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!
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
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*
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*
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
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.
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
"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
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
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.
Monday, October 22, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
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..."
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..."
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
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!
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!
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
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 :)
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 :)
Monday, October 15, 2007
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.
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)
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)
Thursday, October 11, 2007
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.
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
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
Monday, October 8, 2007
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
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
Friday, October 5, 2007
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"!
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"!
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
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...
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...
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
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.
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.
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