It's just that I'm also moving.
And trying to find a place to move to.
And reading the foundational epics of just about every major world religion and sundry works on the philosophy of education, and basking in the fact that suddenly being a good wife doesn't just involve learning how to do all the stuff I'm not particularly good at, but also involves stuff I am particularly good at. Like reading and synthesizing and and discussing, and well, all the stuff we loved doing together, the whole reason we got married in the first place.
And hanging out in downtown LA, because you just can't live in the area for 7 years and then move away without ever having spent at least one day becoming acquainted with the city itself.
Which, by the way, felt surprisingly reassuring and homelike. These years in California, I've keenly felt the lack of sky and rocks, but I never really articulated my need to look up at towering canyon walls. Had I known how downtown could feed this inarticulate need of mine, I would have spent a whole lot more time hanging out down there. Because, amazingly enough, standing in the middle of one of the biggest cities in the world is approximately the same experience as standing inside a sparsely populated chasm in the middle of the desert.
Beyond the comforting sense of enclosure, that strangely freeing sense of vertigo that comes from gazing at a very high cliff, either up or down... beyond all that, each spot had specific character and location, a particular place with a particular relationship to all the other particular places. Like the canyon, the city cries out to be known in all its particulars, known in it's colors and textures and sounds, not merely known by the numbers and signs on which we must depend to find our way home in suburbia. I found myself wondering what it must be like to know the city as I know the canyon. There is a strangely deep kinship that comes from knowing a place in common. What must it be like to share that knowledge, not with a few hundred, or even a few thousand, but with hundreds of thousands? And what must it be like to be that pinata vendor, a quite ordinary person so vividly shaping the experience of everyone passing through that corner of the city?
As striking as the sense of massive intimacy was the sense of autonomy, the sense that the city did not exist for us. It simply was what it was, which strangely enough, gave us the freedom to simply be who we are. I wanted to stock up on wholesale fabric, so we wandered through the fashion district quite a bit. We never did find any fabric vendors who appeared to be open for business, but we had a lot of fun wandering through shop after shop full of imported clothing, as the owners hovered over us explaining in broken English how much of each item they had in stock, eager to haggle out a deal. It looked very much like a mildly dingy outdoor mall--except that the whole purpose of each store's inventory was entirely different. Each store did not contain a careful selection of items designed to appeal to a particular demographic, but rather a set of items from a particular place. Their goal was not to sell things that a particular group of people would most likely want to buy, but rather to sell the particular things that they had. The difference was subtle, but striking.
It was a lot of fun, wandering through the wholesale shops, and we thought what fun it would be to be a buyer for a shop, to put together an inventory. It's rather amazing, really. It had never occurred to me just how much of my shopping is actually done for me by complete strangers.
We drove through the flower district with our windows down. The gaudy and the exquisite blended strangely, but the fragrance was glorious.
In need of a snack, we found a parking spot in the food district, and browsed through the mexican markets. I looked around for potatoes--perhaps I could spare myself the grocery stop on the way home. But none of them had potatoes, which surprised us. Potatoes are just such ordinary, basic things... doesn't everybody carry potatoes? But of course these places were not there to provide us with the things we wanted to buy, they existed to distribute the things that the vendors had to sell. And as ubiquitously salable as potatoes may be, they aren't generally imported from Mexico, so that's not what they were selling. So we bought ourselves a case of gorgeous strawberries and moved on.
The taco stand didn't look particularly interesting, or necessarily safe, so we reluctantly went across the street to McDonalds. It was a strange experience to walk through those doors and be suddenly transported back into suburbia, into that carefully crafted experience, where suddenly everything is all about you, and telling you what to want and bringing it to you. Where I ordered a large drink, not because I really wanted anything but french fries and water, but because it was there and they were selling it to me, and where they sold me a large drink, not because they had drinks to sell, but where they sold drinks because they knew I could be easily persuaded to buy one.
We drove by 6th and Hope. The Church of the Open Door is gone, and the Jesus Saves sign, but it is still in the middle of everything, right there between the enormous homeless population huddled beside crumbling buildings, filling run-down parks, and the sophisticated, powerful businessmen striding quickly and confidently down the sparklingly clean sidewalks in the shadow of glisteningly glorious monuments of glass and steel . It's a touch ironic, really. Our own church, Blessed Sacrament, got its start right in the heart of Placentia, right there on the main intersection, in the middle of it all. But as the city grew, that main intersection became an obscure little cul-de-sac, and even the city itself was swallowed up into obscurity within the urban sprawl. The church stands there still, and flourishes, right where it was planted in the first place, but that place where it was planted is very different now, a sheltered place and tucked away.
Meanwhile, the place where Biola began is still at the heart of everything, but Biola has moved to the suburbs. Sometimes I think this is sad, but sometimes I think it makes sense. It really does free up a lot of energy, to be in a place less all-consuming, a place that matters less, perhaps. It's terribly sad, but I start to understand, as I watch our family make the same decisions. We aren't moving to Houston, we're moving to Spring. To the suburbs, where everything is artificially structured around making life easy for us, because right now, we care more about fully participating in a vibrant community of thought, than in a vibrant community of location and commerce. And I think that's the right thing.
But it's still a little sad.
6.02.2007
5.23.2007
Quack!
"Do you guys want to go live in Texas?"
"Texas!"
"You guys will be little rangers. And Tembo will be a little Texas cowgirl."
"No, Timmo's a duck!"
"A girl duck!"
"Texas!"
"You guys will be little rangers. And Tembo will be a little Texas cowgirl."
"No, Timmo's a duck!"
"A girl duck!"
5.21.2007
Fire Code Shmire Code
We found the perfect apartment. The housing market in Texas is so low that renting doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but we need more time to scope things out before making a commitment like that. But in the mean time, we found the perfect place for now. So perfect it just seemed like God was bringing everything together for that, just like He was bringing everything else together.
Three miles from the school where Andy will be teaching. The perfect distance. Just far enough to build a workout into his day.
1000 square feet. That's bigger than my parents house. Not the tiny cabin in the bottom of the Grand Canyon, the normal three-bedroom ranch-style suburban home.
With a playground in the complex.
And unit 811, which will be ready exactly when we need it, opens directly onto the playground.
Family friendly place, and there were lots of online reviews raving about how competent and friendly and nice the management is. In fact, the only negative comments were about how many little kids there were. That and how small the pool is, but to be perfectly honest, with three toddlers underfoot, the only thing that matters to me about the pool is that it be securely gated and far away from our apartment.
She knew we had three toddlers, and that was fine... until I mentioned my husband.
Oh.
Fire codes. You can't have five people in a two bedroom apartment.
Period.
And now renting is suddenly totally out of reach, because only the very poshest of complexes have three bedroom apartments, the only houses for rent are far from the school, and I have no idea what we're going to do.
This is the point where I'd probably fall into despair, except that this is what God's been doing with us all along. Corrie ten Boom said that when God closes a door, he opens a window. Well, God's been opening windows for us, just far enough to light our path to the open door.
And so I'm just hanging on for ride, immensely curious as to what in the world God is up to. That and scouring the internet.
Three miles from the school where Andy will be teaching. The perfect distance. Just far enough to build a workout into his day.
1000 square feet. That's bigger than my parents house. Not the tiny cabin in the bottom of the Grand Canyon, the normal three-bedroom ranch-style suburban home.
With a playground in the complex.
And unit 811, which will be ready exactly when we need it, opens directly onto the playground.
Family friendly place, and there were lots of online reviews raving about how competent and friendly and nice the management is. In fact, the only negative comments were about how many little kids there were. That and how small the pool is, but to be perfectly honest, with three toddlers underfoot, the only thing that matters to me about the pool is that it be securely gated and far away from our apartment.
She knew we had three toddlers, and that was fine... until I mentioned my husband.
Oh.
Fire codes. You can't have five people in a two bedroom apartment.
Period.
And now renting is suddenly totally out of reach, because only the very poshest of complexes have three bedroom apartments, the only houses for rent are far from the school, and I have no idea what we're going to do.
This is the point where I'd probably fall into despair, except that this is what God's been doing with us all along. Corrie ten Boom said that when God closes a door, he opens a window. Well, God's been opening windows for us, just far enough to light our path to the open door.
And so I'm just hanging on for ride, immensely curious as to what in the world God is up to. That and scouring the internet.
5.19.2007
Toward Balance
A little while back, my back started hurting. Bad. I was having a grand old time playing my flute, while Nathan banged away at the piano.... and then, suddenly, I heard a little click in my shoulder, and it hurt even to breathe.
So I went to a chiropractor, who scanned my back with all sorts of fancy sensors, and announced that the whole problem is that I'm right-handed. Really, really right-handed. And right-footed, and right-armed, and right-everything-ed.
Which is kinda funny, because I've always thought of myself as the sort of person you'd expect to be a lefty. You know, artsy and intuitive and creative and musical. A big thing for me lately has been learning to trust the more logical, practical side of myself. I feel a bit like some of Andy's students who are quite convinced that they can't possibly do math, since they're "literature people," not "math people," and who, when informed that the number 1 indicator of mathematical success is reading ability, instantly rise to the top of the class. We all build our identities around a certain set of skills and interests, and it can be strangely intimidating to move beyond them. If I have other strengths, too... well then, who am I, anyway? So it was a bit surreal to discover just how (absurdly, painfully) right-side-dominant I am.
But back to my back. The right side of my body is much stronger than the left, and so I use it more. Thus the right side gets stronger and stronger, while the left side atrophies, and so on and so forth, until finally my back was so lopsided and out of whack that I couldn't even breathe.
Anyway, I'm supposed to try to do everything with my left hand. Which is easier said than done. Most of my daily tasks are actually two-handed, and the way I coordinate my hands is completely subconscious. It sounds silly, but it's taken me more than a month just to figure out how to go about trying to do things left-handedly.
Every time I get an adjustment, I come away feeling lopsided. My spine feels relaxed and flexible and wonderfully painless... and in a decidedly odd location. This last time, though, I experienced my muscles as lopsided. After she straightened me out, I could feel that my spine was straight and symmetrical, but that I had moderately competent muscles on the right side of my body, and nothing on the left. It's very strange. I'd never noticed it before, but for the past week I've been constantly aware of the lopsidedness of my body. Everything I do, I'm aware of the need to strengthen my left side. And oh my, now that I'm using my left hand, life is one great big workout. Stirring a pot of soup, I feel the burn... and not because I splashed, either. Just opening a door is quite a feat. Add in a childproof knob, and I'm about ready to collapse. But oh, it feels good. Because I'm finally beginning to experience just how much better it is to be balanced and strong, than to be able to easily understand and pigeonhole myself.
So I went to a chiropractor, who scanned my back with all sorts of fancy sensors, and announced that the whole problem is that I'm right-handed. Really, really right-handed. And right-footed, and right-armed, and right-everything-ed.
Which is kinda funny, because I've always thought of myself as the sort of person you'd expect to be a lefty. You know, artsy and intuitive and creative and musical. A big thing for me lately has been learning to trust the more logical, practical side of myself. I feel a bit like some of Andy's students who are quite convinced that they can't possibly do math, since they're "literature people," not "math people," and who, when informed that the number 1 indicator of mathematical success is reading ability, instantly rise to the top of the class. We all build our identities around a certain set of skills and interests, and it can be strangely intimidating to move beyond them. If I have other strengths, too... well then, who am I, anyway? So it was a bit surreal to discover just how (absurdly, painfully) right-side-dominant I am.
But back to my back. The right side of my body is much stronger than the left, and so I use it more. Thus the right side gets stronger and stronger, while the left side atrophies, and so on and so forth, until finally my back was so lopsided and out of whack that I couldn't even breathe.
Anyway, I'm supposed to try to do everything with my left hand. Which is easier said than done. Most of my daily tasks are actually two-handed, and the way I coordinate my hands is completely subconscious. It sounds silly, but it's taken me more than a month just to figure out how to go about trying to do things left-handedly.
Every time I get an adjustment, I come away feeling lopsided. My spine feels relaxed and flexible and wonderfully painless... and in a decidedly odd location. This last time, though, I experienced my muscles as lopsided. After she straightened me out, I could feel that my spine was straight and symmetrical, but that I had moderately competent muscles on the right side of my body, and nothing on the left. It's very strange. I'd never noticed it before, but for the past week I've been constantly aware of the lopsidedness of my body. Everything I do, I'm aware of the need to strengthen my left side. And oh my, now that I'm using my left hand, life is one great big workout. Stirring a pot of soup, I feel the burn... and not because I splashed, either. Just opening a door is quite a feat. Add in a childproof knob, and I'm about ready to collapse. But oh, it feels good. Because I'm finally beginning to experience just how much better it is to be balanced and strong, than to be able to easily understand and pigeonhole myself.
5.18.2007
5.16.2007
Works for Me Wednesday: Mess-free Cake
I grew up on wacky cake. It's a breeze to make, and it only requires the most basic of ingredients--which is an especially big deal if you happen to live in a tiny village at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. And if a flood comes through and destroys your oven... well, with this recipe you can make a very yummy birthday cake in a toaster oven, or crock pot, or microwave. My mother is the queen of flexibility in the kitchen. Until I had a family of my own to feed, I never fully appreciated the tremendous feats of creativity and organization involved in getting yummy nutritious meals on the table every day when you only have access to a supermarket every few months or so, and your fridge is about the size of a medium-sized microwave, with an inset freezer hardly big enough for an ice cream tray. All this is hard enough when you're surrounded by all the resources of a major city, but somehow my mother managed, and managed well.
Anyway, the weird thing about wacky cake is that not only is it really, really simple, but I actually think it comes out tasting better than the sort of cake that involves creaming the butter and the sugar, and beating the eggs over one double boiler while you melt the chocolate over another. Okay, so wedding cakes are better, but ours at least was made from a heavily guarded secret recipe, and it supposedly took three weeks to make anyway. So really, for all intents and purposes, the yummiest, moistest cake I can possibly make also happens to be the easiest cake recipe around. Something of a no-brainer.
Anyway, I wanted something sweet last night, and so I whipped together a wacky cake. And instead of flipping through my recipe cards, I looked it up on recipezaar. And lo and behold, there's another twist to the absurd easiness of this recipe. You don't even have to grease the pan... so there's no reason to dirty a separate bowl. You can just mix the dry ingredients together right in the pan, make little wells for the vanilla, vinegar, and oil (I actually use melted butter.) Then you pour the cold water on top of it all, mix it together, and pop it in the oven.
!!!
Works for me!
Anyway, the weird thing about wacky cake is that not only is it really, really simple, but I actually think it comes out tasting better than the sort of cake that involves creaming the butter and the sugar, and beating the eggs over one double boiler while you melt the chocolate over another. Okay, so wedding cakes are better, but ours at least was made from a heavily guarded secret recipe, and it supposedly took three weeks to make anyway. So really, for all intents and purposes, the yummiest, moistest cake I can possibly make also happens to be the easiest cake recipe around. Something of a no-brainer.
Anyway, I wanted something sweet last night, and so I whipped together a wacky cake. And instead of flipping through my recipe cards, I looked it up on recipezaar. And lo and behold, there's another twist to the absurd easiness of this recipe. You don't even have to grease the pan... so there's no reason to dirty a separate bowl. You can just mix the dry ingredients together right in the pan, make little wells for the vanilla, vinegar, and oil (I actually use melted butter.) Then you pour the cold water on top of it all, mix it together, and pop it in the oven.
!!!
Works for me!
Sorry for the unannounced hiatus---I'm glad you're still reading!
There are some big changes ahead for our family, and it's all so very exciting, and it's happening so very fast, I can hardly think about anything else... but of course, I can't blog about it until it's sunk in a little bit. Or at least been finalized.
And then Nathan dove out of the stroller, giving himself a concussion. It was a very exciting Mother's Day indeed, but even if I'd had a spare moment to blog about it between checking his pupils, I really couldn't properly tell the story without mentioning that all this happened the weekend that Andy was in Houston. And when your husband goes out of town, it's probably wise not to blog about it until after the fact.
Thank God, our Bug-Boy is okay, and despite driving to and from the ER all night before his flight, Andy had a wonderful time in Texas. When someone as introverted as Andy comes back glowing about how great it was to hang out with a large group of strangers about to make a decision that could quite possibly change the course of his life... well, you know the hand of God must be at work.
God's hand is so clear in all this, not only now, but in all the ways he's lead us to this place. It's one of those foot-prints-in-the-sand moments, where we finally see that God was with us all along.
It's downright euphoric.
There are some big changes ahead for our family, and it's all so very exciting, and it's happening so very fast, I can hardly think about anything else... but of course, I can't blog about it until it's sunk in a little bit. Or at least been finalized.
And then Nathan dove out of the stroller, giving himself a concussion. It was a very exciting Mother's Day indeed, but even if I'd had a spare moment to blog about it between checking his pupils, I really couldn't properly tell the story without mentioning that all this happened the weekend that Andy was in Houston. And when your husband goes out of town, it's probably wise not to blog about it until after the fact.
Thank God, our Bug-Boy is okay, and despite driving to and from the ER all night before his flight, Andy had a wonderful time in Texas. When someone as introverted as Andy comes back glowing about how great it was to hang out with a large group of strangers about to make a decision that could quite possibly change the course of his life... well, you know the hand of God must be at work.
God's hand is so clear in all this, not only now, but in all the ways he's lead us to this place. It's one of those foot-prints-in-the-sand moments, where we finally see that God was with us all along.
It's downright euphoric.
5.11.2007
I held the book out, sighed, and motioned for September to come sit on my lap. She was busy playing, and took no notice of me. Nathan gleefully leaped into my lap.
"My turn! My turn!"
I frowned a little, rubbing my neck. I wanted to read yet another book to Nathan, but his sister really did need a turn, and I wasn't really up to much more. I was in a lot of pain.
Nathan hopped up and announced "Mama's back hurts."
Dadders and I nodded.
Then, Nathan came back and stood beside me, placing his hand gently on my shoulder. He looked earnestly into my eyes, and tenderly said, "You need to go to the doctor."
And then he let out a long sigh, filled with all the empathy and support in the world.
That's my boy. That's my boy.
"My turn! My turn!"
I frowned a little, rubbing my neck. I wanted to read yet another book to Nathan, but his sister really did need a turn, and I wasn't really up to much more. I was in a lot of pain.
Nathan hopped up and announced "Mama's back hurts."
Dadders and I nodded.
Then, Nathan came back and stood beside me, placing his hand gently on my shoulder. He looked earnestly into my eyes, and tenderly said, "You need to go to the doctor."
And then he let out a long sigh, filled with all the empathy and support in the world.
That's my boy. That's my boy.
5.09.2007
Works for Me Wednesday: Better biscuits and pastries
I love biscuits.
I don't love trans fats. Trans fats aren't food. They don't serve any nutritional purpose, except to clog up arteries, and prevent our bodies from properly absorbing the nutrients that we need. Particularly the fats that toddlers need for things like... brain development, for instance. With everything we now know about trans-fats, I just don't keep shortening in the house.
But I love biscuits. And unless you love the flavor of lard, shortening is the only way to give your biscuits the right texture. For the past few years, I've made my biscuits and pie crusts with butter, but it just isn't the same. They have a sublime flavor, but they're harder to make, and they turn out kinda heavy.
Until one day a few weeks ago, when I wanted to make a pie, but all my butter was in the freezer. And so instead of cutting the butter into the dry ingredients as usual, I simply grated the frozen block. With a cheese grater. It wasn't much hassle, and the crust turned out beautifully. Since the butter is still frozen, it stays solid long enough to let the dough bake around it a little, leaving those little puffs that give biscuits and pastry their scrumptious lightness. It's the best of both worlds. Now my biscuits and pie crusts turn out just as flaky and light as if I'd used shortening, only buttery and flavorful. And a whole lot better for my kiddos growing noggins, and for all of our arteries.
Works for me!
I don't love trans fats. Trans fats aren't food. They don't serve any nutritional purpose, except to clog up arteries, and prevent our bodies from properly absorbing the nutrients that we need. Particularly the fats that toddlers need for things like... brain development, for instance. With everything we now know about trans-fats, I just don't keep shortening in the house.
But I love biscuits. And unless you love the flavor of lard, shortening is the only way to give your biscuits the right texture. For the past few years, I've made my biscuits and pie crusts with butter, but it just isn't the same. They have a sublime flavor, but they're harder to make, and they turn out kinda heavy.
Until one day a few weeks ago, when I wanted to make a pie, but all my butter was in the freezer. And so instead of cutting the butter into the dry ingredients as usual, I simply grated the frozen block. With a cheese grater. It wasn't much hassle, and the crust turned out beautifully. Since the butter is still frozen, it stays solid long enough to let the dough bake around it a little, leaving those little puffs that give biscuits and pastry their scrumptious lightness. It's the best of both worlds. Now my biscuits and pie crusts turn out just as flaky and light as if I'd used shortening, only buttery and flavorful. And a whole lot better for my kiddos growing noggins, and for all of our arteries.
Works for me!
5.07.2007
A Certain Unpredictability
As I loaded the kids into the van in the library parking lot, a gold sedan sedan pulled in next to us. A gracefully middle-aged woman stepped out, holding a vase full of roses in undulating shades of orange.
"Hot enough for you?"
It certainly was. I wondered why her flowers didn't droop instantly upon feeling the first blast of hot air--I certainly felt rather wilted.
"And to think it was practically winter yesterday!"
I felt a little silly, talking so much about the capricious fluctuations of the weather. This is Southern California, after all, and all our weather can pretty much be summed up as variations on a theme of nice. But there it was--last night, I got up in the middle of the night for another blanket, and by 9am I had entirely forgotten what it was like not to feel as though I was roasting alive.
With all the tornadoes and floods and droughts in other parts of the world, the little fluctuations of our relatively temperate temperatures are hardly worth mentioning at all, but mention them we must.
Somehow it's comforting to know that some things never change, and some things always change.
The weather will always surprise us.
"Hot enough for you?"
It certainly was. I wondered why her flowers didn't droop instantly upon feeling the first blast of hot air--I certainly felt rather wilted.
"And to think it was practically winter yesterday!"
I felt a little silly, talking so much about the capricious fluctuations of the weather. This is Southern California, after all, and all our weather can pretty much be summed up as variations on a theme of nice. But there it was--last night, I got up in the middle of the night for another blanket, and by 9am I had entirely forgotten what it was like not to feel as though I was roasting alive.
With all the tornadoes and floods and droughts in other parts of the world, the little fluctuations of our relatively temperate temperatures are hardly worth mentioning at all, but mention them we must.
Somehow it's comforting to know that some things never change, and some things always change.
The weather will always surprise us.
5.03.2007
5.02.2007
4.30.2007
Advice
Storing leftovers in yogurt containers is a good idea.
Checking to see whether a particular yogurt container holds yogurt or leftovers before reheating is an even better idea.
Checking to see whether a particular yogurt container holds yogurt or leftovers before reheating is an even better idea.
4.27.2007
4.26.2007
Valet Parking Only
And a gratuitous picture of Timmo, just because she's cute.
And also, because I uploaded the wrong picture at first.
4.19.2007
Guest Blogger: An eventful supper, as narrated by Meepo, transcribed by Dadders
Wuggers is choking.
Wuggers is choking on s'ghetti.
Wuggers is covered in choking!
Wuggers is sad.
Wuggers is sick.
Wuggers is gonna go to the doctor.
Gonna fix the Wugger.
I need a hammer.
I'm gonna fix the Wugger.
Wuggers' alive!
Momma's a doctor.
Wuggers is choking on s'ghetti.
Wuggers is covered in choking!
Wuggers is sad.
Wuggers is sick.
Wuggers is gonna go to the doctor.
Gonna fix the Wugger.
I need a hammer.
I'm gonna fix the Wugger.
Wuggers' alive!
Momma's a doctor.
Home
*Yawn*
It was an exhausting trip, but good, and I'm glad I went.
Painful as this time is, somehow I've come back more invigorated than drained. It has been such a blessing to see the way their church has gathered around them, and is holding them up through this ordeal. I've never seen a church that size with such a close-knit community. The size of the congregation didn't prevent them from having an intimate circle around them, but rather provided ever widening circles underneath, all supporting one another. There was very little for us to do, besides be with Uncle Jim and the kids, sharing memories, crying and laughing together. Every few hours more food would quietly appear on the table, and the fridge would fill with more drinks. The bathrooms were cleaned, the carpet vacuumed, the lawn mowed... it was a beautiful thing to see the Body of Christ in action, and it was a great privilege to be a part of it.
Aunt Cindy lived her life in such a way as to make mourning her a thing of beauty. All the memories and sharing... by the end, I felt like surely I must have just attended a really superb seminar on godly womanhood. Only better. Thinking about her life was a good thing.
The memorial service was deeply painful. This is not how it's supposed to be. Death itself is not how it's supposed to be, but even in a world of death, this isn't when it's supposed to happen. Gone, right in the middle of everything, and her absence forms a stark and sharply defined silhouette.
In the midst of it all, though, the hope of the resurrection was never far behind. Aunt Cindy had selected the music before she died, and we sang and we sang and we sang. We stared tragedy straight in the face and sang in triumph
It was an exhausting trip, but good, and I'm glad I went.
Painful as this time is, somehow I've come back more invigorated than drained. It has been such a blessing to see the way their church has gathered around them, and is holding them up through this ordeal. I've never seen a church that size with such a close-knit community. The size of the congregation didn't prevent them from having an intimate circle around them, but rather provided ever widening circles underneath, all supporting one another. There was very little for us to do, besides be with Uncle Jim and the kids, sharing memories, crying and laughing together. Every few hours more food would quietly appear on the table, and the fridge would fill with more drinks. The bathrooms were cleaned, the carpet vacuumed, the lawn mowed... it was a beautiful thing to see the Body of Christ in action, and it was a great privilege to be a part of it.
Aunt Cindy lived her life in such a way as to make mourning her a thing of beauty. All the memories and sharing... by the end, I felt like surely I must have just attended a really superb seminar on godly womanhood. Only better. Thinking about her life was a good thing.
The memorial service was deeply painful. This is not how it's supposed to be. Death itself is not how it's supposed to be, but even in a world of death, this isn't when it's supposed to happen. Gone, right in the middle of everything, and her absence forms a stark and sharply defined silhouette.
In the midst of it all, though, the hope of the resurrection was never far behind. Aunt Cindy had selected the music before she died, and we sang and we sang and we sang. We stared tragedy straight in the face and sang in triumph
In Christ alone my hope is found
He is my light, my strength, my song
This Cornerstone, this solid ground
Firm through the fiercest drought and storm
What heights of love, what depths of peace
When fears are stilled, when strivings cease
My Comforter, my All in All
Here in the love of Christ I stand
In Christ alone, who took on flesh
Fullness of God in helpless babe
This gift of love and righteousness
Scorned by the ones He came to save
‘Til on that cross as Jesus died
The wrath of God was satisfied
For every sin on Him was laid
Here in the death of Christ I live
There in the ground His body lay
Light of the world by darkness slain
Then bursting forth in glorious Day
Up from the grave He rose again
And as He stands in victory
Sin’s curse has lost its grip on me
For I am His and He is mine
Bought with the precious blood of Christ
No guilt of life, no fear in death
This is the power of Christ in me
From life’s first cry to final breath
Jesus commands my destiny
No power of hell, no scheme of man
Can ever pluck me from His hand
‘til He returns or calls me home
Here in the power of Christ I’ll stand
4.14.2007
Question of the Day
Er... night, that is.
Does the lap baby count as my one "personal item"?
Bonus question:
Why did I think that getting the 7am flight as opposed to the 6pm would let me sleep tonight?
No, this just gives me time to pack stuff like... oh... say, clothes. And other things I might want.
Does the lap baby count as my one "personal item"?
Bonus question:
Why did I think that getting the 7am flight as opposed to the 6pm would let me sleep tonight?
No, this just gives me time to pack stuff like... oh... say, clothes. And other things I might want.
4.13.2007
Hiatus
Tomorrow morning, Tembo and I are flying out for Aunt Cindy's memorial service.
You never can tell, but I'm not planning on any blogging between now and our return on Wednesday.
So please don't think I've fallen off the blogosphere, and do check back after Wednesday.
And if you have room in your prayers, I'm sure my Uncle Jim could use them, as could my cousins Andrew, Timothy, Christopher, Gwendolyn, and Ellen.
Cindy leaves quite a gaping hole.
On a much lighter note, I could use prayer too... that's a couple of really long flights with a toddler...
You never can tell, but I'm not planning on any blogging between now and our return on Wednesday.
So please don't think I've fallen off the blogosphere, and do check back after Wednesday.
And if you have room in your prayers, I'm sure my Uncle Jim could use them, as could my cousins Andrew, Timothy, Christopher, Gwendolyn, and Ellen.
Cindy leaves quite a gaping hole.
On a much lighter note, I could use prayer too... that's a couple of really long flights with a toddler...
4.12.2007
Grief
She asked if I was okay.
It's one of those questions that just has no answer, because if I was, it wouldn't be okay.
And yet my grief is so tiny in comparison. I don't have to face the day-to-day chasm of her absence... not like that. It puts everything into perspective, and the very pain I feel forces me to confess that I am very okay indeed, and I have no answers for the not-okay-ness of it all.
She was so beautiful... is so beautiful. In all our flip-floppy musings about where to settle down, Andy was drawn to Pennsylvania because Pennsylvania is vibrant and centered and full of life and beautiful. I was drawn to Pennsylvania because of her. Because that is how she is. Andy wanted to come to Pennsylvania because he wants to live somewhere beautiful, I wanted to come to Pennsylvania because I wanted to learn to become beautiful like her.
Somewhere inside I knew it was futile, but I kept on hoping, because I didn't know what else to do.
And now it is beyond hoping. I will meet her again, somewhere more beautiful than Pennsylvania, more beautiful even than she is.
It's one of those questions that just has no answer, because if I was, it wouldn't be okay.
And yet my grief is so tiny in comparison. I don't have to face the day-to-day chasm of her absence... not like that. It puts everything into perspective, and the very pain I feel forces me to confess that I am very okay indeed, and I have no answers for the not-okay-ness of it all.
She was so beautiful... is so beautiful. In all our flip-floppy musings about where to settle down, Andy was drawn to Pennsylvania because Pennsylvania is vibrant and centered and full of life and beautiful. I was drawn to Pennsylvania because of her. Because that is how she is. Andy wanted to come to Pennsylvania because he wants to live somewhere beautiful, I wanted to come to Pennsylvania because I wanted to learn to become beautiful like her.
Somewhere inside I knew it was futile, but I kept on hoping, because I didn't know what else to do.
And now it is beyond hoping. I will meet her again, somewhere more beautiful than Pennsylvania, more beautiful even than she is.
4.11.2007
Out of whack
Yesterday, everything was so good. So free and easy.
We went to Home Depot, and then to the train station to watch the trains go by. We didn't get back until 6:30, but the housework was all very much under control, so even though we had a late supper, everything was peaceful and orderly and not a bit rushed.
I pulled out my flute and improvised while Andy got the kids into jammies, and then we pulled out the keyboard and let the wuggies play along.
Such good family time, time being just exactly the family we want to be.
And then... something snapped.
I heard a little click, and my shoulder erupted in pain. It felt like I should be able to twist a little bit, my back would pop, and I'd be okay... but no. Still there. By now my whole right side is feeling limp and achy, everything hurts.
I have an appointment with a chiropractor this afternoon, and I'm praying he can take care of it.
Bluch.
We went to Home Depot, and then to the train station to watch the trains go by. We didn't get back until 6:30, but the housework was all very much under control, so even though we had a late supper, everything was peaceful and orderly and not a bit rushed.
I pulled out my flute and improvised while Andy got the kids into jammies, and then we pulled out the keyboard and let the wuggies play along.
Such good family time, time being just exactly the family we want to be.
And then... something snapped.
I heard a little click, and my shoulder erupted in pain. It felt like I should be able to twist a little bit, my back would pop, and I'd be okay... but no. Still there. By now my whole right side is feeling limp and achy, everything hurts.
I have an appointment with a chiropractor this afternoon, and I'm praying he can take care of it.
Bluch.
4.10.2007
Works for Me Wednesday: Sorting out my laundry system
Last week, we had an out-of-control laundry situation.
One week of spring cleaning later, and we have a big, but controlled laundry situation. Which, really, is the best you can hope for when you have three in diapers, I think.
Part of the reason things are so much better now is because I washed, dried, folded, and put away approximately three-hundred-mazillion-forty-eight loads.
But that's only part of it.
The main reason things are under control now, and the only reason I was able to that much laundry, is our new laundry hamper.
I'm not sure how wholeheartedly I can recommend the particular product. It's kinda flimsy. Serviceable, but not terribly stable. And the mesh separating out the compartments won't hold out if you happen to overfill one of them. But the concept is absolutely wonderful, and turns laundry into something that makes sense.
The whole idea of a tripartate laundry hamper is, of course, to divide the laundry according to color, but I've got my own system right now. We don't happen to have any new red items at the moment, so I haven't been worried about colors. Instead, I'm dividing up my laundry according to "needs extra attention" and "just throw it in." It's amazingly easy to do a load of wash that you don't have to even think about, and it's very energizing. And a load consisting solely of stained items actually isn't that bad, either. Instead of feeling despair at how many items need pre-treating, I feel a great sense of accomplishment as I push through all the "hard laundry."
My third category won't be necessary once things are more under control, but right now, I really do need a "don't bother washing it until you're through with the stuff we actually wear" category. The too-small clothes to give away really do need to get washed... someday. But it's much lower on the priority list. Besides, it's just a bad situation when those clothes that you only wear because there's nothing else clean wind up on the top of the laundry pile, and end up being the only thing clean once again.
The other wonderful thing about our new hamper is the lid and the overhead bar. This means that I can fold everything right there at the dryer, pile it up on the lid, hang stuff from the bar, and wheel the whole thing right into the various bedrooms. It's all right there, and I'm not tempted to procrastinate on the whole putting-it-away bit.
So that's how I'm getting the laundry done.
It works for me!
One week of spring cleaning later, and we have a big, but controlled laundry situation. Which, really, is the best you can hope for when you have three in diapers, I think.
Part of the reason things are so much better now is because I washed, dried, folded, and put away approximately three-hundred-mazillion-forty-eight loads.
But that's only part of it.
The main reason things are under control now, and the only reason I was able to that much laundry, is our new laundry hamper.
I'm not sure how wholeheartedly I can recommend the particular product. It's kinda flimsy. Serviceable, but not terribly stable. And the mesh separating out the compartments won't hold out if you happen to overfill one of them. But the concept is absolutely wonderful, and turns laundry into something that makes sense.
The whole idea of a tripartate laundry hamper is, of course, to divide the laundry according to color, but I've got my own system right now. We don't happen to have any new red items at the moment, so I haven't been worried about colors. Instead, I'm dividing up my laundry according to "needs extra attention" and "just throw it in." It's amazingly easy to do a load of wash that you don't have to even think about, and it's very energizing. And a load consisting solely of stained items actually isn't that bad, either. Instead of feeling despair at how many items need pre-treating, I feel a great sense of accomplishment as I push through all the "hard laundry."
My third category won't be necessary once things are more under control, but right now, I really do need a "don't bother washing it until you're through with the stuff we actually wear" category. The too-small clothes to give away really do need to get washed... someday. But it's much lower on the priority list. Besides, it's just a bad situation when those clothes that you only wear because there's nothing else clean wind up on the top of the laundry pile, and end up being the only thing clean once again.
The other wonderful thing about our new hamper is the lid and the overhead bar. This means that I can fold everything right there at the dryer, pile it up on the lid, hang stuff from the bar, and wheel the whole thing right into the various bedrooms. It's all right there, and I'm not tempted to procrastinate on the whole putting-it-away bit.
So that's how I'm getting the laundry done.
It works for me!
Meaningful Choices
Sometimes I forget just how much easier choices can make things for everybody.
Tembo loves brushing her teeth, for instance. Which is wonderful, but there does come a time when the toothbrush needs to go back into the cabinet. Taking the toothbrush away results in a terrible tantrum. Holding out a hand, or even better, a hat, and asking her to put the toothbrush in it... well that is just an utterly delightful game, and the command is met with sweet compliance and joy.
Of course, she really does have to learn to obey us, just because we said so... but there are enough opportunities for that sort of thing as it is. I'm far more interested in Aristotelian virtue than Abelardian virtue. I want to make it as easy as possible for her to get in the habit of joyous obedience. Much practice in a struggle toward painful obedience doesn't seem terribly helpful, and anyway, we aren't in danger of running of those excercises. There's no way to make it fun to stay inside the yard, but she has to learn to do it anyway. She doesn't know why it's important, but we do, and she has to learn to trust our judgment. Trust and and obey.
Part of learning to trust us, though, is being actively involved in the logic of our commands whenever possible, actively experiencing our judgments as directed toward her benefit and empowerment. When we make it easy for her to obey, she obeys us better... not just in the instances where we make it easy, but also in the instances where it's unavoidably hard.
The other day at lunch, Isaiah started in on a doozy of a tantrum as I pulled down a loaf of bread and began making sandwiches.
"Cer-yal! Cer-yal! No sammich! I wan CER-YAL!"
But then I asked him if he wanted a peanut butter sandwich or a cheese sandwich.
He quieted instantly. "Cheese sanwich."
I pulled out the block of cheddar.
"No, cream cheese!"
Well, okay. Why not.
"Do you want jelly on your sandwich?"
"No jelly. Just cream cheese."
"Would you like me to cut it, or not cut it?"
"Cut it!"
"Should I cut it into squares or triangles?"
"Triangles!"
"Should I cut it into two pieces or four pieces?"
"Four! Four triangles!"
By this point he was beaming as only Isaiah can beam, and the whole room was filled with the piercing brilliance of young joy.
They just desperately want to be a part of things, that's all.
The other day, Andy was mourning the loss of his teen years. If only he could go back and be ten years old again... the things he could have done to prepare himself for greatness, if he had caught a vision of purpose and virtue then, before it was too late, before the opportunities were gone.
Is there any hope for our children and the children that we teach? Or is that sort of vision impossible apart from age? Are teenagers just inherently lazy?
The answer lies, I think it what ten-year-old Andy actually did with his time. Rather than pouring himself into diligent study and relationships with wise mentors, young Andy spent all his time playing Hero's Quest, building up a virtual character well prepared to achieve greatness.
Could he have learned to see himself as the young hero, and poured that energy into real-life growth? Or was that time not as wasted as it seems? Did the silly video games actually provide him with the narrative structure to see meaning and purpose in his own life now?
I don't know.
But in the mean time, we will involve our children in the small but truly significant bits of life, like setting the table and folding the clean rags and throwing away their diapers and putting away the train tracks and pushing the start button on the dishwasher, and we'll teach them to delight in their important contributions to our family life. We're looking forward to the day when balancing the checkbook and paying the taxes and making the most of our grocery budget will be exciting math projects for the kids.
And we'll tell Tembo to place the toothbrush in our open hands, and delight with her in her free will and volition, as she chooses to obey.
Tembo loves brushing her teeth, for instance. Which is wonderful, but there does come a time when the toothbrush needs to go back into the cabinet. Taking the toothbrush away results in a terrible tantrum. Holding out a hand, or even better, a hat, and asking her to put the toothbrush in it... well that is just an utterly delightful game, and the command is met with sweet compliance and joy.
Of course, she really does have to learn to obey us, just because we said so... but there are enough opportunities for that sort of thing as it is. I'm far more interested in Aristotelian virtue than Abelardian virtue. I want to make it as easy as possible for her to get in the habit of joyous obedience. Much practice in a struggle toward painful obedience doesn't seem terribly helpful, and anyway, we aren't in danger of running of those excercises. There's no way to make it fun to stay inside the yard, but she has to learn to do it anyway. She doesn't know why it's important, but we do, and she has to learn to trust our judgment. Trust and and obey.
Part of learning to trust us, though, is being actively involved in the logic of our commands whenever possible, actively experiencing our judgments as directed toward her benefit and empowerment. When we make it easy for her to obey, she obeys us better... not just in the instances where we make it easy, but also in the instances where it's unavoidably hard.
The other day at lunch, Isaiah started in on a doozy of a tantrum as I pulled down a loaf of bread and began making sandwiches.
"Cer-yal! Cer-yal! No sammich! I wan CER-YAL!"
But then I asked him if he wanted a peanut butter sandwich or a cheese sandwich.
He quieted instantly. "Cheese sanwich."
I pulled out the block of cheddar.
"No, cream cheese!"
Well, okay. Why not.
"Do you want jelly on your sandwich?"
"No jelly. Just cream cheese."
"Would you like me to cut it, or not cut it?"
"Cut it!"
"Should I cut it into squares or triangles?"
"Triangles!"
"Should I cut it into two pieces or four pieces?"
"Four! Four triangles!"
By this point he was beaming as only Isaiah can beam, and the whole room was filled with the piercing brilliance of young joy.
They just desperately want to be a part of things, that's all.
The other day, Andy was mourning the loss of his teen years. If only he could go back and be ten years old again... the things he could have done to prepare himself for greatness, if he had caught a vision of purpose and virtue then, before it was too late, before the opportunities were gone.
Is there any hope for our children and the children that we teach? Or is that sort of vision impossible apart from age? Are teenagers just inherently lazy?
The answer lies, I think it what ten-year-old Andy actually did with his time. Rather than pouring himself into diligent study and relationships with wise mentors, young Andy spent all his time playing Hero's Quest, building up a virtual character well prepared to achieve greatness.
Could he have learned to see himself as the young hero, and poured that energy into real-life growth? Or was that time not as wasted as it seems? Did the silly video games actually provide him with the narrative structure to see meaning and purpose in his own life now?
I don't know.
But in the mean time, we will involve our children in the small but truly significant bits of life, like setting the table and folding the clean rags and throwing away their diapers and putting away the train tracks and pushing the start button on the dishwasher, and we'll teach them to delight in their important contributions to our family life. We're looking forward to the day when balancing the checkbook and paying the taxes and making the most of our grocery budget will be exciting math projects for the kids.
And we'll tell Tembo to place the toothbrush in our open hands, and delight with her in her free will and volition, as she chooses to obey.
4.08.2007
4.07.2007
Spring Cleaning
Jessica talks about spring cleaning during Holy Week here, how it makes a fitting culmination to lent and a good preparation for Easter.
Good thoughts, as always--if you don't read her blog, you should--and they ran parallel to my own thoughts on the topic. As we drove The Container Store on Thursday, I mused about how I wished we had time to do a Seder. Andy rightly pointed out that getting organized actually has deep spiritual implications, and will do us a lot more good, just by way of clearing out the space and time to focus on important things throughout the year to come.
Maybe next year.
And so my mind flitted through delightful images of teaching the wuggies about God's faithfulness through Israel's long journeys, culminating in Christ. Grimacing at the horseradish, hiding the afikomen, and, of course, the preparatory scurry about the house, clearing out the leaven.
Suddenly, I realized that was exactly what we were doing--getting rid of the leaven. The Festival of Unleavened Bread began with a call to simplicity. Don't even wait for the bread to rise!
And so it is that we are going through our home, clearing out everything that might slow us down in our journey to the Promised Land.
An important element of our spring cleaning is also going to be putting up pictures of Jesus. I'm finding that I desperately need visual reminders of who he is. I can make words so complicated, parsing and analyzing and dissecting. There's a place for that--a very important place, indeed!--but sometimes I can get a little out of focus.
I've been spending a lot of time in the Sermon on the Mount lately, and the familiar words take on new meaning as I picture his face. Spoken from a faceless authority, they are harsh and impossible demands. Spoken from the lips of my redeemer, they become a call to freedom and gracefulness. An easy yoke and a light burden, not the unattainable goal, but the way.
I've always wondered why he warned us against the leaven of the Pharisees, but it makes sense now. It's so easy to take good things, and make them so complicated that they utterly obscure the point, and hold us back from following Jesus freely.
Pictures force me to meditate on Jesus as a whole, his deeds in light of his words, and his words in light of his deeds.
That wholeness cuts right through everything, and clears a path to holiness.
4.06.2007
Good Friday
I want to mourn, but I cannot. My soul is too overcome with the gladness of who you are. Your face dispels all bitterness.
4.05.2007
Maundy Thursday
It wasn't cold.
Did Holy Week come earlier last year, when spring was still winter?
The foot washing was symbolic and moving. Moving because, as Father David pointed out, it wasn't symbolic. Not at the beginning. Just necessary and a little bit gross and ever so practical.
Like diaper changing.
"Wash my hands and my head as well!"
Like Peter, I swing from extreme to extreme with fervor and intensity. Hold me, Jesus, to the right. Center me.
"My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?"
I cannot stop thinking perfect the harmonies are, how well suited to the text and how exquisitely realized. Designed to draw me to the text, yet my soul balks at the hard words.
"...Thou didst answer. But I am a worm and not a man..."
Inwardly, I praise the discretion of the pageantry. The choir at the back, the dimming of the lights, the stripping of the altar.... still and quiet and self-forgetful. And yet I cannot stop analyzing--that would be to listen.
"My betrayer approaches."
I find myself clutching at my sweater, shivering after all.
It is very cold.
Did Holy Week come earlier last year, when spring was still winter?
The foot washing was symbolic and moving. Moving because, as Father David pointed out, it wasn't symbolic. Not at the beginning. Just necessary and a little bit gross and ever so practical.
Like diaper changing.
"Wash my hands and my head as well!"
Like Peter, I swing from extreme to extreme with fervor and intensity. Hold me, Jesus, to the right. Center me.
"My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?"
I cannot stop thinking perfect the harmonies are, how well suited to the text and how exquisitely realized. Designed to draw me to the text, yet my soul balks at the hard words.
"...Thou didst answer. But I am a worm and not a man..."
Inwardly, I praise the discretion of the pageantry. The choir at the back, the dimming of the lights, the stripping of the altar.... still and quiet and self-forgetful. And yet I cannot stop analyzing--that would be to listen.
"My betrayer approaches."
I find myself clutching at my sweater, shivering after all.
It is very cold.
4.04.2007
WFMW Car Edition: Saving on Gas
Do you ever have those weird moments where you're carrying on two entirely separate trains of thought in the back of your head, and then suddenly you realize that they're exactly the same?
Like how I've been frustrated that I had absolutely nothing to contribute to the Car Edition of Works For Me Wednesday, even as I was brewing a post on gas-saving tips. Yeah.
Anyway, did you all know that those big numbers on the gas station signs... those big numbers that keep getting bigger and bigger... well, it turns out that they aren't gas prices after all. Nope. That's the price of gas PLUS tax PLUS credit card fees. The tax part is inevitable, of course, but some places will actually knock off 8-10 cents a gallon off their posted price if you pay in cash. I know that Arco and Valero do this--I'm not sure about any other stations.
The other way we save on gas is by buying premium, ironically enough. We get so much better gas mileage with the expensive stuff, that we actually end up paying slightly less per mile. We don't save much on gas, and but we don't lose anything either, and our engine is much, much happier. Which translates into less time and money spent at the mechanics.
It may or may not turn out to be worthwhile for your particular car, but it works for us!
Like how I've been frustrated that I had absolutely nothing to contribute to the Car Edition of Works For Me Wednesday, even as I was brewing a post on gas-saving tips. Yeah.
Anyway, did you all know that those big numbers on the gas station signs... those big numbers that keep getting bigger and bigger... well, it turns out that they aren't gas prices after all. Nope. That's the price of gas PLUS tax PLUS credit card fees. The tax part is inevitable, of course, but some places will actually knock off 8-10 cents a gallon off their posted price if you pay in cash. I know that Arco and Valero do this--I'm not sure about any other stations.
The other way we save on gas is by buying premium, ironically enough. We get so much better gas mileage with the expensive stuff, that we actually end up paying slightly less per mile. We don't save much on gas, and but we don't lose anything either, and our engine is much, much happier. Which translates into less time and money spent at the mechanics.
It may or may not turn out to be worthwhile for your particular car, but it works for us!
4.03.2007
Joke's on us
Yesterday afternoon, as I was paying for my groceries at the farmer's market, I paused, trying to remember what date to put on my check. I'm always having to ask the cashier, but ever since they put that 2 doz. per family limit on the eggs, I've been coming 'round an awful lot, so I figured that the question was probably getting pretty old. After a few facial contortions, I remembered that March had just ended... "Oh! It's..."
"No," she smiled, "that was yesterday. Today's the second."
Bummer. I'd missed it again.
On the way home, however, I realized that we'd been the recipient of a fantastically delightful (not to mention disorienting!) joke.
Saturday night, Justy watched the kids, and Andy and I went out for a night of superb amateur theatre. We had a great time, but Shakespeare didn't write short plays, and when you factor in driving the babysitter home and then discussing the interpretation of Malvolio over a bowl of ice cream.... we didn't exactly get to bed early.
Which was problematic, because we really, really needed to get to church on time.
Of course, it's always a good idea to get to church on time, and it's always just a little bit out of reach--though we've been doing much better, lately.
But this was Palm Sunday. And Palm Sunday only comes around once a year, and the extra-special part is at the very beginning. And Palm Sunday when you're three? That only comes around once, period. We had to get those wuggies to church on time.
Moreover, I had to rehearse for the Easter service. I had to be at church an hour early. An hour and a half, if I didn't want to be sight-reading.
We crashed into bed Saturday night without even setting our alarms, and in the morning I woke in a panic, desperate to know what time it was. I glanced up at the clock, but the clock was gone. That's right, the boys knocked it over. Shoot.
I booted up the computer.
7:13
Upon seeing that I had an hour in which to get everyone ready for church, I promptly fell back asleep for "just a few minutes more."
But amazingly enough, this time it really was just a few minutes more, and after that, I really was ready to face the day.
Clothes. Must find clothes for everybody. I tiptoed into the boys' room, and glanced into their drawers.
Empty.
I had done a load of laundry every single day, some days two, and yet the laundry pile stands as massive ever, and the twins had nothing to wear to church. Nothing. I seriously do not get it.
I quickly picked a few key items out of Mount Shirt-and-vest, told the washing machine to forget about the second rinse, and started a load.
8:00
I threw on a dress, ran a comb through my hair, started the coffee pot, and began frying eggs as quickly as I could. (I didn't break a single one, either. Am I good, or am I good?)
8:35
I dressed Tembo, fixed her hair, hoped that she wouldn't smear herself with egg yolk, and dashed out the door, leaving Andy to do the rest.
When I got to church I had to try several doors before I found one that was unlocked. The choir room was utterly deserted. Were they in the sanctuary?
No, the early mass had already started.
I looked for a clock.
It said 7:55--I guess every building has to have at least one forgotten clock leftover from the time change. That meant that it must be 8:55, and I was 10 minutes late. JAC had said it would just be a quick run-through... but how was it that they were completely gone so soon?
One of the ladies setting up in the kitchen asked what I was looking for, and I told her I was trying to find JAC and the musicians.
"Oh, they usually come around 8:30."
It took me a few minutes to figure out if she was speaking of 8:30 as in the past,
or yet to come, but it slowly dawned on me that the clock was right after all.
Daylight savings came two weeks earlier that our computer expected, and we'd reset it manually. Now the computer had automatically "sprung forward" all over again... and I had time! Wonderful, gloriously unexpected time!
Time to find my part, and run through it. Time to warm up, and remember how to coax a beautiful sound out of my flute. Time to improvise freely and playfully and meditatively and worshipfully. Time, flute in hand, to prepare my soul for the eucharist.
Wonderful, wonderful gift!
Sometime later, Andy pulled up with the van full of wuggies, discouraged that the laundry had caused them to be 45 minutes late.
Or 15 minutes early, as the case may be.
Quite the April fools. Quite the April fools.
"No," she smiled, "that was yesterday. Today's the second."
Bummer. I'd missed it again.
On the way home, however, I realized that we'd been the recipient of a fantastically delightful (not to mention disorienting!) joke.
Saturday night, Justy watched the kids, and Andy and I went out for a night of superb amateur theatre. We had a great time, but Shakespeare didn't write short plays, and when you factor in driving the babysitter home and then discussing the interpretation of Malvolio over a bowl of ice cream.... we didn't exactly get to bed early.
Which was problematic, because we really, really needed to get to church on time.
Of course, it's always a good idea to get to church on time, and it's always just a little bit out of reach--though we've been doing much better, lately.
But this was Palm Sunday. And Palm Sunday only comes around once a year, and the extra-special part is at the very beginning. And Palm Sunday when you're three? That only comes around once, period. We had to get those wuggies to church on time.
Moreover, I had to rehearse for the Easter service. I had to be at church an hour early. An hour and a half, if I didn't want to be sight-reading.
We crashed into bed Saturday night without even setting our alarms, and in the morning I woke in a panic, desperate to know what time it was. I glanced up at the clock, but the clock was gone. That's right, the boys knocked it over. Shoot.
I booted up the computer.
7:13
Upon seeing that I had an hour in which to get everyone ready for church, I promptly fell back asleep for "just a few minutes more."
But amazingly enough, this time it really was just a few minutes more, and after that, I really was ready to face the day.
Clothes. Must find clothes for everybody. I tiptoed into the boys' room, and glanced into their drawers.
Empty.
I had done a load of laundry every single day, some days two, and yet the laundry pile stands as massive ever, and the twins had nothing to wear to church. Nothing. I seriously do not get it.
I quickly picked a few key items out of Mount Shirt-and-vest, told the washing machine to forget about the second rinse, and started a load.
8:00
I threw on a dress, ran a comb through my hair, started the coffee pot, and began frying eggs as quickly as I could. (I didn't break a single one, either. Am I good, or am I good?)
8:35
I dressed Tembo, fixed her hair, hoped that she wouldn't smear herself with egg yolk, and dashed out the door, leaving Andy to do the rest.
When I got to church I had to try several doors before I found one that was unlocked. The choir room was utterly deserted. Were they in the sanctuary?
No, the early mass had already started.
I looked for a clock.
It said 7:55--I guess every building has to have at least one forgotten clock leftover from the time change. That meant that it must be 8:55, and I was 10 minutes late. JAC had said it would just be a quick run-through... but how was it that they were completely gone so soon?
One of the ladies setting up in the kitchen asked what I was looking for, and I told her I was trying to find JAC and the musicians.
"Oh, they usually come around 8:30."
It took me a few minutes to figure out if she was speaking of 8:30 as in the past,
or yet to come, but it slowly dawned on me that the clock was right after all.
Daylight savings came two weeks earlier that our computer expected, and we'd reset it manually. Now the computer had automatically "sprung forward" all over again... and I had time! Wonderful, gloriously unexpected time!
Time to find my part, and run through it. Time to warm up, and remember how to coax a beautiful sound out of my flute. Time to improvise freely and playfully and meditatively and worshipfully. Time, flute in hand, to prepare my soul for the eucharist.
Wonderful, wonderful gift!
Sometime later, Andy pulled up with the van full of wuggies, discouraged that the laundry had caused them to be 45 minutes late.
Or 15 minutes early, as the case may be.
Quite the April fools. Quite the April fools.
3.30.2007
Deep Fried Hummus
Growing up, my best friends mom was an incredible cook. Her lumpia and adobo were amazing treats, but actually spaghetti and meat ball nights were nearly as memorable. Her vegetarian "meat"balls were way better than any actual meatballs I've ever tasted.
I think it might have been falafel?
In any case, my falafel never turns out quite like that.
Come to think of it, my falafel just doesn't turn out at all.
I thought maybe it would improve matters if I slightly cooked the chickpeas, instead of merely soaking them overnight.
And then I thought maybe if I added more liquid, my blender wouldn't make such a dreadful racket.
My blender gladly pureed the whole thing in matter of seconds...
And I had a lovely batch of... hummus.
I should have just quit while I was ahead, and planned on making some pita chips tomorrow. But I'm stubborn, and I tried to go ahead with the original falafel plan.
Anyway, all this to say, if you happened to be wondering whether or not it's possible to deep-fry hummus...
...t isn't.
I think it might have been falafel?
In any case, my falafel never turns out quite like that.
Come to think of it, my falafel just doesn't turn out at all.
I thought maybe it would improve matters if I slightly cooked the chickpeas, instead of merely soaking them overnight.
And then I thought maybe if I added more liquid, my blender wouldn't make such a dreadful racket.
My blender gladly pureed the whole thing in matter of seconds...
And I had a lovely batch of... hummus.
I should have just quit while I was ahead, and planned on making some pita chips tomorrow. But I'm stubborn, and I tried to go ahead with the original falafel plan.
Anyway, all this to say, if you happened to be wondering whether or not it's possible to deep-fry hummus...
...t isn't.
3.29.2007
Vegetarian thoughts
It's been a while since I've posted. =(
Partly because I've been just too busy grocery shopping, washing dishes and reading
lots
of
really
delightful
books
to
my wuggies.
And also, partly because my creative energies have been directed elsewhere. I've been setting a lot of Christina Rossetti's poetry to music lately. I see so much of myself in her. In her early poems I see who I was, in her middle poems I see who I am, and in her later poems I see who I would like to become. So we work well together, so to speak.
I've also been working on a board book rendition of Genesis 1. Hebrew poetry just seems very well suited to toddlers. The rhythms of the creation account are rather reminiscent of Brown Bear, Brown Bear,
actually.
So I've been spending a lot of time just soaking in Genesis I. That and trying to come up with a rhyme about the gathering of the waters.
Anyway, reading the creation account has got me thinking about the purpose and role of man, and that has got me thinking vegetarian thoughts. I'd always been under the impression that God pronounced everything he had made "good"---except for mankind, who he pronounced to be "very good."
Actually God pronounced the whole of creation to be very good, once man was there to cultivate it. The distinction between "good" and "very good" in this case doesn't imply that the rest of creation was created for our good, so much as that we were created for the good of the rest of creation.
So I've been thinking vegetarian thoughts. Not that eating meat is wrong... but eating fruit is just purely and wholly good, and anything else is a little bit bittersweet. We live in a fallen world, and in this fallen world, there is a place for cultivating and caring for animals for the purpose of killing them and eating them.
Yet I have a hard time reconciling current meat industry practices with the creation mandates. I don't think that was exactly what God meant when He commanded us to rule over all the creatures. At least I hope not, because He created us to be in His image.
Of course, for a price, you can buy meat from supposedly well-treated animals. I'm not sure how much of that is true, and how much of it's a ruse---I have heard that the free-range chicken thing is something of a joke. But whatever the case, we certainly cannot afford it.
The fact is, the only way we can afford to eat as much meat as we do is through the inhumane treatment of animals.
On the other hand, we are well supplied with lots and lots of wonderful and affordable plant foods that can meet all our nutritional needs. Foods that are clearly very much in keeping with man's role in the world.
So I've been experimenting around with vegetarian meals. Last night we had pinto beans boiled in chicken broth (like I said, I'm not entirely opposed to meat--I'd just like to eat less of it!) with a chopped leek, a chopped onion, a full bulb of whole garlic cloves, a whole dried New Mexico chili, a handful of peppercorns, a dash of salt, and a generous blop of olive oil. I served it on brown rice, topped with grated romano cheese. The resulting color scheme didn't look terribly appetizing, but the flavors were sublime.
At least, Andy and I enjoyed the meal. The wuggies wouldn't touch it.
Sigh.
I'm afraid the only vegetarian thoughts they're interested in thinking are the ones that involve peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
Partly because I've been just too busy grocery shopping, washing dishes and reading
lots of really delightful books to my wuggies.And also, partly because my creative energies have been directed elsewhere. I've been setting a lot of Christina Rossetti's poetry to music lately. I see so much of myself in her. In her early poems I see who I was, in her middle poems I see who I am, and in her later poems I see who I would like to become. So we work well together, so to speak.
I've also been working on a board book rendition of Genesis 1. Hebrew poetry just seems very well suited to toddlers. The rhythms of the creation account are rather reminiscent of Brown Bear, Brown Bear,
actually.So I've been spending a lot of time just soaking in Genesis I. That and trying to come up with a rhyme about the gathering of the waters.
Anyway, reading the creation account has got me thinking about the purpose and role of man, and that has got me thinking vegetarian thoughts. I'd always been under the impression that God pronounced everything he had made "good"---except for mankind, who he pronounced to be "very good."
Actually God pronounced the whole of creation to be very good, once man was there to cultivate it. The distinction between "good" and "very good" in this case doesn't imply that the rest of creation was created for our good, so much as that we were created for the good of the rest of creation.
So I've been thinking vegetarian thoughts. Not that eating meat is wrong... but eating fruit is just purely and wholly good, and anything else is a little bit bittersweet. We live in a fallen world, and in this fallen world, there is a place for cultivating and caring for animals for the purpose of killing them and eating them.
Yet I have a hard time reconciling current meat industry practices with the creation mandates. I don't think that was exactly what God meant when He commanded us to rule over all the creatures. At least I hope not, because He created us to be in His image.
Of course, for a price, you can buy meat from supposedly well-treated animals. I'm not sure how much of that is true, and how much of it's a ruse---I have heard that the free-range chicken thing is something of a joke. But whatever the case, we certainly cannot afford it.
The fact is, the only way we can afford to eat as much meat as we do is through the inhumane treatment of animals.
On the other hand, we are well supplied with lots and lots of wonderful and affordable plant foods that can meet all our nutritional needs. Foods that are clearly very much in keeping with man's role in the world.
So I've been experimenting around with vegetarian meals. Last night we had pinto beans boiled in chicken broth (like I said, I'm not entirely opposed to meat--I'd just like to eat less of it!) with a chopped leek, a chopped onion, a full bulb of whole garlic cloves, a whole dried New Mexico chili, a handful of peppercorns, a dash of salt, and a generous blop of olive oil. I served it on brown rice, topped with grated romano cheese. The resulting color scheme didn't look terribly appetizing, but the flavors were sublime.
At least, Andy and I enjoyed the meal. The wuggies wouldn't touch it.
Sigh.
I'm afraid the only vegetarian thoughts they're interested in thinking are the ones that involve peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
3.21.2007
Works-for-me-Wednesday: Hundreds of Cooking Mentors
There are a lot of fabulous recipes floating around the internet.
There are also a lot of not-so-fabulous recipes floating around the internet, and sometimes it's hard to know the difference.
That's why I love recipezaar.com.
Thousands of recipes, all collected in one place. Anything you'd like to make, there's probably at least a dozen different versions right there.
Some of the recipes are good, some aren't... but with recipezaar you don't have to actually subject your family to them all in order to find out which are which. Anyone can rate the recipes, and add commentary on what did and didn't work, what changes they made, etc. So whenever I search for a recipe, I just sort my results by rating. If 100 people have thought this was a five star recipe... well, it's probably a pretty good risk.
But even if one stand-out recipe has 100 five star ratings, I usually read the first few recipes... AND the comments. Generally speaking, the folks who bother writing reviews are really good cooks, and I learn a lot from them. I can then take the best elements of each recipe, combined with the best alterations from reviewers, and try out a brand new recipe pretty confident of success.
And that's the best part. It's a great recipe resource, but really, you can get recipes anywhere. But all the reviews and comments have given me the skills I need to really make the most out of a recipe.
Reaping the benefits of everybody else's trial and error? Oh yes, it works for me!
There are also a lot of not-so-fabulous recipes floating around the internet, and sometimes it's hard to know the difference.
That's why I love recipezaar.com.
Thousands of recipes, all collected in one place. Anything you'd like to make, there's probably at least a dozen different versions right there.
Some of the recipes are good, some aren't... but with recipezaar you don't have to actually subject your family to them all in order to find out which are which. Anyone can rate the recipes, and add commentary on what did and didn't work, what changes they made, etc. So whenever I search for a recipe, I just sort my results by rating. If 100 people have thought this was a five star recipe... well, it's probably a pretty good risk.
But even if one stand-out recipe has 100 five star ratings, I usually read the first few recipes... AND the comments. Generally speaking, the folks who bother writing reviews are really good cooks, and I learn a lot from them. I can then take the best elements of each recipe, combined with the best alterations from reviewers, and try out a brand new recipe pretty confident of success.
And that's the best part. It's a great recipe resource, but really, you can get recipes anywhere. But all the reviews and comments have given me the skills I need to really make the most out of a recipe.
Reaping the benefits of everybody else's trial and error? Oh yes, it works for me!
3.20.2007
Wow!
Well, our neighborhood CVS/Pharmacy (what's up with the "/" anyway?) doesn't have an Albertsons after all. What it does have is amazing prices.
Every other item is tagged with a special "WOW!" tag, highlighting a particularly daring and astonishing sale price.
Like store brand baby wipes for $3.99.
And that truly is amazing, because at Target, they would cost $1.78.
The Dreyers ice cream for $5.99 is a little less impressive--it can be pretty expensive at other stores, too. But I will give them some credit, because that really is on the upper limit of the price range. And right now it's going for $3 at Gigante.
I can't help but admire the sheer audacity of their strategy.
And when I run out of diapers in the middle of the night, I can't help but shop there.
Every other item is tagged with a special "WOW!" tag, highlighting a particularly daring and astonishing sale price.
Like store brand baby wipes for $3.99.
And that truly is amazing, because at Target, they would cost $1.78.
The Dreyers ice cream for $5.99 is a little less impressive--it can be pretty expensive at other stores, too. But I will give them some credit, because that really is on the upper limit of the price range. And right now it's going for $3 at Gigante.
I can't help but admire the sheer audacity of their strategy.
And when I run out of diapers in the middle of the night, I can't help but shop there.
3.17.2007
Dunkables
Oreos and milk.
Donuts and coffee.
Herb flavored triscuits and cranberry juice.
(And to think that they turn their noses up at strange foods such as couscous...)
Donuts and coffee.
Herb flavored triscuits and cranberry juice.
(And to think that they turn their noses up at strange foods such as couscous...)
Bathtime Arithmetic
I wasn't planning on bathing the kids today, but I had the unfortunate bright idea of fixing Tembo's hair while she was distracted by her breakfast. It didn't prevent her from protesting the gloop with which I tried to tame her unruly curls, but it did provide her with some gloop of her own. The moment I pronounced her hair suitably beautiful, she immediately followed up with an egg yolk.
So it was bathtime. And well... if you're gonna bathe one, you might as well bathe them all.
So much more efficient that way... I think.
Nobody was excited about the idea of a bath, and nobody wanted to go first. So I rounded everybody up in the bathroom, and told them that they couldn't leave until they'd had a bath.
I thought maybe this would motivate them to hop right in and get it over with. I was forgetting that the bathroom is the absolute funnest room in the whole house, being the room with the highest mischief density.
I do hope that they still retain their love of toilet scrubbing, once they're old enough to learn more... sanitary... techniques. Yes, I very much hope that they retain that love of toilet scrubbing, not, say that love of TP-ing...
When it was all said and done, though, I had three beautifully clean wuggies. Three beautifully clean naked wuggies.
I put a diaper on one of them, and stood back to assess the situation. One wuggy in a diaper, and two naked wuggies.
I put a diaper on another one, and once again, stood back to assess. One wuggy in a diaper, and two naked wuggies.
I put the diaper back on the first wuggy, and put a pair of shorts on top of it. One wuggy in a diaper and shorts, two naked wuggies.
I put a diaper on a wuggy, following up with a pair of bloomers. One wuggy in a diaper and bloomers, one naked wuggy, and one wuggy wearing shorts... but no diaper.
I escorted Houdini back to the bathroom, praised him profusely for using the toilet, replaced his diaper and shorts, and exhorted him sternly not to remove his diaper again, but simply to tell me when he needed to use the potty. We trooped back out to the living room. One wuggy in diaper and shorts, one wuggy in a diaper and bloomers, and one naked wuggy.
Victory was close at hand! I put a diaper on the last remaining wuggy. One wuggy in a diaper, one wuggy wearing shorts and a diaper... and one naked wuggy.
Onesies are a mom's best friend, and I quickly found a different outfit for the naked wuggy--one less easily removed. She was not happy about this, and so it took quite a while to wrangle her into it. But when it was all said and done, I was safe. They might not all be dressed yet, but at least they were all wearing diapers. No disasters ahead.
One wuggy in an adorable one-piece outfit, one wuggy in diaper and shorts, one wuggy in a diaper. Busily microwaving a 3-inch red Camaro.
Our microwave seems to have been designed for ease of use by the illiterate, with pre-programmed buttons with pictures of different foods on them. The button with a picture of a steaming cup will set it for long enough to boil a cup of tea, the button with a plate of food is just right for reheating leftovers, etc.
Thankfully, I caught them just moments after they'd pressed the popcorn button.
"Gonna pop it!"
Gonna pop it, indeed.
One diapered wuggy, one wuggy in a diaper and shorts, one wuggy in a diaper and an adorable one-piece outfit...
...and one wiped out Mama.
So it was bathtime. And well... if you're gonna bathe one, you might as well bathe them all.
So much more efficient that way... I think.
Nobody was excited about the idea of a bath, and nobody wanted to go first. So I rounded everybody up in the bathroom, and told them that they couldn't leave until they'd had a bath.
I thought maybe this would motivate them to hop right in and get it over with. I was forgetting that the bathroom is the absolute funnest room in the whole house, being the room with the highest mischief density.
I do hope that they still retain their love of toilet scrubbing, once they're old enough to learn more... sanitary... techniques. Yes, I very much hope that they retain that love of toilet scrubbing, not, say that love of TP-ing...
When it was all said and done, though, I had three beautifully clean wuggies. Three beautifully clean naked wuggies.
I put a diaper on one of them, and stood back to assess the situation. One wuggy in a diaper, and two naked wuggies.
I put a diaper on another one, and once again, stood back to assess. One wuggy in a diaper, and two naked wuggies.
I put the diaper back on the first wuggy, and put a pair of shorts on top of it. One wuggy in a diaper and shorts, two naked wuggies.
I put a diaper on a wuggy, following up with a pair of bloomers. One wuggy in a diaper and bloomers, one naked wuggy, and one wuggy wearing shorts... but no diaper.
I escorted Houdini back to the bathroom, praised him profusely for using the toilet, replaced his diaper and shorts, and exhorted him sternly not to remove his diaper again, but simply to tell me when he needed to use the potty. We trooped back out to the living room. One wuggy in diaper and shorts, one wuggy in a diaper and bloomers, and one naked wuggy.
Victory was close at hand! I put a diaper on the last remaining wuggy. One wuggy in a diaper, one wuggy wearing shorts and a diaper... and one naked wuggy.
Onesies are a mom's best friend, and I quickly found a different outfit for the naked wuggy--one less easily removed. She was not happy about this, and so it took quite a while to wrangle her into it. But when it was all said and done, I was safe. They might not all be dressed yet, but at least they were all wearing diapers. No disasters ahead.
One wuggy in an adorable one-piece outfit, one wuggy in diaper and shorts, one wuggy in a diaper. Busily microwaving a 3-inch red Camaro.
Our microwave seems to have been designed for ease of use by the illiterate, with pre-programmed buttons with pictures of different foods on them. The button with a picture of a steaming cup will set it for long enough to boil a cup of tea, the button with a plate of food is just right for reheating leftovers, etc.
Thankfully, I caught them just moments after they'd pressed the popcorn button.
"Gonna pop it!"
Gonna pop it, indeed.
One diapered wuggy, one wuggy in a diaper and shorts, one wuggy in a diaper and an adorable one-piece outfit...
...and one wiped out Mama.
3.14.2007
WFMW: Cranberry Juice
I don't know about you, but we have a really hard time drinking enough water around here.
Or at least we did.
Did you know that at Trader Joes, you can get a 32 oz. jar of pure cranberry juice for 4 bucks?
Not cranberry juice cocktail, which is really mostly sugar water, but real, live cranberry juice--not from concentrate!
Of course nobody wants to drink straight cranberry juice straight, but adding just a little bit to your water makes it scrumptious and refreshing. It's sort of like lemon water, only much, much better. Even the kids love it.
And since we dilute it about 20/1, it really isn't that expensive.
Cheap, yummy, vitamin-filled hydration that doesn't rot the teeth?
Definitely works for me!
Or at least we did.
Did you know that at Trader Joes, you can get a 32 oz. jar of pure cranberry juice for 4 bucks?
Not cranberry juice cocktail, which is really mostly sugar water, but real, live cranberry juice--not from concentrate!
Of course nobody wants to drink straight cranberry juice straight, but adding just a little bit to your water makes it scrumptious and refreshing. It's sort of like lemon water, only much, much better. Even the kids love it.
And since we dilute it about 20/1, it really isn't that expensive.
Cheap, yummy, vitamin-filled hydration that doesn't rot the teeth?
Definitely works for me!
3.13.2007
See, I told you I didn't understand daylight savings...
I just got the memo that this is daylight savings time. Here I thought it was all about how to conserve our tiny ration of winter sun... turns out it's all about spending our newfound wealth wisely. (Thanks, slowlane!)
I LOVE daylight savings!
I think it should be daylight savings all year long!
And I think I just found a new criteria to look for in a place to settle down.
I want to live at the western extreme of any given time zone.
=)
I LOVE daylight savings!
I think it should be daylight savings all year long!
And I think I just found a new criteria to look for in a place to settle down.
I want to live at the western extreme of any given time zone.
=)
3.12.2007
Welcome to Universal Jet-Lag Time
I don't understand daylight savings. Growing up in Arizona, daylight savings was just that time when all the television and radio programs got shuffled around, when all the out of state live programming moved forward or back inexplicably, and all the local programming moved around to accomodate. It was also why you had to check an almanac before calling out of state relatives, to make sure you knew you weren't calling after bedtime. Daylight savings was also the reason why sometimes, on a day trip, the time would change back and forth, back and forth, without any state borders being involved. The Navajo Nation and the State of Arizona are separate, but overlapping entities, and the Navajo Nation does observe daylight savings... it can get pretty confusing.
But it never really affected me personally until I moved to California.
I don't understand it, and I don't like it one bit.
What daylight, exactly, did we save? Sure, the sun rose at 7am instead of 8, but it also set at 5.
So instead of showering in the dark, we eat our suppers in the dark.
Brilliant.
There is a great joy and delight in getting up before the sun, having some time to prepare for the dawn. There's a sense of milking everything out of the day. The darkness between getting-up-time and sunrise is a wonderfully rich time, quivering with the expectation of light.
The darkness between sunset and going-to-bed-time is not so wonderful. It is bleak and miserable and final. The day is over, and it was short. Now it is time to eat our supper in the fading light, and enjoy our little bit of family time in the dark of night. The state has taxed away the little bit of daylight that was ours to enjoy, to devote it to our preparations for work.
I am angry.
The lack of sunlight has been very hard on me this winter, and frankly, I can't fathom what possible good daylight savings could have done anybody.
And I'm so glad it's all over, but now our schedules are all turned upside-down...
Grump, grump, grump.
But it never really affected me personally until I moved to California.
I don't understand it, and I don't like it one bit.
What daylight, exactly, did we save? Sure, the sun rose at 7am instead of 8, but it also set at 5.
So instead of showering in the dark, we eat our suppers in the dark.
Brilliant.
There is a great joy and delight in getting up before the sun, having some time to prepare for the dawn. There's a sense of milking everything out of the day. The darkness between getting-up-time and sunrise is a wonderfully rich time, quivering with the expectation of light.
The darkness between sunset and going-to-bed-time is not so wonderful. It is bleak and miserable and final. The day is over, and it was short. Now it is time to eat our supper in the fading light, and enjoy our little bit of family time in the dark of night. The state has taxed away the little bit of daylight that was ours to enjoy, to devote it to our preparations for work.
I am angry.
The lack of sunlight has been very hard on me this winter, and frankly, I can't fathom what possible good daylight savings could have done anybody.
And I'm so glad it's all over, but now our schedules are all turned upside-down...
Grump, grump, grump.
3.08.2007
...and I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your stove out!
This evening I was preparing eggs for a lovely chef's salad, the water boiled over a bit, spreading the flames on the gas stove.
As I reached over and turned down the gas, Nathan was right beside me, eager to help with the crisis, blowing with all his might.
Good one to have around, that kid.
=)
As I reached over and turned down the gas, Nathan was right beside me, eager to help with the crisis, blowing with all his might.
Good one to have around, that kid.
=)
3.06.2007
Identity, or, I wish I could think of a better title for this
I suppose it all started as we drove Justy home from church one evening. With a little bit of help and prompting from Justy, the wuggies told us all about the movie they'd watched during our small group meeting--Curious George! With trains! Can life get any better than this?
And suddenly, I wondered if this might hold the key to the great mystery of our household.
For the past few weeks, Nathan had been wandering about the house singing "Time for Teletubbies! Time for Teletubbies!" and "Tinkywinky!"
This is quite normal behavior for a three year old... assuming he's been watching Teletubbies. But I certainly hadn't been showing them Teletubbies, and I didn't see how anyone else could have, either. It had been nearly six months since Nathan had sprayed down our television set, and we'd never replaced it.
Brilliant discipline opportunity, really. When you disregard Mama's warnings and squirt water on the television set anyway, you will lose all TV privileges... indefinitely. In the weeks that followed, every time he asked for Sesame Street, I could be genuinely sympathetic as I reminded him exactly why it was that the television was dead, and Elmo gone forever. No hard feelings whatsoever, just the dawning realization that maybe listening to Mama was in his best interests after all.
No, Nathan certainly hadn't been watching Teletubbies at our house, and I've been there for all his playdates---none of them involved Teletubbies. I wondered briefly if there was an unorthodox curriculum in the toddler nursury at church, but since I'm on the rotation, I know exactly what they do in there. Inside play time, song time, outside play time, hand washing time, snacks time, more song time, Bible story time, coloring time, indoor play time, and then it's time to go find mommy and daddy. Nope, no "time for Teletubbies" in there.
It was terribly disconcerting. I know everything about his life... right? And yet he'd obviously been exposed to Teletubbies--a LOT of Teletubbies--and I had no idea when or where or how.
So it was a tremendous relief to come up with such a plausible and innocuous solution. Perhaps Justy had been showing them videos at church during our small group.
She hadn't.
But as Andy and I explained our confusion to Justy, Nathan piped up.
"The neighbors. The neighbors watch teevee."
We all laughed. Of course! There little boy next door is the same age as the twins, and he watches a lot of television. With the volume turned way up. I just tune it out, but... well... I guess now I know why the boys spend so much time looking out the window. Maybe they aren't always watching for planes after all...
It was good to know the truth, but even more, it was such a delight to actually learn something from one of the wuggies. Of course they'd talked before, but up until then it was just simple requests, or declarations of the obvious. This was the first time that Nathan had actually provided me with interesting and moderately complex information.
I gasped in wonder. "He's a little person!"
It's the sort of thing I keep discovering over and over, on deeper and deeper levels.
I thought of the maybe-baby as a tiny person when I first saw the two blue lines, and I saw those two little jelly beans (two!) as tiny people... but when the ultrasound first showed recognizable shapes, and heartbeats, it was still a shock. They're little people! And when I watched little Isaiah kick during another ultrasound, and recognized in retrospect that faint sensation as real movement, it was another shock. They're little people.
You'd think with all the prenatal bonding I'd have figured it out, but it was still a shock to discover that they really were people when they were born.
And when they first smiled.
And when they first rolled over.
And when they first crawled.
And when they first climbed up on the piano, took off their diapers, and peed all over the keys.
It's an amazing thing to watch them unfold.
"He's a little person!"
Nathan latched onto the phrase, and repeated, "I'm a person! I'm a person!"
And so it was that we got into a discussion of just exactly what we all are.
Dadders asked them if they were people, or pickles. After much discussion the consensus was that Nathan and Isaiah are definitely people, although Tembo might be a lollipop.
That conversation has continued over the past month, as the wuggies earnestly attempt to define themselves verbally. There has been much talk about all the different sorts of people... men and ladies, boys and girls.
Isaiah is a man, and will not hear otherwise. When he neatly folds the towels for me, is he a helper? No, Wugger a man! As we march around the playground in a line, Wuggidy at the fore, is he the leader? NO! Wugger a MAN!"
Slowly but surely, however, he is starting to realize that manhood is consistent with other attributes. The other day he was soliloquizing about his identity... something he does quite frequently, actually.
"Wugger a man. Wugger a little man. No.... Wugger a BIG man. Tembo a girl. Tembo a girl like Mama. Wugger a man like Dadder."
He paused and thought for a minute.
"Dadder an OLD man."
And suddenly, I wondered if this might hold the key to the great mystery of our household.
For the past few weeks, Nathan had been wandering about the house singing "Time for Teletubbies! Time for Teletubbies!" and "Tinkywinky!"
This is quite normal behavior for a three year old... assuming he's been watching Teletubbies. But I certainly hadn't been showing them Teletubbies, and I didn't see how anyone else could have, either. It had been nearly six months since Nathan had sprayed down our television set, and we'd never replaced it.
Brilliant discipline opportunity, really. When you disregard Mama's warnings and squirt water on the television set anyway, you will lose all TV privileges... indefinitely. In the weeks that followed, every time he asked for Sesame Street, I could be genuinely sympathetic as I reminded him exactly why it was that the television was dead, and Elmo gone forever. No hard feelings whatsoever, just the dawning realization that maybe listening to Mama was in his best interests after all.
No, Nathan certainly hadn't been watching Teletubbies at our house, and I've been there for all his playdates---none of them involved Teletubbies. I wondered briefly if there was an unorthodox curriculum in the toddler nursury at church, but since I'm on the rotation, I know exactly what they do in there. Inside play time, song time, outside play time, hand washing time, snacks time, more song time, Bible story time, coloring time, indoor play time, and then it's time to go find mommy and daddy. Nope, no "time for Teletubbies" in there.
It was terribly disconcerting. I know everything about his life... right? And yet he'd obviously been exposed to Teletubbies--a LOT of Teletubbies--and I had no idea when or where or how.
So it was a tremendous relief to come up with such a plausible and innocuous solution. Perhaps Justy had been showing them videos at church during our small group.
She hadn't.
But as Andy and I explained our confusion to Justy, Nathan piped up.
"The neighbors. The neighbors watch teevee."
We all laughed. Of course! There little boy next door is the same age as the twins, and he watches a lot of television. With the volume turned way up. I just tune it out, but... well... I guess now I know why the boys spend so much time looking out the window. Maybe they aren't always watching for planes after all...
It was good to know the truth, but even more, it was such a delight to actually learn something from one of the wuggies. Of course they'd talked before, but up until then it was just simple requests, or declarations of the obvious. This was the first time that Nathan had actually provided me with interesting and moderately complex information.
I gasped in wonder. "He's a little person!"
It's the sort of thing I keep discovering over and over, on deeper and deeper levels.
I thought of the maybe-baby as a tiny person when I first saw the two blue lines, and I saw those two little jelly beans (two!) as tiny people... but when the ultrasound first showed recognizable shapes, and heartbeats, it was still a shock. They're little people! And when I watched little Isaiah kick during another ultrasound, and recognized in retrospect that faint sensation as real movement, it was another shock. They're little people.
You'd think with all the prenatal bonding I'd have figured it out, but it was still a shock to discover that they really were people when they were born.
And when they first smiled.
And when they first rolled over.
And when they first crawled.
And when they first climbed up on the piano, took off their diapers, and peed all over the keys.
It's an amazing thing to watch them unfold.
"He's a little person!"
Nathan latched onto the phrase, and repeated, "I'm a person! I'm a person!"
And so it was that we got into a discussion of just exactly what we all are.
Dadders asked them if they were people, or pickles. After much discussion the consensus was that Nathan and Isaiah are definitely people, although Tembo might be a lollipop.
That conversation has continued over the past month, as the wuggies earnestly attempt to define themselves verbally. There has been much talk about all the different sorts of people... men and ladies, boys and girls.
Isaiah is a man, and will not hear otherwise. When he neatly folds the towels for me, is he a helper? No, Wugger a man! As we march around the playground in a line, Wuggidy at the fore, is he the leader? NO! Wugger a MAN!"
Slowly but surely, however, he is starting to realize that manhood is consistent with other attributes. The other day he was soliloquizing about his identity... something he does quite frequently, actually.
"Wugger a man. Wugger a little man. No.... Wugger a BIG man. Tembo a girl. Tembo a girl like Mama. Wugger a man like Dadder."
He paused and thought for a minute.
"Dadder an OLD man."
3.03.2007
On the cultivation of shameful virtues.
I have a confession to make.
I like American Idol.
And it gets even worse. I'm not even ashamed of it.
I'm becoming quite convinced that AI is a powerful force of cultural renovation. It's like a great big music appreciation class. We see the good, the bad, the ugly, occasionally even the truly great... and all the while Simon Cowell helps us to think clearly about what makes the difference.
Yeah, yeah, he's cruel... he's also right, mostly.
And the fact is, in a culture where beauty is in the eye of the beholder, where music is a "matter of taste," and taste is a matter of nothing at all, objective criticism is always going to come off as cruel.
We're (wrongly) ashamed of objective tastes, but American Idol doesn't flinch, and doesn't sugar-coat it. Instead, with its hilarious harshness, American Idol brazenly appeals to parts of our souls that shame us. Vices like the desire to enjoy the humiliation of others, but virtues, too, like the desire to listen to music objectively and well.
American Idol is far from perfect, but quite honestly, within this cultural climate, I'm hard pressed to think of a better way to cultivate such shameful virtues.... or how a culture might survive without them.
So right now the burning question in my mind is whether to root for Melinda or Lakisha.
That, and why on earth American preferred Sanjaya over AJ. It wasn't perfect by a long shot, but shaky spots aside, I thought his interpretation was an improvement on the original. Suble and dramatic, and oh-so-musical... definitely not in the same league as some of those girls, but overall one of the strongest performances of the guys.
But the more evidence we get of America's bad taste, the clearer it becomes just how badly we need something like American Idol.
So we can learn to choose well.
Practice makes perfect, right?
I like American Idol.
And it gets even worse. I'm not even ashamed of it.
I'm becoming quite convinced that AI is a powerful force of cultural renovation. It's like a great big music appreciation class. We see the good, the bad, the ugly, occasionally even the truly great... and all the while Simon Cowell helps us to think clearly about what makes the difference.
Yeah, yeah, he's cruel... he's also right, mostly.
And the fact is, in a culture where beauty is in the eye of the beholder, where music is a "matter of taste," and taste is a matter of nothing at all, objective criticism is always going to come off as cruel.
We're (wrongly) ashamed of objective tastes, but American Idol doesn't flinch, and doesn't sugar-coat it. Instead, with its hilarious harshness, American Idol brazenly appeals to parts of our souls that shame us. Vices like the desire to enjoy the humiliation of others, but virtues, too, like the desire to listen to music objectively and well.
American Idol is far from perfect, but quite honestly, within this cultural climate, I'm hard pressed to think of a better way to cultivate such shameful virtues.... or how a culture might survive without them.
So right now the burning question in my mind is whether to root for Melinda or Lakisha.
That, and why on earth American preferred Sanjaya over AJ. It wasn't perfect by a long shot, but shaky spots aside, I thought his interpretation was an improvement on the original. Suble and dramatic, and oh-so-musical... definitely not in the same league as some of those girls, but overall one of the strongest performances of the guys.
But the more evidence we get of America's bad taste, the clearer it becomes just how badly we need something like American Idol.
So we can learn to choose well.
Practice makes perfect, right?
2.28.2007
Works for Me Wednesday: Baking Soda
I don't know about you, but in our house we go through a LOT of laundry stain remover.
When you have little boys, they get their clothes extremely dirty, and they get your clothes extremely dirty. And when they have a little sister, they get her clothes dirty, too... not to mention teaching her to get her own clothes dirty, and contribute to the dirtiness of their clothes, and your own clothes. Sometimes we would go through a bottle of Zout in as little as two weeks. It's insanely expensive.
But recently we've discovered that we can use baking soda instead. If you buy it in the huge bags, it's dirt cheap, and it works just as well as the expensive toxic substances. In fact, baking soda has removed set in stains that nothing else would touch.
Of course stains just need Zout. And some stains just need OxyClean. But baking soda is now my stain remover of first resort.
The best thing about it is that since baking soda is non-toxic, the wuggies can help with the laundry. And toddlers LOVE helping with chores. A sense of purpose is such a deep-seated sou-need of children... of everybody, really. Toddlers are such naturally industrious creatures, and nurturing that sense of industry is one of our most important tasks as mothers, I think. It's so easy to relegate them to the sidelines of our existence, to occupy them with arbitrary, meaningless activities while we quickly get through our chores so that we can spend quality time with them, doing "fun stuff." But over and over, I keep finding that the best "quality time" is time spent doing chores together. And right now, they think that working hard is the most fun possible. Laziness is a learned behavior... and come to think of it, not one that I really want to teach.
Turning chores into a family affair? Works for me!
When you have little boys, they get their clothes extremely dirty, and they get your clothes extremely dirty. And when they have a little sister, they get her clothes dirty, too... not to mention teaching her to get her own clothes dirty, and contribute to the dirtiness of their clothes, and your own clothes. Sometimes we would go through a bottle of Zout in as little as two weeks. It's insanely expensive.
But recently we've discovered that we can use baking soda instead. If you buy it in the huge bags, it's dirt cheap, and it works just as well as the expensive toxic substances. In fact, baking soda has removed set in stains that nothing else would touch.
Of course stains just need Zout. And some stains just need OxyClean. But baking soda is now my stain remover of first resort.
The best thing about it is that since baking soda is non-toxic, the wuggies can help with the laundry. And toddlers LOVE helping with chores. A sense of purpose is such a deep-seated sou-need of children... of everybody, really. Toddlers are such naturally industrious creatures, and nurturing that sense of industry is one of our most important tasks as mothers, I think. It's so easy to relegate them to the sidelines of our existence, to occupy them with arbitrary, meaningless activities while we quickly get through our chores so that we can spend quality time with them, doing "fun stuff." But over and over, I keep finding that the best "quality time" is time spent doing chores together. And right now, they think that working hard is the most fun possible. Laziness is a learned behavior... and come to think of it, not one that I really want to teach.
Turning chores into a family affair? Works for me!
2.26.2007
Hurry!
Rush on over to The Slow Lane just as fast as you can, and convince her not to invest in a bigger sock drawer.
No, my dear, your charming wit belongs right out here in the fresh air.
No, my dear, your charming wit belongs right out here in the fresh air.
2.23.2007
That's MRS. Mommy to you!
As I was changing Nathan's diaper, chattering affectionately at him, I called him "Mr. Meepo."
He liked that very much, and repeated several times, "I'm Mis-ter Meepo. I'm Mis-ter Meepo."
I then pointed to his brother. "That's Mr. Wuggidy."
"Mis-ter Wuggidy. Mis-ter Wuggidy."
He thought about it for a minute, then pointed to me.
"Mis-ter Mama! Mis-ter Mama!"
He liked that very much, and repeated several times, "I'm Mis-ter Meepo. I'm Mis-ter Meepo."
I then pointed to his brother. "That's Mr. Wuggidy."
"Mis-ter Wuggidy. Mis-ter Wuggidy."
He thought about it for a minute, then pointed to me.
"Mis-ter Mama! Mis-ter Mama!"
2.22.2007
Update
I'm okay.
My toe does not appear to be broken, just badly bruised. I can walk now, and without too much discomfort. It's back down nearly to its normal size, and the garish color scheme has settled down to a tasteful mauve, with subtle lilac accents.
The kitchen is not nearly as bad as I'd envisioned... turns out it was only one saucepan and one 9x5 casserole that had fallen out of the cupboard. Could have fooled me. It sure felt like an avalanche.
And the flour and sugar that the wuggies used to occupy themselves while I was writhing in agony? It took about 5 minutes to clean up out of the sink.
After the repairman came to check out the leak.
Actually, the repairman came while I was looking for the dirty diaper Tembo had taken off somewhere.
I finally found it in the middle of the kitchen floor.
After the repairman had left.
So anyway, we're okay.
Badly humiliated, but okay.
My toe does not appear to be broken, just badly bruised. I can walk now, and without too much discomfort. It's back down nearly to its normal size, and the garish color scheme has settled down to a tasteful mauve, with subtle lilac accents.
The kitchen is not nearly as bad as I'd envisioned... turns out it was only one saucepan and one 9x5 casserole that had fallen out of the cupboard. Could have fooled me. It sure felt like an avalanche.
And the flour and sugar that the wuggies used to occupy themselves while I was writhing in agony? It took about 5 minutes to clean up out of the sink.
After the repairman came to check out the leak.
Actually, the repairman came while I was looking for the dirty diaper Tembo had taken off somewhere.
I finally found it in the middle of the kitchen floor.
After the repairman had left.
So anyway, we're okay.
Badly humiliated, but okay.
2.21.2007
Feels Like Sunday
I called up my Mommy to commiserate about my day, and while we were on the phone, she relayed my story to Daddy. I could hear him chuckling in the background, saying that it reminded him of the time when the tire on the motorhome blew out, and blew a hole in one of the storage compartments, strewing flip-flops and sneakers all over the road. The tire shrapnel also blew a hole in the sewage tank, leaving a mess of other proportions entirely.
Come to think of it, it's sort of like how Sunday morning was, too, when we were out of milk, and I ran to the store real quick, but as I pulled out of the driveway, I saw that the gas tank read quarter past empty, and I wasn't sure if I even had enough gas to get to the station across the street, but then I missed my turn, and decided that I'd rather do an illegal left turn than stall out in the middle of the road.
And after the kind police officer was done explaining to me where I should and should not turn left, I realized that I'd left my debit card at home. And when I pulled into our driveway, with $5.04 of gas in the tank, I remembered that I'd actually just put my card in a different compartment of my purse.
And then, when I was finally at Stater Brothers, I tried to pull a blueberry yogurt off the shelf, and in the process knocked over two boysenberry yogurts and a cherry vanilla yogurt, and one of the boysenberry yogurts exploded all over my foot.
I thought it was kinda strange that the sprinklers came on just as I pulled into the driveway, but I didn't have time to think about it much, because the milk was leaking all over the back seat.
And THEN, as I was bustling around trying to find a pitcher to salvage the milk, telling Andy what an eventful trip it was, instead of sympathizing, he finished my story for me.
"AND you ran into the sprinkler system."
Oh.
Oops.
I'd just finished explaining to Andy that, no, the exploding yogurt thing was entirely separate from the milk thing, when I found the mangled container of cherry-chocolate-mousse yogurt under the place where the milk had been.
That was my Sunday, and that's kinda how today feels, too.
Laughter does a world of good, though, and I feel a whole lot better after a good giggle with my Mommy.
I'm just still not sure how I'm going to take care of everything with a broken toe.
Let alone get all the pots and pans back in order.
Or excavate 5 lbs. of flour from the sink.
Come to think of it, it's sort of like how Sunday morning was, too, when we were out of milk, and I ran to the store real quick, but as I pulled out of the driveway, I saw that the gas tank read quarter past empty, and I wasn't sure if I even had enough gas to get to the station across the street, but then I missed my turn, and decided that I'd rather do an illegal left turn than stall out in the middle of the road.
And after the kind police officer was done explaining to me where I should and should not turn left, I realized that I'd left my debit card at home. And when I pulled into our driveway, with $5.04 of gas in the tank, I remembered that I'd actually just put my card in a different compartment of my purse.
And then, when I was finally at Stater Brothers, I tried to pull a blueberry yogurt off the shelf, and in the process knocked over two boysenberry yogurts and a cherry vanilla yogurt, and one of the boysenberry yogurts exploded all over my foot.
I thought it was kinda strange that the sprinklers came on just as I pulled into the driveway, but I didn't have time to think about it much, because the milk was leaking all over the back seat.
And THEN, as I was bustling around trying to find a pitcher to salvage the milk, telling Andy what an eventful trip it was, instead of sympathizing, he finished my story for me.
"AND you ran into the sprinkler system."
Oh.
Oops.
I'd just finished explaining to Andy that, no, the exploding yogurt thing was entirely separate from the milk thing, when I found the mangled container of cherry-chocolate-mousse yogurt under the place where the milk had been.
That was my Sunday, and that's kinda how today feels, too.
Laughter does a world of good, though, and I feel a whole lot better after a good giggle with my Mommy.
I'm just still not sure how I'm going to take care of everything with a broken toe.
Let alone get all the pots and pans back in order.
Or excavate 5 lbs. of flour from the sink.
WFMW: Ditch the Windex!
Ever since his summer janitorial stint a few years back, Andy has mocked me for using Windex.
"The professionals just use rags and water."
Whatever.
Every self-respecting housewife is dependent upon Windex... right?
Well... maybe not. A wet rag gets everything up quickly (well... everything that Windex gets up, anyway) and a dry rag buffs the glass to a lovely streak-free shine. Better results, quicker, and with no nasty fumes.
Works for me!
"The professionals just use rags and water."
Whatever.
Every self-respecting housewife is dependent upon Windex... right?
Well... maybe not. A wet rag gets everything up quickly (well... everything that Windex gets up, anyway) and a dry rag buffs the glass to a lovely streak-free shine. Better results, quicker, and with no nasty fumes.
Works for me!
2.17.2007
Mystery can night just got a little more mysterious.
We're having chili tonight, and so I thought it might be a good opportunity to use up a couple of those label-less cans that every parent of toddlers has lying about.
I was pretty sure that this particular can contained either broth, black olives, stewed tomatoes, or green chiles, and that any one of those would make a splendid addition to my recipe.
I'm still pretty sure that it was one of those things.
And any one of those things would have been very nice.
Only problem is, having opened the can, I'm more confused than ever.
(And no, it did NOT go into the crock pot!)
I was pretty sure that this particular can contained either broth, black olives, stewed tomatoes, or green chiles, and that any one of those would make a splendid addition to my recipe.
I'm still pretty sure that it was one of those things.
And any one of those things would have been very nice.
Only problem is, having opened the can, I'm more confused than ever.
(And no, it did NOT go into the crock pot!)
Flute Impressions
Having just shared some impressively heinous flauteling (Can you believe I actually used to sound like that? Yikes!) I thought I should also point out what inspires and moves moves me, and gets me going in the morning.
This is sunlight streaming through the window, a gentle breeze setting life and greenness all aflutter, a mountain spring right here in my living room.
With a big tall glass of freshly squeezed orange juice to go with it all.
This is what the flute is all about.
Nina Assimakopoulos is probably my very favorite instrumentalist. Her technique is flawless, and I'm not sure how to describe her tone, except to say that it is alive. Now soft and tender, now rich and powerful, now soaring and brilliant, now playful and exotic... it constantly changes according to the spirit of the music she plays. I've never heard anyone else play Briccialdi's Carnival of Venice non-ironically, but Ms. Assimakopoulos enters fully into the playful spirit of the virtuoustic showpiece. As you listen all you can think about is the shimmering vitality, and it is only after the last note has died away that you realize just how impressive it all was. Whether it's Chopin or Debussy or Korsakov, or even something as simple as Amazing Grace, she draws out the full force of the music, so that the listener is sucked in and overpowered. But somehow, always, she holds her own.
This is how I want to live, and this is how her music inspires me to live, awake and alive, serene and tender and strong.
This
is sunlight streaming through the window, a gentle breeze setting life and greenness all aflutter, a mountain spring right here in my living room. With a big tall glass of freshly squeezed orange juice to go with it all.
This is what the flute is all about.
Nina Assimakopoulos is probably my very favorite instrumentalist. Her technique is flawless, and I'm not sure how to describe her tone, except to say that it is alive. Now soft and tender, now rich and powerful, now soaring and brilliant, now playful and exotic... it constantly changes according to the spirit of the music she plays. I've never heard anyone else play Briccialdi's Carnival of Venice non-ironically, but Ms. Assimakopoulos enters fully into the playful spirit of the virtuoustic showpiece. As you listen all you can think about is the shimmering vitality, and it is only after the last note has died away that you realize just how impressive it all was. Whether it's Chopin or Debussy or Korsakov, or even something as simple as Amazing Grace, she draws out the full force of the music, so that the listener is sucked in and overpowered. But somehow, always, she holds her own.
This is how I want to live, and this is how her music inspires me to live, awake and alive, serene and tender and strong.
2.16.2007
Right now is not usually.
Usually, they're just so easy to love.
Usually, they bring me so much joy and delight.
Usually Nathan isn't nonchalantly pouring out a cup of water at my feet as I sop a gallon of cranberry juice off my freshly mopped floor.
Usually I'm not desperately needing to get my chores done in time to run over to the office to notify the management of an extremely urgent leak that absolutely must get fixed before they close for the weekend. In about two hours.
Usually being their mother is a whole lot of fun.
Right now is not usually.
Usually, they bring me so much joy and delight.
Usually Nathan isn't nonchalantly pouring out a cup of water at my feet as I sop a gallon of cranberry juice off my freshly mopped floor.
Usually I'm not desperately needing to get my chores done in time to run over to the office to notify the management of an extremely urgent leak that absolutely must get fixed before they close for the weekend. In about two hours.
Usually being their mother is a whole lot of fun.
Right now is not usually.
Reason #4 why Blogger could be improved upon
It's all well and good for Brian to be hating on blogger. But I can't very well bite that hand that lets me blog.
And, well... the fact is, thenickfamily.com sure looks nice now.... but it took several years to get it there, and meanwhile, I was actually blogging. So I'm very grateful to google for bringing blogging to the lazy, html-illiterate masses who just plain love to write.
But! This switch over to the new blogger is not very smooth. Well it is for blog authors, actually, (although I did lose a lot of template customizations, and had to reinstall any outside html. But even that was okay, because it prompted me to switch from statcounter to sitemeter, which is actually a lot better.)
Anyway, I follow a perfectly massive quantity of sparsely updated blogs, so I'm quite dependent upon bloglines. But one by one, my subscriptions stop working as everybody switches over to the new blogger. Just the other day I finally got around to updating all my subscriptions... but now Christa has moved, too. Oy, vey. They make everything else so easy... why did they have to change the rss feeds on us? I like blogger because I'm lazy, remember? That's the whole point.
But even if google hadn't chosen to put us through such misery, I guess it really wouldn't have solved my problem entirely. Some people just keep moving all over the place.
I tell you. No sense of commitment.
If only it weren't so easy to just up and start a new blog.
And, well... the fact is, thenickfamily.com sure looks nice now.... but it took several years to get it there, and meanwhile, I was actually blogging. So I'm very grateful to google for bringing blogging to the lazy, html-illiterate masses who just plain love to write.
But! This switch over to the new blogger is not very smooth. Well it is for blog authors, actually, (although I did lose a lot of template customizations, and had to reinstall any outside html. But even that was okay, because it prompted me to switch from statcounter to sitemeter, which is actually a lot better.)
Anyway, I follow a perfectly massive quantity of sparsely updated blogs, so I'm quite dependent upon bloglines. But one by one, my subscriptions stop working as everybody switches over to the new blogger. Just the other day I finally got around to updating all my subscriptions... but now Christa has moved, too. Oy, vey. They make everything else so easy... why did they have to change the rss feeds on us? I like blogger because I'm lazy, remember? That's the whole point.
But even if google hadn't chosen to put us through such misery, I guess it really wouldn't have solved my problem entirely. Some people just keep moving all over the place.
I tell you. No sense of commitment.
If only it weren't so easy to just up and start a new blog.
2.14.2007
WFMW: GT and the Halo Express
The wuggy-boys got a really wonderful birthday present from Aunt Sarah and Grandma and Grandpa Palmer.
A complete set of GT and the Halo Express.
Remember Psalty? Well, GT is pretty much like Psalty, only better. Instead of a singing hymnal that teaches the kids praise choruses, it's a "band of angels" that teaches Michael and Kristy scripture memory songs that help them deal with their grade-school problems. You know, a "band of angels" complete with drums and saxophones and guitars. And harps, because, well... you can't have angels without harps. The stories are full of little puns like that, which makes it fun for mom, too.
We've been listening to them pretty much non-stop. Well, okay, not quite non-stop... but a lot.
It's just a really good thing, on a lot of levels. The wuggies just love it. Even Tembo tugs at my sleeve, excitedly asking for "JeeTEE! JeeTEE!" And it really seems to be doing them good, developmentally. In our reading time, I've been very intentional about trying to wean them from images to stories, working toward more verbally driven picuture books, and illustrated storybooks.
The GT stories fit very nicely into this process. They're exciting and colorful... and totally non-visual. And sure enough, since we've started listening to GT, the wuggies have started to sit still and listen to stories, pictures or no pictures. Part of this is just the normal process of development, but I really do think that GT helped them to realize just how colorful and exciting stories could be.
And all the scripture flowing through the house! It's a really wonderful thing, and the music helps it to penetrate deep into the soul. It's good for the wuggies, and it's good for me, too.
As a musician, I'm really impressed with the songs. The music may not be genius, but it's solid, and exactly right. The melodies are perfectly suited to the texts, and are clearly the outgrowth of a deep understanding of the scriptures. Simple, singable, and meaningful... It's good stuff.
I have no idea why they aren't more popular, but they seem to be on the verge of out-of-print. They're only available here, and only in cassette tapes.
But they're totally worth scouring your local thrift shops for a cassette player, if need be. And maybe if enough of us do that, they'll start publishing them in less obsolete formats. =)
Scripture songs throughout the day? Works for me!
A complete set of GT and the Halo Express.
Remember Psalty? Well, GT is pretty much like Psalty, only better. Instead of a singing hymnal that teaches the kids praise choruses, it's a "band of angels" that teaches Michael and Kristy scripture memory songs that help them deal with their grade-school problems. You know, a "band of angels" complete with drums and saxophones and guitars. And harps, because, well... you can't have angels without harps. The stories are full of little puns like that, which makes it fun for mom, too.
We've been listening to them pretty much non-stop. Well, okay, not quite non-stop... but a lot.
It's just a really good thing, on a lot of levels. The wuggies just love it. Even Tembo tugs at my sleeve, excitedly asking for "JeeTEE! JeeTEE!" And it really seems to be doing them good, developmentally. In our reading time, I've been very intentional about trying to wean them from images to stories, working toward more verbally driven picuture books, and illustrated storybooks.
The GT stories fit very nicely into this process. They're exciting and colorful... and totally non-visual. And sure enough, since we've started listening to GT, the wuggies have started to sit still and listen to stories, pictures or no pictures. Part of this is just the normal process of development, but I really do think that GT helped them to realize just how colorful and exciting stories could be.
And all the scripture flowing through the house! It's a really wonderful thing, and the music helps it to penetrate deep into the soul. It's good for the wuggies, and it's good for me, too.
As a musician, I'm really impressed with the songs. The music may not be genius, but it's solid, and exactly right. The melodies are perfectly suited to the texts, and are clearly the outgrowth of a deep understanding of the scriptures. Simple, singable, and meaningful... It's good stuff.
I have no idea why they aren't more popular, but they seem to be on the verge of out-of-print. They're only available here, and only in cassette tapes.
But they're totally worth scouring your local thrift shops for a cassette player, if need be. And maybe if enough of us do that, they'll start publishing them in less obsolete formats. =)
Scripture songs throughout the day? Works for me!
2.13.2007
Meepo's Cubist Phase
Nathan absolutely loves to sit at the computer and scribble on MS Paint.
The other day, he drew Tembo.
Apparently he thinks that his sister is two-faced.
Then he decided to add Isaiah into the picture. And a squiggle.
The young artist then began chanting "Itch! Itch! Itch!" and started scratching his itching siblings out with the eraser function.
All this scratching had the unfortunate result of a "broken eye," but with a few more strokes, he was able to transform the image into "clowns!"
And now, for the completed masterpiece:
Come to think of it, in the end it's more abstract expressionist.
From straight representation, to cubism, to his very own symbolic system, to abstract expressionism...
I guess it makes sense. Short attention spans and all that.
The other day, he drew Tembo.
Apparently he thinks that his sister is two-faced.
Then he decided to add Isaiah into the picture. And a squiggle.
The young artist then began chanting "Itch! Itch! Itch!" and started scratching his itching siblings out with the eraser function.
All this scratching had the unfortunate result of a "broken eye," but with a few more strokes, he was able to transform the image into "clowns!"
And now, for the completed masterpiece:
Come to think of it, in the end it's more abstract expressionist.
From straight representation, to cubism, to his very own symbolic system, to abstract expressionism...
I guess it makes sense. Short attention spans and all that.
2.12.2007
2.11.2007
Well Rested
I got four hours of sleep last night.
Four blissful uninterrupted hours on a comfy mattress.
I feel incredibly good. So energized I feel like I could conquer the world. Or maybe even get everyone to church on time.
I keep wondering what bliss it will be to sleep 8 hours straight on the new mattress.
Four blissful uninterrupted hours on a comfy mattress.
I feel incredibly good. So energized I feel like I could conquer the world. Or maybe even get everyone to church on time.
I keep wondering what bliss it will be to sleep 8 hours straight on the new mattress.
2.10.2007
2.09.2007
Self-knowledge
Bosey was happily examining a fanciful colored pencil drawing of a beautiful creature, half girl, half zebra. The image resonated deeply with me, for that is how I always made sense out of my complicated bi-cultural identity. Stripes. And this zebra-child was so happy and free, reveling in her stripes... the image made me happy. So did hearing my little girl refer to an animal as something other than a doggy or a duck.
Tembo had a grand time, trying to figure out whether this was a "Bubba Deeda" or a "Mama Deeda." I guess when you have only brothers, you may or may not have a category that encompasses both "female" and "child," so you sort of have to decide which concept to retain. But whether this creature was a bubba or a mama, Nathan was quite convinced that in any case, it was more properly pronounced "Beza."
It was such a peaceful and happy moment, I was a bit surprised when Nathan announced "Tembo angry!"
"No, I don't think Tembo's angry. See how she's smiling? Tembo's happy. Are you angry, Meepo?"
"No... I not angry!"
"Are you happy?"
"I not happy!"
"Are you sad?"
"I not sad!"
"Are you jubilant?"
"I not jub-lant!"
Finally, though I hit it.
"Are you amused?"
His face lit up with blissful comprehension.
"I'm a-music-ed!"
It's a good feeling to know exactly how you feel.
Even if it's stripey and confusing and a little bit of everything.
Especially if it's stripey and confusing and a little bit of everything.
Tembo had a grand time, trying to figure out whether this was a "Bubba Deeda" or a "Mama Deeda." I guess when you have only brothers, you may or may not have a category that encompasses both "female" and "child," so you sort of have to decide which concept to retain. But whether this creature was a bubba or a mama, Nathan was quite convinced that in any case, it was more properly pronounced "Beza."
It was such a peaceful and happy moment, I was a bit surprised when Nathan announced "Tembo angry!"
"No, I don't think Tembo's angry. See how she's smiling? Tembo's happy. Are you angry, Meepo?"
"No... I not angry!"
"Are you happy?"
"I not happy!"
"Are you sad?"
"I not sad!"
"Are you jubilant?"
"I not jub-lant!"
Finally, though I hit it.
"Are you amused?"
His face lit up with blissful comprehension.
"I'm a-music-ed!"
It's a good feeling to know exactly how you feel.
Even if it's stripey and confusing and a little bit of everything.
Especially if it's stripey and confusing and a little bit of everything.
2.08.2007
Addendum
My husband informs me that the video is extraordinarily dull without some background information.
No, I didn't edit in the spiffy sound effects. Mr. Wuggidy fell asleep while listening to G. T. and the Halo Express. He tried so hard to keep awake, and his little noggin kept slowly sinking down, then snapping back up suddenly, only to start sinking again. I got the camera running just in time to catch the very last nod, in perfect time to the music's final cadence.
=)
Of course all this would be much better as a caption to the previous post... but blogger is being cranky today.
No, I didn't edit in the spiffy sound effects. Mr. Wuggidy fell asleep while listening to G. T. and the Halo Express. He tried so hard to keep awake, and his little noggin kept slowly sinking down, then snapping back up suddenly, only to start sinking again. I got the camera running just in time to catch the very last nod, in perfect time to the music's final cadence.
=)
Of course all this would be much better as a caption to the previous post... but blogger is being cranky today.
2.07.2007
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