, say yes sir or yes ma'am, and get over it. "But I want to tell MY side of the story," he said, "and I don't want people to think badly of me!" Then, I responded, unless it's under penalty of death or destruction, just say yes sir or yes ma'am and get over it. That's what will make people think better of you. Don't ever offer excuses for bad behavior.

I knew I had to answer the officer's question about my speed, and I knew I had to hold myself accountable to my own advice.

"I didn't realize how fast I was going until I saw your patrol car," I admitted.

"I clocked you going 77," he said, "and I'll have to cite you for that." I cringed and nodded, knowing it was my own fault. "Yes, sir," I said.

I find it interesting that, when faced with justifiable correction from authority, my first reaction was not shame, apology, or respect, but anger, defiance and resentment. I didn't want a ticket. I didn't want this guy to think badly of me.
I hate to admit that. I hate to admit that it was very, very difficult for me to hold my tongue.

But I did it. I offered no excuses, smart alek comments or ploys to get out of my ticket. I just sat there like the very good girl that I am. Or that I imagine myself to be, anyway.

I'd like to say that my good attitude earned me a "get out of paying a fine free" ticket, that the officer was so impressed by my repentent and mature behavior that he decided not to fine me, but that's not how it flew. I'm officially a hundred and thirty six bucks lighter. I took my ticket, signed the acknowledgement, thanked the officer for his service and crept along in the slow lane all the way home, all of the other vehicles flying past me. One even tailgated me for several yards and honked his horn before moving to the left to pass me. I felt like I needed one of those "student driver" cars, except that it would say, "I just got a speeding ticket."

But now I remember what it feels like to be corrected, to be under authority. My empathy has been refilled. And now I can tell my son that I, too, followed my own advice. It was difficult, but not at all impossible.

Love 'Em or Hate 'Em?

How do YOU feel about Circus Peanuts?

Water: the structure and properties of liquid water

"Liquid water (H2O) is often perceived to be pretty ordinary as it is transparent, odorless, tasteless and ubiquitous. It is the simplest compound of the two most common reactive elements in the Universe. However, it is the most remarkable substance. Although we drink it, wash, fish and swim in it, and cook with it (although probably not all at the same time), we nearly always overlook the special relationship it has with our lives. Droughts cause famines and floods cause death and disease. We are about two-thirds water and, without it, we die within a few days. Life cannot evolve or continue without liquid water, which is why there is so much fuss about water being found on Mars and other planets and moons. It is unsurprising that it plays a central role in many of the World's religions. Because of its clear importance, water is the most studied material on Earth but it comes as a surprise to find that its behavior and function are so poorly understood (or even ignored), not only by people in general, but also by scientists working with it everyday."

I find this site about water and its properties very interesting. I think you will, too!

Note to Bard: Reading the water website counts as chemistry. I think you'll find it full of interesting facts.

Encore: Ode to an Ohio Winter

by Thicket Dweller

The garden hose and
leaf rakes are still
lying in the driveway
And up against the house
the bike rack leans
The cooler from
the picnic is still
Camped out of the front porch.
I'm afraid to look inside...
It might be filled with old
Baked Beans

There's a soccer ball,
deflated, resting lonely
in the front yard.
Someone left their old sunglasses
tarnished, on the still porch swing.
Beneath that sits an dry dead plant.
Seems that I forgot to water
it--had good intentions when I bought it
at the nursery this Spring.

Winter took me unaware again.
It was falling into Autumn, into blazing leave and then
One morning I woke up and the snow was in a spin.
How'd it take me unaware again?

There are boots beside the sandals
In a puddle in the hallway
and a bathing suit's still hanging
from the shower curtain rod.
Look! That calendar is showing that it's well into December!
Yet I don't remember turning it.
That thing must be a fraud.

Winter took me unaware again.
I was falling into Autumn, into blazing leaves, and then
One morning I woke up and the snow was in a spin.
How'd it take me unaware again?

Huh. The temp is 55 now.
Well, that's winter in Ohio.
If you don't like what the weather is,
just stick around and it will change.
Or just wish for snow at Christmastime
While you're gayly whistling "Greensleeves"
And setting out your manger.

Still, I can't imagine weather
warm as this in January
Well, I'd better get to work
since I've been given a reprieve.
Guess I'll go clean out that cooler,
Use that rake for what it's made for.
Glad the trash bags aren't paid for
by each pound of sopping leaves.

Sheesh! It's getting kinda chilly.
Maybe I should put my coat on.
Oh, Good Lord! Is that a snowflake?
It was just as warm as May!
Sure enough, here comes a blizzard.
I should go shovel the sidewalk.
But I didn't dump that stuff there.
Nope, it's gonna have to stay.

Winter took me unaware again.
I was just falling into Autumn, into blazing leaves and then
One afternoon I look around, and the snow is in a spin.
Winter, how'd you take me unaware
Again?

Count It All Science...

...and math, and phys ed, and art, and literature, and...

We spent all day today and all day yesterday battling the surpise snowstorm and bitterly cold winds to visit the Mohican area for the Mohican Wildlife Weekend. We disected owl pellets, observed song birds, learned about Louis Bromfield, listened to a lecture about the natural history of Ohio, banded migratory birds, became enraptured by raptors, listened to Johnny Appleseed tell his stories, made dream catchers, watched a living history play, dipped beeswax candles, marveled over a composting toilet, took in a lecture on epitherapy, ate barbecued chicken, learned about beekeeping, planted seedlings, looked at amazing nature watercolors and carvings, sang campfire songs, made flint into arrowheads, and swung each other around this evening at a barn dance!

Today's Kudos go to Houdin, who didn't want to square dance but did so for his mother, because our square needed just one more couple. He danced and danced and danced and then danced some more, even after we stopped forcing him. He was actually disappointed when it was time to leave, but poor Bard was suffering from a splitting headache.

If Bard can recover, we'll go back for more of the same tomorrow!

Well Said

"One morning in Boston, as I walked to work across the Public Garden, I found myself imagining a huge conference, in a hotel full of signs and posters and people wearing badges. But at this conference everyone seemed to be talking about breathing. "How are you breathing these days?" "Much better than I used to, but I still need to improve." "Have you seen Joe Smith yet--he certainly breathes beautifully." And so on. All the meetings, books, discussions, were about Better Breathing. And I thought, if we found ourselves at such a conference, would we not assume that everyone there was sick, or had just been sick? Why so much talk and worry about something that healthy people do naturally?

"The same might be said of our endless concern with 'learning.'

~John Holt from the book Teach Your Own

Mama Makes Mirth

If you haven't read Big Yellow House, you have to. No excuses. I don't care what's growing in your fridge or how long it's been since you've last slept. Go. It's the funniest blog I know.

Chris, you are so the bomb. Are you still up for that "best friends" necklace?

And, by the way, have I told you how young you look? And thin?

Ahem. Anyway, if you need a laugh, The Big Yellow House has a few to spare.

Dear Art Instructor,

There was something that I hoped for when I first called you to come and teach art to my children. There was something that I wanted you to share with them, and even now, I'm not sure I can put my finger on what that was, exactly. But it was there, creeping beneath my skin, pushing through my fingertips, searching for a way to come out.

I didn't know you. I had never seen your artwork before I first read the article about you in our little upstart of a local newspaper. But when I read that article...well, let me tell you. I don't believe that things happen by chance. I'm a firm believer in destiny. I am, I guess you could say, a person of destiny. And so, when I read your article, I felt like many stars had aligned in order for me to be where I was. Many butterflies' wings had beaten in order for me to see that article in that newspaper on that particular day.

My son, understand, is an artist. I don't necessarily mean to say that he has this amazing talent that surpasses all other children. I don't mean to say that I single him out above all others and hold a torch for him. I don't mean to say that at all, though I do feel it sometimes--most times--in my mother-bones.

What I do mean to say is that he has the eyes of an artist, the mind of an artist, the spirit of an artist. He even has the name of an artist, given to him as a gift from a man--another imaginer, visionary, creation emulator--who missed meeting my son fresh out of the womb by only a week, the last ragged breaths of the man's pneumonia-stricken lungs sharing oxygen from the same room with my pregnancy-crowded lungs. We shared that air. I borrowed his name. My son carries it with him like a esteemed masterpiece. One artist goes out, one artist comes in.

And so that article, the one in which you shared your story, your path to the acceptance and embracing of your gift, seized me, enveloped me, drew me in, and I knew that you would influence my son's life.

Yesterday, I watched you light his fire. You acknowledged his work, recognized his commitment. You respected him, encouraged him, rewarded him. You inspired him.

And because you took the time to crack open his sketchbook and peer gently yet eagerly into the picture-thoughts he purposed on every page, he took the chance of carefully opening his heart and mind to pay attention to you. Otherwise, he may never have been interested in your message of salvation, of unity, of humility.

Inspiration. Good Lord, I don't know that there is any way to manufacture what you did to him. It's a path towards which I've been guiding him for nine years. And in four weeks, three lessons--truly, in one day--you have inspired him to not just become a better artist, but to become a better person.

There was something I had hoped for when I first invited you into my home, set a table for your art supplies, welcomed you with a handshake. I didn't divulge this information. Perhaps I felt it wasn't fair to put such pressure on any human being. Perhaps I was too afradi to hope. But the truth is, I wasn't looking for just an art teacher, though I knew that art would be the catalyst. I wasn't looking for just a critic or a guide or an instructor. I was looking for something that contained all of those, but included so much more. I was hoping--praying, indeed- for a spiritual leader, a man of integrity, a solid role model, an example of character to which a young boy can aspire.

I was looking for a mentor. You have not disappointed.

No matter how many vivid, perfect, incredible, lifelike portaits you produce in your earthly days, no matter how many visions and dreams you capture with canvas and color, what you created in my son yesterday will always be, in my mind, your finest work.

You have my gratefulness,

The Young Artist's Mother

Of all the things...

Of all the things my daughter is, talentless is definitely not one of them. She has skills. Don't you think so?

I Have Decided

Over the weekend and on somewhat of a whim, I attended a writer's conference at a neighboring county's college. I haven't attended such a conference in many years but every time I do, I come away with something good, something inspiring. This time was no exception, but the circumstances were different than I could have predicted.

When I had registered for the conference, I was forced to choose two workshops. That meant that out of the seven speakers and eight presentations available, I had to narrow it down to just two. Two. Two is barely anything. It's almost nothing. How could they expect me to miss out on all of those other possibilities? Me, who can't sleep at night for fear of missing something, would have to be right next door to a classroom that very well could have changed my life? Me, who struggles to stay seated in the movie theater because I just might be watching the wrong movie, a movie that wasn't meant for me, while MY movie plays right next door?

I fingered the descriptions of each workshop, changed my mind a couple of times, then decided. Even as my decision was made, I wasn't settled. What if I were wrong?

The day of the conference, I drove to the college alone. I walked into the college alone. I found my way to the location of the continental breakfast alone. And I sat completely alone while all of the other writers milled around me, filling their plates with cold bagels and fresh fruit and their ears with what I could only imagine was writer-like chatter. I just watched.

Around my neck hung my nametag, like an albatross around my neck. On its front, in bold letters, was my name. Benign. But on its back was written the titles and room numbers for the two workshops I'd chosen. The letters weighed down my shoulders, caused my head to droop with the burden. I may have been wrong about the classes I elected to take, but it was too late now. They were written in black and white, right there on the back of my name. I had chosen.

Even my cold bagel was a reminder of my poor decision-making abilities. I had looked all of them over carefully and decided on what I thought was a white bagel flaked with chives or onions. Upon closer inspection, I realized that these little purple specks were blueberries and in no way resembled anything green, chives or otherwise. As I nibbled on my poor choice, I surveyed the nametages of those around me. Who did I choose? Who looked as if they were interesting, could impart unending wisdom to me, could share with me just the right inspiration that would plunge my soul into the refreshing river of revelation?

I saw right away that the writer who would be presenting my first class, Trish Berg, was friendly and outgoing. I also knew that she wrote material much like mine and that our backgrounds were also similar. I settled withing myself that this choice, the choice for Trish Berg's workshop, had been a good one.

But there was this niggling feeling that my second class, the one on finding the plot in a story, was not where I needed to be. I watched the presenter interact with the people around him, and I just didn't feel drawn to him. Maybe I'm too reliant on destiny, serendipity, whatever you want to call it, but the chemistry between this guy and me just wasn't there.

So, while I as I attempted to listen intently to Trish Berg's presentation on finding my niche in a saturated market, I was also plotting how I would ditch my second class. Where would I go instead? Who would be a better choice? Who would give me that coveted chemistry that I so desired?

Trish's voice startled me from my thoughts. "Has anyone ever written a query letter?" I had an idea, but I thought I'd let someone who had been paying closer attention go first.

But no one did.

Alright, I thought. I'll throw out the subject of my first and last query letter, the fleece I'd laid out years ago to determine if I could really be a "real" writer.

"Well, I once wanted to write an article on youth hostels in Ohio," I said. I could tell that Trish wasn't familiar with youth hostels, so I filled her in a bit and informed her that I had sent a query to Ohio Magazine but had received a rejection letter.

"You should talk to Linda Feagler! She's the senior editor for Ohio Magazine and she's here today."

Giving a presentation? The senior editor for Ohio Magazine? The one who most likely sent me a rejection letter in response to my query?

"You should definitely talk to her," Trish repeated.

That was all the prodding I needed.

So, when Trish's wonderful presentation was over, I slinked into Linda Feagler's classroom, surveyed the circle of chairs and boldly took a seat in the front.

I can barely remember what I said during the class. I know that I was impressed by Linda's encouragement, her humanness, her interaction with the people in the class. She took the time to ask each of us about ourselves, what we'd like to write, and discuss with us what it takes to query a magazine, particularly Ohio Magazine. I do remember that I had the courage to tell her about my idea for covering youth hostels and jokingly mention my prized rejection letter. She pretended to turn tail and run.

"It was years ago," I admitted. "I don't even know that you were there, then."

This prompted Linda to start her presentation on the history of Ohio Magazine, which, indeed, had undergone major changes since I sent my query. This emboldened me to mention a couple of the other ideas I'd had for the magazine. She encouraged me to get in touch, to submit my ideas. I assured her that I would.

I made my way to the lunchroom with a copy of Ohio Magazine in my hand and a lot of ideas rattling around in my head. Picking up my boxed lunch in the college cafeteria, I evaluated my seating choices. In the cafeteria alone, in the common area alone or on the patio alone. I was just deciding that on the patio alone looked a little too crowded and a little too windy when I heard a voice behind me call, "Do you mind if I join you?" When I turned to see if I was the target of the question, I saw that the voice had come from Ohio Magazine's senior editor, Linda Feagler.

But here's the funny thing. Instead of getting worried, tongue-tied or overly nervous, instead of hoping to wow her with my writing prowess, I was simply relieved. I didn't have to eat lunch alone, and I just might make a new friend.

And I was right.

Linda and I got so carried away in our conversation about the love of writing, about our interests, our backgrounds, and one common area, the unexpected deaths of our mothers, that we were both surprised to discover that cafeteria was completely empty. The next event had begun fifteen minutes prior and we were still finishing our meals as well as our conversations. I had soaked up Linda's encouragement, she had poured out her compassion over my discovery of my estranged mother's death, and we had both shared how such major life events found their way directly out of our heads and onto the page. I could relate to her grief over the loss of her mom and she could relate to my need to write about mine. I felt like I was among my own.

We didn't get much of a chance to say goodbye as we hurried off to the auditorium for the keynote speaker and closing events, so I fired off an e-mail to Linda on Monday morning.

Dear Linda,

I wanted to drop you a line to say thank you for taking the time to have lunch with me at the writers' conference on Saturday. Much of what you said is echoing in my head, motivating me to pursue my writing more seriously after many years of "writing in the closet" and reluctantly shoving my written word to the back burner. I think it's highly serendipitous that I walked into your workshop. I have to admit that I skipped out on my scheduled workshop to attend yours (she confessed sheepishly). It just felt like the right thing to do at the time, and I'm glad that I did. The fact that you joined me for lunch was a pleasant surprise. While I attended the conference hoping for inspiration, I didn't expect to get the bulk of it during lunch break! I gained more from our conversation than I did from the rest of the events of the day. Funny how that can happen.

In part because of your compassionate ear and encouraging words, I've made a commitment to "be a writer." I'm not quite sure yet what that means, because I've always written and I'm sure I always will, but I've never felt that I could justify labeling myself as a writer. I felt like I was lying or cheating somehow. "I like to write, but I'm really a mother," or "I'm a homeschooling mom, but I like to write, too." I suppose over this weekend, I simply realized that I need only to give myself permission to accept that label for it to apply.

So I have a plan. My plan is to work on my essay about the death of my mother and begin submitting it to the publications you suggested. Then I'll sit back and watch while the rejection letters flood in. ;-) I also plan to submit a query letter to Ohio Magazine in reference to the ideas I discussed with you. I'm excited about the opportunity to explore these possibilities further. I'm excited about my plan.

So I thank you, Linda, for your time and openness. You're a great
facilitator, and I'm glad you decided to present a workshop this past
weekend. But--yes, I'll admit my selfishness--I'm even more glad that you chose to have lunch with me.

Please keep in touch.

Quite sincerely,

The Writer
Charm, Ohio

So, for those of you who have been following my ongoing self-questioning about becoming a writer, I have found my answer to those niggling questions. I am giving myself permission, and I will be pursuing writing as an actual career, an occupation, a lifestyle.

I, who can never easily choose what to have for lunch, who spends much too long in the ice cream aisle and who was very glad to have had nine months to choose each of my childrens names, have decided. Yes. I have decided to embrace the title, "Writer."

The Amazing and The Mundane

I am SO excited.

I just returned from a writers' conference and I'm just busting at the seams to tell you what happened, but I can't! I have so much housework to catch up on, I can't take even another minute to type! It's not fair, is it? Well, you know what they say...

After ecstacy, laundry.

Sigh.

must...type...to...survive....

exhausted...can...not...type......just...celebrated.. .Sweetheart's...sixth...birthday...will...fill...in...when...i...can..... .see......
....zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

We all struggle...

My friend Pensive Wanderer has shared her homeschooling struggles on her blog. My heart goes out to her, and I know yours will, too.

Special Educators' Discounts at Borders and Waldenbooks!

As part of my birthday celebration yesterday, daughter Bard and I spent the evening at Borders Books. My mission was to find Now We Are Six by A.A. Milne for Sweetheart's sixth birthday, which is tomorrow. I found it after searching the shelves three times, going to the computer to see if it was in stock, seeing that it was, and searching the shelves again. It was wedged between several other books and hiding coyly. It will now reside on Sweetheart's bookshelf, starting tomorrow.

Spending time on that search gave me the opportunity to peruse the shelves more thoroughly. Boy, did I find some goodies! I brought home the next Magic Treehouse book for Monet, a couple of bargain books for Sweetheart's birthday, and Mary Jane's Farm and Country Home magazines for me! But the biggest goody I found was the little slips of paper and the posted signs promoting this weekend's educator's sale! April 15th-17th Borders will offer all educators 25% most things. The fine print says, "Discount applies to the regular price. Discount on DVDs is 15%. Discount on electronics and video games is 10%. Excludes previous and online purchases, gift cards, periodicals, comics, special orders not in stock, and shipping. May not be combined with coupons or group discounts." There's an educator's reception on Friday. Check your own Borders or Waldenbooks to find out the details. I asked a Borders employee what I needed as a homeschool, and he said that I simply needed to bring my excusal letter. Boy oh BOY!

One of the goodies that I found and will surely bring home was Everyday Graces by Karen Santorum. Has anyone else seen this book? Wow! It's kind of like The Book of Virtues but specifically for manners. It was written by a homeschool mom of seven and wife of Rick Santorum, U.S. Senator.

I saw so many other goodies I wanted. Ooooh, how I love to read aloud to my kids! But we still haven't finished Mandy by Julie Andrew which we started in January!!! I have so many other good read alouds that I want to do, but even our Five in a Row routine is waaaaaay behind due to all of the out-of-the-home activities we've been doing.

Still, I love being busy. It's better than being bored!

What's on your reading list today?

Happy Birthday to ME!

I have a love/hate relationship with my birthday. On one hand, I'd love to be spoiled rotten on my birthday. On the other hand, I hate that I'm not. ;-)

My family is tired of hearing this, I'm sure, but I put a lot of stock in birthdays. I think there's some deep psychosis about being adopted and abandonned or I was spoiled by my adoptive mother who was fairly nasty most of the time but did birthdays and every Christmas to the max. Who knows.

So I generally feel sorry for myself on my birthday. It's not that I don't like to get older--I really don't mind. It's just that I want to be pampered. I want to be spoiled. I want to be awakened to breakfast in bed, be whisked away on some surprise adventure and hear from lots of my friends. I want to be outside in the sunshine, planting something or taking photographs or shopping. I want to listen to music, dance, sing, celebrate. I want to be with my family, my whole family, and I want them to set aside all other things so that I'm the focus of the day. And I want to do NO housework, but I want it all to be done for me.

As for gifts, I'll take a letter. Nice, long letters are my favorite gift. Getting mail is one of my simple pleasures. Beyond that, I reserve my special day to buy myself good pottery, yummy chocolate, country magazines or a funky pair of earrings. My mother-in-law is always the very best at knowing just what to give me as a gift, and my daughter, Bard, never fails to give me a gift from her heart. Thank God for them!

And thank God for my kids and my darling husband who put up with my moodiness and listen to me whine about my high expectations. I'm definitely a bear, that's for sure. Yesterday, in spite of my moping and whining, they took me for a little hiking excursion and out to Olive Garden for dinner. They gave me gifts of Circus Peanuts, chocolate squares, earrings, a sweet charm bracelet, hand-made cards and letters. This morning, my dear Bo joined me for breakfast at our local homestyle restaurant where I signed the guestbook "Happy Birthday to Me!" which prompted the hostess to present me with a sweet little chocolate cake while all of the mostly Amish staff came out to sing happy birthday (though the Amish don't have the "th" sound in their language, so it comes out "birssday"). It made me smile from ear to ear, and I don't know that I'll ever eat that little cake!

How do you feel about your birthday? Does it encourage you? Depress you? How does your family celebrate those special days? What was your best birthday ever?