No Violent Poking, Please

I just nearly got my eye poked out by my brother, and here he is, wounded because he thinks I don't trust him just because I tried to evade his unruly harrassment! Well, what would YOU do if your great hulking brother was jumping up and down lunging at you like a giant golden retriever from across the table, yelling at you to be still while he picked something off your face? I honestly thought he was going to pinch my nose. I would think that would be an undesirable situation for anyone, and that any normal person would do everything possible to escape it. As any sane person might, I escaped and took refuge in the bathroom. He chased me. "Just be still! You have something on you face! Just...Cassie! You don't TRUST me?!"

Trust him? TRUST him? Of course I trust him, in general life or death matters, that is. But to pick things off my face? We're talking about the kid who once put a pinch of grated cheese in his mouth, slobbered all over it, took it out of his mouth, and shoved it violently into mine! I reminded him of that.

"Cassie!" he wailed, "That was FIVE YEARS AGO! Talk about bearing a grudge!" I'm not bearing a grudge. To think. I don't hold grudges; I've forgiven him. But who wouldn't be a little skiddish about violent facial attacks after an atrocity like that?

Now my whole family thinks I'm some kind of paranoid freak, just because I don't like getting poked in the face. I feel like an alien in my own house! I said, "Well, what would YOU do if somebody were jumping around in your face and you thought they were going to pinch your nose while the whole time they kept insisting they just wanted to pick something off your face?" (And to fully understand the situation you really have to know my prankster brother) Dad said, "I'd say thank you." Ok, well, he's bigger than I am. And bigger than Connor. And bigger than most people would want to pick lint off his face, therefore quite able to defend himself from unwarranted nose-pinching. But, then, Mom and Mattie agreed! Ack!

Connor was crushed in spirit, and kept insisting that I didn't trust him, which I didn't think was true. He's a great brother. If I didn't trust him, I wouldn't be willing to get in the car with him when he drives. (But I am.) And really, the touchy-feely stuff is wonderful...but do we have to get violent about it? A little warning is all I ask. Maybe slow motion would be good. :)

P.S. For the record, Connor has never pinched my nose, or attempted to do so, to my memory (which, as you may have noticed, is uncommonly keen when it comes to such aggrievances).

Let it be to Me as You Have Said

Well, Christmas has come and gone. I woke this morning to a white sky full of rain and was happy. The traffic will subside and the parties will cease. I enjoyed giving and recieving gifts, but I'll admit, I'm glad that the stress of it is over. In a way, it seems that it all went so fast, and there wasn't enough time for candle light in the sanctuary and pondering "Oh Holy Night."

"Long lay the world, in sin and error pining
'Til He appeared, and the soul felt its worth
A thrill of hope..."

I know there's no reason why we can't adore Him all year long, but there's just something sacred about this time of year. The stars are clearer, the lights are warmer...

Yesterday was a pleaasant Christmas day (which began at 7 am with a great clatter down the stairs), At one, we went up to Grammie and Paw Paw's for other festivities, including a long lunch, a long visit, a long dessert, a longer visit, and several roudns of coffee. Even though my cousins live next door, I rarely spend time with them, and hadn't realized how I'd missed them! So it was a nice visit.

Around suppertime we came home and watched The Nativity Story. I hadn't seen it before. The movie was really thought provoking, and really brought the characters of Joseph and Mary to life. It makes you look at things from a new angle, of how it possibly could have been.

It both scares and amazes me that God requires so much out of His children. He chose Mary for a task that demanded her reputation, her body, her hope for the future, her willingness to be put to shame and pain, everything...and with one quiet assent she abandoned herself completely and recklessly to God. Without knowing what she was in for. Crazy. Am I brave enough for that? At the rate I'm going, I think I'll be willing to be killed for Christ's sake before I can come to terms with enduring embarressment for Him. It's those little things...the speaking out, making a phone call, walking across a room.

Well, I know somewhere inside that He's called me to a life of "hardship and blessing" as Pastor Bud so aptly put it when he prayed for me a few weeks ago. It could turn nastier than meeting new people at church. I don't know what it looks like exactly (at all). I guess God is God enough that He can demand everything from us, yet Man enough to bear every weakness and danger with us. I love the Person-ness of who He is. When I think of the possiblities of pain in my life, I want to shrink back in fear, but his love is so irrisistible and tantalizing that I'm powerless to escape. He's so cunning to create this wall around me, to hem me in so that in the end I'm flung back in desperation...on Him. It's almost like He's tricked me, and yet, I have to admit, I'm glad. Very Glad.

In the end, what can I say? He is God. I am His creation. So, it's like David said, in Psalm 116...

"Precious in the sight of the Lord
Is the death of His godly ones

Oh Lord, truly I am your servant
I am your servant, the son of your maidservant
You have freed me from my chains."


Let it be to me as you have said.

My Brother Wants to Upgrade Me

Well, I keep thinking of things I want to say, so I just keep posting. Hanging around my family is sometimes just...funny. Once I finally realized I could laugh at my siblings instead of gripe at them, life got a lot better :)

Last night, while I was playing Rummy with Mom and Connor, we got into a thought provoking conversation (no, we really did!). Consequently, I wasn't paying much attention to the game. I just kept staring at the cards saying, "I'm thinking, I'm thinking," which may or may not have been a lie; I'm still deciding. Finally Connor just said, "You're so slow. We need to upgrade you." !

A few evenings ago Ethan woke up from a nap and Connor got a nice flannel shirt for him to wear, because we were going somewhere. But Ethan insisted that he didn't want to wear it. "Why don't you want to wear it?" Connor asked, bewildered. "Why can't you pick out something decent?" Ethan asked back.

Also, one of Ethan's recent favorite movies is "The Princess Bride," so later, when Connor and Ethan were sword fighting, he parried Connor's blows and cried, "There is something you don't know about me- I am not hand-lefted!!" Talk about intimidation tactics.

Fictionary Answers

Well, I forgot to post the answers to the "Fictionary" questions. If you haven't read them yet, skip this post and read that one first. (It's two before this one)

Haruspex: b (the diviner)

Tradescantia: c (any of a genus of American herbs)

Varuna: d (a god who supposedly maintains natural and moral order in the cosmos)

Julia, you guessed the exact ones I guessed! (Except that I didn't guess "haruspex", I picked it out of the dictionary.) That is a really fun game.

Anyway, Merry Christmas to all!

The Battle of the Bee

Danger lurks in unlikely places, at inopportune times, in unwelcome sources. This afternoon, while I was rinsing the dishes my Mom had washed, we both noticed a bee floundering in the suds at the bottom of the sink where she'd stacked the dishes.

"That bee picked a bad place to hang out," Mom said. In a bout of foolish compassion, I just flicked the struggling insect out of the sink with a spoon and went on my merry way, humming "What Child is This" festively, albeit mindlessly, and forgetting all about the wet bee.

After finishing the rinsing, I left the kitchen to start something else. Not fifteen minutes later I heard shrieks coming from the kitchen. I thought Mom had burned herself, but it wasn't just one yell; she kept up the repeated cries of distress that finally merged into one long wail of misery. When we poked our heads around the corner to see what the commotion was all about, we saw Mom jumping aroudn in the kitchen accompanied by her own chorus of indian war whoops. On reaching the kitchen, we found her sitting on the floor- crying- slathering both feet in globs of baking soda paste that oozed onto the floor in snowy puddles.

"That bee!" she wailed. "That bee had the nerve to sting me twice. Bees aren't supposed to sting people in December!!!"

The stripey culprit was waddling around on the floor, so I grabbed Ethan's plastic sword and brandished it, dealing the bee several mortal blows. When its guts were satisfactorily smooshed out, I cleaned it up with a paper towel and we (Mattie, Ethan, and I) stood around looking at our mother awkwardly. We aren't used to seeing her cry like that. (She saves her tears for worthier causes, generally.) She was just mad, mostly. And the stings were extremely painful. After a while, the tears turned to laughter, and she sat there laughing about it. Then, not knowing what else to do, Ethan and Mattie got a Christmas pillow off the couch and she layed back right there in the middle of the kitchen floor, apron on, feet caked in baking soda. Mattie and Ethan promtly fetched pillows for themselves and layed down on either side of her. Yes, it was funny looking. And yes, I did join them after a few minutes, only, the wood floor didn't prove to be very comfortable.

We're all just glad that the injury occurred after the pies were finished :) Mom's feeling somewhat better now, although it hurts to walk, since the bee stung her on the bottoms of her feet. Ouch. You never know what a day holds, huh? That incident may be the last of my Mindless Compassion for Dangerous Insects.

Boffo Bluffing Balderdash

Well, Grandma left this morning, and it was sad to see her go. I miss her hugs. She gives the best hugs in this hemisphere, or the other one, presumably (so warm and safe and tight, like she isn't planning to let go any time soon), and I realized this week that it's probably because she doesn't get to give them often enough.

While she was here, we did get to spend some special time together. Last night we played "Fictionary", the homemade version of Balderdash. (You look up words in the dictionary and players have to make up their own definitions, and then guess which definition is correct). I love this game. I think last time we played (back in June) I posted some defintions, and I thought I'd do it again. So, put your thinking caps (er, guessing caps?) on, and be ready for a few laughs...

What is the true meaning of "Haruspex"?

a) the genus of which the long-eared hare belongs to

b) a diviner in ancient Rome basing his predictions on inspections of the entrails of sacrificial animals

c) one of the lower mountain ranges

d) the shade or covering for a gas lamp

e) dust and other small objects that make up the ring or rings surrounding a planet

f) a type of chickenpox that comes with hairs on the spots.


What about "Tradescantia"?

a) a law of motion

b) the name of a planet yet to be found

c) any of a genus of American herbs

d) term used for trade routes during the 14th century

e) items eligible for marketing

f) the lack of substantial trade in a country


And last of all, "Varuna." Mattie is very proud of her entry...I bet you can't guess which is hers :)

a) a machine that simulates tornados within a controlled environment

b) an African mammal

c) a type of prism

d) a god responsible for natural and moral order in the cosmos

e) an atoll able to sustain plant life

f) Rachel Ray's best friend


Truth to be revealed in the next post...

The Sewing Bug Bites

I'm happy to report that I have finished Ethan's knight costume! After the glich with the lining, I feared it was never to be. Actually, no, I never feared that exactly, but it was a headache trying to get that figured out. I now know that it is impossible to turn the lining of a garment inside out through only the arm hole. I know this is true, and I have witnesses.

The costume is by no means perfect, but I was very happy with the turnout, considering the Major Problem and my very meager sewing skills. I'm so thrilled to start being able to sew on my own, and to complete a project! I feel like I'm so lazy and undisciplined that I never accomplish any of the things I want to do, but right now I CAN SEW, so I AM GOING TO SEW.

The sewing bug has certainly bit me. We "happened to stop by" Hancock's while running errands with Grandma, and I impulsively bought five yards of pink and purple (but not obnoxious) flannel to make matching pj pants for Mattie and I. The pattern looks easy, and there is no lining, mercifully. The fabric was 50% off too, so what can I say?

Cream Cheese Cookie Day

Today we made Cream Cheese Cookies. Making Cream Cheese Cookies is a Christmastide tradition at our house, started by Grandma, who used to make them when Dad was a kid. So, naturally, it was best to make them while she was here! We don't make them every single year, but we do it often enough that we have a collection of photos from various Cookie-baking sessions.

We have the picture of Dad and I making them soon after we moved into our just- finished house when I was nearly three- I'm sitting on the counter in training pants holding the beaters. Then there are pictures from the year that Ethan was born and Grandma was here to make them with us. Other pictures feature Grandma, Mom, Cousin Kimmy, and me with powdered sugar all over Grandma's kitchen table. Last time we made them, Connor covered his whole face in powdered sugar and looked...well, like his usual hilarious self! (I apologize for the illegal usage of "his" and "self" there, but...I can't help it.)

This time Mom wasn't here, but Grandma was, so all of us (Grandma, Dad, Connor, Mattie, Ethan, and I) jumped in and did it. The process certainly requires several sets of hands, unless you just really relish time with your rolling pin. As in, several DAYS. Actually, with all of us helping, (or "un-helping" in Ethan's case) it only took a few hours. Maybe three or so. By the end, there was a coat of powedered sugar-snow over the whole vicinity, a number of ghostly powdered sugar handprints on certain peoples' clothing (I'm not just talking about Ethan!), and a tupperware tub full of delicious cookies.

First, Grandma chopped nuts and I mixed dough, and then we made up the filling. That was the easy part. Then it was time for the assembly line. Dad and Ethan made "golfballs" (balls of dough) and I rolled them into 6 inch circles in powdered sugar, while Connor and Mattie sliced the circles into 6 parts, dabbed filling into the middles of the 6 triangles, and folded in the corners to make darling little cookies. Grandma hovered between the dabbing station and the oven, switching trayful after trayful.

The recipe is as follows, in case you want to make them too:

~Cream Cheese Cookies~

Dough:

1 lb. butter
1 lb. cream cheese
4 C flour

Cream butter and cheese together. Stir in flour. Form balls about the size of a golf ball with dough. Roll out to a circle less than 1/8 inch thick, using powdered sugar rather than flour. Cut circle of dough into sixths. Put a very small amount of filling* (about the size of a pea or lima bean) in the center of each wedge and fold the points into the center of each wedge (the points should overlap).

Bake on ungreased cookie sheet at 375 F for 10 min. or until bottoms of cookies are golden brown. Cool completely. Dip in powdered sugar and serve.

*Filling:

2 egg whites
1 C sugar
1 C finely chopped walnuts (we use pecans)

Beat egg whites until very stiff. Beat in sugar, then fold in the nuts.

Enjoy!

The cookies end up being sort of like tiny three-cornered hats about an inch and a half in diameter. The pastry is flaky and melts delicately in your mouth with a sweet propriety I never would have expected in a cookie. They politely invite you back for more, so that it's quite possible to eat a dozen of the dainty little things without even beginning to feel like a pig. Well. Now you see why they've become a traditon. Cream Cheese Cookies delight the palate, bring the family together for some fun, and make a perfect Christmas party snack (although we rarely sacrifice them to the public.) Now you'll have to make them to see what I mean!

Have a merry Week-Before-Christmas!

In Which People Graduate and I Reflect on the Violence of Change

After a flurry of cleaning, cooking, and other craziness, grandma arrived on Friday (from Tennessee) to spend a week with us. I'm so glad. Last time she was here was for my graduation in May, when, due to constant nervous headaches and lots of excitement, I didn't really get to spend memorable "quality" time with her.

Today we all went to the Letu. graduation, where we saw a lot of people we knew, sort of knew, and didn't know at all. I like living in a town with a college and going to a church with a lot of college students. There's something "alive" about it. Nothing gets stagnant, although, I'll admit that sometimes the changes are alarming to me, the way people go off and leave...Yesterday was Jeff and Cheri's 5th anniversary, and thinking about it, I really miss them all the way up there in Oregon with their little red headed girls. It's funny to think about the days when they were both single Letu. students at our church...and how different things are now. Of course, change is good.

Mainly we were going to the graduation ceremony to see Flic graduate. She is one of our Recently Adopted College Students (along with Cheryl...we just met them this semester). Cameron is our Unrecently Adopted College Student, whom we met over three years ago and is graduating in May. So, two bereavements in too short of a time. But of course, just like Jeff and Cheri, it's a GOOD thing. We couldn't keep all the smart, amazing people clustered up in Longview when the command is so clearly to "Go." I'm glad Flic is sticking around a bit before she Heads Off To The Wilds :)

It was my first time to be at a December grad. and the first time anyone at all had ever been to one in the Impressive, Imposing S.E. Belcher center. (I am forever being tempted to call it the Big Burpy Building, but have yet to succumb audibly!) The curtains are thrilling. All that sheeny, shimmery crimson velvet. So elegant! The whole building is pretty classy.

The ceremony was a bit long, and when the speaker sat down to give way to diploma handing-out, Ethan asked, "ARE WE LEAVING NOW?," to the audible amusement of some of the surrounding attendees. In spite of the length, I still was glad I went. There's something nice about a ceremony. It reminds you of all the sameness in this chaotic world of ours, even when mingled with most violent change (don't tell me that setting off into the world with that little piece of paper is not a violent act of courage.) The Pomp and Circumstance, the half-comical outfits and the tassels, sashes, and various wrappings, the rhythmic calling of names and delivering of diplomas...I viewed them all with a certain satisfaction, and, I regret to say, tittered shamelessly at the Alma Mater song. Couldn't help myself. It's nothing against Letourneau-- I just think that school songs in general are corny. Anyone who's offended, please forgive me!

After the last tasseled heads disappeared down the aisles, we fought our way outside to talk with Flic and her cluster, to take pictures, have hugs, etc. I'm very proud of her...she's been a sweet friend, and she's going to be a great teacher. So fun and motherly :)

A Day in the Life of...

Today I...

Woke up way too early and grumbled my way through showering and shivered into the car (I forgot to expect it to be cold!) with Mom to go to her dentist's appointment with her, and from there to run errands and have a special one on one breakfast time at McDonalds. It was certainly worth getting up early :)

It was raining deliciously. We sipped our piping-hot Mickey D's coffee and talked about how great Jesus is (it's nice to constantly remind each other!) At Wal-mart I happened on two of the Christmas presents I hunted unsuccessfully for yesterday...yay! My Christmas shopping is mercifully simple and nearly done :) I'm just so thankful that I found that one item that I couldn't find in the places I expected it...good ol' Walmart!

Mom dropped me off at the Crowe's and we had a mathy morning, which also involved drawing monsters with a certain (abnormal) amount of body parts. Very exciting. I drove home in the still-wet-and-cold to have lunch and then set off for Mrs. Burklin's for tea. All would have been well, excpect that I got lured into the library again (You'd think twice in one week would be enough) and, for the first time in my 15 months of driving, locked the keys in the car. I'm sure it won't be the last time. I phoned Dad and he heroically came for me...a little grin lurking around in his beard. It was sweet of him just to grin, considering he had to drive half and hour across town to reach me.

So, after that little wrinkle in the schedule, I arrived at Mrs. Burklin's safe and sound. The tea table was a cozy glow of red and gold...golden tea pot, crimson Christmas balls, candles, red and gold brocade cloth. It was nice to visit, and Mrs. Burklin also gave me some advice on Ethan's knight costume, which was at a dead halt over some mysterious problem. I think I can go on with the sewing now.

When I got home, the kitchen was a-bustle with meal preparations, and Dad was leaving to deliver the meals Mom had made...the business was a-buzzing. It's interesting adjusting to the new happenings around suppertime. I always wondered what home businesses were like, where the whole family participates. This is only part time, but it still creates a new...dynamic, I guess.

Mattie and I made pancakes and sausage for supper, and...now it comes to blogging...

I guess that's about it today.

Fat Tuesday?

No matter what a girl's size, there are days when she feels impossibly fat, and no amount of logical arguement will convince her otherwise. The safest, most tactful, helpful, and loving to do in such a circumstance would be to look her in the eyes and say, "I think you're beautiful and I'll love you forever and ever," because that's what she's really wondering about anyway.

(It hasn't been one of those particular kinds of days...I just thought it might have been for SOMEBODY out there.)

Mom read this before I titled it, and suggested I put "Fat Tuesday" for the title...she was joking, but I took her seriously, kind of.

Gone Crazy

Sometimes it feels like the world has gone crazy. It probably feels like that because, in fact, that's exactly what it's done. I'm not sure what I mean by that comment...just bear with me.

I've been thinking a lot about the "brethren throughout the world" that 1 Peter talks about. Yesterday during worship time we sang "Give Me Jesus", which is an utterly beautiful song...

In the morning, when I rise
In the morning, when I rise
In the morning, when I rise, give me Jesus

Give me Jesus,
Give me Jesus,
You can have all this world,
But give me Jesus

When I am alone
When I am alone
When I am alone, give me Jesus

Give me Jesus,
Give me Jesus,
You can have all this world,
But give me Jesus

When I come to die
When I come to die
When I come to die, give me Jesus

-Fernando Ortega

So, maybe it sounds repetitive just written down, but if you know the song, you can sing it and know what I mean. Anyhow, while we were singing I had my eyes closed and suddenly, like a digital slideshow, these pictures started coming into my mind of the believers in other countries being persecuted and killed because they love Jesus. In the morning, every morning...the fears and griefs of young widows, the possessions confiscated and homes destroyed, the long darks hours of prison cells, the tortures and beatings...but then there is Jesus. That is all they want. And that is what they get.

I'm just hoping for the courage to make that my prayer. It's not that I mean to be morbid...I guess it would be easy to take this that way. But it isn't morbid at all. The world is a dangerous place, (just yesterday we heard about the shootings in Colorado) and for so long I've thought that life's objective was to keep safe, happy and comfortable. But now I'm discovering that the safety is empty, and I find myself longing to say "You can have all this world, but give me Jesus."

A few days ago I read the Voice of the Martyrs magazine, which pictured a prayer meeting on the front cover. There were six people kneeling in a circle in the forest, holding their hands out, praying. And I thought, "I want to be part of that prayer meeting." And I keep longing for that kind of desperate fellowship and even danger...yet I'm such a weak and fragile child! I tremble at the thought of going to a nursing home to reach out...I battle every morning just to get out of bed. Just an overload of phone calls to make can cause me to crumple into tears. Is this the girl who wants to brave the wilds and risk hatred, gun threats, and tortures? Sounds crazy. Sounds a little niave. Sounds impossible!

Just in the little sufferings that I go through, I've tasted a bittersweet tang that left me thristy for more. It's a funny thing to say, because when the day is done I'd never ask to go through it again. But later, when things get "better", I start missing those days I spent running to Jesus at every turn, nights of crying myself to sleep knowing that I'm in His arms. I've started to understand how those believers have the joy they have, and I'm just praying for the courage to love and hang on and risk my life in his name, here or overseas.

On this website I think you can find some of the amazing Voice of the Martyrs stories that really spur me on in my faith...(when I can bring myself to read them!)

http://www.persecution.com/

The Little Raja has a Birthday

Yesterday we celebrated Ethan's birthday (which is actually on the 9th) by having the Fritzes over for home made pizza and chocolate cake.

Since Mom and Dad were busy yesterday shopping and working on things for a small sort of business (where Mom will make meals to deliver out of our home three days per week) Mattie and I did a lot of birthday prep. Mattie is the one-woman decorating committee. I ended up being the cook, although Mom and Mattie graciously took over the pixxa near supper time. Due to some goofy mistakes, I had to remake both the cake and the pizza dough...and wasted at least a bag of flour! It was horrible! The first cake came out looking like mountains on Mars, only a little burnt around the edges, and the pizza dough, due to a slip of the pen as I was writing down the recipe, ended up looking like...well, boogers, honestly. In the end it all got straightened out. The pizza dough turned out great the second time...thanks, Mrs. Connie, for the recipe!!

I think Ethan enjoyed his party. Mrs. Michelle had made him a REALLY COOL cloak (not a cape!!!) with sleeves (very impressive) and what with dollar store swords and a yellow plastic tool belt, he was really "fixed up." Every time he opened a gift, he fact of factly announced. "Huh, just what I wanted."

I still hold the theory that if every kid were brought up getting just one birthday gift per birthday, they would be perfectly content. Every time Ethan opened a gift, he wanted to stop right there and play with it, forgetting the other unopened boxes. (Between Grammie, the Fritzes, and the rest of us, he had a lot more to open than I would have thought.) In fact, he finally delegated the opening job to his newly appointed agent, Sarah.

This morning, Mom and Dad were relegated to some form of forced labor to put together the new lego set. (Connor is working, and Mattie and I...well, somehow we got out of it.) Dad's making a lot of progress. I sat for a while eating breakfast in the vicinity for moral support, but the closest involvement I had with the legos was trying to read the warnings in 15+ languages on the plastic packages. I like just trying to figure out what the languages are...even if I can't understand any of the words, or even pronounce them. There were warnings in what I guessed to be Spanish, English, Portugese, Italian, Dutch, German, several Scandinavian tongues (surely Danish), Hungarian, Turkish, Greek, three languages with the Cyrillic aphabet, Japanese, Chinese, and Korean. And there were one of two that looked like African languages...but I have no clue about that. I get a big kick out of the ones with all the little accent marks and dots and dips and doodles...God was so creative to make words!

Well, I don't have much else to say about Ethan's birthday, other than that it was exhausting, but fun. I never did understand why parents put themselves out for their kid's birthdays, but now, with Ethan, even though he's my brother, I kind of see...they aren't little forever. It doesn't have to be expensive to be special, either. A little love goes a long way :)


P.S. Christmas devotions can be very thought provoking-- especially when you have a five year old brother! Yesterday morning, while Mom was sharing the story of Jacob's ladder with us, and she asked Ethan what the names of Jacob and Rachel's two sons were. His reply? "Joseph and Frodo." !!!

Blogging My Head Out...

Well, here I am, a week after I said I could get back to blogging... :) I just don't know how to dive back in, but I think they call that procrastination.

Today was a rather busy day...after I was initially able to drag myself up off the couch and into the shower. I got up immediately when my alarm went off (only because I put it on my book shelf where I'm forced to get up to turn it off!), but after a cup of tea, two pieces of toast, and a smidgin of leftover meatloaf, I went straight to the couch and lay flat under a thick blanket for a long time until I could possibly consider coming out again. Everyone else was either gone or still a-snooze.

When I had showered and perked up a little, I hurriedly stuffed my huge book bag full of everything I might possibly need for the day or forevermore and set off in the Crowe's Silver Bullet (I think that's what Rodgey called it once...or am I mistaken?) A few days ago, when I was going to take the kids to the park, we were looking for the van keys at their house, and Rodgey kept asking me, "Why don't you just drive the truck?"(the nickname for the Much Nicer vehicle) There were several good reasons, but I didn't have a chance to explain them all to him. As we climbed into the somewhat Aged and Used van, he shook his head at me and said, "I still don't understand why you passed up a great opportunity to drive something that's worth more than 200 dollars!"

So...it was on to the Crowes, where Bruce and Deb had just gotten back from a short jaunt to Ukraine to make plans and scout out a house they found, which they will probably buy. So Deb made hot drinks for us and we sat looking at pictures of snow-patched Rzchichiv while she explained details of our future home (for a year or more, in my case.) It was pretty exciting. I was excited to hear that there are a lot of Ukrainian girls my age who hang around there, who I'll surely get to learn Russian from and build relationships with. The prospect of being there for an extended period of time where I can grow some roots is encouraging to me. Five week missions trips where you are constantly on the move just become emotionally exhausting after awhile, because you have to reach out to person after person without having a lasting connection. So, if God works it out so, I'll be moving to Ukraine in May or June 08, shortly after the Crowes.

At 11:15, Mom picked me up for a birthday lunch for our friend Miss Brenda. There were a lot of other ladies there, and I was the only girl, but I didn't mind, since Miss Brenda is one of my dear friends, and so is my Mom, and for the most part I like listening to my Mom's friends talk :) It was a pleasant time, and I hope a blessing for the birthday girl. The waitress was exceptionally nice and brought Mom and I loads of food we couldn't eat. (We split a plate, but still ended up taking half of it home as leftovers for siblings to have for supper.)

When we left, I had a raging headache, which may in part be due, as my Mom pointed out, to a light caffeine addiction...nooooooo!!!! I said I would never be dependent on coffee! I'm still hoping that's not it. But I went yesterday and most of today without the "drug," and had major headaches. I realize that I have been drinking steadily more and more coffee as it gets cooler out...but I didn't think it was that much. I usually have it in a teacup and make it "blonde" (half-coffee, half-milk, with a teaspoon of sugar) so I can't believe I could really be addicted. But I have been having either coffee or tea once or twice a day...I just hate the idea of being dependent on a drink. Oh well.

After some ibuprofen, I just felt sort of swampy and fuzzy all over, and thought another moment of horizontalness might be really nice...but there was english class with the girls, which I hadn't prepared for at all. So I thought, well, Mrs. Burklin is always teaching classes when she's sick--much sicker than I am--and she teaches the classes with much more...you know...know how, preparation, and General Wholehearted Wonderfulness, that surely I can just pluck up for a few hours and do this thing! So I gave in to Mom's recommended cup of coffee (just feeding the flames!). Sure enough, it perked me up pretty decently and I began to feel a general Competance and Happiness over the commas and semicolons and the funny sentences we kept making up and scrawling across the tremendous marker board. At the beginning of the class I was feeling down and wondering if anything I was doing was doing any good or if I was working for nothing...but then I remembered how Chance, (my once-apon-a-time big brother and English tutor of approximately two months), drove the wonderful ways of commas, conjunctions, and semicolons into me
over and over with all the force of a sledgehammer, and how it STUCK, to my great benefit. I'm still benefitting from it today. And nobody tell me that commas aren't important! I know I don't get all of my punctuation right all of the time, but it's still amazing what a tiny sliver of confidence about something the size of a comma can do for you! I actually really got to enjoying myself with the whole comma thing. And the girls are so good in class...they didn't make fun of me or anything ;) Now at home, it could be a different story!

After that, I read to Ethan, as promised. It's one of my favorite things to do, and I'm just pleasantly amazed at his persistent begging for a story. Of course, he wants only "knight books," which we seem to have exhausted at the library, and I'm not ready for another three weeks of St. George just yet. After all, we have two other versions at home that I've read to him too. I did find a long picture book divided into chapters that I started reading to him this afternoon, about Robin Hood. That also qualified, I guess. It's amazing. He'll just sit there for an hour, listening, cuddled in a blanket, occasionally asking, "Are those the bad guys or the good guys?" Even when I don't get to read to him, Mom does it regularly. He's definitely going to get some idea of chivalry, anyway!

And now I'm blogging my head out. Wait...that's not what I meant to say...head off...heart out...whatever. It feels good to write out the events of the day. It's time to go now, though.

So, The End

P.S. The amount of labels I have are ridiculous. Mybe I'm being hyper-sensitive about them and should discontinue the system.

They tell me I'm a Winner...

I did it! I officially reached 50,000 words...or 50,236 to be exact, as I only dreamed of doing a month ago. I'm so glad to know...just to know that I COULD. Now, finishing the "novel," as they so flatteringly call in on the Nano website, is going to be another challenge that feels completely out of my league. I think I'm going to take a few days off and relax, ponder, and...pray.

And now I can get back to blogging! :)

A Little Disallusionment

I woke up this morning to a delicious freezing grey wetness outside my window, a roaring fire in the stove, and coffee brewing in the kitchen. I'm marvelling over having two Saturdays in a row (yesterday felt like a Saturday, and lo and behold, I wake up to another one today!) Wow. Wow again. I don't know what else to say without writing way too much and irritating my dear brother who really wants to get on this computer in the next half hour.

As for Nano...44,215 words and counting...getting to 50,000 no longer concerns me. It's finishing the story that I'm worried about. It's looking like I'm going to need another couple of weeks to finish...at least one...and as of December first I am sworn to sign my life over to sewing a knight costume for my littlest bro.

The truth is, I'm scared silly of editing, revising, and having to persevere, and I keep writing with a feeling that I'm producing pig slop. I don't even know what I'm trying to write in the story...I can't figure out any reasonable motives my characters would have for their actions, and I feel like I've built a completely idiotic story on a sand dune...and the tide is coming in very rapidly. Sure, I'm making my 50,000 word goal, but I was hoping to have something decent to show for it. Hmm. I'll have to just keep pressing on and see what happens. Perhaps I will kidnap an unsuspecting friend, lock them in the dungeon (er, my closet) and make them read it and tell me honestly what in the world to do with the stupid citizens of this stupid city, why a music box should be magical and what magical qualities it ought to have, and why a wicked shiekh would really want to kidnap a bunch of little kids. Sorrows.

Well, praise the Lord it is raining, because that definitely helps the writing mood. If it were all humid and sticky and droopy out, I think I would chunk my lap top and move into the refigerator with the leftover pumpkin pie.

Cheerio!

Saying Thank You

I kind of feel bad about what I said. Not a guilt trip or anything...but so many people don't have a nice warm, dry kitchen to bake pies in or a moderately happy, healthy family to eat them with. So here's a big, fat,

THANK YOU< GOD!

Thanksgiving and No Ice Cream Sandwiches

On the afternoon before Thanksgiving, the temperature dropped to a blessed 76 degrees, and it began to rain. A general uproar ensued, in which Cassie madly dashed out the front door and joined two of her younger siblings in a dance of insane happiness, abandoning the cranberry sauce to a simmering fate on the stovetop.

Yes, the change in weather was so sweet. I was so happy that it not only dropped to 76, but well below, with a wicked wind to chase the leaves across the grass. The cranberry sauce was no worse for the cook going AWOL. Cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie are my two favorite Thanksgiving foods (well, candied sweet potatoes vie for a place as well) so naturally I got to make them this year. To think, my mother was going to leave off the pumpkin pie just because we had to resort to canned pumpkin! Canned pumpkin is a sad fate, being so similar to baby food, but even canned is better than nothing.

The pie is fortunate that it came into existence at all, considering the distracted state the cook was in all afternoon. Holidays are so precious, but being a sentimental person, I guess I sometimes take them a little seriously. Suddenly, when you are standing in the kitchen enveloped in a Christmas apron, surrounded by a passel of pies and a scent of cinnamon and a huge mess of flour, and the leaves are dying outside in the greyness...all the seasons and Thanksgivings of the past can tumble down on top of you like a load of dusty old classics in the top of your closet. You think of that particular rendering of the Doxology, or that wintery walk, or that particular pumkin pie now lost forever to gastronmical memory. And with the happy memories that you can't seem to retrace completely, come dreams, and fears, for the future...knowing and longing and wondering about it...

"It is always sad when someone leaves home, unless they are simply going around the corner and will return in a few minutes with ice-cream sandwiches."

- Lemony Snicket

Life seems to be all leaving and saying goodbye with no ice cream sandwiches. And I haven't even left or moved away! I think more than anything, I am homesick over the home I haven't left, the friends I haven't yet had to said goodbye to, and the family that is all around me as I speak. Realizing what can't come back from the past makes me ache for what I'm going to miss in the future...

So go ahead and say "Cassie, what are we going to do with you!" Or don't bother. It's already done. I'm better now. I know that was a shamefully outrageous burst of emotional goobldegop. Baking Thanksgiving pies is not supposed to drive a person into depression!

It's truly a beautiful Thanksgiving Eve, and I'm thankful to God that this year I am here, with my dear family, just as He perfectly ordained it. The future is bright with Him.

Oh, and Nano...

38,888 words, planning to reach 40k tonight. Kip got in big trouble and the Prince almost had a knife plunged through his heart, but he's going to be ok. He's very quick and able. And Mrs. Mudge is a very good nurse.

Half Way Point

Half way done. 25,000!!!

True, Mrs. Connie, no time for blogging...if I mean to be with people and lead a healthy life. It's not just nano...babysitting, unusual upsets, and the "weight of a thousand disasters"...no, not really, I just like quoting Pinocchio :) A lot of unexpected things this week.

Yes, Nano will come to an end. And it's going pretty well, although it got a little into the stirring-cold-molasses category last week. When I met up with the green genie...well, that's when things got better.

Must go...

My Brother, the Realist

Scene: Mattie and Ethan are curled up in a chair together, staring at the pine ceiling of our log house.

Mattie: Let's look for shapes in the wood. See, there're faces and stuff! I see an alligator and a ghost.

Ethan, looking intently: Well, I see a piece of wood.

A few minutes, (the game came to a quick end) Ethan was "wrestling" Mattie in the chair, and was laying over her face. Mattie managed to yell,

"Help, I'm being terminated!"

Siblings. Gotta love 'em. ;)

In Which I Insanely Haul the 500 lb. Turkey Down the Hill

My arms are incredibly sore this morning. There's a good reason for it...or maybe a bad reason, depending on how you look at it. No, it's not from typing (I'm not the most muscle-endowed person I know, but I can type.

Yesterday I hauled a 500 pound turkey 700 feet down the hill from my grandparents house to our house. No kidding, I know it was five hundred pounds! This back-breaking labor was not a form of cruel and unusual punishment, nor was it penance or anything of that nature...it was merely a result of the sheer stupidity and stubborn determination of a Nano-crazed girl.

It was like this...I came home from taking Mattie to piano lessons when it was close to supper time, ready to write. As I drove in, Dad, who was outside sowing grass seed in our barren yard, stopped and asked me to drive up to Grammie's and fetch the turkey she wanted to give us. Well, that was fine. I was planning to come straight home and doctor my Nano wordcount a little before supper, but getting the turkey was not too big of a deal. I drove up, parked the car, and went to the door. After knocking for quite a while to no avail, I got impatient, and seeing that there was no car in the driveway, went back home. I told Mom about it.

"Oh, she's gone somewhere, and Paw Paw's in the back. I think she just wanted you to walk in and get it. It's on the counter."

Ok. I climbed back into the car and drove up again. Sure enough, the door was unlocked, so I went right in to pillage the turkey. The bird was enormous. It was adorned in trappings of tin foil, and sat in a shallow roasting pan full of greasy bird juice. I hefted it off the counter and started for the door. I had to set it down in order to open the door, and as I did so, the drippings sloshed mildly. Well, that wasn't so bad, but what was going to happen when I put it in the van? I could just picture Dad's face when he saw the trunk of his van painted in abstract turkey juice. No way.

By this time, my arms were sagging with the turkey's weight, and I frantically searched for somewhere to make an emergency landing before I dropped the thing and sent cooked turkey hurtling into next Thanksgiving. (The drive where I had parked was sharply slanted.) After I had set down the turkey, I employed my best Cassie-logic and took stock of my options.

1. Drive home and find someone to help me, which would probably result in a catastrophic turkey mess anyway.

2. Find an old towel (which would probably get ruined) to line everything with. (That,too, could be a very messy ordeal.)

I completely forgot that we had a truck I could have used.

So, I wasn't thinking so clearly. I had been pretty emotional all day, and was feeling unreasonably distressed, helpless, and close to tears over the wretched turkey. I was really only thinking about one thing: How I could get home in the least amount of time WITH the turkey and WITHOUT the mess, and tackle that novel. The seconds were ticking away, and I knew deep down that it was too late for pre-supper writing anyway. But at that moment, some fearsome force of super-human bullheaded strength took over my frail and helpless person, and, banishing all reason from my mind, I strode over to the 500 pound turkey and lifted it with my own two arms. Then I set off down the hill, bearing the onerous piece of poultry in its pool of oily drippings.

By this time, anger, desperation, and a host of other emotions were driving me down the hill, arms trembling.

"Dumb turkey! Dumb turkey! Dumb turkey" (I didn't say this aloud, because, after all, the bird was so big it was bound to have feelings lodged in there somewhere, even if he was cooked. Besides, I'm not sure I'm aloud to say "dumb.") Then, in a split second, as I had landed the turkey in the grass to briefly relieve my aching arms, I remembered "I'm supposed to be thankful for this turkey, aren't I?" Deb and I had been discussing thankfulness, and thanks to her I had been practicing at it here and there all afternoon. I heaved the turkey up again.

"Thank you Lord, for the turkey...thank you Lord for the turkey...thank you for this dumb turkey, Lord!" And so on. I only prayed my cousins wouldn't happen to walk down their driveway at that moment to see their demented relative speeding for home with a hulking turkey in her arms.

A note to all those planning to shoplift their Thanksgiving turkey: I would just go with spam this year.

Anyway, I had nearly made it to the Little Woods (adjoining our yard,) when my arms really began shaking and quivering and showing signs of betrayal, and the bird became somewhat endangered. Just about 20 yards to go...and there was my Dad, still sowing his seed like a good farmer. And I started thinking to myself, "What is Dad going to say when he sees his daughter carting home this ridiculous hateful overgrown turkey?" The ridiculousness of my own actions was dawning on me as the temporary cloud of insanity began to lift. I could just go ask Dad for some help, but no! I was determined to get that bird home myself!

After another quick break, I summoned all my strength and pride and moral courage and tromped through the short patch of forest at breakneck pace, accelerating as the weight grew on me. Just as I emmerged from the trees into the ploughed-up yard I nearly collapsed. I saw Dad and Dad saw me, and I broke into a fit of weak, semi-hysterical laughter. I didn't know how I would have the strength to explain and pull myself together enough to get into the house with the thing. But my Dad, full of chivalry, just came over and took the turkey from me. I didn't want him to lift it...his back was really hurting...but he wasn't about to stand there and let me collapse, and frankly, I didn't at all mind being rescued.

So, Dad took the turkey, and I stood there shaking, my arms floating around like butterflies out of the their cucoons. Then, feeling like a good pilgrim just released from his burden, I turned and went back up the hill to explain to my newly arrived grandmother why the turkey was gone, the van was there, and I was not.

Note: I did end up Nano-ing about a hundred words before supper time, and after supper succeeded in reaching my 2000 words-per-day goal, which rather surprised me considering the day I'd had. Oh, and we had turkey for supper, too.

Nano Update

Typing...typing...thinking...typing...

I'm planning to reward myself with a blog post every 10,000 words, and right now the word count is just over 6000. (For National Novel Writing Month) Talking camels rock!

Happy November...

In which I consort with a mummy, a pirate, two superheros, and a small, messy lion

Yesterday, I was "along for the ride" when the Crowe kids went Trick or Treating at the nursing home...great hilarity! They made the nursing home residents SO HAPPY! I generally don't condone celebrating Halloween, especially after researching it a bit, but nothing could convince me it's wrong for a bunch of little kids to dress up and and go cheer up some lonely elderly people! They just loved giving the kiddos candy. I must say, I think the kiddos enjoyed getting it! ;)

When I came to the door yesterday morning, I was met by Rodgie the Mummy, who seemed to have some difficulty keeping his gauzy trappings intact. We also had Bron the Pirate complete with clip on gold earring and clip on parrot. Then there was Batman Brent and Superman Tucker. Clarky was a lion in a saggy baggy suit- soft, tote-able, and fun to pet. Noey was simply...himself. Adorable.

It's amazing how, while it seems so awkward for adults or, ok, kids acting like adults, (Me, at least) to relate to some of the people in the nursing home, the kids bring the hugest smiles to their faces with such little effort! Especially kids in costumes! Those withered hands reached from wheelchairs to offer candy on every side.

The kids, of course, were living it up. They were really polite and sweet, while at the same time, really enjoying their candy! Clarky trundled down the hall, slurping a multicolored sucker whilst his furry golden tail trailed behind. His ears stuck up, begging to be petted. Later, I saw him sucking a new lollipop, after losing the first in a sticky wasteland of lion hide. The new one was one of those vivid ocean-blue-rasberry sort, so his mouth was duly decorated. It only made his eyes look wider.

Since Deb, Bron, and Noah were going to art lessons, I got to take the rest home for some schooltime. First, though, we needed to document the scene via digital camera. Unfortunately, King Tut had already been having an "Unwrap the graveclothes and let him go" moment in the back seat, so I had to wrap him back up properly. I guess I wouldn't have made a good Egyptian. Everthing kept coming down and there were spots I never could seem to get covered. Fortunately, his white shirt was a good disguise. After saftey-pinning Rodge, rounding up the superheros, and herding the lion and his newly acquired Snickers bar (which was mostly melted all over his front) to the front sidewalk, then finding the camera, then rewrapping Rodge's toes, then retrieving Clarky, then arranging everyone for the shot...I finally snapped the picture. And re-snapped, because Clark wasn't looking. Then wanted to re-snap, because he wasn't looking again...but in the end, I think the picture turned out pretty well, considering. Rodgy trekked into the house and dismantled himself, with great relief. I expect that being swathed from head to toe in stripes of white clothe would become somewhat of a nuisance after a while!

Every time I see those kids, I'm reminded how amazing it is that I get to experience life with them every week!

All Nano's Eve

It's going to happen...I'm going to start Nanowrimo tomorrow! It's ridiculous, but I am getting butterflies in my tummy! That only happens on Rare and Very Special Occasions, and usually has to do with people, not...words. Especially not 50,000 of them that I haven't written yet!

Stats on the Nanowrimo website show that 58% of the people who sign up don't even start writing! If you simply start, you have a 31% chance of finishing! So, hey, I can start. If I even get, say, 20,000 words, I will probably be pretty impressed with myself. But of course, the goal is 50,000!

My poor blog is probably gonna suffer a bit this next month, but I'll come back, I promise.

*Big Smile*

Impending Suicide of the Lazy Writer

I'm counting down the days 'til November 1st with a dose of both angst and excitement. For a few years now I've listened wistfully to participants' tales of glory and woe, and this year I'm determined to jump in and join the fray...

I'm going to do NaNoWriMo next month! (National Novel Writing Month), where you try to write 50,000 words in a month. If I take off on Sundays and Thanksgiving, that's somewhere around 2000 words a day. If I carve out the time, I don't think I'll have a problem writing that much, but this will definitely be a huge challenge. I'm not known for great story-finishing fortitude. Or story-starting fortitude, either. I love to write, but I haven't developed much discipline at all. I guess NaNoWriMo excites me because I won't be all alone...there is a goal and a sort of outward motivation to write. I won't be all dithered about subject, motives, time, and this, that, and the other thing. Once I'm in, I'm in.

In my conversations with God concerning NaNo, it was something like this:

"Alright, Lord, if I'm going to do this...if You really want me to commit to this (I really wanted to, but I wasn't sure if He would have me hide away from humanity to write for a month), I need You to give me:

1. A Laptop (which I had already been planning to get at some point, but would have to have if I'm going to be typing up 2000 words a day.)

2. Parental permission and support.

3. An Idea."

It may sound a little demanding of God, but after all, He is God, and I trust that He understood what I meant. I guess He did, because within a few weeks He'd abundantly provided all three. The idea (for a plot) was even kind of a bonus thrown in for good measure...I was willing to just take a leap of faith on that one. Oh, and that's another thing- showers are useful for something besides getting clean...the "Idea" popped right into my head in the solitude of my morning shower. It was so exciting that I layed awake at night thinking about it during the camping trip between starlit trips to the outhouse!

I won't say anything more about "The Idea" right now other than that it involves an eleven year old boy, a music box, and talking camels :) I figure that, right now, writing for kids is my best bet since I'm surrounded by plenty of raw inspiration (though I don't know about the camels...I haven't seen any of those recently!) I'm warning myself that this try at writing "in bulk" is only a practice round anyway.

Food for Thought

(Well, just a snack)

"We all must at some time or another face forthrightly the tragedy of love and death, so that one day the pain of separation might be replaced by the joy of reunion with the beloved one."

-Vigen Guroian, Tending the Heart of Virtue

More on the Camp Out

To answer Jesse's question...We camped with the Fritzes, Cavels, Reynolds, Hellmuths, and Bourciers. The weather was gorgeous...cold at night but not so unbearable you couldn't get up in the morning, and sunny\breezy during the days. It was lovely and clear until the minute we packed up, when it began to rain. Most of us were more or less packed, anyway.

The Camp out

Clean is a happy feeling. This is especially true after a camping trip :)

Our camp out went well, though I started out with a case of the sniffles and a bundle of misgivings. The happy camping words I listed in the last post were just optimistic attempts at a good attitude. I usually like camping, but I was pretty low on energy because of the head cold. I told Mom, with characteristic whinyness while standing in a kitchen cluttered in unpacked camping gear, "I just don't know if I'm up for this," and she said "You haven't even done any of the work yet!" Which was true. I confess, I'm not much of a fighter when I'm the least bit sick. I basically revert back to babyhood and wish I could curl up in somebody's lap with a blankie.

As I said previous to that unnecessary rabbit trail, the camp out went well. It was a lot more fun being with other families, (and probably cut down on my complaining.) The fresh air perked me up a lot.

On Saturday, eleven or so of us went on a nine mile hike on the Buckeye Trail, during which half of the group dunked themselves in a pool of icy water under a small waterfall that came down a chute. My crazy Dad was one of the dunkers. He was pretty animated the whole trip, because camping is one of his favorite things and he's somewhat of an expert at the whole map reading-trail blazing thing. All the non-dunkers sat on logs or took pictures. I refrained from the dunking business, hoping to avoid pneumonia.

On the latter part of the hike, Mary taught me her hiking technique of following the footsteps of the person in front of you...it definitely makes you keep up! I trotted along behind Dad and Mary trotted along behind me and...it pretty much ended up in hypnosis on my part! We had some interesting conversation, however! I discovered in Mary one of those rare personalities with whom you can discuss a subject analytically without actually having a debate. We both like to think and discuss, but really hate arguing. So we pondered aloud such questions as "If someone you know and trust told you to go jump off a cliff, would you do it?" Still undecided on that one. By the time we got home (to camp), I was somewhat dehydrated in brain as well as body :)


I made a new friend this weekend. Her name is Sarah, and she's five years old. I think she and Ethan are destined for each other, but that's just a matter of opinion :) Heretofore, she's always played with Mattie and Ethan, but this weekend she must have had an extra burst of friendly compassion, and latched on to me. While I was getting my shower stuff together after the hike, she came and plopped down on an air mattress next to me, observing my activities calmly from large serious brown eyes. "D'you wanna come see our camper?" she asked. I hemmed and hawed a little. She gazed intently at me for a while, and her eyes got a little more mocha every second. 'I've been waitin' for you all afternoon," she stated. I hadn't realized she knew I existed. Well, her charms soon had me taking a quick tour of the camper, and it was settled. We were friends.

Over the course of the weekend there were short bike rides, sightings of "Duckerina" from the dock, joint effort dishwashing, and a piggy back ride. I was thrilled. There's nothing more consoling than a small hand in yours, not to mention exposure to unlimited 5 year old imagination and a small head of tously light brown curls and bright brown eyes popping up everywhere you turn.

For some reason, I often get really mopey on camping trips, (too much time to think?), but thanks to Sarah, it was a very happy time! I think it was nice having everyone around in general. I 'm so thankful for our friends, for nature, for the perfect weather, for God's great love toward us.

There's a lot more to say, but it's time for some zzzz's.

Small Embarrassment

I'm embarrassed to find that I spelled pomegranate wrong multiple times throughout my last post. Horrors! I did use spell check and saw that I'd spelled it wrong, but for some reason the corrections didn't take. Oh well.

I won't be posting for a while because we're going camping in Arkansas (Shady Lake) for a long weekend with some other families. Breezes...campfires...coffee...stars...falling leaves...should be nice.

As Tigger says, "Te-Te for then, Ta ta for now..."

Surprise!

Today was a day of funny surprises.

I think the first one was the pomagranate I got at the library. I popped in for 15 minutes (It really was only fifteen minutes, though Connor would never believe that!) on a mission to find Pinocchio, by Carlo Collodi (Isn't that fun to say?). When I left, I had Pinocchio and a small pinkish pomagranate. Somebody had dumped a bunch of them on the front desk and the checker lady graciously bestowed one apon me. Yay for pomagranates! We ate those nearly every day in India last summer.

So then I strode out the library doors with a Stride of Triumph and Happiness. The sun was dazzling outside while rain was falling, which made the rain look like more or less like flying diamonds. The asphalt was all wet and warm and puddly and I ran and jumped in the van because I only had three minutes till my hair appointment.

I got to Guys and Gals on time since it's within sight of the library, and got my hair trimmed. I always am a little nervous over getting a haircut, but this time it was great and I left with the same Stride of Triumph and Happiness all over again! Confidence, too: a rare luxury! Virginia (who cuts my hair) is a very sweet, gentle lady and I greatly admire her patience. She's the perfect person to deal with a girl who's too shy and fashion illiterate to explain how she wants her hair cut! I really like it that she listens to you and doesn't just "experiment" on people's heads as if they were chia pets.

Surprise again, I doused myself with cold water while driving! Talk about distracting. And it was all gooey in my shoe.

When I reached Julia's house for a visit, I surprised her since she forgot I was coming and I forgot to call her to make sure it would still work out! She took the curveball with great grace and suggested we go for a walk on the campus next door. We strode along (pretty much with Triumph and Happiness) discussing jumping in rain puddles in public (which we didn't indulge in) and happened on a friend, which was also a surprise. We found a pleasant, shady picnic table and had some nice one on one time. Love that.

Then, since I knew no one at home would relish the pomagranate and special things are especially special when shared with someone special who will appreciate them, I got out the prized gem and Julia and I cut it open. Sadly, it was pale and tart because it wasn't ripe, but we still enjoyed it. Julia hadn't had a pomagranate before and she has an adventurous spirit, so I was glad we got to do that together.

I left at five and made a stop at Walmart on the way home (ok, that's no surprise) where I procured a pair of blue flowered pj pants. My own boldness astonishes me. I spent money! Surprise, Surprise!

P.S. I got all the green lights on High Street!

Monotony and Daisies

My greatest trial is monotony.

Lots of people are going through terrible catastrophes and heartaches right now, but my greatest foe (seemingly) is monotony. I fear it. Sunday night bedtime comes and I already dread showering on Monday morning.

I wonder why I hate showering so much. After all, I love to be clean. I need a shower every morning because I can't stand the layers of adolescent oil that coat me from head to toe when I wake up. Every time I shower, though,at some point I find myself getting antsy and impatient. Isn't there a short cut? Can't I skip the deoderant this morning? (no!) I feel the drive to get onto more important things. Such as laundry.

The big scare comes when I think it through and realize that most of my 24 hours each day is spent in monotony. Eight and a quarter hours are "wasted" on sleep (I've tried to shave it down to less, but then end up cranky, flaky, and drained.) Preparing food and eating takes time. So does showering, dressing, doing laundry and some dishes (that's not my particular chore) and keeping my room in reasonable order. Then there's the matter of excercise. I finally figured out that it is indeed necessary.

Then I want to schedule things, and create more monotony for myself. Let's make sure we write something every day, blog something every day, practice Russian, memorize verses or poems, do teaching stuff, and read something. And don't forget quiet times!

Lately, through books, sermons, people, and...God...I've been thinking about faithfulness in the little things. What purpose can God possibly have in my spending five minutes in the morning putting on makeup? Why am I so ticked over five minutes? Well, it all adds up.

Two things have spoken to me on this matter:

"If I partake with thankfulness, why then am I slandered concerning that for which I give thanks? Whether, then, you eat or drink or whatever you do, do all for the glory of God." 1 Cor. 10:30-31

"Repitition, far from signifying deadness, may signify delight, desire, and vitality...[children] want things repeated and unchanged. They always say 'do it again'...It may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy , for we have sinned and grown old..." (emph. mine)

-- G.K. Chesterton (a quote from a book I was reading by someone else)

When I read these things I was flooded with a sense of the Old Joy. The bittersweet Joy of long fall afternoons grubbing around the creek bottoms with my cousins in a comfy checkered flannel shirt and semi-ragged jeans. You never want those days to end. You want them to go on and on happening again and again, and the greatest tragedy is when you become a seventh grader and suddenly feel selfconscious digging in the mud with your boy cousins.

So where has the Old Joy gone? I get the sense that God doesn't mean for us to quit having it just because we aren't eight years old any more. I mean, what difference is ten years, anyway?

Isn't it bazaar that God has been making the same flowers in the same places at more or less the same time every year for thousands of years and hasn't gotten tired of it yet? If it were me, I would say "Enough with the flowers already, let's try something else." I think I'd invent a few new laws of physics or another whole world, for that matter! Good grief!

When I think about the Patience of God, I'm astounded, surprised, ashamed, melted, assured, relieved, and encouraged all in one fluid succession. His delight and faithfulness in arranging the dew drops every morning quite justifies spending a little time putting on my makeup each day, and thanking Him for it :)

Weather Report

Fall finally came today. It might be gone tomorrow- but it came today!

I don't like to change clothes a million times a day, but I can tell you I was quite willing to shed the worn out shorts and don a cozy lavender sweat suit thing to curl up in.

This morning it was so humid that I was in shorts and a t-shirt...then I put on some pants to go walking in and got soaked in the icy deluge when the skies finally broke open. I had my little fling with Autumn outside enjoying the rain and whippy wind and the leaves throwing themselves recklessly from the tops of tall trees. When the cold and wet became too much, I went in and had a warm shower. By that time I was sweating again and needed shorts and a t-shirt back. But, this is East Texas in October...when I went next door just after lunch time, I found that the front had pushed through and it was plenty nippy- nippy enough that I did finally pull out the velour and curl up inside the house. The only reason velour wasn't too hot was that we'd opened the windows to let in that rare blast of cold air!

Anyway...I consider it fall enough to post a few fall poems (like the one below.)

I had a nice entry started a few days ago but it got much to complicated to make sense (even to me). Oh well. I'll get back on track.

Resurrection

I have in my hands a leaf
Mine to hold, firm as belief

I saw it hanging on a tree
Crimson for the world to see

Beholding it, I looked at death
Blood-drenched in its final breath

The leaf will die, and join the mold,
Lay for a time, growing cold

Its glory is not finished just
There is a mystery in its dust

After stone-cold winter's grief
Will come a resurrected leaf

Not to the leaf alone I hold,
Nor tale of seasons, yearly told
But another resurrection story-
Christ crucified and raised to glory.


(Fall 2005)

Pet Peeves

I hate it when
I get grit in my flip-flops.
I love it when
I get somewhere on time.
I hate it when
I run over butterflies.
I love it when
The pencil sharpener works.
I hate it when
Bedsheets need to be changed.
I love it when
It's cold enough for two blankets on the bed.
I hate it when
I have to take two showers in a day.
I love it when
I get all the green lights on High street right in a row.
I hate it when
The alarm goes off and it still feels like 2 a.m.
I love it when
My dresser stays clean for more than half a day.
But I hate it when
It turns out I'm the one who has to put away my stuff.

Thank God It's Thursday

TGIT. As in, "Thank God it's Thursday." My "work week" (haha) is finished. All the mini English lessons for the week are wrapped up. Actually, I really love getting to do English with Mattie and my cousins and the Crowes, and being at the Crowes' in the mornings. I just discovered suddenly this afternoon that I was tired. So droopingly tired. Maybe it's the new schedule, late nights, or an extra dose of wacky, unpredictable emotions (as in, more than usual).

I realized just now that I did seven writing lessons this week between five different kids...and considering that I didn't prepare for it much at all and teaching them writing like that is pretty new, I guess that did take a lot out of me. I was happy about all the practice though. I feel like I'll be able to get in a groove of some sort before too long.

Everything feels like a big experiment, like a cat testing the way in the dark with its whiskers. Each of the kids is smart and shows signs of "getting" the things I'm doing with them though, and a get the sense that its "working." Only time will tell, I guess. That seems like it would be the scariest thing for homeschool moms-- the idea that only time can show if the kids are actually "getting educated." Since every family is different, school is an experiment. What if you wake up one day to find that whatever you've been trying to teach them for the past three years didn't take? AHHHHH!!!! Ok, I know that's a little exaggerated. I can tell that they are learning something.

Perhaps, I tell myself, my brain wouldn't be spread so thin if I had just taught my "students" together instead to privately tutoring each one of them. The only "class" lesson was with Mattie, Jane, and Catherine today when we went out in the woods and wrote poems about fall. (Since it mercifully dipped into the 50's last night.) But no. I try to teach them several at a time, but their individualness pops out everywhere and grabs at me...not to mention that they're different ages and levels. Each one has different needs, and, though I may be an audacious little pipsqueak still wet behind the ears, my greatest desire in teaching them is to meet and help them where they are personally. I feel like I'm accomplishing so much more when I work with them one at a time! Emotionally I can't seem to deal with more than one person at a time. That goes for mentally in a lot of cases, too!

Although the "teaching thing" is taking some adjusting right now, I am having fun with the variety I'm getting to experience this year. Here's what the teaching week looked like...

Tuesday: Counting, Robert Louis Stevenson, reviewing phonics cards, getting writing assignment started, telling time, 5x's table, poetry appreciation at the library.

Wednesday: More numbers practice (involving sidewalk chalk), Jack and the Beanstalk, two separate writing assignments, spelling lesson.

Thursday: A spot of geography, phonics, counting, Rumplestiltskin, reading about heliocopters and making model rotor blades (which flew beautifully from the top of the stairs when twisted properly), spelling lesson, writing fall poetry, revising writing assignment.

Ages 4 to 14. I guess it sounds kind of like a homeschooling Mom's day only minus the responsibilities of housework, cooking, being a wife, and taking care of the rest of the kid's overall school work, health, and wellbeing. Ok, so maybe I'm not as tired as I thought I was. Think I'll go give my Mom a hug :)

"Bless the Lord, oh my soul, and forget none of his benefits; who pardons our iniqities, who heals all our diseases, who redeems our life from the pit, who crowns us with lovingkindness and compassion..." Ps. 103

Potential Poem and Ghost Suits

I want to post, but unfortunately I've been recruited to make "ghost hands" and "ghost feet" for someone small and four years old. I have no clue how to do it and no clue how he even has a clue about ghosts...it's certainly not in honor of Halloween! He says that the ghost shoudl be brown and hairy (?)

So I'll just leave you with this...maybe it will become a poem...

A brow of wizard-shaggy clouds
Broke with yellow in the early sky

Maybe it doesn't even make sense yet, but just read the words

A Piece of Delight

The last post was a draft I had to wait till today to finish, but I'm wanting to catch up on all the non-posting days I've had this week. And since I'm in the vein of other people's poetry, I may as well continue.

A writing teacher named Marjorie Frank wrote that if you want a lot of [writing] output from kids, you have to give a lot of input. (That's not word for word, but pretty close.) I've often noticed how true that is for me, but I just as often forget it and think I'm going to write something great without bothering to read anything great! Blatant arrogance, on my part! And foolishness. So, I'm trying to get "input," by reading more.

The painful thing about reading poetry, if you read anything good, is that you need to share it with somebody. And who reads poetry? It seems kind of out of date. The whole point of communication is human beings understanding each other. When you understand, and delight, you want other people to understand and delight. That's the whole idea of sharing your faith as a Christian, too, I think. You find life, and you have to share it. I'm sure God meant for other delightful things to be shared as well! So, here I'll share a poem that has delighted me since the first moment I read it, curled up in my Dad's chair entrenched in a gloomy english textbook:

BEING HER FRIEND

Being her friend, I do not care, not I,
How gods or men may wrong me, beat me down;
Her word's sufficient star to travel by,
I count her quiet praise sufficient crown.

Being her friend, I do not covet gold,
Save for a royal gift to give her pleasure;
To sit with her, and have her hand to hold,
Is wealth, I think, surpassing minted treasure.

Being her friend, I only covet art,
A white pure flame to search me as I trace
In crooked letters from a throbbing heart
The hymn to beauty written on her face.

— John Masefield, Poems
Macmillan, New York (1951)

And oh, how I ache to be "her"!

Poetry Happens Again

The anonymous comment from a few days ago sparked a little nag in me about poetry. About reading it, not writing it. I thought, "It's true, I probably ought to be reading more poetry if I want to write it, huh?"


I've been reading some great children's poems and rhymes lately, curled up with Ethan, but suddenly it dawned on me that I could try some "grown up poetry," something beyond Aunt Jobiska's cat :)

I didn't really mean to, but last night, I pulled out my book of Miltons poems- the greenish grey one with the black binding; the one I randomly bought at an antique store three or four years ago on a whim (I never buy things at antique stores!) The book has merely been decorating my dresser with a few neighbors- some of them books I actually have read, like Lord of the Rings.


All day I'd been tired, irritable, and stressed over all the little uncontrollable things in my life, and I just needed God...needed Him very much to just be more than a distant enthroned deity, or a religious teacher of bygone days. But I was laying there on the floor, cracking open a book of poetry I was sure I'd never really tackle. I read some. I skimmed some gushy stuff. Then I came to a poem called "The Passion," about the suffering of Jesus, where I read these lines:


"Most perfect Heroe, try'd in heaviest plight
Of labours huge and hard, too hard for human wight."


That tender discription of Jesus melted me. I remembered the sermon we heard on Sunday about Jesus being the Beautiful Servant...It's so hard to picture Jesus as the tender, able, humble, unassuming Hero I need when I have a head crowded with Jesus Film images of the celsestial looking man with silky locks.


If God had been the legalistic deity I sometimes am tempted to think He is, He would have tapped His fingers impatiently, waiting for me to finish my little poetic fling and move on to, you know, the Bible before speaking to me like that. But He was so kind to just touch me with a piece of poetry.


I keep shying away from it, like an orphaned child who fears offering affection to an adopted parent, and He keeps impressing it gently:


Poetry is a ministry...
A ministry to me...
A ministry through me...

Using My Processor

I'm really all interneted out right now, but I felt a need to post, because I don't want to get out of the habit of blogging. It was hard enough to form a habit, and I'm a little disappointed at what a tenuous one it's proving to be. I guess I should just be thankful I don't have problems on the other extreme, such as addiction :)

For most of the afternoon, I've been studying computer terms on the web. The results have been delightful! Why, oh why, did I wallow in my muddle of ignorance and confusion for so long when it's no more difficult to learn these terms than to learn...well, parts of speech, for instance. Or the parts of a car. (Not that I know anything about cars either-- perhaps I should tackle that next!) Now, when I flip through the computer ads, I can reasonably comprehend what "1GB memory, 80 GB Hard Drive" means for every day life. It means that I could probably store whatever I need to in the computer and would be able to do a lot more at one time than I'm doing now!

Well, that was short, but I really have to go. My CPU is kind of strained and the bus is having trouble getting from the motherboard to the uh...never mind. I'll let it go at that.

In the Rearview Mirror

I had a driver's license anniversary yesterday. I've now been legally driving alone for one year! Well, I mean, it wasn't as if I had been driving illegally before that. It was all Mom could do to coax me into the vehicle at all :)

It's exciting to take stock of my own growth in driving. Since I hadn't done any learning that intense since first grade, it kind of shocked me to pass milestones and learn at such an accelerated pace! After that initial instance of roaring up the driveway in the caravan, arms locked to the steering wheel in a death grip, my throat choked with unshakeable fits of nervous laughter-- I didn't have much confidence that I'd ever be able to drive "normally." It wasn't a pretty sight.

I did though, aquired a sort of fondness for driving, after some of the unknowns were eliminated. Such as, which one is the gas and which one is the brake? That's important, you know. You mean I have to cross all four lanes of traffic? And wait...WHY ARE THOSE CARS COMING TOWARD ME WHEN I HAVE A GREEN LIGHT!!!!! Mom and Dad berated me over and over for my timidity, because I was about to get everybody killed wavering back and forth about whether or not to pull into traffic. Dad came up with my battlecry. "When you see the opening, you can't just inch out there, Cassie, you have to Commit. Commit!"

Well, now I commit. Sometimes I commit a little too much. Sometimes I just hurtle through those intersections, causing our poor van to lurch and groan like a seasick elephant (no, I've never seen one of those) One day I took a curve a little fast on the way to youth group and Connor commented, "Gosh, Cass, Mom and Dad would never know you were the same girl who would hardly pull out in the street a couple months ago."

Now, I'm quite happy driving. In fact, it's going to be hard to relinquish control to my nearly-16-year-old brother who has been revving his figurative engine for some time now. When he and I are together, I'm always the nervous one, the protected one, the stay-in-the-background one. I rely on him, because he likes to be relied on, and because I like being protected. But I've also discovered that I rather savor having a little power. Keys and steering wheel. Final say over the radio. Drivers seat. It's all about to go bye-bye in another three months.

Several weeks ago I was driving the two of us to a birthday party, in the evening. I'd had a frazzled day and was trying to calm down on the way there, while dealing with evening traffic. Connor said something like, "Just wait till I can drive. You won't have to worry about driving any more. I'll take care of it." I probably frowned. As I said, I secretly enjoy my rein of...(well, not terror, but...). He searched my face and his playful demeanor took on a note of what I took for masked seriousness. He busted out the question I knew I'd have to answer sooner or later. "Would you feel safe if I were driving right now? Do you trust me?" I suddenly sensed that I was treading on land mines. I'd actually mulled over this one a lot in my head, but now that it came to words, I wanted to answer carefully.

"Well, when you get your license, I'll feel safe with you driving."

"Yeah, but right now, if I were driving, would you feel safe, like if Dad were driving?" He was very earnest about it. I kept my eyes straight ahead and twisted my hair. Gee, Connor, isn't that a lot to ask? You've only been in Drivers Ed for two months!

"Well, uh, Connor, you don't have a license...no I don't feel safe with that. The idea of riding with someone who's driving illegally would freak me out. I wouldn't be able to relax."

"But if I had my license right now, and I was driving, would you be able to relax?"

"Well, you don't have the experience Dad has, you know...but, I mean, I trust you. I think I could relax." By the grace of God, I would relax.

Connor is a great driver, from what I've seen of his driving under permit. He isn't scared like I was, and he's had lots of chances to get comfy with vehicles, driving around in our field. He went into driving lightyears ahead of me. The big question is really a test for me, not for him. Can I relinquish control?

Well, I overcame a lot of fears when I learned to drive. Maybe that's part of the reason I like it so much. Right now, when Connor and I are together in public, I am the driver. I am bold. (I like to imagine, anyway) It is I, alone, who can undertake the dangerous task of transporting our company safely to our destination through flood, flame, or dark of night. I'm an overcomer. And, hey, I can turn off the radio when I feel like it. But I think, if I could overcome a fear of driving with myself, I ought to be able to trust God to keep me from sqirming in the passenger seat when my big-little brother drives me around town. We'll see.

Delight in the Useless

Today I discovered all over again how much I love useless things. Useless, perfect little things. I spent a good while thinking up excuses for excusing my liking for little useless things. But, as I get older (not old, older) I can start to see why I did some of the weird stuff I did as a little kid (and, ok, a big kid.) It's a love of useless things, and it seems to be a godly trait ;)

So, Ethan and I zipped off to the Educational Supply at about 11:30 to pick up the pattern blocks Mom had ordered for him. I'm not going to lie to you. I'm not Elsie Dinsmore. I didn't want to go. I wanted to be stuffy and bask in uninterrupted serenity at the dining room table (haha) drowning in the Everest-type mound of books, folders, and notebooks that's been accumulating on my dresser. But I went.

It's always kind of odd taking my little brother places in public, holding his hand and being all motherly, wondering if people think he's my kid. I can't resist, though, the warm, melty feeling I get when he voluntarily places his hand in mine as we cross the parking lot. At those times I figure, well, he is mine, right now. Who cares what they think!

Walking into the Ed. Supply, for me, is somewhat like what walking into Aeropostale is for other girls. An undercurrent of excitement ready to erupt into squeals of delight. I rarely buy anything, but I like to look. I like experiencing sensory overload, taking in the smell of hot glue and the warmth of the packed room splashed with the rainbow colors of posters and workbooks.

While I inquired after the pattern blocks, E found the magnets. I have a weakness for magnets. Every time I'm at the Ed. Supply I look at them, but of course, they're of no use to me. Especially those bright, plastic covered magnetic marbles-- but those are the coolest kind!

That's sort of thing I was always fascinated with as a little kid, but of course, you don't get those sort of things for birthdays or Christmas. You get toys. You get light-up PJ Sparkle dolls. You get doll houses and books and tea sets and pink synthetic nightgowns that make you cry. But nobody ever thinks to get you magnetic marbles, and you never ask, because, well, what would you do with the things?

No, really, I've had a great childhood, and for the record, I loved PJ Sparkles :) But I always felt weird for liking little useless things. In reality, I think every kid falls in love with tiny things. That's why some genius came up with Polly Pockets and Micro Machines. Before I got an efficient streak, was a fool for anything collectable. I had a rock for every day of the week (and holidays) which I displayed on a cord and wire around my neck everday when I was twelve. At the age of seven, My friend Chelsea and I played "Petshop" for hours with our impressive collections of miniscule plastic animals. We fought over them. We stole each other's Petshop. And we always argued over whose turn it was to get "Mom Cat," the petite, cream-colored cat with the gorgeous cerulean eyes. Why? She was tiny, beautiful, and perfect. And in case Mom is still looking for an explanation about why I kept a dead mole in my nightstand for three days when I was five...that rather stiff lump of shimmery, silky nut-brown fur...well. It's just a sudden hypothesis that in every kid, and every healthy adult, there's something that's fascinated by small and useless do-dads.

That's why Ethan went straight over there and started messing around with those marbles. When I saw him, and saw that the marbles were only 19 cents a piece, we promptly picked out six. And bought them. I was thinking, "That's just what I would have wanted!"

Reveling in the joy of little things, I took special notice of the tree outside the building on the way out. I'd seen it when we had come in, and its small, heart-shaped leaves had caught my attention. They reminded me of Aspens (my favorite tree ever since we went camping in Colorado five years ago). The leaves were smooth, and some of them were reddening and falling off. There were clusters of a roundish green fruit on the branches. So, be it lawful or not (is it ok to pick other people's plants?) I plucked a leafed, fruited branch end and took it home for further study. "It might come in handy in a story sometime," I thought.

As we drove home with our pattern blocks, magnet marbles, and mystery flora, I mulled over a happy sort of discovery. There's a reason I'm a packrat! There's a reason I love staring at small objects, handling them, piddling with them, and dooming them to a "collection" stuck in the closet somewhere! Maybe God made me to get fascinated by the details and store them up so that I could WRITE about them! Maybe it's so that I can enrich a mental world on paper enough to communicate ideas and evoke emotions in others! It's not that I'm skilled at this yet, but I guess I have a natural tendency to like the insignificant things that don't seem to matter to "real" life, and that can be developed into a skill for writing! Yay!

Besides making something "useful" out of useless things, trying to tell myself I'm not a mental case (I just like to write- is there a difference?) I think that God likes little things Himself. I'm not trying to spiritualize everything, only to give you a taste of the happiness that's in my heart today that God, who seems too large and busy to take notice of such "mitey" beings, cares about so much more than even our basic needs.

"Who [waters] a land where no man lives, a desert with no one in it, to satisfy a desolate wasteland and make it sprout with grass?" Job 37:26-27

Hmm. I wonder! :)

Andree Seu, an essay writer for World Magazine (I love her articles and sometimes find myself trying to write like her!) said, in her last World Article, "The Uselessness of Delight,"

"Delight is the most useless of things. It doesn't get the house clean or the bills paid. Useless-- like flowers. Like rainbows. Like Beethoven's 9th...it seeks a getaway vacation with the beloved when it's not convenient... What is less efficient than the story of mankind? If it were about efficiency, God would have wiped the plate clean and commenced with more promising subjects. The Bible in entirety is a love story, a tale of unquenchable delight- His for us, finally ours for Him."

An Announcement

Today is my Daddy's birthday (and I won't divulge his age) but I just wanted to announce publicly that I love him very, very much and I think he's the bravest Dad in the world...and full of honesty, reliability, and integrity. He serves anybody and everybody in whatever way he can. He is a faithful and honorable man and he's my #1 guy. Connor and Ethan can fuss, but they haven't been around that long, so.

Happy Birthday Day, Dad!

Ginger Carrots

Just a note about the ginger carrots I mentioned yesterday...

They're really simple, and to me they're the most painless way to eat cooked carrots. Last night I used frozen ones, but you can use baby carrots or sliced "normal carrots" too.

Place the sliced or miniature carrots in a pot and add:

Enough water to cover the bottom
a dash of salt
a plop or two of butter
a few hunks of brown sugar and
a sprinkling of ginger

Boil till tender (the sauce will thicken up somewhat.)

Forgive the nebulous aspects of the recipe, but there aren't really set measurements, you just have to figure out what tastes good. Being an analytical perfectionist sort of person, I usually don't cook in the dash-of-this-pinch-of-that sort of way, but it's kind of fun once in a while! It feels artistic, and I suppose cooking should be approached as an art rather than a science. Well, maybe that's not so in baking, though. I dunno. When I have the leisure and Freedom of Ingredients, I like to be a little daring.

Ginger carrots came about about after a rummage through the spice cabinet, trying to find Hong Kong in there. Hong Kong never really turned up, but I guess I might have snagged Asia at least!

Ten Things About Today

1. I made ginger carrots for supper to go with Mom's penne.
2. Dad and Connor are somewhere in East Mountain looking at a new computer monitor. (Ours died and we're borrowing one at present from our dear next door cousins.)
3. I'm reading a kid's book on how to write poetry and actually being inspired to try my hand at some "disciplined" poetry, instead of the kind that falls out randomly, rhymed or unrhymed, and never metered.
4. Our neighbor of six years moved out today and brought us a festive looking pie plate as a dish. We are xenophobicly speculating about the new neighbor.
5. I got an extended time of coveted peace and quiet and alone-ish-ness today.
6. I wrote a much longer letter than I even meant to to a dear friend, but she likes letters, and I think she deserves it.
7. I wonder if I will ever outgrow the habit of twisting my hair when I'm thinking.
8. Nope, I don't think so.
9. This morning Ethan's Stone Soup was sitting on the counter (he concocted it last night of milk, water, salt, pepper, leaves, and carrots. I think there was some dog backwash in there too, since the cooking went on outside on the porch.) We've been reading the cheery kid's book Stone Soup.
10. Today I discovered that God did write poetry. Just go read Job.

Offering

One day, one drop
Falls at a time into the cup
Not one like the next
Bitter and sweet,
The perfect mix
He watches each drop fall
And the vessel, growing full.
He smiles, and stoops,
And picks it up
Accepting with joy
The care-full cup

(Nov. 2006)

I want fall to be here!

What I think I heard Him say...

Wash away
Wash away the stains
Of life today
Come home and shed the mask
Come put away
The trying-too-hard-and-then-failing
Be tired in My arms
Sweet loving sleep prevailing
Safe from harm
I love you.

(May o6)

Why I like poetry

It's possible that I'm going insane.

Maybe that's no new knews to anyone else. Maybe I'm the last one to figure it out. But it seems to be happening nonetheless. (or is that not all one word?)

Last night I read The Nonsense Rhymes of Edward Lear to Ethan, and, I readily confess, it was more for my sake than his. The pictures delighted me and the poetry was a mouthful of bliss. He tolerated it admirably. My favorite poem in the book so far is "The Pobble Who Has No Toes." So before bed I counted Ethan's toes to be sure they were all there (they were). But as I tried to settle into bed myself, I noticed this delightfully frolicksome phrase gambolling in my brain...

"He has gone to fish for his Aunt Jobiska's
Runcible cat with the crimson whiskers!"

Actually, it was minus the fishing part, because I couldn't remember the beginning of the line. So it was sort of just "da da-da da-da da his Aunt Jobiska's runcible cat with the crimson whiskers..." You know that annoying feeling of forgetting the other thing you were going to buy at the grocery store when you only had two things to remember? It felt like that.

So, I'm sure a brightly whiskered feline figured somewhere in my dreams, but I don't remember it. When I woke up, guess what I was thinking? "da da-da da-da da his Aunt Jobiska's..." and so on. All through breakfast, it danced and romped and made a fool of itself, and occasionally slipped right off my tongue in a rhythmic mutter. There may have even been some head-bobbing-from-side-to-side as I munched my peanut butter toast. When we reviewed our memory verses, Mr. Runcible & Crimson himself was there to fight it out with half of Romans 8. After breakfast, for the sake of my own mental health, I sought out the source of my madness and looked up the rest of the line, so that Aunt Jobiska's cat could be properly fished for. It was just too fun to say.

And don't think that I got all wrapped up in my cutsy little rhyme and the whole little world was sunshiny and the birds were singing rosily in their little nests-- agreeing. No,no. But- this only proves how catching good poetry really is- when I went outside in an inward thunderstorm to cry my eyes out, that impertinent cat flicked his tale around in my brain and, well, I had to smile, in spite of myself.

That's just one reason I like poetry, even if it makes one a little insane. Go on, say a few lines, if you dare :)

Drink

I want to be
A cup of cold water to my Jesus.
Oh, I want You to drink deep
And take Your fill.
Let it be pleasing in its sweetness,
Irresistible and held there by Your will.

(Fall 06)